Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (Apichatpong Weerasethakul) : ลุงบุญมีระลึกชาติ (อภิชาติพงศ์ วีระเศรษฐกุล)

Uncle Boonmee is a journey into the Thai subconscious, where prehistoric jungles are inhabited with the artifacts of samsara and the mystical destiny; it is a transfixed wading into the pool of spirits, new beings, and karmic occurrences in a lush natural setting where such things roam freely. The camera plays it like a fuzzy memory, with grainy image and sunbleached color, making the details indescript but the tone undeniable, and the atmosphere more suitable for the magic. Still-frames dominate once again; each frame is like a hypnotic stare, into which the magic slowly creeps.

This film is subtle and intense, frightening in some way but remarkably calming in another. I prefer it to Cemetery of Splendour because of its isolated setting, the power of its imagery, its ancient heart. Many of the themes and techniques are shared, but Uncle Boonmee has a greater power to its visual poetry than can be seen in most films. Again: this film is deep and authentic.

Cemetery of Splendour (Apichatpong Weerasethakul) : Rak Ti Khon Kaen (อภิชาติพงศ์ วีระเศรษฐกุล)

This movie's core lies encased in a thick, thick layer of artistic sludge. Our insights are like electrons flying into the bubble chamber, leaving a maze of trails but all dying out of energy amidst the mile-deep liquid hydrogen... The director exhibits a style that is like dead realism -- images are still, stimuli are severely minimal; shots are distant and featureless, making every one an exercise in visual sifting; eyes sift through dead objects and dead colors searching for the subject. Nothing is given away. It may remind one of Tarkovsky, and the experience of struggle in visual and symbolic interpretation. Thematic clarity is as elusive -- there may be no continuous idea portrayed through the stream of images. There is relative continuity in the characters, but regarding message our vision is again obstructed. Yet one doesn't doubt that there is artistic quality and talent hiding behind. The poetry feels authentic -- everything feels authentic.

[The camera is often at a distant stationary point, like I recall in Stalker, but while Tarkovsky is strong-armed and philosophical this is a dead poetic; empty Thai still-life contrasts with the passion of Russian orthodoxy...]

I liked this film as I like Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives. I found the meditative style pleasant, and the poetics pleasant also. I can sense a cultural and artistic barrier; I need more experience with this filmmaker, because it feels rare not to understand the artist's purpose. I feel confident in my understanding of the film itself, insofar as it can be understood, and satisfied with my level of enjoyment, but I cannot say I understand the artist as an artist; thus I am motivated.

Shots are still, blank, lifeless, packed uniformly with depleted subjects in their own forgotten stories: these visual cemeteries flow together in a thick wash counterpointed by language of mysticism and paranormality; this is an original filmic experience.

3/4

The Sea of Trees (Gus Van Sant)

How does one properly write about a film? What does one mention? Am I just talking to other human beings, or am I constructing an artistic bridge between myself and the art of the film so that it and I can achieve some higher abstract communication and understanding? Can I put a film in a box, at least one that feels mediocre, or are these all small pieces of truth that must be respected?

The Sea of Trees is a movie by Gus Van Sant, starring Matthew McConaughey. I feel like the same person I was before it, only now I don't feel an obligation to watch this movie anymore. I experienced a couple of strong emotions, but those have been coming in all films lately, even the trash. This naturally follows from my constant, determined residence in the reality immediately around me, and my rejection of fictions. As for the movie itself, there is a gorgeous concept standing as its basic premise -- a Japanese forest for suicides -- and there is a narrative arc. If it makes any sense for me to critique this movie, from some blend of an artistic and human perspective, I would say that the direction for this premise needs to be darker and heavier, and that the ending needs to be entirely truncated, stomped on, and rewritten. But really this movie is the work of hundreds of people, all of whom are ill-defined collections of matter and memory, and is not a story but is just a thing, some thing, with blank, faceless components. I sat, a bundle of atoms before a bundle of atoms, and felt two emotions and walked away. I understand that that face belongs to some thing called Matthew McConaughey, who somehow persists through time, and is thought to have not perished yet. But he was nothing but a mirage before me, and I observed this mirage and was slightly affected and then carried myself elsewhere.

Perhaps this movie needs Terrence Malick or Inarritu. The premise demands a spare and contemplative style; Van Sant and the writer appear to be too mainstream to really work this out. The lead actor does a great job.

1.5/4 for films, but a perfect and necessary score for being an object situated in the plane of necessary things.