The screen as a canvas: Youth Without Youth

A review of Youth Without Youth

The main reason for most people wanting to watch Youth Without Youth will probably be simple and indisputable. In three words, Francis Ford Coppola. When you think of the doyen of filmmaking, it is but natural that The Godfather trilogy, Coppola’s directorial masterpieces, will come to mind. But Youth Without Youth, which marks his return to directing after a hiatus of ten years, is a complete departure from the saga of the Corleone dynasty’s ascent and downfall in the Italian crime syndicate. Let’s get that straight. It is a film which is likely to draw extreme reactions. It is a film where one nagging thought will keep burrowing itself into the back of your mind as the film progresses: why did Francis Ford Coppola make a film like Youth Without Youth?

One look at Coppola’s perhaps not-so-varied filmmaking history may make things a bit clearer: his films were largely either based on books (The Rainmaker (1997), Dracula (1992), Gardens of Stone (1987), Rumble Fish (1983), The Outsiders (1983)) or they had a theme of aging or reincarnation in some form (Jack (1996), Peggy Sue Got Married (1986)), or, sometimes, both. Youth Without Youth falls in the last category: it is based on the book by Mircea Eliade and also stays faithful to the second thread of filmmaking that Coppola usually chooses to weave.

Septuagenarian professor Dominic Matei (Tim Roth) specializes in linguistics. He is struck by lightning one day and finds his youth miraculously restored, also giving him a highly developed intelligence. This piques the interest of Nazi scientists, forcing him to go into hiding under an alias where he chances upon his lost love Laura (Alexandra Maria Lara), who is reincarnated as Veronica, a young teacher. The pair retreat to an idyllic Mediterranean island, where Dominic tries to focus his efforts on his life’s work, a study into the origins of language itself. But he soon finds that he has to make a choice between successfully completing his research and permanently losing his love.

Youth Without Youth intermittently shows scenes shot upside-down, which lend an altogether unique perspective to the story, but it is questionable as to whether they are really necessary. It seems as if Coppola is trying to be a student again (he graduated from UCLA’s film school in 1967), and is simply indulging his interest in time and rebirth with this film. Granted, so many of his films were based on books - perhaps that limited his creativity - but this film was based on one too. It seems as if he really is just using the film as a platform for his thoughts, after so many years. Whether it is worthy of him, is doubtful.

The Rule of the Wild: No Country For Old Men

A review of No Country For Old Men

Move over Hannibal Lecter. Anton Chigurh is here. Without doubt, the most fear-inspiring character in recent times, No Country For Old Men is to a large extent overshadowed by Javier Bardem’s rendition of Anton Chigurh, the villain with psychopathic shades. Chigurh is not your average killer. His deadpan eyes, hulking screen presence and untraditional hairstyle are all part of a persona that seems intricately thought out. The way he walks - his unwavering steps intent on his aim of execution with the compressed-air cattle gun that he wields - all contribute to making you feel that you would not want to be caught anywhere within ten feet of this man. And that is Bardem’s achievement.

Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) stumbles upon $2 million, some dead bodies and a considerable amount of heroin while he is out hunting in West Texas – clearly the scene of a deal gone wrong. He makes off with the money, and soon Chigurh is on his trail. On the other end, Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones, in a role that looks like it was written for him – which makes it a little less interesting for the lack of novelty), calmly sets upon Chigurh himself.

Based on Cormac McCarthy's novel of the same name, No Country For Old Men is less about this story though than about the art of film-making itself. The Coen brothers are clearly masters of the art of film-making – certain shots, such as the one where Chigurh and later Bell enter Moss’ empty trailer-cabin in his pursuit, sit down on the sofa in front of the switched-off TV and then look at the shadows that play on the screen say more than any dialogue. Not, of course, to say that the dialogue is not noteworthy – it very much is. Consider these lines by Carson Wells (Woody Harrelson), who is hired to track Chigurh down privately: ‘Just how dangerous is he?’ Wells: Compared to what? The bubonic plague?’ and you get a whiff of the sarcastic humor that plays throughout the film, entertaining you and scaring you ever so little at the same time. The Coen brothers have used the camera very carefully. There is the sense that each shot has been carefully planned, and visually it makes the story even more suspenseful, such as the scene where Bell stands outside the scene of the barred-off crime, holds the doorknob and looks through the blasted-off hole where the lock used to be. The shadows that play on the knob show us Chigurh hiding behind the door, and his realization that Bell is right outside – no words are needed, but the sense of the scene is conveyed brilliantly.

Tommy Lee Jones is all at once the perfect actor for the role of the Sheriff and the most predictable. The multiple wrinkles on his forehead tell of his character’s – and possibly his own - vast wisdom and experience. The more one thinks about it, the easier it is to understand that perhaps he was taken on for a reason. Sheriff Ed Tom Bell has seen all that he wants to in his career and is considering retiring because he feels ‘outmatched’. He cannot believe the extent of murder and mayhem that people go to for the sake of money. When his deputy asks him whether Moss has any idea of the kind of people that are hunting him down, Bell replies, ‘I don't know, he ought to. He's seen the same things I've seen, and it's certainly made an impression on me.’ Words spoken from experience, and as Tommy Lee Jones utters it, the truth of it hits you in the face with full force. As he reads a news item in the paper about a man running out wearing a dog collar when a house is held up, he says, sadly and honestly, that no one can make things like that up.

No Country For Old Men is a taut thriller that draws some notable performances from its cast, but more than anything it is worth watching because of its strength as a film – a complete product. The Coen brothers know what they’re doing. Let’s give them that.

Would a fight by any other name smell as sweet? : Fight Club

A review of Fight Club

When you watch a movie that’s based on a book and you haven’t read the book, you’re free to evaluate the movie in an unbiased manner. That’s what happened to me with Fight Club. The film is dark, literally and figuratively speaking, but director David Fincher knows what he is doing, and this film marks clear progress from his last, Se7en. A sense of gloom and otherworldliness pervades Fight Club throughout – you’re not here to laugh (if you do, then it will be out of shock or awe), and Fincher reminds you of that with every scene. The protagonists themselves are uniformly strange, yet compelling.

Edward Norton is a regular Joe office employee with one big problem – insomnia. One day, Norton (with no specific name in the film) meets Tyler Darden (Brad Pitt) on a flight. When he returns home that night, he finds his perfect apartment - and boring life - blasted into pieces by dynamite. Devoid of any belongings, he moves into Darden’s run-down house and needs very little encouragement to help start an underground fight club, where men battle it out one-on-one as a release from their mundane lives. The club soon becomes bigger than Norton likes, and as he races to somehow close it down before anarchy takes over the country, he discovers an unpleasant truth about himself.

Norton and Pitt nudge great performances out of each other. A film that moves at a steady pace till it socks you in the face in the end, Fight Club certainly makes engaging viewing. Go for it, or as Tyler Darden says, prove you're alive.

Pregnant without a pause: Knocked Up

A review of Knocked Up

Irreverent, humorous and that one quality that you never really thought it would be – touching - Knocked Up is the quintessential urban romantic comedy. Ambitious TV reporter Alison Scott (Katherine Heigl) has just got a promotion and goes to a nightclub to celebrate with her sister. She winds up having what she thinks is a one-night stand with Ben Stone (Seth Rogen), whose occupation is working on creating a semi-porn site with some friends. A few weeks later, Alison finds something is not quite right and is forced to meet Ben again to tell him that she is pregnant. Ben, in turn, decides to be a participative father. And there begins the fun!

The film doesn’t shy away from being in-your-face. Condoms, sex scenes, almost full-scale nudity, hormonal tantrums – you name it and it’s there. If Alison and Ben had anything in common, the story would have ended right away. But of course they don’t and that, consequently, makes for a very entertaining film (Alison: "I love your curly hair! It's great... do you use product or anything?" Ben: "No... I use, uh, jew it's called.") And then one of my favorite dialogues in the film - Ben: "Do you want to do it doggie style?" Alison: "You're not going to fuck me like a dog." Ben: "It's doggie style. It's just the style. We don't have to go outside or anything")!!!. It’s a pretty simple story, but director Judd Apatow, whose previous films have included 2005’s 40-Year-Old Virgin and as producer, the other teen hit of this year, Superbad, is intent on making his mark as director of note as far as the American comedy genre is concerned. With Knocked Up, he seems to be in the right direction.

Grey’s Anatomy’s Katherine Heigl seems quite comfortable making the transition from TV to film, but young Seth Rogen is the one to watch out for as he makes his mark in his first full-fledged lead role as Ben, which he fits like a T, chubby face, curly hair and all (he was most recently seen in Superbad, which, incidentally, he also helped write). Paul Rudd as Alison’s brother-in-law Pete (Rudd is probably most remembered as Phoebe’s husband in Friends), and Leslie Rudd as her sister Debbie fit their roles perfectly. All in all, a jolly good film for a jolly good laugh.

Strength becomes the woman: Vanaja

A review of Vanaja

The strongest element in Vanaja is indubitably its repertoire of actors. The director, Rajnesh Domalpalli, made the film as part of his MFA at Columbia University. Initially his approach was met with uncertainty by one of his mentors at the university, but he decided to proceed with it nevertheless. An experiment which could have easily bombed, he selected his cast from the lower and middle sections of Indian society. They had no prior acting experience whatsoever. Domalpalli put them through acting workshops for close to a year before shooting commenced, even making some of the cast learn Indian classical dance and song from scratch. To put this into perspective, it takes several years to achieve mastery over these arts in real life. There are scenes in the film where this is difficult to believe, such as one of the final scenes of the film – an exhibition of the Indian dance form of Kuchipudi by Vanaja (who plays the lead role), where the emotions and experience of her character shine through beautifully. A more experienced actor may have struggled with keeping the balance between exhibiting a mastery over dance and raw emotion, all the while showing a vulnerability that comes only with youth. Domalpalli’s approach however, is a resounding success, and has been acknowledged as such at more than 80 film festivals around the globe.

Vanaja is a critical commentary on the Indian caste system, an evil which unfortunately still exists in some parts of the country. Narrated as the coming-of-age story of a young teenager, played by Mamatha Bukhya, Vanaja simultaneously shows the audience glimpses of the stark differences in the lives of those who belong to opposite ends of the social ladder. Traditionally, in India, status and riches accrue to the family of the village head, who has supreme authority in the area. Think the controller of large areas of land, henchmen at his or her command and a loyal and subservient band of followers. In the film, similarly, the village landlady is shown holding fort over her property from her own ‘fort’ – a huge mansion with many more rooms than is necessary for the occupancy of just two people (her son takes up residency with her later in the film), and servants at her beck and call any time of the day. On the other hand, Vanaja’s widower father, a fisherman who has an extreme affinity for his drink, (played hauntingly by Ramachandriah Muthiah, whose real-life professions in the past have included being a cattle-rearer and a sweeper for the local Indian government body), wastes away in poverty.

Certainly one of the most noteworthy performances in the film, Mamatha Bukhya excels in her role as Vanaja. She almost didn’t get selected for the role, but when he heard her sing, Domalpalli was impressed enough to cast her. Picked for the role at age 13, with barely a working knowledge of English (she was educated in the regional language - a common phenomenon in most rural schools in India), Bukhya has shown remarkable maturity and restraint along with the innocence that is needed for the character of Vanaja to succeed. In the film, Vanaja is the sort of 15-year-old girl who doesn’t hesitate to give quick acidic retorts to the boys in her community who tease her mercilessly. A fortune-teller predicts a great future for her as a dancer, and convinced, she persuades her father to get her a job as a household help with the village landlady. Not completely without a plan, though, because the artful teenager knows that the landlady was a reputed dancer and singer during her time. Impressed by her audacity, the landlady agrees to take her on as a student when Vanaja is done with her daily chores.

Vanaja, satisfied and happy, goes about her work religiously, as she does her dance and music lessons. At 15, however, typical of most children her age, her curiosity about sex cannot be squashed (she spies on the landlady’s son as he bathes, and trades peeks with the Ram Babu, the young boy who delivers the mail). This burgeoning sexuality does not escape the attention of Shekhar, the landlady’s US-returned son for whom the landlady has great political aspirations. In a move that is reminiscent of ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’, in an act that is designed to reflect the imbalance of power, Shekhar rapes the underage Vanaja and she becomes pregnant.

Counseled by an older servant in the house to keep the assault quiet as her social status would be unlikely to get her justice, Vanaja runs away at first, but later, realizing the advantages that money and status would bring to her new son, she returns to the landlady. Weeping copiously, Vanaja promises to relinquish her right to motherhood if she can stay on as a nurse, which she does. However, she is intelligent enough to understand by now how society works, and she decides to take an alternative course of action.

What makes Vanaja eminently watchable is the authentic performance of its cast. Urmila Dhammanagari, as the landlady, is at once authoritative and understanding. Karan Singh as Shekhar is necessarily slimy – but not completely, because Domalpalli paints his character with shades of grey, and Singh actually makes the viewer believe he is not totally evil. One almost feels bad for him, the way he is pushed around by his mother, for example. Krishna and Prabhu Garlapati as Ram Babu (the boy who delivers the mail) and Yadagiri (the cheeky brat who constantly gets on Vanaja’s nerves), are entertainers all the way through. The scene where the young Yadagiri gives a surprisingly sexual jig to a ridiculous tune that has lyrics like ‘Kiss me baby love me baby’ elicits more than a few laughs.

But what holds the film high is Bukhya. This is almost an adult story and Bukhya is but a child, yet she portrays both adult and child qualities equally impressively. In the first half, Vanaja is an innocent young teenager, and this comes through almost effortlessly. For example, the scene where Vanaja looks at the landlady when she plays a board game with her, her eyes sparking with untold mischief. Then when the film gets serious in the latter half, Bukhya displays a strength of character that makes it difficult to believe she was just 14 when the movie was shot. Vanaja’s conversations with her drunken father, the scene where she goes to beg the landlady to take her back, and most notably, the scene where her anger, pain and sorrow are all reflected in her final on-screen dance performance, are evidence of this.

In the latter half, the film has the tendency to meander into being episodic. It seems as though the camera trails Vanaja without a specific purpose, just to see what she is doing. In between the caste issue, the dance angle and the mother-child angle (Domalpalli got the idea for the film after watching ‘Sophie’s Choice’), somewhere something gets lost. It is difficult to place a finger on what exactly that is. Is it that the viewer is not entirely sure whether the film has succeeded in dealing with the issue of caste adequately because it starts to focus more on Vanaja’s personal experiences, which though borne out of the caste factor, also have to do with her becoming a mother and being a dancer? Is it that the film starts out with dance as an anchor, but later gets eclipsed by the caste issue, and then the mother-child issue? These are questions that only the director can answer.

The film has been released in Andhra Pradesh, the director’s home state, but has not yet had a nation-wide release in India, the country of its origin. That is often a struggle that independent films have to deal with, despite the fact that they are an important reflection of the society they are staged in. Meanwhile, Vanaja released in New York on August 31^st at Cinema Village and on September 14^th at ImaginAsian, and will subsequently release across the United States.

A comparison of three reviews of Into the Wild

Criticism is an art. It is an art that manifests itself in words in different ways by different people. This is easily discernible from three reviews of Sean Penn’s latest directorial venture Into the Wild, by David Denby, Peter Travers and Cynthia Fuchs.

David Denby is unapologetically condescending of Penn’s work. His strategy is simple: he doesn’t like the film (or, for that matter, Jon Krakauer’s book on which the film is based), and he wants to make it clear why. To his credit, he does that very clearly, never mincing words - “it’s entirely too visual, to the point of being cheaply lyrical” is part of his lede. His amplitude is certainly high. It is also evident, however, that a large part of his disdain for the film arises from his contempt for the book (“Penn has adapted Jon Krakauer’s chastely written 1996 book”, “It’s possible to appreciate the implacability of this boy’s revolt without taking it as seriously as Krakauer and Penn do”), and this takes away some of his credibility as a film reviewer. For a reader who has not previously had the experience of going through Christopher Johnson McCandless’ journey as portrayed by Krakauer in his book, the question of whether Denby is being fair to the film does arise.

Denby is also unfair to the reader by disclosing the climax of the film in his very first paragraph – as a person who has not read the book, I can certainly say that if I had read Denby’s review and chosen not to see the film as a result, I would have missed something. He touches upon the cinematography of the film (rather, his negative view of it), but he has not mentioned a word about what cannot escape any person who watches Into the Wild with a reasonably decent set of speakers – the music. Heart-wrenching and incredibly strong as a mechanism for carrying forward McCandless’ story, it is without doubt one of the highlights of the film. Denby may be an authority - this is demonstrated by his reference to Tolstoy and Tolstoy’s hold over McCandless as he briefly notes why he does not believe in McCandless’ integrity, but as a reader, I was not entertained by his review, and after watching the film I feel he has done a disservice to it, notwithstanding his reasons for his negative opinion of Christopher McCandless, the person.

Peter Travers’ review of Into the Wild is, on the other hand, engaging reading. Travers is up front with the reader and simultaneously shows his expertise as a critic: he compares the film to the book and clearly says that a person who has read the book and feels no connection with Chris McCandless will not have much to say about the film. He also compares this work of Sean Penn’s to his previous directorial ventures. But even for the reader who has not been acquainted with Krakauer’s book, Travers’ review is lucid, yet lyrical. His amplitude is certainly high as well (“Sean Penn has molded one of the best movies of a bustling fall out of Jon Krakauer's best-selling Into the Wild”, “Hirsch gives an award-caliber performance of astonishing depth and humanity”, “Penn, in tandem with the superb cinematographer Eric Gautier (The Motorcycle Diaries), captures the majesty and terror of the wilderness in ways that make you catch your breath”) but he writes in a more believable tone than Denby. He also gives credit to three of the strongest features of the film – the cinematography, music and the performances, notably those of Emile Hirsch who plays McCandless, and Hal Holbrook as widower Ron Franz. Those are reasons enough why anyone would want to see this film, and Travers conveys that, as a responsible film critic should. His strategy is uncomplicated: to review the film as he knows best, and he discharges his duty commendably.

Cynthia Fuchs’ review of the film is markedly different from those of Denby and Travers in that she does not once mention the book. Her strategy is to write about the film, and write about the film she does – albeit in a way that sometimes seems too detailed. She takes the reader through Chris McCandless’ encounters with each and every character he meets before he heads to Alaska in a most painstaking way, going through almost every significant scene (“Chris mounts the stage to accept his diploma, a ritual that pretty much ends the young man’s affiliation what he considers corrupt civilization”, “An antennae specialist at NASA, Walt and Billie eventually started their own consulting company and grew wealthy”, “When Chris suggests patience in dealing with Jan’s grief, Rainey goes so far as to wonder aloud if he might be “Jesus””). This kind of detail is unnecessary, especially to a reader who has not watched the film. Fuchs’ amplitude is ambivalent, tending towards high in the first and last paragraphs, but since her review consists mostly of narrating scenes from the film, her opinion does not come into play much.

Fuchs’ is, however distinctly worldly. She mentions Chris’ underlying philosophical motivations behind his grand adventure as explanations for his behavior as he meets the other characters in the film, and this theme runs through her review. Her last two paragraphs are the most readable and engrossing. This piece is a case of taking too long to warm up to the job at hand, which is to write a review and not to narrate the film itself. The writing seems forced as a result, at points. Fuchs also does not mention the acting, though she does touch upon the other two key features, the music and cinematography.

Of the three reviews, Peter Travers wins hands down, in my opinion. In his review of Into The Wild, he has demonstrated his expertise as a critic with writing that is entertaining, vivid and fair to the film.

Being dysfunctional in style: Little Miss Sunshine

A review of Little Miss Sunshine

Cute+ Weird = Entertaining. That sums up Little Miss Sunshine pretty succinctly. In their quest to ensure daughter Olive (Abigail Breslin) gets to the eagerly awaited beauty pageant for little girls on time, dad Richard (Greg Kinnear) and mom Sheryl (Toni Collette) pile the family, including brother Dwayne (Paul Dano), grandfather (Alan Arkin) and uncle Frank (Steve Carell) into their yellow van and drive from New Mexico to California as fast as they can.

Straightforward enough. Except that as each scene unfolds, you can’t help but gasp at the sheer craziness of it all, because this family is not your average American household. Dwayne has taken a vow of silence as a result of his worship for Nietzsche, Frank has attempted suicide because his gay lover, one of his students, rejected him, Grandpa is a drug-snorting expletive-spewer, Richard believes that winning is everything, and Sheryl is a chain-smoking loser.

Through his screenplay, Michael Arndt shows us exactly how messed up Americans can be - and succeeds phenomenally. He takes it to the other extreme, but he pulls it off because these characters are fascinating to watch. They are humorless to the point that they are funny. When Richard is pulled over by a cop for speeding, he goes into a panic. The audience is familiar with the quirks of each character by now and when he says ‘Oh my God, I'm getting pulled over. Everyone, just... pretend to be normal’, it’s almost a given that a laugh will escape your mouth. Normal, after all, is the last thing this family is.

As a commentary on American society today, the film makes us look deep inside ourselves. Richard is a motivational speaker, but he is so worried about losing one of his clients that his job is clearly meaningless. When Grandpa says ‘A real loser is someone who's so afraid of not winning he doesn't even try’, the hidden dig does not escape Richard’s attention, but it also makes us wonder about ourselves as individuals, what our hopes and dreams are and if we are actually as hypocritical as people as Richard clearly is.

Abigail Breslin as Olive is chubby, cute and innocent. At the beauty pageant, she clearly stands out among all the other made-up, dolled-up little girls who look and act more like they are twenty than ten years old, and your heart goes out to her. Paul Dano has given a performance that he will find difficult to better – there is so much anger in Dwayne but he gets the audience on his side in a heartbeat when we discover that his color blindness will prevent him from achieving his lifelong ambition of becoming a pilot. Steve Carell, Toni Collette, Greg Kinnear and Alan Arkin are very competent. With a screenplay that is designed for its characters, thought-provoking dialogue and entertaining performances, Little Miss Sunshine is a refreshing change from the romantic comedies, political dramas and action films that are more common fare. Highly recommended.

The message, continued: Michael Clayton

A review of Michael Clayton

Through his films, is George Clooney laying the groundwork for a political career? Of his last five films, three have distinctly political overtones ( The Good German (2006), Syriana (2005), Good Night and Good Luck (2005)). In the other two, he has just reprised his role as Danny Ocean, the suave leader of a gang of con men. Michael Clayton, the latest political drama from the George Clooney school of acting, is replete with the trademark Clooney facial expressions that embody a brooding yet intelligent man. Tony Gilroy’s story of a fixer in a law firm who stumbles upon an inside secret is not fresh, but Clooney’s Clayton, familiar though his expressions may be, keeps the audience in their seats. To his credit, Clooney can’t be faulted for being an unreliable actor.

So what is Clooney trying to say as Michael Clayton? Clayton is middle-aged, stuck in a stagnant career, trying to help his brother out of a financial dead-end, struggling with being a lone parent and coming to terms with his gambling addiction. One of the best lines in Michael Clayton reflects all Clayton’s (and possibly Clooney’s) pent-up frustration with the system: ‘I am Shiva, the god of death’.

Interestingly, Michael Clayton is also Clooney’s fifth collaborative project with Steven Soderbergh who is executive producer on the film. This may be a relationship to watch out for. If the director of the forthcoming Leatherheads gives Clooney a role that actually challenges him, the Clooney-Soderbergh pair will no doubt present a much more compelling film than this.

The rocket that fizzled out: Failure To Launch

A review of Failure To Launch

Tripp. Demo. Ace. For the tech-unsavvy lot of us: no, those are not terms used in the latest computer language. They are the names of some very unmemorable characters in Failure To Launch. Maybe the film was doomed from the start, with a title like that. Of course, it has every woman’s dream, the gorgeously delectable Matthew McConaughey, and post-Sex & the City, every single urban woman’s favorite role model, Sarah Jessica Parker, but that, my friends, is part of the deception. The filmmakers should have paid particular attention to a line mouthed by Bradley Cooper who plays Demo, a friend of Tripp’s (McConaughey) in the film: ‘Deceptions are poisonous. Like margarine.’

35-year-old Tripp has everything he needs: a good job, a cool car, a set of friends who are always on hand to show him a good time – and his mother to keep his life in order. Tired of their son living at home, Tripp’s parents call upon Paula (Sarah Jessica Parker), an ‘interventionist’, if you will, who has successfully helped many a young homebound man launch himself outside the family nest. Tripp and Paula meet ‘coincidentally’ as per Paula’s plan, and then predictably fall in love, though this is NOT in her plan. His friends discover her initial goal, let him on to it, and there is the inevitable confrontation and then consensus.

Parker and McConaughey don’t really set the screen on fire, and the story is trite. There are a few funny moments but overall, you wouldn’t want to drag yourself to the theater for this.

Cinematic beauty: Cinema Paradiso

A review of Cinema Paradiso

When you see a classic film, you know in your bones that it is. There is no room for doubt. Sensitively directed and beautifully shot, Cinema Paradiso is a film that wonderfully captures a young boy’s passion for cinema. It traces a filmmaker’s journey through life - his loves and his hopes. The finished product calls out to any film lover because it is about cinema itself - the one thing that binds Salvatore, the protagonist, Giuseppe Tornatore, the actual director of the film, and us, the audience.

In a small village in Sicily, little Salvatore regularly visits the projectionist’s booth at the local cinema, enthralled by the images he sees flickering on screen. Salvatore endears himself to Alfredo, the projectionist, who takes him under his wing and makes him his apprentice. As they together witness the passage of time and the changes it brings, Salvatore makes the transition into adolescence and youth. We learn he is unwittingly forced to make a sacrifice by Alfredo in the name of his future, and he leaves his native village. When he returns to attend Alfredo’s funeral 30 years later, a successful filmmaker, all his questions are finally answered, and so are ours.

As we watch the final credits roll on screen, we realise that Cinema Paradiso makes a larger philosophical point. When Salvatore finds out the truth he is clearly sad, but ambiguous about whether he would have wanted his life to come out differently. Not many of us, perhaps, would.