It was full spring. The path ran along the bottom of a narrow canyon and wherever weeds could get a purchase in its steep banks they flowered in purple, blue, and yellow. Orange poppies bordered the path. Their petals were wrinkled like crepe and their leaves were heavy with talcum-like dust.
   They climbed until they reached another canyon. This one was sterile, but its bare ground and jagged rocks were even more brilliantly coloured than the flowers of the first. The path was silver, grained with streaks of rose-grey, and the walls of the canyon were turquoise, mauve, chocolate, and lavender. The air itself was vibrant pink.
   They stopped to watch a humming-bird chase a blue jay. The jay flashed by squawking with its tiny enemy on its tail like a ruby bullet. The gaudy birds burst the coloured air into a thousand glittering particles like metal confetti.
             --- Nathanael West, The Day of the Locust (1939), p72

SOUTHLAND TALES : [7/10] : US (US/Ger) 07 (copyright-dated 2005) : Richard KELLY : 144m (BBFC)
seen at Cineworld, Sheffield, 12th December (public show : paid £4.40)
   A phantasmagoric-apocalyptic Los-Angeles monster-mash of showbiz, religion, politics, advertising and much more, Southland Tales should in theory be a boisterous sensory-overload cacophony. And there are several such moments during the picture's numerous criss-crossing plot strands - featuring an amnesiac action-star (Dwayne Johnson), a pair of befuddled, identical 'twins' (Seann William Scott), and a military-industrial-technological cabal. But the mood is disarmingly sombre and stately - the picture floats along with a dreamy gravity, much like the space-age zeppelin which floats through its dopey finale. Not that the film should be taken seriously: a wild, wilfully incoherent, deadpan comedy, its oddball humour mixes high-falutin' cultural references with lowbrow slapstick. Yes, Kelly's ambition exceeds his achievement - but when aiming so loopily high, to fall even halfway short is no disgrace. And if David Lynch's name had been on it, countless critics would have proclaimed it the movie of the year.*

THE NINES : [6/10] : US 07 (copyright-dated 2006) : John AUGUST : 100m (BBFC)
seen at Cineworld, Sheffield, 12th December (public show : paid £6.40)
   The kind of thing Spike Jonze might have come up with (and quickly discarded) after a weekend on grass, The Nines is an unassuming, rug-pulling little mind-bender which nimbly combines psychological-drama, ditzy character-comedy and PhilDickian sci-fi. And even if it doesn't quite hold together, the picture coasts along on an intriguing premise, Nancy Schreiber's limpid cinematography and the shaggily genial charms of gym-buffed, puppy-eyed leading-man Ryan Reynolds. Relishing what must be any show-offy thespian's dream vehicle Reynolds essays three of not-quite-overlapping roles through the course of three separate sections (each featuring strong support from Melissa McCarthy and Hope Davis). A TV-actor enduring Owen-Wilson-ish meltdown; a fast-rising screenwriter; and a family-man videogame-designer... how do these three personae connect? It's most unlikely you'll guess the answers, so giddily audacious/ludicrous is writer-director August's new-agey, spiritual/philosophical "explanation" - which, if nothing else, shows how (relatively) big ideas can transcend (relatively) limited resources.

BELLAVISTA : [8/10] : Austria 06 : Peter SCHREINER : 118m (approx)
seen on DVD in Sunderland, 11th/12th December
   This portrait of an unusual woman and her remarkable environment seems to have a profound effect on nearly everyone who sees it. Articulate and flintily intelligent, but often morose and clearly uncomfortable in her own (scarred) skin, Giuliana Pachner has led a difficult, tragedy-punctuated life. Now middle-aged, she's returned home to Bellavista - her family's guest-house (a grand, Swiss-style chalet) in Sappada, a picturesque corner of the Italian Alps. It's a linguistic enclave where older residents - including Pachner - converse in a German/Bavarian/Tyrolean dialect. Isolation leads to self-reflection - and the painful interstices of grief, guilt and memory. Though shot on chilly, austere, monochrome video, Bellavista is aptly named: Schreiner's selection of "views", both exterior and interior, is consistently striking - while not always conventionally "beautiful". More importantly, via evidently close collaboration (and empathy) with his subject, he's crafted a documentary of rare tact, sensitivity and insight.

*
   And I haven't even mentioned the Justin Timberlake video embedded in the movie, done up as a tribute to The Big Lebowski. The movie is impressive in its self-referential textuality, as bad actors play bad actors writing bad screenplays with bad characters that they then become the bad stars of. (The Rock does a magnificent job of acting like he has no idea what's going on.) Most of the cast are famous for anything but dramatic acting and can only be recognized as themselves, not as characters within a movie. This movie oozes Verfremdungseffekt.
   If nothing else, these factors ensure Southland Tales a place in post-structuralist theory for years to come, a bitterly appropriate result. Still, that's not to deny the disorienting effect the movie has in providing no reference point whatsoever to what would be called "real life." It's spectacle all the way down. But what spectacle!

http://www.waggish.org/2008/03/18/southland-tales