Ils / Revolver

Watched Guy Ritchie's Revolver. Not too much to say on this one, really. The entire experience seemed a tad self-involved. I guess that was the point? Jason Statham is his same 'ol character acting self as Jake Green; Ray Liotta is comically sinister as Dorothy Macha, but ultimately his predictable self; Vincent Pastore is good, although his screen time-to-dialogue ratio is heinously out of proportion; André Benjamin (André 3000) is perfectly cast as the enigma-mouthed Avi — last but not least, Guy Ritchie's chose an impeccable soundtrack, one arranged and immaculately utilized. Case in point, Emmanuel Santarromana's "Opera" lends itself in an oddly collected scene where character Lord John (Tom Wu), flanked by a sizzling succubus and bathed in the rich, demonic red glow, sends his regards to Liotta's Macha. I efforted a clip, but none are readily available besides his MySpace page. All in all, Revolver has Lock, Stock and Snatch -like aspirations, but it's parts tend to outshine the film as a whole. Worth a look though.


Oh how I waited to see Ils. Check. Writer/director tandem David Moreau and Xavier Palud generate a truly living film — one which celebrates both the innocence and repugnance in our world. Pretty much a siege film, "Them" drops in on a transplanted schoolteacher named Clementine (Olivia Bonamy) and her writer husband Lucas (Michael Cohen) in the beginnings of a somewhat Arcadian life on a simple and sequestered estate outside of Bucharest. It's not France, but it will do. As the (true?) story goes, Clem and Lucas' bliss is broken in the span of one night — first by the irksome ringing of their telephone, then compounded by the spraying of car headlights. This is simply the beginning of a horrific night for our proto-couple.

Days of Heaven & Dostoevsky or: What I happen to be consuming at the time.

So I finally watched Terrence Malick's Days of Heaven and enjoyed it tremendously. The film is most certainly is an experience. The sprawling Texas, 'erra, Canadian, expanse lends itself to an expressed womb, of sorts, vitalizing and comforting our senses yet concealing the imminent. Why this guy doesn't make more films is a question to be asked/answered. Well worth the rental and probably a future purchase. No, I won't be rushing out to see The New World... sorry. Without spoiling anything, the film's parting line (in part): "I was hopin' things would work out for her. She was a good friend of mine" is as powerful a piece of summation as is in all of filmdom.

On the literary front, I finally dove into Dostoevsky's The Double: A Petersburg Poem (part of a split release with his own The Gambler) after some months and it's turning out to an absorbing little thriller where a diminutive, paper-pushing bureaucrat is traumatized during a office soiree held at a superior's home. The nature of this trauma is that he...

...come now, you didn't believe I'd launch into one of the story's most impressive scenes did you? I'm two-thirds into this little gem, this my third Dostoevsky; Crime & Punishment and Demons being the others. All translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. I make mention of the decoders (if you will) simply to champion the profoundly preferable translations by this husband and wife team.  I compared several passages in The Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina (which I have read in full), The Master and Margarita, the all three of the aforementioned Dostoevsky novels, as well as Gogol's Dead Souls only to be blown away by the lucidity and fluidity of the Pevear/Volokhonsky editions. If these translations haven't replaced the Constance Garnett translations as the editions of reference, particularly in schools, someone has dropped the proverbial ball. Trust me.

My Kid Could Paint That (2007)

Marla Olmstead "at work".

Jumping straight into my My Kid Could Paint That analysis: While director Amir Bar-Lev sat face to face with little "prodigy" Marla Olmstead's parents, Laura and Mike, to unequivocally requested to film her creating one of her masterpieces, the look on Mark's face was a fatigued one — Laura face was already handing Bar-Lev excuses even before her mouth opened. What followed was all the evidence needed to bring the whole "prodigy" debate into perspective. After much debate (more off camera, to be sure) and permission in hand, cameras were concealed which showed little Marla displaying absolutely none of the endurance, deliberation, or reflection necessary to paint these canvases — some which commanded many thousands of dollars from devotees online as well as at several gallery events.

There is zero doubt in my mind. More believable is that Mike Olmstead, an accomplished hyper-realist painter in his own right, either drew inspiration from Marla's ham-handed floundering for his own creations. Or, went as far as to assist or "finished" what Marla has begun and quickly became bored with, as evidenced by the video of her almost immediately abandoning most canvases she began. I could also entertain the idea that Mark's own painting style (in terms of sophistication and restraint) is such that he might consider "Marla's" abstract expressionism as a joke, and these finished paintings are simply a giant middle finger to the art community which fails to embrace his own. This latter theory would no doubt exist on the fringes of this film's debate. I any case, again, I see little or no evidence that would lead me to believe Marla has anything at all to do with these paintings. Oh, and the comparisons to Jackson Pollock (who's work I honestly find boring) and Picasso are so far removed from reason to be laughable. But again that's me talking.


The documentary itself is very well put together and furnishes a couple of revelation points where sentiment is pulled to and fro, a la Errol Morris' The Thin Blue Line, containing similar ebbs and flows that lend to intrigue. And at a swift 80-some minutes, it's a perfect afternoon watch while enjoying a nice lunch. Just no toast points this time please.