The Screengrab : michael haneke

Cannes Winners Announced

Scott Von Doviak — Mon, 25 May 2009 14:30:00 GMT

Lars von Trier caused the biggest stir, but it was Michael Haneke who took the top honors as The White Ribbon was awarded the Palme d'Or at this year's Cannes Film Festival. There was mild controversy over the choice, given that jury president Isabelle Huppert had starred in an earlier Haneke film, The Piano Teacher. Von Trier's Antichrist did pick up a major award, as Charlotte Gainsbourg took Best Actress honors. The full roster of awards follows the jump.

PALME D'OR

The White Ribbon, dir. Michael Haneke

GRAND PRIX

A Prophet, dir. Jacques Audiard

SPECIAL CAREER PRIZE

Alain Resnais

BEST ACTOR

Christoph Waltz, Inglourious Basterds

BEST ACTRESS

Charlotte Gainsbourg, Antichrist

BEST DIRECTOR

Brillante Mendoza, Kinatay

BEST SCREENPLAY

Mei Feng, Spring Fever

JURY PRIZE (shared)

Fish Tank, dir. Andrea Arnold, Thirst, dir. Park Chan-Wook

CAMERA D'OR

Samson and Delilah, dir. Warwick Thornton

BEST SHORT FILM

Arena, dir. Joao Salaviza

Cannes Roundup: Day Eight

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 21 May 2009 18:30:00 GMT

Today’s Cannes auteur du jour is Michael Haneke, whose latest, The White Ribbon, didn’t cause quite the same stir as fellow provocateur Lars von Trier’s Antichrist. Mike Goodridge of Screen says Haneke is “on top form in The White Ribbon, a meticulously constructed, precisely modulated tapestry of malice and intrigue in a rural village in pre-World War I northern Germany.” Eric Kohn of Indiewire calls it a “dour, Bergmanesque black-and-white portrait of enigmas and familial discord,” while David Bourgeois at Movieline dubs it “a serious Palme d’Or contender.”

Five Romanian directors join forces to bring us Tales from the Golden Age, written by Cristian Mungiu (4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days). As The Hollywood Reporter explains, “Each segment recreates an urban myth that flourished during the repressive regime of dictator Nicolai Ceausescu, the so-called 'Golden Age' of Romanian history.” Wesley Morris of the Boston Globe: “It’s witty, its contents succinct and entertaining.” Mike Goodridge of Screen calls it “another notch in the country’s film-making renaissance.” IFC has picked up the distribution rights.

So does Cannes still matter? Eugene Hernandez of Indiewire thinks so. “What I’ve always loved about this fest is that people take cinema so seriously here. Movies ignite debates and stir arguments. Where else but in Cannes would moviegoers booing a film by a Danish art film director stir international media attention… Industry insiders, film critics and festival programmers are constantly pondering the merits of both the art and industry, but from my vantage point, in a year where there is an apparent decline in attendance, the festival and market here in Cannes are still delivering on both fronts.”

Reviews By (Sorta) Request: Tenebrae (1982, Dario Argento)

Paul Clark — Tue, 28 Oct 2008 19:00:00 GMT

Note: Due to an untimely Netflix issue, I wasn’t able to watch and review your selected film, Let Sleeping Corpses Lie, in time for this week’s Reviews By Request. Instead, I’ve written about the film that received the second-highest number of votes, Dario Argento’s Tenebrae. I’ll be writing about Let Sleeping Corpses at a later date, as soon as I’m able to view it. Thanks for understanding.

In addition, I’ll be polling you to determine the film for my November 14 Reviews By Request column. To vote, see the poll at the bottom of this review.

One of my fondest memories as a moviegoer was attending the semi-legendary world premiere of Dario Argento’s The Mother of Tears at last fall’s Toronto Film Festival. The movie itself was only so-so, but what made the experience such a thrill was that Argento himself was in attendance. While most filmmaker Q&As are pretty buttoned-up affairs, Argento’s was anything but. There was an irreverent, almost party-like (since it was his birthday, we even sang to him) atmosphere that filled the room, and Argento, crazy eyes beaming as he took the stage, presided over it all. As he answered question after question in his own inimitable way- even discussing his urge to cast lesbians with no pubic hair as witches- one thing was clear: It was Dario’s happening, baby, and it freaked him out.

I mention this experience not to brag or to be a name-dropper but to make it clear that, above all else, Dario Argento is a showman, something that comes through in all of his best-known work. And of all the Argento films I’ve seen to date, none has demonstrated this so clearly as Tenebrae. In Tenebrae, Argento uses all of the filmmaking tricks in his arsenal to keep his audience entertained. The result is intoxicating.

The movie begins as a fairly standard-issue whodunit. The story focuses on Peter Neal (Anthony Franciosa), a best-selling author who specializes in violent mysteries. After he arrives in Rome, people begin getting killed in gruesome ways. A woman, her throat slashed, is found with Neal’s latest page-turner- entitled Tenebrae, of course- stuffed into her mouth. The police get involved, and Neal begins receiving letters from the killer. As is par for the course in murder mysteries, Neal is surrounded by plenty of likely suspects, nearly all of whom are picked off, one by one, by the actual killer. As bodies begin to pile up, it’s up to Neal and the police to figure out who, shall we say, dunit.

As I said before, the setup is nothing special. But Argento is too much of a showman to make a simple- albeit extremely bloody- murder mystery, which the second half of the movie makes abundantly clear. Around the time Neal- and the audience- has figured out the most likely suspect in the case, the suspect is brutally and decisively murdered. Yet the killing is far from over. From that point on, the key color is red- the color of both the herrings and the blood that flows liberally up until the very end of the movie. At one point, Neal quotes Arthur Conan Doyle, saying, "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” One of the chief pleasures of Tenebrae is just how improbable Argento is willing to make his storyline in the service of his crazed, brilliant vision.

As one would expect from Argento, the killing scenes are worth the price of admission- not merely the manner of death itself, but also the way Argento directs them. Clearly, Argento means to entertain the audience with the carnage, and while that might not wash with those who tut-tut the use of violence as entertainment (Michael Haneke would certainly not approve), the sheer excessiveness of Argento’s style makes them shamelessly thrilling. There’s an undeniable naughty-boy glee to be derived from seeing the convoluted ways in which Argento steers his characters to the slaughter, coupled with liberal uses of Grand Guignol-style lighting, complex camera movements, and of course, that Goblin score. And now, having seen Argento in person, it’s impossible not to imagine him sitting next to the camera and reveling in the bloody deliciousness of it all.

Perhaps most delicious of all, to my eyes, is the way Argento teases us with the identity of the film’s killer. At several points in the story, Argento intercuts a flashback sequence involving the murder of a beautiful woman, but fails to tell us who’s having the flashback. Eventually, when the woman’s red shoes turn up again on the feet of another character, Argento tantalizes us with by making us wonder what the connection might be. It goes without saying that the killing of this character and the revelation of the killer will go more or less hand in hand, but when Argento makes it happen in one of the most spectacularly bloody scenes I’ve ever witnessed, the result actually surpassed all my expectations.

In the past, I’ve enjoyed a number of Dario Argento’s films, especially Suspiria and Inferno, but none has ever really clicked for me the way Tenebrae does. In many ways, Argento’s classic-period films are fairly similar. But I’d say that what puts Tenebrae over the top is that it’s goes, well, over the top. More than any other Argento film I’ve seen, Tenebrae injects the style that won Argento legions of fans with an irresistible kind of wretched excess. And, to quote a film by another famously stylish contemporary of Argento’s, “nothing exceeds like excess.”

As before, I’m using a poll to select my next Review By Request. This time around, I’ve included two titles from a previous poll along with three new choices, which have nothing in common but for the fact that I’ve never seen them. The choice is yours:

What should I watch next? | BuzzDash polls

Again, feel free to use the comments to stump for your favorites of this lot, to suggest possible future titles, or simply to agree with me about how awesome Tenebrae is.

Bangkok Ludicrous: The Perils of English-Language Remakes

Leonard Pierce — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 14:45:00 GMT

This week saw the debut of Bangkok Dangerous, a bizarrely titled remake by Danny Pang and Oxide Pang Chun of the bizarrely titled Bangkok Dangerous by Danny Pang and Oxide Pang Chun. The main differences between the two films are that the original was in the Thai language; the star of the 1999 original, Pawalit Mongkolpisit, played a deaf-mute with a slightly less ridiculous haircut than Nicholas Cage sports in the remake; and the second version stinks like the underside of a refrigerator.

Alison Willmore at IFC.com, in left-handed honor of Bangkok Dangerous, prepares a list of other English-language remakes of foreign films by the original directors, and in so doing, illustrates that, though the filmmakers are gambling that a U.S. release will net them the fame and increased audience foreign films rarely receive, it's a sucker's bet. Such movies are almost invariably disasters, from Les Visiteurs, a blockbuster French comedy remade in 2001 as the moronic Just Visiting to the pointless reboot of Michael Haneke's Funny Games in 2007. Perhaps the most disastrous of these movies was The Vanishing, a witless remake if George Sluizer's heart-stopping 1988 thriller Spoorloos that completely deflated all the tension and menace of his original. (Sluizer's latest movie was a Rob Schneider vehicle, which is cruel and unusual punishment even for a man who did The Vanishing.)

One of the shocking revelations in Willmore's list is that, despite her excellent reputation as an actress, Naomi Watts is virtually the queen of the junky English-language remake. Not only did she star in the arbitrary remake of Haneke's Funny Games (eating up a big chunk of the $15 million cost of the film it utterly failed to recoup at the box office), but she also played the lead in The Shaft, Dick Maas' dopey remake of his 1983 horror movie about a killer elevator. No, really.

Related Posts:

Trailer Review: Bangkok Dangerous

Funny Games: I Laughed, I Cried, I Puked

Tartan Fades To Black

Leonard Pierce — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 14:55:00 GMT

One of the oldest and most respected independent distribution houses in the United Kingdom, Tartan Films, is taking down its shutter. Plagued by financial difficulties and distribution concerns, Tartan has closed down its offices, dismantled its American arm (Tartan Video USA), released all of its employees, and begun the process of selling off its highly respectable catalogue to other distributors. In recent years, Tartan had been best known for its "Asia Extreme" series, which brought movies like Oldboy and the original Japanese version of The Ring to the West, but the catalog of the 26-year-old company included everything from Bergman's Wild Strawberries to The Death of Mr. Lazarescu.

According to Screen Daily, other distributors are rushing to snatch up some of the prestige titles in Tartan's collection (handled currently in the U.S. by Palisades Media); elsewhere, Time Out takes time out to remember some of Tartan's finest releases (ranging from Jodorowsky's El Topo to Verhoeven's The Fourth Man). Although the company had been in dire financial straits for some time, no particular reason has been given by company founder Hamish McAlpine as to why Tartan went out of business so quickly (Geoffrey Macnab speculates in the Guardian, and lays some blame at the foot of McAlpine's desire to produce films himself; his first major effort was the disastrous English-language remake of Michael Haneke's Funny Games). This has no doubt got other indie distributors, especially in the U.K., wondering: who's next?

DVD Digest for June 10, 2008

Paul Clark — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 14:00:00 GMT

The run-up to Father’s Day continues with more dad-friendly DVDs, including a handful of the most acclaimed films of 2008 to date.

DVD of the Week: After last week’s wide selection of testosterone-heavy actioners, this week finally brings a DVD for the thinking dad- HBO’s critically-feted seven-part miniseries John Adams. Based on the book by David McCullough and starring Oscar nominees Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney, John Adams is a prestige project through and through. But the big surprise is how exhaustive and complex a portrait of the man and his time this really is. Some highly unpleasant events take place on the way to revolution, and the film doesn’t shy away from this reality. Likewise, in addition to Giamatti and Linney’s accomplished turns as John and Abigail, the film also boasts some note-perfect supporting work from the likes of David Morse as George Washington and Tom Wilkinson as Ben Franklin. As far as founding fathers go, Adams has long taken a backseat in popularity to these two men as well as Thomas Jefferson, but if nothing else, John Adams is invaluable in helping to pin down his importance in the history of this nation.

Other new releases this week include: Doug Liman’s Jumper (Fox, also Blu-Ray); Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman in Meathead’s The Bucket List (Warner, also Blu-Ray); 2007’s Funny Games (Warner), the film so nice Michael Haneke made it twice; Natalie Portman and Scarlett Johansson in the historical bodice-ripper The Other Boleyn Girl (Sony, also Blu-Ray); Cristian Mungiu’s Palme d’Or winner 4 Months 3 Weeks & 2 Days (IFC Films); the Exquisite Corpse-styled indie thriller The Signal (Magnolia); and of course, the best-reviewed theatrical release of 2008, Larry the Cable Guy in Witless Protection (Lionsgate, also Blu-Ray).

In classics on DVD, this week’s big news is Lionsgate’s High Noon Two-Disc Ultimate Collector’s Edition, which brings the guy-movie favorite back to DVD with a number of new features. Included among these are a number of documentaries and featurettes, along with a video of Tex Ritter performing his Oscar-winning song from the film. But if dad’s tastes run more to looking at babelicious European actresses of yore, Lionsgate’s got that covered too, with the Catherine Deneuve 5-Film Collection (including Le Sauvage, Hôtel des Amériques, Manon 70, Le Choc and Fort Saganne) and the Sophia Loren 4-Film Collection (which includes I Girasoli, Carosello Napoletano, Attila, and Madame Sans-Gene).

Finally, being released this week exclusively in Blu-Ray: Broken Trail (Sony), Natural Born Killers (Warner), and The Professionals (Sony).

"Funny Games": I Laughed, I Cried, I Puked

Scott Von Doviak — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 21:30:00 GMT

The gruesome 1970 horror movie Mark of the Devil took a cue from gimmick-meister William Castle (inventor of “the Tingler”) in its original advertising campaign, insisting that “due to the horrifying scenes, no one admitted without a vomit bag!” Given the dismal reception of his U.S. remake of Funny Games, Michael Haneke may wish he’d thought of using that line, particularly after seeing a letter Roger Ebert received from one of his readers.

“Too late I read your review. I was blindsided by this movie,” writes Kate Johnson. (The review in question was actually written by Jim Emerson, who has taken on some of Ebert’s duties while the man himself recuperates from surgery.) “Finally when it was over and my 'friend' looked like a deer in the headlights – I was physically sick. I demanded my money back from the box office only to have the girl laugh at me -- at first. I threw up on the floor right in front of her -- and it splattered. She gave me the money, helped me clean up and actually cried. My 'friend' was embarrassed by my behavior -- and therefore has lost my friendship. This whole last scene (starring me, my friend, the cashier at the box office), seemed a sequel to the movie.”

Don’t give Haneke any ideas, Kate.

The Ten Best Murderous Duos in Movies, Part 1

Phil Nugent — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 21:00:00 GMT

The life of a killer can be a lonely one, whether pursued professionally or as a hobby. In last year's Mr. Brooks, Kevin Costner, who based on some of the stories about his on-the-set behavior that have hit the papers ought to have had some experience with having no one to play with, was so lonesome that he had to summon up an imaginary friend (William Hurt) to give him someone to talk to on those long nights of stalking and shooting. (In the course of the movie, a real person who knows about his secret life approaches him and asks if he can apprentice with him as an aspiring psycho, but since this asshole is played by Dane Cook, having to put him up with him just means Costner needs to lean on the nonexistent Hurt more than ever.) Michael Haneke's new English-language version of his 1996 Funny Games also underlines the need for a killer to bring along a spare, someone with whom he can trade wisecracks and rely on to keep an eye on the prey and one hand on the remote control. (If you haven't seen the movie, don't ask. And if you haven't seen the movie, also don't see the movie.) Then there's Pete and Sidney, who work for Joe Brody in the classic The Big Sleep. After Humphrey Bogart's Philip Marlowe meets them, he asks Brody about the weedier, goofier one: "Is he any good?" "Sidney?" replies Brody. "He's company for Pete." ("He kills me," says Pete, by way of an unsolicited testimonial.) These pairs kill us:

Henry (Michael Rooker) & Otis (Tom Towles), HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER (1990)

When watching a couple of characters prancing through a movie laying waste to half the cast, you might let your mind wander to the question of just how these folks met. Are there conventions? Classified ads? It's easier to understand why a serial killer would want another pair of hands than to envision how he'd go shopping for someone to supply them. There are any number of ways that such a conversation could go wrong. Not the least of Henry's virtues is that it addresses head on the issue of how a solo killer goes about trying to establish a franchise. Henry is already well into his serial-killing career when, after a good long stretch on Otis's couch, he concludes that his old friend might have the stuff to join him on his visits to the homes of strangers. For a while, it does look as if having the fun-loving Otis along has made it more rewarding to rampage around town performing random acts of dismemberment. But, as our nation has learned since 2000, being a good person with whom to have a beer is not the best qualification for a job requiring careful planning and precise execution. Careless and uncontrollable, Otis finally proves himself an unacceptable risk and winds up as one more load of filler weighing down a Hefty bag. Like Rick in Casablanca, Henry is forced to consider the possibility that he is destined to be one of life's romantic loners.

Mingo (Earl Holliman) & Fante (Lee Van Cleef), THE BIG COMBO (1955)

There’s a lot to love about Joseph H. Lewis’ nasty little noir: the gorgeously dark camerawork by John Alton, the snarling screenplay by Philip Yordan (its vicious snap most clearly evident in an early scene where the mob boss, played toothily by Richard Conte, chews out a losing boxer), the barely sublimated sex and the creative violence. It’s one of the best movies of its kind, and criminally underseen by audiences both today and when it was released. One of the most enjoyable bits of the movie, though, is the presence of Mingo and Fante. These two characters, with their bizarrely unlikely names, are the goons of Conte’s Mr. Brown, and they’re memorably played by the lunkheaded Earl Holliman and the domineering Lee Van Cleef, respectively. Alternately menacing, comical and even sympathetic, they’re two of the best-written minor characters in noir history, but one of the reasons that they’re fondly remembered by a handful of film buffs today (Joss Whedon named a couple of characters in his Firefly series after them) is because, predating Mr. Wint & Mr. Kidd in Diamonds Are Forever by a good twenty years, they are perhaps the first murderous duo on the big screen to be portrayed as gay. Of course, this being the ‘50s, neither Yordan or Lewis could come right out and say so, but it’s made plenty clear for anyone who’s paying attention: Fante and Mingo share a room together, sleep feet apart, bicker like a married couple, express a great deal of, er, manly fondness for one another, and even dine together. Which, in fact, leads to the movie’s big oh-what-a-giveaway line: holed up in a ratty dump waiting for the heat to die down from their latest killing, our gruesome twosome are reduced to dining on take-home lunchmeat, leading Mingo to lament, “I can’t swallow any more salami!” Even if the movie version of The Big Sleep had been allowed to be as explicit about the sexuality of Joel Cairo and Wilmer Cook as the book was, they wouldn’t have been this much fun.

Al (Charles McGraw) & Max (William Conrad), THE KILLERS (1946)

These guys have a special weapon: the dialogue from the classic original short story by Ernest Hemingway. In the story, two strangers walk into the small town diner where they plan to kill "the Swede" for reasons unspecified, and, feeling serenely untouchable in their big-city arrogance, proceed to taunt the rubes while they sit there and wait for their target to walk in. ("We’re killing him for a friend. Just to oblige a friend, bright boy.") The first fifteen or twenty minutes of this movie amount to probably the most faithful film adaptation that Hemingway ever got: McGraw, the star of the cult noir The Narrow Margin (and a man who looked as if he'd been carved out of granite and was royally pissed off about it) and Conrad (TV's Cannon and the narrator of the Bullwinkle cartoons) just play out their little scene together, and then the Heningway story runs out. The movie, which was co-written by Anthony Veiller and the uncredited John Huston and Richard Brooks, and which is not bad at all, proceeds to fill itself out to feature length by having an investigator, played by Edmond O'Brien, fill in the backstory of why the Swede — Burt Lancaster, in his film debut — had a price on his head. There was a sort-of remake in 1964, directed by Don Siegel, which is best remembered as Ronald Reagan's last film as an actor. (He plays the head villain and gets to slap Angie Dickinson around.) The remake, which hews closer to the Lancaster movie than to the Hemingway, eliminates the O'Brien-investigator figure and has the killers themselves — called Charlie and Lee, and played by old pro Lee Marvin and younger hepcat punk Clu Gulager — decide to find out why they'd been hired. This version lacks the crackle that the earlier one had, but it does have a scene where the title characters trap Norman Fell in a steam bath while Gulager mockingly wipes his sunglasses on Mr. Roper's head.

Sophie (Sandrine Bonnaire) & Jeanne (Isabelle Huppert), LA CEREMONIE (1995)

Bonnaire and Huppert are two of France's greatest and most fearless actresses, and it's a wonder it took a director so long to put them together. But when Claude Chabrol finally did so in his masterful thriller, the result was quite possibly the finest psychotic duo in French cinema. Bonnaire plays Sophie, an illiterate yet hyper-competent young maid for a rich family, and Huppert is Jeanne, a nosy, gossipy postal clerk who becomes her friend. "What a pair," Sophie's employer (Jean-Pierre Cassel) exclaims. "One can't read and the other reads our mail!" It's clear that the two women need each other — Jeanne, with her playfully forceful personality, draws Sophie out of her shell, while Sophie gives Jeanne a sympathetic ear compared to the other townspeople who shun her for the accidental killing of her young daughter. Soon, the two of them are partners in crime, getting into all manner of mischief around town and at the charity where they volunteer. But after Sophie is fired for trying to blackmail the family's pregnant daughter, she and Jeanne sneak in one night to take revenge. The night begins innocently enough — some torn clothing here, some ruined bed sheets there — but quickly turns deadly once the girls see the shotguns hanging on the wall. Jeanne wants to have fun by scaring them, while Sophie insists on loading the guns, yet it's entirely possible that they hadn't planned to kill anyone until Cassel happens upon the gun-toting duo in his kitchen. Once they've killed him, they have no choice but to kill off the rest of the family as well. For all the big-screen psychopaths who plan their murders down to the last detail, cases like Sophie's and Jeanne's are arguably more chilling, as the killings aren't a premeditated act of vengeance but the climax of a prank gone horribly wrong. Funny games, indeed.

Pauline Parker (Melanie Lynskey) & Juliet Hulme (Kate Winslet), HEAVENLY CREATURES (1994)

Like Sophie and Jeanne, Heavenly Creatures' heroines Pauline Parker (Lynskey) and Juliet Hulme (Winslet) are a pair who first bond over their shared outcast status. In their case, they both suffer from health problems, and as their classmates take exercise, they become fast friends. Together they rule over a lurid, elaborate fantasy world of their own creation. The pair are inseparable, spending every possible moment together, and they eventually their frenzied teenage hormones lead them to experiment with sex. But more than anything else, it's their fantasies that sustain them and help them to escape their difficult lives in 1950s New Zealand, but they also lead to their downfall. From the beginning, they look down on anyone else, and eventually this disdain turns to paranoia about those who would threaten their happiness together. Of all the perceived threats to the world they've created, the most threatening is Pauline's pragmatic, hardworking mother, so one day the girls decide to join her on a leisurely stroll, and when they're alone on a path, they bludgeon her to death. Heavenly Creatures was based on a real-life case, and while the facts might have lent themselves to a sensationalistic treatment, director Peter Jackson keeps us with his heroines all the way. The film follows Pauline and Juliet into their fantasies (rendered in loving detail by a pre-Lord of the Rings Jackson), mostly because it's the only way to truly understand what led them to carry out their hideous crime. Along the way, we grow to love the sinners even as we hate their sin, and it's because of this that the film's final scene, in which Pauline and Juliet are forced apart by the courts, is almost unbearably sad.

— Paul Clark; Phil Nugent; Leonard Pierce

Click here for Part 2.

Screengrab Review: Funny Games

Peter Smith — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 22:15:00 GMT

Review by Bilge Ebiri

Full disclosure: despite my fondness for the original, I had to leave Michael Haneke's remake of his own film Funny Games before its crazed, depressing finale. Ordinarily, this would probably be a deal-breaker for a review, but in this unique instance, where the filmmaker seems to be deliberately daring his audience to abandon his film, there was something strangely gratifying about bailing on it.

There was also an added dimension to my departure; in effect, I had already seen this film. No, I hadn't technically seen this particular one, with this unique IMDb ID number. But there's no doubt about it: this is the same movie. A wealthy couple (Tim Roth and Naomi Watts) and their young son go up to their fancy cottage. A couple of fey, eerily polite preppies (Michael Pitt and Brady Corbet) show up to ask for eggs. Then they capture and torture the family. And thus is bourgeois society and the American culture of violence critiqued. (Sort of. More on that later.) Other than the fact that the actors are different (though in effect giving the same performances as their Teutonic counterparts) and the dialogue is now in English, Haneke has rendered his original shot for shot, this time with the full power of an American distributor behind him. (He probably got paid a lot more for this one, too.)

But in doing so, Haneke has done a disservice to his original vision: no longer is Funny Games the demented little experiment in suspense that made it a cult film for those of us who enjoy being abused by our European auteurs. Now, at least if you've seen the original, it feels like some weird old joke that no longer works. Devoid of the surprise element, Haneke's narrative transgressions just feel like tired, empty provocations. Gone is the feeling of having been ensnared in some stifling, terrifying cinematic trap. Now we know there's light on the other side of the door, and we know that we can leave.

Unless, that is, you've bought into the least interesting part of Haneke's thesis (and, arguably, the least appealing aspect of his work in general). The presskit for Funny Games offers up a number of chestnuts about how the film should always have been an American film in the first place, because it was in effect critiquing the violence and bloodlust of American films. By that logic, Haneke has now heroically entered the belly of the beast, like some grizzled Luke Skywalker, ready to fire his neutron bomb into the heart of pop culture's bloodsoaked Death Star. And that you owe it to yourself to see the movie again just to see what kind of effect it has on those evil, evil American audiences. (Oh, and by the way, please give us your money. Pleeease.)

Sorry, but I'm not buying it. Haneke's scolding pedantry has always rung false — it's hard to buy into the notion that the director of The Piano Teacher and Benny's Video is in truth some concerned, avuncular softy who makes violent films just to criticize his audiences' fondness for same. If this remake of Funny Games proves insight into anything, it's the degree to which Haneke's work had steadily advanced since the original, gaining resonance and complexity. Better to forget about this tired regression and move on. — Bilge Ebiri

Apocalypse Now and Then: Ten Great End-of-the-World Movie Scenarios, Part 2

Phil Nugent — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 21:00:00 GMT

THE QUIET EARTH (1985)

Suppose they gave an apocalypse and nobody came? That’s the question faced by the always-engaging Bruno Lawrence in Geoff Murphy’s delightful little sci-fi thriller, The Quiet Earth. Made in New Zealand before it was home to hobbits and every low-budget syndicated action show on television, the movie opens with scientist Lawrence awaking one day to find that, due to an experiment gone rather substantially awry, he is the last person left on Earth. By far the film’s greatest charms lie in the subsequent scenes, where Lawrence tries to balance his attempt to find out what happened (and if there is any way of correcting it) with his somewhat bemused attitude towards being the last living human being on the planet. This bemusement, unsurprisingly, slowly degenerates into neurosis and from there into near-madness as Lawrence transforms from the sort of quirkiness one expects from a guy who lives alone and doesn’t get out much into outright loneliness-inspired lunacy. (It is in these scenes that Lawrence has a brief but highly amusing conversation with Adolf Hitler.) When he finally discovers that there is at least one other living person on the planet — in a scene that can only be described as the post-apocalyptic genre’s biggest meet-cute — the movie shifts gears into a more conventional science fiction contrivance, but it’s kept alive by swell performances from Lawrence and the Maori actor Peter Smith, as well as some highly inventive and rapid-fire camerawork from director Murphy. The Quiet Earth is an interesting take on the whole genre, and it nicely blends its psychological approach with the typical what-would-you-do-if-you-were-the-last-man-on-earth gameplaying seen in such movies.

THE BED SITTING ROOM (1969)

The end of the world as brought to you by giggly British weirdos. Directed by Richard Lester, it depicts what's left of England after World War III, which, we're told, lasted "three minutes and forty-seven seconds... including the peace treaty." The cast includes Ralph Richardson in the title role (after he mutates), Michael Hordern, Peter Cook, Dudley Moore, Spike Milligan, Marty Feldman, and Rita Tushingham, who trumps Shelley Plimpton by giving birth (to Christ knows what) after she's been pregnant for thirteen months. This is one of the most truly horrifying visions of the end of the world ever caught on film, because it's supposed to be a comedy but there isn't a laugh in it. It is the anti-Dr. Strangelove, demonstrating the desperate inability of talented people to make you laugh at its subject matter, and so making the subject matter seem terrifying to a degree that sober-faced when-they-drop-the-bomb movies such as On the Beach can only dream about.

THE BIRDS (1963)

This Hitchcock film has been the subject of considerable textual analysis and speculation as to its symbolic meaning, but I like to think that Sir Alfred made it just so that he boast that they'd let him. Imagine what the pitch must have sounded like: "So, Alfred, it's called The Birds, huh? What's it about?" "Check the title, Einstein. It's about the birds." "Birds, huh. The birds, though? Is it about any particular birds?" "Nope, it's about the birds. Pigeons, parakeets, ostriches, penguins, crows, buzzards, ducks, tufted titmice... " "I see. And what do the birds do exactly?" "Turn on us. Wage war on us. Peck our eyes out." "But... why do the birds do this?" "How the hell am I supposed to know? You think I speak toucan?" "Okay, fair point. How do we stop the birds in the end?" "We don't. They kick our ass. Make Rod Taylor their bitch." "Un-huh... so... um... " "Hang on, I'm sorry, I have to take this. Mildred, did you get ahold of the gentleman with the bulldozer yet? I really need to get those bags containing the money I made off Psycho out of the driveway, they're blocking the jet... " Hitchcock himself fought with the studio to prevent them from actually tacking the words "The End" onto the final shot of our feathered friends gathering to welcome the new day, sensing that it would count as overkill.

TIME OF THE WOLF (2003)

When Michael Haneke, the European director known as the master of everyday horror for his uncanny ability to wrench suspense out of the slightest disruptions to bourgeois culture, decided to make a post-apocalyptic film, it was dead certain that it wouldn’t be a typical mosh pit of explosions, zombies, and atonal stings on the soundtrack. And, indeed, Haneke succeeded in making one of the quietest, most subtle visions of the end of the world imaginable — but also one of the most disturbing, and probably the most depressing. Haneke gives us almost no clue as to what happened to bring about the end of civilization; all we know is that the authorities are gone, the power is out, the water is tainted and no help seems to be coming from anywhere. As with all of his films, we aren’t overwhelmed with gore or beaten over the head with abject terror: instead, we’re presented with the even more profound horror of constant uncertainty and abject helplessness. When Isabelle Huppert’s family arrives at their rural cabin in hopes of waiting out the nebulous catastrophe that’s taken place, they experience the one moment of hope in the entire film; Haneke, of course, strips them of it swiftly and heartlessly, and before you know it, Huppert and her children are utterly alone, with no more possessions than they can carry and no one to protect them against a world that has grown almost instantly feral. Soon enough, they are huddled in an abandoned train station where xenophobia and sexual assault are almost tangible stinks in the air and where they are completely at the mercy of the few people bothering to pass themselves off as authority figures. Through it all, very little in the way of violence or disruption actually takes place: what chills the soul is the omnipresent fear, the certain knowledge that just as it did in a fatal and inexplicable moment at their cabin, everything can go horribly wrong at any moment and there is no safe place, no safe time. A remarkably skillful, effectively understated, and powerfully upsetting drama that conjures an apocalypse that is terrifying because it is so small and petty.

WATERWORLD (1995) & THE POSTMAN (1997)

It is the mark of a true artist that he is never satisfied with his work. Take Kevin Costner, for example. Unhappy as a mere sex symbol, he transformed himself into an Oscar-winning director, but that, too, was not enough for this nobly ambitious man. He took the only logical next step: spending close to a third of a billion dollars making two ridiculous, overblown, awful post-apocalyptic epics that would almost single-handedly destroy his career. Now that’s dedication! First came the notorious Waterworld, an early global warming scare flick that became much more famous for its colossal cost overruns (and its feeble box office) than it did for its clunky story. In it, Costner plays Mariner, a gill-festooned mutant piss-drinker who comes into contact with a bunch of unmotivated pirates called the Smokers. The leader of the Smokers is portrayed by Dennis Hopper, in full-blown Hindenburg mode as always; pitted against the supremely wooden Costner, he is as overwrought and bombastic as the Mariner is stone-faced and boring. Between the two of them, you might just be able to build one decent performance, which would be one more than is featured in Waterworld. The movie, which cost $200 million and made back about thirty bucks, was such a disaster that Costner, never a man to rest on his laurels, decided that the best way to follow it up would be to basically make the same exact movie, except this time he would direct and star in it. Of course, The Postman cost a mere $80 million, not even enough for half a Waterworld, but it made up for it by being even worse. At least the former had decent sets and costumes, whereas The Postman was a jerry-rigged piece of junk that still cost a king’s ransom and yet ended up looking bad, sounding bad, and probably even smelling bad. In this post-apocalyptic world, civilization has collapsed and America has been taken over by the Promise Keepers. Costner, a bad movie actor who here portrays a bad Shakespearian actor, poses as a postal carrier from the reformed U.S. government in order to cadge free meals off of local yokels, but soon enough, he is dispensing real hope to the legions of downtrodden mopes who have to appear in this cruddy movie. The movie only once loses its putrid reek of vanity project, and that’s at the end, a jaw-dropping exercise in the inability to suspend disbelief: the Promise Keepers, despite their inhuman levels of military discipline, have a rule that anyone can be the boss if they defeat the current leader (played by a nose-holding Will Patton) in a punch-out. Naturally, the mighty Costner prevails, and then turns to the vast army of murderous brutes who have been marauding the countryside for a decade and says "There’s gonna be peace!" They all shrug noncommittally and wander off to become chartered accountants or something, and we’re treated to another replay of the scene where Kev makes a little girl cry by wrapping himself up in the American flag. In the annals of postal lore, this thing rates slightly below Patrick Henry Sherrill’s bloodthirsty Oklahoma rampage as a point of pride.

— Phil Nugent, Leonard Pierce

Click here for Part 1.

Andrew O'Hehir: Even Farther Beyond The Multiplex

Leonard Pierce — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 15:30:00 GMT

One of our favorite film bloggers here at the Screengrab is Salon's Andrew O'Hehir. His "Beyond the Multiplex" blog, focusing (as we try to do here in the Nerve Film Lounge) on independent cinema, is a favorite stop on our daily tour of the moviecentric web. If he didn't keep asking for more money and balk at our requests to pose nude, we'd have stolen him from Salon a long time ago; as it is, though, we'll just have to keep stealing from him as long as he's over there.

Luckily, there seems to be a lot more of him lately — "Beyond the Multiplex" has recently undergone what appears to be a major overhaul. It's easier to read and to navigate, and features the usual top-notch comment from Mr. O'Hehir; recent worthwhile entries have included a podcast interview with Cristian Mungiu, director of Four Months, Three Weeks and Two Days; an interview with Marianna Palka about her Sundance hit Good Dick; and an interesting take on Michael Haneke's remake of his own Funny Games, which tipped at Sundance last week. A more than welcome reboot of a nifty film blog — check it out.

Sundance Roundup: Day 7

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 23 Jan 2008 20:30:00 GMT

Not surprisingly, the news of Heath Ledger’s death has put something of a damper on the Sundance fun over the past twenty-four hours. Ledger’s former paramour Naomi Watts cancelled all press appearances today in advance of the midnight screening of Funny Games, Michael Haneke’s American remake of his own 1997 film. Meanwhile, some knucklehead decided a post-screening Q&A would be the appropriate time to ask Josh Hartnett for his thoughts on the tragedy. Goodness knows we were all waiting on the word from Hartnett; now we have closure.

In other Funny Games news, the Salt Lake Tribune notes an unusual guerrilla marketing campaign on the streets of Park City. Is it really a good idea to supply potential audience members with eggs before a screening? Why not pass out rotten tomatoes while you’re at it?

Audiences are on a Sugar buzz, says the L.A. Times, crowding into screenings of the latest effort from Half Nelson filmmakers Ryan Fleck and Anna Boden. It’s the story of a Dominican baseball player “recruited to play for a Kansas City farm team, but his overwhelming excitement is soon muted when he finds himself far from home in all-white Bridgetown, Iowa, with no English skills and a naivete about U.S. culture.”

Over at Slamdance, the hot ticket is Paranormal Activity, which is either the next Blair Witch Project, the next Cloverfield, or the next Slamdance movie you’ll never hear about again. According to New York magazine, the audience “screamed at all the right places, then chain-smoked cigarettes outside Slamdance’s ramshackle Main Street HQ in order to decompress.” With any luck, no one interrupted them to ask about Heath Ledger.