alexinaus
Joined Oct 2002
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alexinaus's rating
This wonderful documentary was recently aired on late-night Australian public television, itself a veritable coup. Informative, insightful and loving, it is also hard-hitting, confrontational (especially about the continuing struggle for equality in partner benefits, marriage rights, etc.) and not the least bit sentimental. Bravo to these two brave ladies, and to the well-paced filmmaking. Favourite moment - Florida ruminations of a room full of 70-something Brooklyn Jews, accents somewhere between Jackie Mason and The Nanny. A long-standing friend, seemingly modeled on ZsaZsa Gabor, proclaims "Ruthie and Connie...they have the best relationship of us all!"
Ken Loach returns to his socially conscious kitchen sink roots with Sweet Sixteen. This, his newest film, is cultural examination of life, that of the underclasses of Greenock, a Clydeside dump outside of Glasgow.
Fifteen-year-old Liam (played admirably here by 17-yr old footballer Martin Compston), an eighth-year school dropout, is an energetic, two-bit hustler of stolen cigarettes. His no-hoper mother is in the slammer, due to be released one day short of his sixteenth birthday. Liam is determined from that day forward to have what he believes to be a normal life, bugger the odds. He resolves to get enough money together to move her out of her council flat and into a trailer, albeit with a reasonably scenic view. This will require, among other things, ₤6,000.
Not exactly easy, especially when the people that surround you could give genocide credibility. But Liam, if restricted, is ambitious. Mum's trashbag boyfriend is a micro dealer, and Liam, egged on by his best friend, the pathetic Pinball (beautifully realised by William Ruane) steals a decent stash and elbows into the smack business. He is promptly making what he thinks is real money.hell, he's fifteen, after all. He cuts in on other dealer's turfs, passes a Goodfellas-like initiation and is adopted by first-class mobsters; the cash rolls in, people get upset, relationships break down, corpses appear. One can easily envisage the ensuing maelstrom; Sweet Sixteen is nothing if not predictable. The downward spiral to the denouement, on Liam's birthday, is told with confronting, if slow-moving, realism.
Cinema is all too rarely used as a medium for social change, or even social consciousness. Three generations after John Ford's seminal The Grapes of Wrath, can you name one dozen `conscious' films on that level? Loach's work, for all its weaknesses, admirably attempts to fill in the gap. His first major effort, Cathy Come Home (1965) directly affected British law regarding the homeless. The portrait of a teenager in trouble, revisited here, is the theme of his best film, Kes (1969). He continued at length in this `socio' vein, but his film forays into politics have often left a lingering bad taste, to say nothing of some second-rate films. Fatherland (1986) outwardly pits the then totalitarian East against the capitalist West of Germany, as seen through, of all things, the music industry. Carla's Song (1996) plods into similar preachy territory; a refugee from Nicaragua winds up in Glasgow and reveals her previous agonies. (Based upon how he portrays Glasgow, I'd opt for Managua and the death squads). His best recent work was probably the sentimental My Name is Joe, in which two Glasgow thirtysomethings, at the bottom of the food chain, find love. His eleven minute segment in September 11, a reminder that 11 Sept 2001 was the 28th anniversary of General Pinochet's coup of the Allende government in Chile, is admirably constructed, but is the sort of sophomoric political rant, in this case rabidly anti-American, that is best left to film students.
Loach's strength is really as a director of actors, and this is the power of this film. (He would probably be an excellent theatre director.) Many are untrained newcomers, from the depressed areas of Western Scotland, and many are probably too young to even see this film in the theatre. Loach turns up the energy to a fair level of teenage exhilaration. These kids have brains, streetsmarts, guts and dash - when robbing his sleeping grandfather, a complete degenerate, Liam pinches the old fart's dentures for good measure. The short segment when the kids really have things rolling (they commandeer a take-away pizza joint as a front for Vespa smack deliveries) has urgency and thrill. There's real talent here - in addition to Compston and Ruane, watch out for Annemarie Fulton, another newcomer, as Chantelle, Liam's sister. This is one of the strongest performances in the picture; she is clearly an actress of inherent talent.
In an exceptionally strong scene, Liam, new to the dealing game, is jumped and robbed by a trio of thugs. He audaciously and admirably claws back his supply, punching his way to dignity. This is a pretty common scene in flicks involving drugs and mobsters, but the effect here is unique, due to some strong camera work and the strength of Compston's no-holds-barred performance. It is not only touching - for one brief moment, we have cinema.
Sweet Sixteen is scripted and acted in the broadest possible regional dialect, which is saying a fair bit. It was decided in the UK to show subtitles for the first fifteen minutes only, thus jarring the audience into realising that this too is English. Well, barely. In Australia it is shown with subtitles throughout, which is a welcome, necessary bonus. It only accentuates the cultural alienation.
Loach's work is indeed honest and natural, but it is far from cinematic. There are minimal camera tricks, nominal music, and one wonders if a cinematographer was even employed. But with anticipation and shattered hopes, he does indeed convey what the world must be to a teenager. The adults (drug mandarins, bank managers, Liam's odious elders) seem as if they are from a different planet; the film is so clearly intended to be from the kid's perspective. We are shown with the dreams, inanities, absurdities, body language, filthy mouths and wonderful humour of fifteen year olds. Accolades to the three teenagers in the leading roles; their performances will no doubt keep the bums on the seats until the end.
In terms of social consciousness, Sweet Sixteen hits all its marks. Something must be done. We have known that the rusted hell of industrial Scotland has existed for quite some time; Loach reminds us that, under the onslaught of drugs, entire generations are lost. However, at the end of the day, Loach as a filmmaker, does not fully serve his theme. Although it is welcoming to see aspects of the realist tradition of De Sica, Truffaut and the like alive outside of Iran and China.all things considered, Sweet Sixteen has the pace of a second-rate BBC documentary, and less of an impact.
A direct contrast, and of course unfair comparison, can be made with Trainspotting and Requiem for a Dream. Here, two films, one excellent and the other remarkable, give us confronting worlds of heroin-addicted kids, the marginalised and the hopeless, in the grandest style of broad, exciting, confronting cinema. One does not exit these films saying, `something must be done'; one can barely speak. As the credits roll on Sweet Sixteen, as Liam celebrates his birthday, we do indeed say, `something must be done.' About pics like these.
Fifteen-year-old Liam (played admirably here by 17-yr old footballer Martin Compston), an eighth-year school dropout, is an energetic, two-bit hustler of stolen cigarettes. His no-hoper mother is in the slammer, due to be released one day short of his sixteenth birthday. Liam is determined from that day forward to have what he believes to be a normal life, bugger the odds. He resolves to get enough money together to move her out of her council flat and into a trailer, albeit with a reasonably scenic view. This will require, among other things, ₤6,000.
Not exactly easy, especially when the people that surround you could give genocide credibility. But Liam, if restricted, is ambitious. Mum's trashbag boyfriend is a micro dealer, and Liam, egged on by his best friend, the pathetic Pinball (beautifully realised by William Ruane) steals a decent stash and elbows into the smack business. He is promptly making what he thinks is real money.hell, he's fifteen, after all. He cuts in on other dealer's turfs, passes a Goodfellas-like initiation and is adopted by first-class mobsters; the cash rolls in, people get upset, relationships break down, corpses appear. One can easily envisage the ensuing maelstrom; Sweet Sixteen is nothing if not predictable. The downward spiral to the denouement, on Liam's birthday, is told with confronting, if slow-moving, realism.
Cinema is all too rarely used as a medium for social change, or even social consciousness. Three generations after John Ford's seminal The Grapes of Wrath, can you name one dozen `conscious' films on that level? Loach's work, for all its weaknesses, admirably attempts to fill in the gap. His first major effort, Cathy Come Home (1965) directly affected British law regarding the homeless. The portrait of a teenager in trouble, revisited here, is the theme of his best film, Kes (1969). He continued at length in this `socio' vein, but his film forays into politics have often left a lingering bad taste, to say nothing of some second-rate films. Fatherland (1986) outwardly pits the then totalitarian East against the capitalist West of Germany, as seen through, of all things, the music industry. Carla's Song (1996) plods into similar preachy territory; a refugee from Nicaragua winds up in Glasgow and reveals her previous agonies. (Based upon how he portrays Glasgow, I'd opt for Managua and the death squads). His best recent work was probably the sentimental My Name is Joe, in which two Glasgow thirtysomethings, at the bottom of the food chain, find love. His eleven minute segment in September 11, a reminder that 11 Sept 2001 was the 28th anniversary of General Pinochet's coup of the Allende government in Chile, is admirably constructed, but is the sort of sophomoric political rant, in this case rabidly anti-American, that is best left to film students.
Loach's strength is really as a director of actors, and this is the power of this film. (He would probably be an excellent theatre director.) Many are untrained newcomers, from the depressed areas of Western Scotland, and many are probably too young to even see this film in the theatre. Loach turns up the energy to a fair level of teenage exhilaration. These kids have brains, streetsmarts, guts and dash - when robbing his sleeping grandfather, a complete degenerate, Liam pinches the old fart's dentures for good measure. The short segment when the kids really have things rolling (they commandeer a take-away pizza joint as a front for Vespa smack deliveries) has urgency and thrill. There's real talent here - in addition to Compston and Ruane, watch out for Annemarie Fulton, another newcomer, as Chantelle, Liam's sister. This is one of the strongest performances in the picture; she is clearly an actress of inherent talent.
In an exceptionally strong scene, Liam, new to the dealing game, is jumped and robbed by a trio of thugs. He audaciously and admirably claws back his supply, punching his way to dignity. This is a pretty common scene in flicks involving drugs and mobsters, but the effect here is unique, due to some strong camera work and the strength of Compston's no-holds-barred performance. It is not only touching - for one brief moment, we have cinema.
Sweet Sixteen is scripted and acted in the broadest possible regional dialect, which is saying a fair bit. It was decided in the UK to show subtitles for the first fifteen minutes only, thus jarring the audience into realising that this too is English. Well, barely. In Australia it is shown with subtitles throughout, which is a welcome, necessary bonus. It only accentuates the cultural alienation.
Loach's work is indeed honest and natural, but it is far from cinematic. There are minimal camera tricks, nominal music, and one wonders if a cinematographer was even employed. But with anticipation and shattered hopes, he does indeed convey what the world must be to a teenager. The adults (drug mandarins, bank managers, Liam's odious elders) seem as if they are from a different planet; the film is so clearly intended to be from the kid's perspective. We are shown with the dreams, inanities, absurdities, body language, filthy mouths and wonderful humour of fifteen year olds. Accolades to the three teenagers in the leading roles; their performances will no doubt keep the bums on the seats until the end.
In terms of social consciousness, Sweet Sixteen hits all its marks. Something must be done. We have known that the rusted hell of industrial Scotland has existed for quite some time; Loach reminds us that, under the onslaught of drugs, entire generations are lost. However, at the end of the day, Loach as a filmmaker, does not fully serve his theme. Although it is welcoming to see aspects of the realist tradition of De Sica, Truffaut and the like alive outside of Iran and China.all things considered, Sweet Sixteen has the pace of a second-rate BBC documentary, and less of an impact.
A direct contrast, and of course unfair comparison, can be made with Trainspotting and Requiem for a Dream. Here, two films, one excellent and the other remarkable, give us confronting worlds of heroin-addicted kids, the marginalised and the hopeless, in the grandest style of broad, exciting, confronting cinema. One does not exit these films saying, `something must be done'; one can barely speak. As the credits roll on Sweet Sixteen, as Liam celebrates his birthday, we do indeed say, `something must be done.' About pics like these.
In Emanuele Crialese's lyrical drama Respiro, the sky is gorgeous. The sea is gorgeous. The harsh landscape is gorgeous. The children, even when they are behaving like little monsters, are gorgeous. The lead actress is gorgeous. There is so much obvious and intentional gorgeousness about this picture that we have to dig far down, past the scene painting, to find the story.
Although subtitled Grazia's island (Grazia is the lead role, magnificently realised by Valeria Golino), Respiro could have well been called "Scenes from rural Sicilian life", as the scenography, cinematography and tableaux-like imagery seem as important to the director as her thin narrative line. Respiro's locale is Lampedusa, a tiny island far off the west coast of Sicily. About the same latitude as Malta, this place is about as remote as it gets - Tunis is closer than Palermo. It can be safe to say that Italian time here has pretty much stood still for decades; this is Italy of de Sica and Mascagni, not Fellini and Prada. The men go out to sea, the children play, women pack fish, old black-clad crones meddle and the languid summer air of total boredom hangs down from the cloudless sky.
The story is fairly typical, the type that a few great (and many, many average) Italian filmmakers have been serving up for the last three generations - life in the sun drenched rural, ritualistic and tribal south and the saga of one village denizen who dares to break the moulds. How long since Cinema Paradiso?
Grazia (incidentally, the name means "grace" - get it?) is a loving, rebellious humanist - she loves her children, she loves music, she loves swimming in her panties, she loves the Vespa-propelled wind in her hair and loathes the suffering of any living creature. She does not love to cook, or put on rubber wellies and plastic smock to pack sardines. This high-spirited recklessness is just a bit too much for this dusty place and she is duly deemed mad. Golino, who acts in four languages and has had decent parts in Leaving Las Vegas, Immortal Beloved and Frida, is a joy to watch. There is not a moment forced or unnatural about her performance and this is saying a fair bit, considering her several mad scenes. She conveys brilliantly the purgatory of a loving woman who wants more, but knows neither what it is nor how to get it.
After two incidents (one just a bit lusty, the other bordering on a bit off) it is decided by the meddling crones and village busybodies to send Grazia off to a sanatorium in Milan, which might as well be Mars. She will have no part of this and her 13-year-old son hides her in a secluded cave. Her ensuing escape, seclusion and discovery offer us some more gorgeous imagery and displays the motherly bonding quite well. Yes, the imagery does go a bit down the obvious, biblical, redemptive female roads, but it well handled. Water, which has played quite a large role in the director's concept, stars in a few more scenes. It also features in the film's ending, which is spiritual, gorgeous and inconclusive in the same breadth. Love and human devotion may win, but this gal is not going to be packing sardines for much longer!
The movie, considering the almost rudimentary story line, is incredibly rich. The smallest characters are well defined and there is wonderful juxtaposition between formal Italian and the coarse regional dialect. Much of the cast is so natural you could believe them to be locals. The essence of life in such a village is well captured and the relationships within a family are well explored as well. And there is enough of the magical landscape of the place to make you want to board the next Alitalia jet. For a visit, that is.
Although subtitled Grazia's island (Grazia is the lead role, magnificently realised by Valeria Golino), Respiro could have well been called "Scenes from rural Sicilian life", as the scenography, cinematography and tableaux-like imagery seem as important to the director as her thin narrative line. Respiro's locale is Lampedusa, a tiny island far off the west coast of Sicily. About the same latitude as Malta, this place is about as remote as it gets - Tunis is closer than Palermo. It can be safe to say that Italian time here has pretty much stood still for decades; this is Italy of de Sica and Mascagni, not Fellini and Prada. The men go out to sea, the children play, women pack fish, old black-clad crones meddle and the languid summer air of total boredom hangs down from the cloudless sky.
The story is fairly typical, the type that a few great (and many, many average) Italian filmmakers have been serving up for the last three generations - life in the sun drenched rural, ritualistic and tribal south and the saga of one village denizen who dares to break the moulds. How long since Cinema Paradiso?
Grazia (incidentally, the name means "grace" - get it?) is a loving, rebellious humanist - she loves her children, she loves music, she loves swimming in her panties, she loves the Vespa-propelled wind in her hair and loathes the suffering of any living creature. She does not love to cook, or put on rubber wellies and plastic smock to pack sardines. This high-spirited recklessness is just a bit too much for this dusty place and she is duly deemed mad. Golino, who acts in four languages and has had decent parts in Leaving Las Vegas, Immortal Beloved and Frida, is a joy to watch. There is not a moment forced or unnatural about her performance and this is saying a fair bit, considering her several mad scenes. She conveys brilliantly the purgatory of a loving woman who wants more, but knows neither what it is nor how to get it.
After two incidents (one just a bit lusty, the other bordering on a bit off) it is decided by the meddling crones and village busybodies to send Grazia off to a sanatorium in Milan, which might as well be Mars. She will have no part of this and her 13-year-old son hides her in a secluded cave. Her ensuing escape, seclusion and discovery offer us some more gorgeous imagery and displays the motherly bonding quite well. Yes, the imagery does go a bit down the obvious, biblical, redemptive female roads, but it well handled. Water, which has played quite a large role in the director's concept, stars in a few more scenes. It also features in the film's ending, which is spiritual, gorgeous and inconclusive in the same breadth. Love and human devotion may win, but this gal is not going to be packing sardines for much longer!
The movie, considering the almost rudimentary story line, is incredibly rich. The smallest characters are well defined and there is wonderful juxtaposition between formal Italian and the coarse regional dialect. Much of the cast is so natural you could believe them to be locals. The essence of life in such a village is well captured and the relationships within a family are well explored as well. And there is enough of the magical landscape of the place to make you want to board the next Alitalia jet. For a visit, that is.