Just because a film is set more than a few decades ago, doesn’t mean it’s a period film. And just because events happened in a particular kind of society 200 years ago, doesn’t mean they are not relevant today. Jane Campion made that clear with her feature The Piano, and she has returned to these roots in her new work, Bright Star.
Set in the last years of the life of Romantic poet John Keats, it follows the story of his love affair with Fanny Brawne, a young woman with a talent for creating clothes as beautiful as Keats’ poems. There is no shortage of beauty and pain in the film. Keats cannot make a living from his poetry and therefore cannot marry; Brawne can make a living from her clothes, but must marry in order to survive.
Abbie Cornish and Ben Whishaw, as the lovers, are extraordinary. In one scene, they capture love through simple gestures: the inability to look into each other’s eyes when admitting affection, the brief touch of fingers upon wrists, the utter pain of loss of communication and the immediate disappearance of such pain on the arrival of a letter.
This is a film about the struggle of the starving artist, in a world (very similar to today) that tends not to appreciate true artistry until the creator is dead. Campion is not afraid to let the camera linger on her actors’ faces, to catch every glimpse, gesture and flash of pain. Campion knows that love and desire and the obstacles that surround them do not change.
Japanese director Hirokazu Koreeda has written and directed some of the most sublime, strange and touching films to come out of his home country in recent years, including After Life and Nobody Knows. Unfortunately his most recent film, Air Doll, is not as original or interesting.
A sex doll comes to life while her owner is out of the house. She wanders the streets in her French maid uniform, discovering the world as a child does. She finds a job in a video store, where she begins a sweet romance with a fellow employee, while she must return at night to her owner.
There are some good details in the film, such as the seam lines that remain on the doll’s skin even after she becomes human, and when a cut causes her to lose air. Her hero breathes into her belly, his breath inflating and now sustaining her (which despite the sexual overtones, is a touching moment). But the film fails to capture the originality of purpose; the doll’s life discoveries are fairly ‘fish-out-of-water’ typical, and the romance predictable. Even the climactic conclusion, while interesting enough, failed to resonate the way his other films have.
Australian horror films have a knack for going places their US counterparts would never dare. And they like their murderers crazy without explaining why. You’ll not meet a crazier one than Lola, the hot pink boy-mad teenage murderess of The Loved Ones, the first feature by Sean Byrne.
Lola always gets her man, thanks to daddy, whom she has wrapped her around her finger in one of the greatest pseudo-sexual murderous couples in film. They kidnap young Brent, who is still reeling from the death of his father, and force him to participate in Lola’s freaky prom.
Byrne has an incredible talent for rhythm and pacing. The film begins fairly slowly, as the viewer witnesses Brent disappear into web of darkness whose only way out is his girlfriend, Holly. But once the scene opens on Lola’s prom, Byrne cranks the pace and does not let up. He is not afraid to use long takes (which are an unfortunate rarity in horror films) to build tension, twisting every last drop out. Byrne builds it and then lets it burst like a gushing wound.
The young cast is superb, in particular Robin McLeavy as Lola, who will crawl on broken bones before giving up her man. With a fantastic soundtrack, and one of the best long-take endings I’ve seen in film in a while, The Loved Ones is a smart, funny and roller coaster ride entry into the teen horror canon.
