janos451
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Avis73
Note de janos451
There is an abundance of great films about a child lost in an alien culture, emblematic of the universal stranger-in-a-strange-land syndrome, to the tune of "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child." From "The Wizard of Oz" to "Live and Become," survival in a different, potentially hostile, world has been a meaningful subject.
The latest addition to the genre, Stephanie Wang-Breal's brilliant "Wo ai ni (I love you) Mommy" is a documentary about an American adoption from China. It is more compelling and memorable than many a feature film.
The world premiere screening was at the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival, on Sunday, March 14, with the the director in attendance. If the film's main subject came along, you would have seen a "normal 11-year-old American" called Faith.
At the opening of the film, it's a very different situation: Faith is an eight-year old orphan, with a clubfoot, in Guangzhou, her name is Fang Sui Yong. Bewildered and petrified, she is facing a strange woman who came all the way from Long Island to adopt her and take her "home." The American, almost as stressed as the young girl, is Donna Sadowsky.
She is Jewish, mother of two boys, and she and her husband have already adopted a Chinese girl when she was 14 months old.
After a long and arduous process, a long, emotion-filled journey, Donna is now meeting Sui Yong, an adoptee much older than the average of 70,000 Chinese children - mostly babies or toddlers - adopted by Americans. Donna disregards custom and statistics: this is to be her daughter.
For the girl, a veteran of orphanages and a Chinese foster family, this first meeting with what she identifies as a "white person" is traumatic, and in the audience feelings range from censure of what's happening to fervent hope that the Chinese orphan and the American do-gooder ride off into a blissful life. What follows is a fascinating journey, unexpected turns and developments, all with documentary veracity but with the sense of a great novel.
It's amazing that a young, first-time director would capture both the reality and the truth of the encounter of people, the clash of cultures.
It's reminiscent of another young director's work, Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation," except that much is found in "Wo ai ni Mommy," instead of being lost.
Wang-Breal's years'-long preparation, the mutual trust built with her subjects, persistent integrity, and a clear sense of what is the essence of the story serve her well, even when a lesser director would shout "Cut!" In a memorable scene, Faith is on Skype with her former foster parents in China, and by now she speaks only English, "forgets" her Chinese, and says "we are Jewish." Against coughs, sound and lighting problems, Wang-Breal keeps the camera rolling, and it's all to the good.
Unlike flashy, popular feature films left behind along with the empty popcorn container, "Wo ai ni Mommy" - its people, their interactions and relationships, the culture clash and reaching across distances and differences, and partial resolution of conflicts, if not a sugary happy ending - will stay with you, and you'll be the richer for it.
The latest addition to the genre, Stephanie Wang-Breal's brilliant "Wo ai ni (I love you) Mommy" is a documentary about an American adoption from China. It is more compelling and memorable than many a feature film.
The world premiere screening was at the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival, on Sunday, March 14, with the the director in attendance. If the film's main subject came along, you would have seen a "normal 11-year-old American" called Faith.
At the opening of the film, it's a very different situation: Faith is an eight-year old orphan, with a clubfoot, in Guangzhou, her name is Fang Sui Yong. Bewildered and petrified, she is facing a strange woman who came all the way from Long Island to adopt her and take her "home." The American, almost as stressed as the young girl, is Donna Sadowsky.
She is Jewish, mother of two boys, and she and her husband have already adopted a Chinese girl when she was 14 months old.
After a long and arduous process, a long, emotion-filled journey, Donna is now meeting Sui Yong, an adoptee much older than the average of 70,000 Chinese children - mostly babies or toddlers - adopted by Americans. Donna disregards custom and statistics: this is to be her daughter.
For the girl, a veteran of orphanages and a Chinese foster family, this first meeting with what she identifies as a "white person" is traumatic, and in the audience feelings range from censure of what's happening to fervent hope that the Chinese orphan and the American do-gooder ride off into a blissful life. What follows is a fascinating journey, unexpected turns and developments, all with documentary veracity but with the sense of a great novel.
It's amazing that a young, first-time director would capture both the reality and the truth of the encounter of people, the clash of cultures.
It's reminiscent of another young director's work, Sofia Coppola's "Lost in Translation," except that much is found in "Wo ai ni Mommy," instead of being lost.
Wang-Breal's years'-long preparation, the mutual trust built with her subjects, persistent integrity, and a clear sense of what is the essence of the story serve her well, even when a lesser director would shout "Cut!" In a memorable scene, Faith is on Skype with her former foster parents in China, and by now she speaks only English, "forgets" her Chinese, and says "we are Jewish." Against coughs, sound and lighting problems, Wang-Breal keeps the camera rolling, and it's all to the good.
Unlike flashy, popular feature films left behind along with the empty popcorn container, "Wo ai ni Mommy" - its people, their interactions and relationships, the culture clash and reaching across distances and differences, and partial resolution of conflicts, if not a sugary happy ending - will stay with you, and you'll be the richer for it.
A lavish royal court spectacle, a compelling drama of love, strife, and betrayal, the new Korean film "Portrait of a Beauty" has it all: history, art, romance, adventure. The San Francisco premiere is today (3/20) in the 4-Star Theater on Clement.
As most recent works from the burgeoning Korean film industry, "Portrait" is expertly directed (by Yun-su Jeon, also responsible for the screenplay), and beautifully photographed.
Taking place in the 18th century, the story begins in the family of famous court painters, where the young son is trained to take his place among the privileged royal artists - but he lacks talent.
His sister, at age 7, is already so accomplished that she paints for him secretly. When the subterfuge is discovered within the family, the boy commits suicide, and the girl is forced to take his name (Yoon-bok), and live as a man. Rather than telling the plot of the movie, the story described so far is just the very beginning, the basis for a lengthy, rich adventure to unfold.
The hero/heroine is played by the unassuming but outstanding actress Min-sun Kim. Her character, pretending to be a man, rises to fame and fortune (as we are treated to picturesque scenes of court and town life), and then creates a new school of painting, focusing on female beauty.
If you think the "establishment" of "Die Meistersinger" are upset about a bold, unconventional newcomer singer, you should see what the constellation of court painters does and, more, tries to do to Yoon-bok. Apparently, Korean artists in the 1700's were quite physical in their discussions of the finer points of brush strokes.
And yet, the artistic-aesthetic clash is just a small portion of the story. Yoon-bok falls in love with a charming outlaw (Nam-gil Kim, in a fabulously athletic performance), so there is the problem of the supposedly male painter letting her intended lover into her secret - but without being exposed to the rest of the world.
That exposure of gender complicates things a great deal when Yoon-bok's elderly teacher realizes that his student is a beautiful young woman when not disguised, and then - don't give up yet! - a royal courtesan falls in love with Yoon-bok, the man.
If this sounds like a potboiler, yes, it is that, but if you expect a predictable Hollywood soap knockoff - NO, it is not that at all. Writing, direction, acting combine to keep "Portrait of a Beauty" on the right side of the track, not giving in to easy and cheap solutions.
Apparently, aspects of the film are based on history, but my admiration for Korean films doesn't give me sufficient knowledge on the subject. True story or not, this film is real enough in creating a first-class movie experience.
As most recent works from the burgeoning Korean film industry, "Portrait" is expertly directed (by Yun-su Jeon, also responsible for the screenplay), and beautifully photographed.
Taking place in the 18th century, the story begins in the family of famous court painters, where the young son is trained to take his place among the privileged royal artists - but he lacks talent.
His sister, at age 7, is already so accomplished that she paints for him secretly. When the subterfuge is discovered within the family, the boy commits suicide, and the girl is forced to take his name (Yoon-bok), and live as a man. Rather than telling the plot of the movie, the story described so far is just the very beginning, the basis for a lengthy, rich adventure to unfold.
The hero/heroine is played by the unassuming but outstanding actress Min-sun Kim. Her character, pretending to be a man, rises to fame and fortune (as we are treated to picturesque scenes of court and town life), and then creates a new school of painting, focusing on female beauty.
If you think the "establishment" of "Die Meistersinger" are upset about a bold, unconventional newcomer singer, you should see what the constellation of court painters does and, more, tries to do to Yoon-bok. Apparently, Korean artists in the 1700's were quite physical in their discussions of the finer points of brush strokes.
And yet, the artistic-aesthetic clash is just a small portion of the story. Yoon-bok falls in love with a charming outlaw (Nam-gil Kim, in a fabulously athletic performance), so there is the problem of the supposedly male painter letting her intended lover into her secret - but without being exposed to the rest of the world.
That exposure of gender complicates things a great deal when Yoon-bok's elderly teacher realizes that his student is a beautiful young woman when not disguised, and then - don't give up yet! - a royal courtesan falls in love with Yoon-bok, the man.
If this sounds like a potboiler, yes, it is that, but if you expect a predictable Hollywood soap knockoff - NO, it is not that at all. Writing, direction, acting combine to keep "Portrait of a Beauty" on the right side of the track, not giving in to easy and cheap solutions.
Apparently, aspects of the film are based on history, but my admiration for Korean films doesn't give me sufficient knowledge on the subject. True story or not, this film is real enough in creating a first-class movie experience.
Doris Dörrie's "Cherry Blossoms" - opening "Berlin and Beyond" Thursday, in U.S. release on Friday - has two original titles, one in German: "Kirschblüten," which means cherry blossoms, and another in Japanese: "Hanami," which doesn't.
The Japanese equivalent to the English and German titles would be "sakura"; "hanami" is a national ceremony/celebration/holiday of WATCHING the blossoms open. Dating back to the 8th century, hanami is an event without parallel outside Japan.
The difference between the titles is a subtle, but meaningful message. Just as the blossoms in themselves are different from the veritable cult surrounding them in Japan, Dörrie's characters live in two different worlds, acting differently, first clashing (similarly to "Lost in Translation") and then - somewhat mysteriously - cohere. With this complex, effective, and moving story, Dörrie, who has spent more than three decades writing and directing "interesting and different" films of varying quality, has reached a pinnacle of her career. (She owes a debt of gratitude to Yasujiro Ozu, especially his "Tokyo Story.")
"Germans and Japanese," Dörrie has said, "are really very much alike incredibly repressed and very irrational at the same time." This vague and rather ridiculous generalization actually seems to come to life in "Cherry Blossoms."
One of Germany's best-known TV stars, Elmar Wepper, appears in his first movie role, and he nails the character of Rudi Angermeier, a cartoonishly ordinary man on an extraordinary journey. Unknown to him, he is near the end of his life, as he slowly, believably emerges from a stolid German middle-class life of unvariable routine to traverse distance and radically different cultures, all the way to Mount Fuji, dancing butoh.
There are two remarkable co-stars along Rudi's adventure: his wife, Trudi, played by the glamorous actress Hannelore Elsner, appearing heroically unglamorous here to fit the role of a plain housefrau; and Aya Irizuki as Yu.
Yu is one of those rare cinematic creations, a character you may not understand, but one who will stay with you. This waif, runaway, street artist is as bizarre a representative of Japan as - going back to "Lost in Translation" again - Bill Murray's Premium Fantasy woman ("Rip my stockings!") and yet she also evokes Giulietta Masina's character in "La Strada," a couple of continents away.
Watching Rudi and Yu under the cherry blossoms, with the strangely elusive Mount Fuji in the background finally peeking out from behind the clouds, is among the more memorable scenes in contemporary cinema.
The Japanese equivalent to the English and German titles would be "sakura"; "hanami" is a national ceremony/celebration/holiday of WATCHING the blossoms open. Dating back to the 8th century, hanami is an event without parallel outside Japan.
The difference between the titles is a subtle, but meaningful message. Just as the blossoms in themselves are different from the veritable cult surrounding them in Japan, Dörrie's characters live in two different worlds, acting differently, first clashing (similarly to "Lost in Translation") and then - somewhat mysteriously - cohere. With this complex, effective, and moving story, Dörrie, who has spent more than three decades writing and directing "interesting and different" films of varying quality, has reached a pinnacle of her career. (She owes a debt of gratitude to Yasujiro Ozu, especially his "Tokyo Story.")
"Germans and Japanese," Dörrie has said, "are really very much alike incredibly repressed and very irrational at the same time." This vague and rather ridiculous generalization actually seems to come to life in "Cherry Blossoms."
One of Germany's best-known TV stars, Elmar Wepper, appears in his first movie role, and he nails the character of Rudi Angermeier, a cartoonishly ordinary man on an extraordinary journey. Unknown to him, he is near the end of his life, as he slowly, believably emerges from a stolid German middle-class life of unvariable routine to traverse distance and radically different cultures, all the way to Mount Fuji, dancing butoh.
There are two remarkable co-stars along Rudi's adventure: his wife, Trudi, played by the glamorous actress Hannelore Elsner, appearing heroically unglamorous here to fit the role of a plain housefrau; and Aya Irizuki as Yu.
Yu is one of those rare cinematic creations, a character you may not understand, but one who will stay with you. This waif, runaway, street artist is as bizarre a representative of Japan as - going back to "Lost in Translation" again - Bill Murray's Premium Fantasy woman ("Rip my stockings!") and yet she also evokes Giulietta Masina's character in "La Strada," a couple of continents away.
Watching Rudi and Yu under the cherry blossoms, with the strangely elusive Mount Fuji in the background finally peeking out from behind the clouds, is among the more memorable scenes in contemporary cinema.