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Halloween Kills Moves to 2021

America seems to have enough killing going on this year, so John Carpenter and director David Gordon Green have announced that the latest installment in the horror uber franchise will now release same time, next year.
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The Gangs, The Oscar, and The Walking Dead

Asian Cinema, Festival, Film Festival, Review, This Week Leave a Comment

BS (Roy Chiu) and Wenxi (Huang Di-yang) are childhood friends and dreamers who spend more time dreaming about making movies than working or finding a job. Desperately wanting fund their zombie thriller The Gangs, The Oscar, and The Walking Dead and hard up for cash, the amateurs decide to join a gang where their wishes catch the eye of Gang Leader Brother Long (Lung Shao-hua), who agrees to bankroll – and take control of the production.

So begins frenetic Taiwanese oddball comedy The Gangs, The Oscar, and The Walking Dead, directed by Kao Pin-chuan (The Soul of Bread).

A movie laden with bloodied-up hijinks and gross-out gags, Kao’s fast-moving spectacle takes its audience on a ride which includes run-ins with angry mobsters, cut-off fingers, lots of killing and a dead lead actress. It is not for the faint of heart.

The movie is the second feature by the Taiwanese director, whose first and starkly lighter effort, a romantic comedy, screened at the prestigious Tokyo and Bucheon International Film Festivals.

This, his follow-up, played at the equally renowned Busan International Film Festival.

It is about as much of a 360-degree flip in tone as possible. Packed with flying body parts and splatter gags, this is not a film for everyone. There is frequent shooting, spurting liquids, chases and explosions.

Local Taiwanese star Roy Chiu (Dear Ex, Marry Me, or Not) anchors the feature amidst the bang, boom and whack.

There is an element of self-referentiality in the goal of Kao’s two fledgling Taiwanese producers, who mention internationally-known Taiwanese figure and film director Ang Lee (Gemini Man, Life of Pi) by name. It is unfortunately little known that the frequently undervalued and fledgling multimedia industry of Taiwan has produced many internationally high-profile filmmakers including Edward Yang (Yi Yi), Hou Hsiao-Hsien (A City of Sadness) and Tsai Ming-Liang (Stray Dogs).

A gross-out comedy with gore all over, this is a charged film that thriller fans and genre viewers will find entertaining.

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Andrey Tarkovsky: A Cinema Prayer

Documentary, Festival, Film Festival, Review, Streaming, This Week Leave a Comment

In 1962, when Soviet Filmmaker Andrey Tarkovsky’s first feature Ivan’s Childhood won the Golden Lion at Venice, Soviet authorities were disapproving of the film’s anti-war overtones. Tarkovsky was strident in his perspective of the filmmaker as poet artist, discerning meaning from the mysteries of existence on behalf of the masses. Lyrical expression of his own personal spirituality was intrinsic to his cinematic vision and as such, Tarkovsky smuggled whatever he could of himself into his films. He saw his authenticity as an artist and poet eroded by the centralised (and highly controlled) film production machine in Soviet Russia.

It was not until Tarkovsky’s 1966 follow-up, Andrei Rublev, that the repressive Soviet authorities descended on the filmmaker, going on to make his artistic life hell for years to come. Tarkovsky’s primary concerns with the lyrical and the spiritual were at loggerheads with the demands of the politburo. For the powers that be, they saw his languid, atmospheric visuals and intensely personal themes as edging dangerously close to the indulgent and the religious.

After 1972’s Solaris, 1975’s semi-autobiographical childhood memory-piece Mirror and his much-referenced 1979 masterwork Stalker, Tarkovsky had grown weary of the restraints placed on his work by the Soviet Government. He decamped to Italy to shoot a film and made the choice not to return to his homeland. He would go on to live out his days in self-imposed exile, until his death in 1986.

Tarkovsky’s son Andrey has used old audio recordings and interviews with his late father, as well as footage from his films, intercut with behind-the-scenes footage, to create Andrey Tarkovsky: A Cinema Prayer. The film encompasses each one of his seven films, though it’s handled more as a thematic collage of sorts, with each film’s imagery bleeding into another as his entire oeuvre is considered as one autobiographical visual expression of his spiritual journey, with Tarkovsky opining at one point that “the meaning of art is prayer”.

Tarkovsky’s cerebral and introspective narration muses on topics ranging from the practicalities of filmmaking under the Soviet regime, to his opinion of critics (“… as usual, they didn’t understand anything”), to the philosophical and spiritual notions he was attempting to tackle in his films. There is also some terrific on-set footage for a number of films, showing Tarkovsky in his element.

The film is broken into chapter headings: Childhood and Youth, Work in cinema, Leaving Russia and The Artist as a Prophet, where Tarkovsky discusses his faith and life’s meaning. Heady stuff indeed.

For fans of Tarkovsky, this is a terrifically illuminating and hauntingly beautiful trip through the mind of a filmmaker who was deadly serious about his artistic self-expression (and its cost) and whose innate spirituality imbued his work with a hypnotic sense of awe and mystery. For the uninitiated, it’s a great access point into the mindset of a filmmaker whose work helped shape modern cinema (and indeed cinematography), fundamentally shifting the narrative cinematic form.

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Asian Cinema, Festival, Film Festival, Review, Streaming, This Week Leave a Comment

Set in 1985 against the backdrop of a Taiwan in martial law, GF*BF (Girlfriend, Boyfriend) chronicles the coming-of-age struggles of three lifelong friends during an era of significant political upheaval.

Liam (Joseph Chang), his girlfriend Mabel (Kwai Lun-Mei) and their best friend Aaron (Rhydian Vaughan) are students navigating friendship and romance in the midst of Taiwan’s tumultuous and evolving political landscape. Maintaining a close bond which has seen them through their younger days, the three move to Taipei to continue their studies and join the burgeoning pro-democracy movement. When Mabel falls for Aaron, who Liam has feelings for, the trio find their steely bond being shaken by their conflicting aspirations.

This is the twisty dilemma which drives the intriguing second feature from Taiwanese filmmaker Yang Ya-che (Orz Boyz).

With terrific and sensitive performances from each of his three leads, Yang’s sophomore feature renders an effective time capsule of changing friendships, and a country in the grip of a democratic and societal metamorphosis.

As the trio’s wants and relationships go in different directions, so too does their country – Taiwan is slowly liberated from its years of political repression – optimism and happiness all appear distinct possibilities. Until clashing ambitions cloud the hopeful, childhood bond between the three friends.

Spanning plenty of ups and downs, writer-director Yang acutely tracks the compellingly-performed characters over three decades – from their teen years in the ‘80s through to a tense reunion in 2012, allowing audiences to witness through each character’s trajectory the impact of the changes and actions which reshaped Taiwan from a country under siege into a more tolerant and democratic society.

Whilst its title might suggest more of a run-of-the-mill affair, GF*BF is anything but, a thoughtful, insightful snapshot of an era which sensitively delves into the relationships of each of its three characters.

The film begins with schoolgirls gathering in a playground after morning assembly, demanding the right to wear pants instead of the prescribed dresses as their uniform. The director of the movie has said that the film was partly inspired by a real-life protest in 2010 in which students of Tainan First Girls’ High School protested their right to wear shorts to school as opposed to wearing the requisite skirts – an action that would be impossible prior to the complete evolution of Taiwan depicted in GF*BF.

A warm coming-of-age story set amidst personal, political and cultural sea-change, GF*BF is a terrific portrait of three friends – and a country coming face-to-face with transformation.


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Review, Theatrical, This Week Leave a Comment

As the world falteringly starts to return to normal, skittish as a rescue cat, so too does the humble cinema begin to show movies again, picking up where we left off before, you know, stuff. One of the first is the stylish drama flick, Waves, from Trey Edward Shults, who last gave us the solid, but oddly-marketed It Comes At Night (2017), and the result is impressively atmospheric, but lacking in certain areas.

Waves is essentially a drama about a family, The Williams, set in present day America. We begin the tale following popular jock, Tyler (Kevin Harrison Jr.), who seems to be absolutely winning at life. He has a gorgeous girlfriend, Alexis (Alexa Demie), a devoted-albeit-overbearing father, Ronald (Sterling K. Brown), and a step-mum who loves him, Catherine (Renee Elise Goldsberry), not to mention a sister who supports him from a distance, Emily (Taylor Russell). But scratch the surface and we see that what lies beneath the perfect facade is a different story, and soon the foundations of Tyler’s life begin to crack and crumble.

It’s not the freshest of premises for a drama – we’ve seen this kind of thing a thousand times before – but what Waves offers is absolutely stunning direction from Shults. The intense roaming camera, the vivid colour palette, the use of sound and music (from Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, no less) make this a present and feverish experience. Combine that with genuinely stellar performances from every cast member and you’ve got the makings of a classic on your hands. However, around the halfway mark, Waves stumbles, choosing to use a narrative device that might have worked if it had been employed half an hour earlier.

In practical terms, Waves feels like two very good, but overlong, drama films smushed together. It’s also saddled with a rather blunt script, making the 135-minute opus play at times like the world’s most stylishly-directed after school special. There are shades of Requiem For A Dream in some moments, where everything that can go wrong does go wrong to an almost absurdly overwrought degree. That said, the performances alone make Waves worth a look, with Kevin Harrison Jr. and Taylor Russell delivering particularly superb work.

It’s not subtle, and it could have lost twenty minutes easily, but Waves is a stylish, moving film that’s more than worth a look, and a decent reason to return to the much missed picture house.

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No Time For Quiet

Australian, Documentary, Festival, Review, Streaming, This Week Leave a Comment

“Music is a language that doesn’t speak in particular words,” Rolling Stones immortal Keith Richards once said. “It speaks in emotions, and if it’s in the bones, it’s in the bones.” It’s certainly in the bones of the young women who often happily but more frequently awkwardly populate the deliriously affecting documentary No Time For Quiet. Like a perfectly written rock song, this incredible debut effort from Australian directors Samantha Dinning and Hylton Shaw evokes a cavalcade of emotions during its brief running time, stoking up feelings of joy, pain, sadness, community, isolation and redemption, all of which ride and flow on a continuing swing of grace notes. The story of a diverse group of young people who at least temporarily find their place in the world through the gift of music, No Time For Quiet is a joyfully bittersweet experience, of both the entertainment and learning variety.

Unspooling in the effortlessly too-cool-for-school environs of Melbourne, the film wades in amongst the forty girls and non-binary youth aged from eleven to seventeen who took part in Australia’s inaugural Girls Rock! Camp. Established in Portland, Oregon – and now happening all around the world – these camps provide the opportunity for attendees to learn how to play instruments, form bands, write songs, and eventually perform, all with the aim of empowering young girls and inspiring self-esteem, friendship, support, creativity and a deeper love of music. It’s a great initiative, and when one of the girls in the film responds with “The Runaways” when asked which band in history she would most like to have been a part of, you know that No Time For Quiet is going to be a winner.

Courtney Barnett

With great skill and economy, Samantha Dinning and Hylton Shaw hone in on a diverse group of girls, all of whom have highly varied experiences at the camp: the instantly loveable Phoebe has a history of serious mental health issues; Lucy is socially awkward but keenly intelligent and obviously gifted; talented singer Dakota prefers to live life online; spunky drummer Mika is a ray of sunshine; and punk rapper Zeiro is navigating the world of gender fluidity. Though in different ways, they all blossom while at the camp, and the film operates almost like a classic coming of age tale. There is, however, pain too: when eventually outside of the nurturing, kindness-first world of the camp, life again gets tougher for some of the girls, and heartbreaking for the viewer.

While all of the raw material is there for something special (there’s also a very welcome appearance from the brilliant Courtney Barnett, who drops a tune and offers up a little mentorship for the kids), Samantha Dinning and Hylton Shaw make it even more charming and illuminating by skillfully utilising animation to overlay the participants’ own explanations of the fears and anxieties that make their young lives so difficult. If you’ve never experienced things like anxiety, gender fluidity, sexism, extreme self-doubt or crippling grief, this film lays it all out with sensitivity, honesty and from-the-frontlines reportage. A beautifully constructed mix of joy and sadness, No Time For Quiet is a gorgeous testament to both the power of music and the mix of fragility and strength that bubbles away in all young people.

Click here for info on how to watch No Time For Quiet.

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Bloodshot Heart: A Direct Response to Australian Cinema

Writer/Director Parish Malfitano, Producer/Actor Richard James Allen, Producer Martin Thorne, and Actor Emily David discuss the making of the psychological thriller Bloodshot Heart, making its world premiere at the Revelation Perth International Film Festival Couched Edition.
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Killer of Sheep

Festival, Film Festival, Review, Streaming, This Week Leave a Comment

There’s an overall sense of oppressive ennui in Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep, a film shot for $10,000 by Burnett as his Masters thesis while he was studying at UCLA Film School.

It shows us the mundane existence of Stan (Henry Gayle Sanders), who works long hours in a slaughterhouse. Returning home to his wife (Kaycee Moore) and kids, Stan emanates a deep dissatisfaction with his lot in life and his daily slog through a repetitive existence.

Much like the observational slices of life in a film like Richard Linklater’s Slacker, we observe Stan in this milieu: as he fixes his sink, as he works on his lino floor, as he parents his kids and complains about his inability to sleep. His wife tries to engage Stan and connect with him, but Stan is unmoored and overwhelmed, trying to stay afloat amid the futile circumstances that he is caught in.

Like a collage of life events without peaks and troughs, it is a dirge of disaffection. The aimlessness of bored youth, suburbs caught in the listless haze of summer and the crushing oppression of the inability to control or change the course of your life.

The disjointed structure delivers a sequence of scenes without any overall context: children play war on an abandoned lot, one is hurt momentarily, the rest stop playing and check on him. Then the group gravitate towards rail tracks where they throw rocks at a passing train. Another scene has kids playing in an alley as they watch two men vault a fence with a large TV they’ve just stolen; these scenes are interspersed with decontextualised episodes featuring Stan going about his day: where he tries to buy a car engine, when he’s asked by a white woman to work for her and when friends attempt to convince him to take part in a crime.

Killer of Sheep has gained a reputation on the festival circuit in the years since it was made because its music rights were so prohibitively expensive and theatrical distribution wasn’t possible (the soundtrack features Dinah Washington, George Gershwin, Paul Robeson and Earth, Wind & Fire). The music rights were eventually ironed out (thanks to a donation from Steven Soderbergh) and it was restored by UCLA and blown up from 16mm to 35mm, for a 2007 release.

It’s not an easy watch, but it is rewarding. Burnett grew up in Watts in South Los Angeles. That community gained notoriety during the 1965 riots as well as during the 1992 LA riots. Watts is front and centre here as a location and it’s in these autobiographical details that Burnett’s film achieves its power: by letting us experience slices of life with Stan and his kids, we are left feeling the sense of claustrophobia and hopelessness and the desperation that it gives birth to.