| Trail of the Tiger : Rotterdam 2006 : daily-updates archive |
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| Wednesday, 01 February 2006 | |
  FRIDAY 27th January, 11.38am Saw The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada [7/10] and Cocaine Angel [6/10] last night, both at Cinerama, both unexpectedly comic despite the grim/tragic fundamentals of their plots. Late drinks in Schouwburg led to a 2.30am turnin, thus torpedoing my plan to see Linda Linda Linda at this morning's 9.30 screening. Still, upside is that I am reasonably well rested. Next up (in five minutes), The Dog Pound, first of the 14 "in competition" films I have to see in my capacity as "press juror" (for the Fipresci award). More anon. 1.49pm The Dog Pound [6/10] was slow and too long at 110 mins, but ultimately worthwhile. Lowkey tale of a feckless son of middle-class parents in dusty no-horse Uruguayan backwater. Finds self-respect and motivation by building his own house on plot of land donated by dad, intermittently aided by pals. Not a quick job: not since Petrocelli has a screen dwelling taken so long to construct. Quite a few walkouts in the screening, thanks to "gentle" pace and air of inconsequentiality (main character is by far the least dynamic individual on view). But it kept me engaged pretty much throughout: pleasingly casual humour here and there, a serious subtext (economic success of nation threatened by cosseted, slackadaisical youth), convincing performances. A reasonably promising start to the Tiger lineup... 3.44pm Just stumbled out of The Living and the Dead [2/10]. If this isn't the worst film of the fortnight, I'll be surprised and even more depressed than I am now. I've already wasted enough time watching it, so don't feel in the mood to write a great deal about it and waste even more time. Runs 79 minutes but feels rather longer (much longer than this morning's 110-minute Dog Pound) thanks to incoherent structure. First half not too bad: sets up three-handed story involving a penniless lord living with his very ill wife and mentally-handicapped adult son in a decaying stately pile somewhere in the British countryside. At forty-minute mark writer-director Rumley quite literally loses the plot and pic descends into a histrionic mishmash of dreams, fantasies, hallucinations etc. Tips over into hysterical grand-guignol when the son gets his hands on a kitchen knife, but jhard to be sure about anything that goes on. A right bloody mess, which has about as muich chance of obtaining a commercial release as I have of becoming the next mayor of Rotterdam. Speaking of which: roughly zero degrees here, light snow earlier, woolly hats and ruddy cheeks much in evidence on the streets. Next up: Japanese headspinner Yaji & Kita: The Midnight Pilgrims. May or may not restore my faith in cinema after this afternoon's fiasco. SATURDAY 28th, 3.55pm After a relatively "gentle" start, my festival busy-ness has picked up apace since yesterday afternoon. Tomorrow (when I am planning to see 7 films) is likely to be even more hectic. So, to sum up: yesterday's Yaji & Kita, The Midnight Pilgrims [5/10]: intermittently entertaining but overlong Japanese crazy-romp. Full of energy and wit for an hour, but starts running out of gas in the mid-section and could proifitably lose 20-25 minutes from its 124-minute length. Anything-goes semi-musical in which a pair of gay lovers from Japan's "Edo period" (C19th) find themselves in the present day, travelling to a mystical place where their dreams will supposedly come true. Along the way they encounter all manner of fantastical diversions and a gallery of weird characters. Dude, Where's My Kimono? if you like, but ultimately rather less than the sum of its parts. That was my final film of the day, as the evening was taken up with a FIPRESCI jury dinner in the main festival centre. Then drinks in two nearby bars, leading to a second consecutive late turn-in. My night-owl antics meant I had to cancel my original (hazy) intention to see Jan Svankmajer's two-hour Lunacy at 9.30. Instead my first film was my second Tiger candidate, Josh Appignanesi's Song of Songs [5/10], a British film which had premiered (to largely negative reactions) at Edinburgh back in August. It's a forbiddingly sombre, solemn affair about an intense brother and sister, whose relationship is complicated by their differing approaches to the Jewish faith in which they were raised. The waters are also muddied by a dawning incestuous bond, which builds to a violent, perhaps even histrionic climax. A difficult watch, overwrought and and times pretentious: the screenplay relies too heavily on quotations, readings, lectures, debates. And it would have been more than handy if the several exchanges in Hebrew had been translates for us via subtitles. Then I went to my first public screening of the festival: Dogs [5/10] from 1998, part of the retrospective devoted to Japanese director NAGASAKI Shun'ichi. Black and white hommage to film noir, shot on shaky digital video, about a female cop who falls for a murderous felon against all her better instincts. Intriguing gender-reversal to have a homme fatal rather than a femme fatale, and a nifty story involving several deaths which the cop has to work increasingly hard to cover up. But I never really engaged with the film: Nagasaki's cool, detached style made a 75 minute running time feel significantly longer, and when the lights went up I was pleased to make my exit. That said, I have several more tickets for Nagasaki's pictures and saw enough in Dogs to suggest he's worth a second chance. 6.14pm First walkout of the festival: SUZUKI Seijun's Princess Raccoon [5?/10], which I quit after an hour (i.e. halfway). Deliberately rickety and artifical-looking opera/pantomime/fairytale romance starring ZHANG Ziyi as 'Princess Tanuki', some kind of forest spirit who falls in love with a human prince. More consistent than yesterday's headspinning Japanese romp Yaji & Kita, but fewer moments of genuine hilarity or invention. Forced, whimsical jollity: a strained, rib-poking kind of whimsy that's passable on a moment-to-moment basis but seems very threadbare stretched to feature length. Not a bad film, as such, but I felt I could put the second hour to better use (food, sunlight, walking, writing these notes). In brief, I got the gist. Tonight's agenda is still TBC: was considering going to a punk gig in the nearby town of Ridderkerk (Apers, Accelerators and Urine Sane at De Gooth) but public transport to this destination is apparently patchy. Also, tomorrow is looming as a particularly heavy day so an early, sober night would be the sensible option. This might involve seeing a couple of press shows (Steve Buscemi's Lonesome Jim is a possibility) or I might try my luck at the ticket office (long queues a usual feature) and try to get into a public showing of Soderberegh's Bubble or Dante's Homecoming... MONDAY 30th January, 9.10am First chance I've had to get to a computer since Saturday, thanks to Sunday's seven-movie schedule. And I only have 15 minutes before the next Tiger screening - but that's downstairs in the "Jurriaanse Zaal" of the main festival centre, the building known as "De Doelen" ('the target', apparently). So, a quick retrospective roundup: Saturday was saved from being a total blowout by the final film of the evening, Interkosmos [7/10], an enjoyable mid-length (70-odd mins) faux-docu on a 1970s Communist programme to colonise Ganymede and Titan, moons orbiting Saturn and Jupiter respectively. Eerily reminiscent of the current Russian film First on the Moon (which I saw last November in Cottbus): a future double-bill made (quasi-literally) in heaven. Sunday didn't prove too arduous, despite the longest gap between films being 40 mins (1935-2015) during which I rapidly dined on inkvis ("inkfish" ie squid) at a subterranean Chinese"eethuis" behind Cinerama. Which moviehouse was my residence for the vast majority of the day. First up, however, was the Tiger candidate A Summer Day [7/10] in Juriaanse Zaal. Bucolic, intriguing cross between Bruno Dumont's La Vie de Jesus and The Talented Mr Ripley. The less you know about it beforehand the better (I knew nowt), but from the four Tiger films I've seen so far it's the only one I'm recommending with much enthusiasm. The remaining six: Filmman [6/10], aka Le Filmeur, video-diary of ten years in life of French director Alain Cavalier. American Splendor meets Peter Handke's The Weight of the World, via Tarnation. Ode To Joy [4/10], Polish film in competition: three young people and their tough lives: different writer-directors for each episode, but so stylistically and thematically similar you'd guess it was the work of one (not especially talented) person. The Legend of Time [6/10], Spanish film in competition: two sections of unequal length. The first and best is an El Bola style study of a young lad who may or may not be heading for juvenile delinquency. After halfway focus shifts to young Japanese woman who moves to the young lad's island wanting to learn flamenco singing. Original structure, content didn't match up. Best thing I saw today wasn't technically a film at all: Joe Dante's made-for-TV Homecoming [TV 8/10], a riotous horror/comedy/satire that takes aim at some fairly easy targets but nails them with deliriously enjoyable results. The Lost Hum [5/10] is a Japanese drama that takes a brilliant central idea and buries it in a perversely pretentious screenplay and direction. Many walkouts, but I stuck with it. Finally Steven Soderbergh's Bubble [7/10], a Gus Van Santish experiment in stripped down directness that feels like a hairshirt atonement after the megabucks excesses of Ocean's Twelve. And now it's 9.28. More anon. 11.39am I missed one from Saturday: Brazilian drama What Is It Worth? [5?/10] which, as with Princess Raccoon immediately before, I exited at the hour mark. Bitingly cynical, overambitious chronicle of the nation's ills, with some crass moments. Earlier this morning I saw Madeinusa [7/10], the second strong competition entry after yesterday's Jour d'ete. This one from Peru: cross between The Wicker Man, Dogville and film noir: stranger from Lima finds himself stuck in remote, isolated backwater village during holy-week festivities. Drama revolves around genial (but evil) mayor and his two teenage daughters, Madeinusa (pronounced 'Maddayoosah') and Chale. Catholicism and incest elements make for a heady brew, a touch slow but with a cracking climax that takes you completely by surprise. Terrific performance from the young actress in the title role - a striking combination of purity and guile. Sun is out now, temperature rising every day, but the water still frozen on the "canals" (in fact long, thin lakes) that line the street connecting my hotel and the Doelen centre. Next up: Ralph Fiennes and Donald Sutherland (!) in Land of the Blind... 6.40pm Forget The Living and the Dead... Land of the Blind [1/10] replaces it at the bottom of the barrel. So wretched I can barely bring myself to think about it, let alone express myself coherently. Poor Donald Sutherland: this and An American Haunting (which I saw in London a couple of weeks back) are the kind of nightmarish double-whammy that occur only a handful of times even in the longest careers. The film, somehow, is in competition. I just got out of Klimt [4/10] which has the distinction of being the most widely "dissed" film in town, and subject of the lousiest buzz. Raoul Ruiz back with John Malkovich - and as with their Proust adaptation Time Regained, the picture is terrible by any objective standard, but somehow watchable on a scene-by-scene basis. Trying to make sense of the "plot" or come to terms with the verbose "dialogue" is a big mistake. I've never walked out of a John Malkovich film, and even in a project as artistically defunct as this one, the great man has indelible moments: he denounces a certain Vienna building as "a fucking wedding-cake made of shit!"; while the national ministry of culture "know - fuck - all!" This was the "producer's cut" running 95 minutes or so; there's also a rather longer "director's cut" showing here. I shan't be seeking that one out, however. An eerie aspect to the screening: I took in a two-pint bottle of a certain drink, but put it too far under my seat which meant I spent nearly the whole film fruitlessly groping in the dark for t'milk, while watching Ruiz and company groping fruitlessly in the dark for klimt. Ta-daaaaaa!! MONDAY 31st January, 11.47am Saw a double bill of slow, uneventful pictures last night: one from USA and one from Belgium, both thankfully short. Old Joy [6/10] by Kelly Reichardt is in competition, and is the slender, delicate tale of two old pals (one of them played by eminent musician/songwriter Will Oldham) who go on a camping trip in the woods. Not a great deal happens, but it's picturesque locations-wise and has a certain calm appeal that compensates for the lack of dramatic oomph. A smaller-scale, lower-budget kind of Sideways, though ultimately perhaps a little too restrained for its own good. I can see its merits but can't see myself fighting for it to get our jury prize, although I suspect it may have some vociferous advocates when we have our decision/discussion meeting on Thursday night. Prizegiving is Friday night, which is where George Clooney - who is reportedly here semi-incognito - may make his first public appearance. I was tipped off that he arrived a couple of days ago by a reliable source, on the understanding that his arrival was to be kept "hush hush". Last night's second patience-taxer was I Don't Care If Tomorrow Never Comes [5/10], the story of a man and his son which adheres closely to the laconic French-Belgian style establishes by the Dardenne freres. Except with more background music: indeed, the score is one of the plusses in this very low-key slowburner, in which the audience is given hints about plot - the dad has been in some kind of trouble, and the son has been sent to a foster-family by the courts - but hardly anything is made explicit. The second half of the picture sees father and son spending a week in the countryside with the father's ex-girlfriend, whom we learn is the boy's mother. The father is clearly trying to forge some kind of family unit: it's up to the audience to decide whether or not he succeeds... Only 70 minutes, but feels rather longer and by the end I was impatient for some fresh air. And the not-so-fresh air of De Consul, the fine bar next to the city's main "canal" (actually a long pond). Stayed for an hour or so trading views with Slovenian critic Simon Popek on Ben Gazzara, Tommy Lee Jones, Lars Von Trier, the "crisis" in English goalkeeping (I argued the case for Paul Robinson), the latest Sven-Goran Eriksson fiasco. Bed at 1.30am, earplugs in against the morning's recurring bumps and bangs. Today's 9.30am competition film was The Gaze [4/10] from Iran: most major international film-festivals have at least one Iranian pic in competition, but I seldom find them personally very satisfying. This one was a case in point: a "well made" snoozer about a man returning to Tehran after 20 years in France. His father is on the verge of death, his sight is failing, he may himself be terminally ill, and he still has unfinished business from before his exile: personal, romantic, political. Eighty minutes or so, but again feeling rather longer. The protagonist bottles up his emotions and so does the film - and just as he struggles to see clearly, the director never manages to bring the issues into proper focus. Still waters may indeed run deep, as the saying goes, but in this instance I ended up resisting the current instead of submitting to its sluggish rhythms. It's now 12.12pm. Oscar nominations are announced in a couple of hours, probably when I'll be watching Takashi Miike's "childrens' film" The Great Yokai War in a public screening at the city-centre Pathe multiplex. Philip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giamatti would seem certain to get their overdue first Oscar nominations; I'm also keeping fingers crossed that Maria Bello and Catherine Keener both make it into the Supporting Actress lineup and that A History of Violence gets the recognition it so ferociously deserves. Main interest here in Rotterdam, apart from the tally notched by "our" guest George C, will be the foreign-language shortlist: the most unpredictable of all categories, and one where I long since gave up even trying to predict the nominations. South Africa's Tsotsi (showing here) seems a likely nominee, but I will not be pleased if Czech timewaster Something Like Happiness (also showing here, unfortunately) sneaks onto the slate... More than midway through Rotterdam 06, my picks so far: Homecoming, Interkosmos, A Summer's Day, Madeinusa. The stinkers: The Living and the Dead, Land of the Blind. If there's a new masterpiece here, I've yet to find it: but the quest still has four full days left to run. Watch this space. 7.42pm I got the Oscar nominations after coming out of The Great Yokai War [7/10]: the Academy wet themselves over Munich but diminished whatever credibility they had by overlooking Maria Bello for Supporting Actress: History of Violence made it into Adapted Screenplay and Supporting Actor (William Hurt), but not Director or Picture. The nomination news meant I had some difficulty focussing on today's second competition film, Early in the Morning [5/10], a well-meaning but inert drama about two young African lads who become so frustrated with their lot that they end up taking drastic action. Only 75 minutes, but I never felt engaged with the material: if the intention was to make us share the characters' inertia, the director succeeded only too well. The Great Yokai War was, in contrast, an absolute blast - even at a daunting 124 minutes. Director Takashi Miike has seemed in an off-form spell recently, but Yokai sees him regain his footing. It's a children's film which nods to (or rather gleefully rips off) Miyazaki and Lord of the Rings, but is also recognisably Miike in its violence, anything-goes atmosphere (unsettling in his adult films and even more disturbing here) and wild humour. A big round of applause at the end. Oddly, the general "word on the street" had been mixed at best: but if more of the Tiger candidates had a fraction of Miike's energy and chutzpah my jury duty would be enlivened no end. Speaking of which: I'm now ten down with four to go: Northern Light later tonight, then Glue, Taking Father Home and Walking on the Wild Side tomorrow, in advance of our big meeting on Thursday night. A pity that Interkosmos wasn't included in the lineup - I met the director Jim Finn here in the Doelen internet room earlier today and he seems genuinely startled by the positive reactions his film is receiving. Bizarrely, he had no idea that First on the Moon (a Russian picture which has eerie similarities to his project) even existed before I told him about it. I would love to see the look on his face when he finally tracks it down. WEDNESDAY 1st February, 11.45am Have seen three pictures (all or in part) since last update: last night I watched 35 minutes of Korean drama Inner Circle Line [4?/10] before walking out. Starts with a jolting bang (passenger jumps in front of tube train), but rapidly succumbs to paceless tedium. Tale of traumatised driver; also coping with resurgent feelings for an ex-girlfriend, who is now a club DJ. Uninvolving. Later on I had better luck with competition entry Northern Light [6/10], from Holland: well-observed, nicely-acted story of hard-assed kickboxing trainer and his tricky relationship with teenage son. No new ground broken here, but kept me attentive throughout: more than can be said than spectators on my right and left, both of whom slumbered through most of the movie. But this morning I finally saw an outstanding new film, and it's in competition: Taking Father Home [8/10] from China. Like many of the competition entries, it's about a father and a son; kid travels from rural village to big city to retrieve his dad, who has been absent for six years living with new family. Transcends limitations of its various genres in consistently impressive and surprising style. Very powerful stuff, and though I still have two entries to see (starting with Glue in ten minutes), I'd be surprised if Taking Father Home isn't the picture I'll be fighting for come the jury meeting on Thursday night. Colder again today after a recent thaw: mist in air, light snow dotting around, breath visible. Late night last PM: found a bar serving Westmalle Dubbel on draft, stayed till kicking-out time (1.30 approx) chatting with Chris, Alexand Martha from Leeds Film Festival. No particular after-effects to speak of today: fatigue may kick in this afternoon. Have satsuma in pocket in case energy boost required during next two Tiger films. More anon. 5.28pm Ate the satsuma (mandarin? clementine?) during Glue [7/10], which was - along with Walking on the Wild Side [5/10] - one of the last two competition films I had to see. Saw them both, have now completed my full complement of 14 Tiger candidates, one of which will win the FIPRESCI award (Fipresci being the International Federation of Film Critics), decided by myself and four others tomorrow evening. Glue is a stylish, overlong (122-minute), confidently directed story of teenage anomie in rural Argentina. The kids aren't particularly rural, however: our 15-year-old protagonist Lucas sings in a New Wave style punk band, his best pal Nacho plays drums. The film is essentially the story of their close friendship. Will it develop into something more physical? Film has an intriguing look, reddish and slightly hazy/blurry; well-chosen soundtrack including several key tracks by the Violent Femmes. Director clearly has ability, and I reckon he's gone to win of the three Tiger Awards (the festival's main prizes, awarded by a different five-person jury) along with Old Joy and The Gaze. For me, the pick of the bunch is definitely Taking Father Home which I saw this morning, ahead of Un jour d'ete, Madeinusa and Glue. Walking on the Wild Side is a cut or two below that league: violent and grim story of three young hoodlums living in a remote Chinese mining village. They aren't a sympathetic bunch: go on the lam after beating up an enemy with metal bats; indulge in much swearing, smoking, drinking, whoring, general "bad/disrespectful attitude." Film treats the best-looking of the trio as some kind of tormented hero; but really he's just a good-looking hoodlum. Intrusive thriller-style music, but film is too arty to be a genre piece (highbrow fave Jia Zhang Ke is one of the producers). Falls between the stools (rather like its drunken thug trio), and I was counting the minutes till the credit-roll. After the three jury films, I decided to try one of the films that's been doing very well in the ongoing audience award voting. It was top of the lists until yesterday, when overtaken by Eden. The film in question is advertised here as Nuit Noire: 17 Octobre 1961, but on screen the title is simply 17 Octobre 1961 [5?/10]. It's a dramatisation of events in Paris when dozens of Algerians were killed by the French police: an event which forms a crucial element in the backstory of Michael Haneke's Cache. There's a Haneke-tribute strand here at Rotterdam this year, and I presume this is why 17 Octobre has been scheduled. It's very conventional TV-movie kind of stuff: focus on the home lives of the cops (one good one, most of the rest violent pigs) and the Algerians. A subject that deserves exposure, which it's getting thanks to Haneke, but somewhat out of place in a film festival which supposedly showcases cutting-edge cinema. The Tiger competition, however, was surprisingly strong this year. For me it breaks down like this: 8/10 Taking Father Home (China) 7/10 Madeinusa (Peru), Un jour d'ete (France), Glue (Argentina) 6/10 The Dog Pound (Uruguay), The Legend of Time (Spain), Old Joy (USA), Northern Lights (Netherlands) 5/10 Song of Songs (UK), Un matin bonne heure (Guinea) Walking on the Wild Side (China) 4/10 The Gaze (Iran), Ode To Joy (Poland) 1/10 Land of the Blind (UK) nb : many of the above are international co-productions. It's now 5.53 and I still have half an hour before dinner. Tally so far stands at 31 film seen whole or in part, including four walkouts (each of which I watched for at least half an hour). Taking Father Home and Homecoming the standouts so far, ahead of Interkosmos, The Great Yokai War, Glue, Un jour d'ete and Madeinusa. Am intending to see two more films tonight (a contrasting double bill: Ski Jumping Pairs and The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveiros), then will probably take in four or so each tomorrow, Friday, and Saturday, before I head home on Sunday: a total of 42-45, which seems an acceptable tally. Further updates will follow as and when I can squeeze them in between films, and as and when I can find an internet cafe that is (a) open and (b) functional. Watch this space. THURSDAY 2nd February, 11.03am Since Walking on the Wild Side yesterday morning (the final jury film), I have started four films but only finished one: Japanese faux-documentary Ski Jumping Pairs : Road to Torino Olympigs [sic] 2006 [5/10] in Cinerama yesterday evening. Several chuckles and a few belly-laughs scattered through the 81-minute running-time, but this is really a short expanded opportunistically to feature length in the hope of cashing in on the upcoming Turin games. Mildly amusing, but could and should have been rather tighter and wilder. After this I managed about an hour of The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveiros [5?/10], a low-budgeter from the Philippines about an androgynous, camp 12-year-old and his thuggish criminal brothers. Though resoundingly macho, neither the brothers nor their smalltime-criminal dad seem much bothered about Maximo's crossdressing and devotion to gaudy musicals. His friendship with a hunky cop causes them much more concern - the audience is placed in a similar position, as the sexual attraction between the pair is made pretty explicit. Promising subject-matter, but clunkily handled - and, fatally, the performance from the lad playing Maximo isn't really up to par. I bailed out and ended up having drinks in the downstairs bar of the main festival centre, De Doelen, until 2.30. This is quite often a choice facing critics here in Rotterdam (as at other festivals): stay for the second hour of a movie that isn't grabbing you, or exit in search of friends and colleagues in one of the bars. The latter usually prevails, especially in the case of late-night screenings such as this one: schedulers should maybe try to put the best stuff on last, if they want to keep walkouts to a minimum. That late night didn't set me up particularly well for this morning's 9.30am screening of The Lonely Hearts Club Band In September [4?/10], from 1982 and showing here as part of the festival's big retrospective for NAGASAKI Shunichi. This is the second of his films I've tried here after Dogs last week, and so far I'm not impressed. Nevertheless I'm assured that he's made four or five very good films, so am minded to give him one more chance. Lonely Hearts is about a biker gang in a coastal Japanese city; must count as one of the dullest and squarest pictures ever made about motorcycle culture. Got the feeling that Nagasaki had little interest in or sympathy for the milieu, and struggled to keep my eyes open. Last night's antics perhaps contributed to my fatigue and impatience, but I do think tat even if wide awake and fully alert I would have struggled to sit through the full 104 minutes. FRIDAY 3rd February, 3.05pm Hung over after a very late night, culminating in drinks at the bizarre Grand Hotel Central [sic] - a legendary Rotterdam landmark which I'd heard about many times but had never actually visited. The bar turned out to be eerily reminiscent of an old-style English pub: felt like I had been mysteriously transported back across the channel and into the early 1970s. Exited shortly after four, taxi to hotel; long sleep-in meant I didn't see any films this morning, and won't be seeing any later today: have to write a 400-word text on the winning Fipresci film (the identity of which is embargoed until tonight's awards ceremony) and buy some socks. As always, I arrived with one less pair than I needed. After the Lonely Hearts walkout I sat through three pictures yesterday before the day's main business, ie the three-and-a-half hour press-jury meeting which ran from 7.45 to 11.15 - enjoyable and civil, with some lively discussions and some surprising voting results (more of which post-embargo). Figner - The End of a Silent Century [2/10] proved a major disappointment and a very frustrating experience. The director has assembled a remarkable kaleidoscope of footage from Russian cinema history, but this sits alongside a stilted semi-documentary about Edgar Figner, a veteran sounds-effects man (or "foley artist") forced to move out of his cluttered apartment and reflecting on his own history and that of his family. The sequences of Figner at work are fascinating and amusing; but all of these positive aspects are outweighed by the grinding pretentiousness of the "dramatic" interludes. As if these weren't insufferable enough, we also see a turtle in great distress having been placed on its back: indeed, this sequence ends with what looks uncomfortably like the hapless creature's death. And there's nothing in the credits to assure us that this did not in fact take place. Offensive and gratuitous. Green Mind, Metal Bats [4/10] was another letdown: great title, and a promising subject. Bloke in late 20s works out his frustrations by playing baseball and obsessively practising his swing. Falls into an unhealthy romantic relationship with an alcoholic neighbour. Director handles the baseball stuff quite well, but there's not enough of it: instead picture bogs down into a study of the abusive, grim relationship. And the most intriguing characters - a pair of cops - are relegated to the sidelines. Not without merit, but a misfire nonetheless. Toro Negro [6/10] aka Black Bull turned out to the the film of the day, though merely the best of an uninspiring bunch. Tough, stylish documentary about a smalltown, 21-year-old Mexican bullfighter, and his abusive relationship (see above) with his significantly older 'girlfriend' Romelia. Quite similar to Green Mind in its mix of 'sporting' sequences and domestic rough-stuff, but balances the two with much more satisfying effect. Protagonist comes across as so cocky and dislikeable we actually find ourselves rooting for the bulls.
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