Film rating: 3/5 (The Editor); 2.5/5 (John Surname)
Walkouts: 1/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 2/5
BPM sighting: No

Happily settled with his wife Smaranda (Anamaria Marinca of 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days) and their 4-year-old son, 30-something Bogdan takes them on a mini-holiday to a sleepy seaside resort. Things go off course however when he runs into his old school buddies Sorin and Vali, who know him only as ‘Boogie’, the hard-drinking party boy of their teens.

After staying out too late Bogdan gets on Smaranda’s bad side and storms off in a huff, back to the boys of his youth. But it’s not long before the trio realise that things aren’t what they used to be.

The Editor says: Basically, this film would be familiar to any person, male or female, who’s been in a long-ish term relationship. Dude wants to spend time with old mates he runs into on a family holiday. Chick wants dude to stay home with her because they’re on a family holiday. Both dude and chick make valid points about the superiority of their thinking on the matter and then have a hideously uncomfortable (for the viewer) argument before dude storms out to spend time with old mates. Dude’s conscience starts to prickle during the night and the guilts kick in.

I’m not going to say any more because Surname summed this film up perfectly in seven words when the credits rolled and I’ll wait for him to post them here. Stay tuned. (Update: posted!)

John Surname says: When the film ended that first thing I said to The Editor was “It’s just a GrodsThink with a prostitute”, because that’s what it was. The majority of the film follows “Boogie” and his friends as they traverse Romania’s exciting (not) nightlife, before winding up at a hotel with a prostitute. This was a four star film for two thirds of it, and I felt like I knew most of the characters, but it just faded away towards the end. Their night dragged on and you just wanted it resolved. The longer you spent in the company of his friends, the more you realised they were losers, and by the time Boogie was being blown by a prostitute he had also outstayed his welcome.

Film rating: 3/5 (The Editor); 4/5 (John Surname)
Walkouts: 0/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 3/5
BPM sighting: No

Faced with a growing number of unemployed teenagers, the Australian government has started locking them up in a drive-in cinema where they are fed a diet of junk food, beer and all night movies. Cars have been converted into dwellings and a punk suburbia has emerged.

Lauded by Quentin Tarantino as the go-to guy for Aussie action films (and most pointedly homaged in Death Proof), filmmaker Brian Trenchard-Smith (Turkey Shoot, MIFF 08) conjures up a destructive automotive wasteland in this 80s Ozploitation classic. Sparks fly in frenetic high-speed chases, outrageous stunts and explosive shoot-outs.

Based on a short story by Peter Carey.

The Editor says: I was torn when scoring this film. In terms of filmmaking it’s a solid no stars, yet it greatly entertained me for ninety minutes in a five star kinda way. So three stars it is.

The film started with a Greater Union ident that would’ve looked dated in 1981. I leaned over and whispered to Surname, “Now in glorious STEREO!” I bet that ident looked great on Laserdisc.

But with tongue so firmly in cheek that it distorted the face, Dead-End Drive-In was a rollicking good time despite its so-bad-it’s-good acting and utterly ludicrous storyline. I laughed a lot during this film: half the time it was at the craptasticness, and half the time it was with the craptasticness.

I laughed neither at nor with Wilbur Wilde, though. Let’s just be clear about that.

John Surname says: How does one review a film like this? A far cry from lame European coming-of-age dramas that lack drama, Dead End Drive-In is an unpretentious romp set in a dystopian future. Crabs (nicknamed so because “…I thought I had crabs once”) takes his (hot) girlfriend on a date to the local drive-in cinema, only to have the police steal his wheels. With the gates locked, and his wheels gone, they have no way of leaving.

Thus begins the film. Crabs soon finds the drive-in is really concentration camp for the young, who are kept anesthetised by movies, rock music, beer and drugs (the latter being supplied by the police).

It’s difficult to give a rating to it, because it is a different kind of film. It’s not trying to give us the meaning of life, it’s entertainment - if we do get anything out of it, that’s a bonus.

Bad acting, terrible dialogue, Wilbur Wilde - it’s one hell of a fun film.

Film rating: 5/5
Walkouts: 1/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 3/5
BPM sighting: No

In 1981 Bobby Sands, an Irish Republican, starved himself to death as a protest against the British government. He died painfully and – in the eyes of the IRA – as a martyr. Hunger unrelentingly depicts the last months of his life in Belfast’s Maze prison, where the motives and moralities of Bobby and the other prisoners are not only a representation of the troubles of the time, they are the heart of it.

Hunger is the first feature film from visual artist Steve McQueen, who shows his hand here as a new force in cinema.

This was a stunningly atmospheric and emotional portrait of Northern Ireland in the middle of “the troubles”. Absolutely flawless acting, inspired direction, and brilliant cinematography combined to shake the viewer to the bone. Much of the story was told with little dialogue and through the visual depiction of both the mundane and the unusual. There was scant focus on the main character until about halfway through the film which allowed the story’s context to be fully developed.

Then the dialogue happened. In the lead up to the climactic scenes there is an intense twenty minute conversation between two characters in an empty room, at least 90% of which was shot in a single take and with a static camera. It was a powerful and jaw-dropping sequence.

By the end of the film I was repulsed, angry and inspired in equal measure.

Film rating: 4.5/5
Walkouts: 4/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 3/5
BPM sighting: No

Silent Light opens with what is, arguably, the single most remarkable shot of the year: dawn breaking over a breathtaking rural landscape. One of cinema’s most distinctive auteurs, Carlos Reygadas, has created a deeply moving tale of love and sacrifice played out against the pastoral backdrop of the North Mexican Mennonite community using a cast of non-actors.

Johan is a married man who, against the laws of his faith, falls in love with another woman, leaving him with an impossible dilemma - betray his wife and the apparent stability of his community, or surrender his true love and future happiness.

Winner of the Jury Prize at last year’s Cannes Film Festival.

Indeed, the opening and closing shotswere simply stunning. I’m not sure what proportion of them was CGI but I don’t care because it just worked.

This was a looooong film. Long, lingering shots were the theme and they were beautiful shots. If the film were re-edited to the minimum length required to tell the story it would run for 25 minutes, but at 140 minutes it contained so much more atmosphere and allowed you to better “feel” the characters.

For non-actors the leads did remarkable jobs, although they must’ve received outstanding direction. The cinematography and detailed sound design made the film a true pleasure to experience. My only gripes are that the long, lingering shots got a little tedious towards the end, and that the ending didn’t quite fit for some reason. Can’t put my finger on it.

Excellent film, but.

Film rating: 3/5
Walkouts: 2/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 4/5
BPM sighting: No

Filmmaking provocateur Bruce LaBruce’s (The Raspberry Reich) latest film features a hoodie-wearing zombie, Otto, who reticently rises from the grave and wanders the gay clubs of Berlin. In his journey of self-discovery he stumbles across an underground filmmaker, participates in a documentary about himself and attempts to reconnect with a former boyfriend, with disastrous results. Moral boundaries and acceptable levels of ‘decency’ are challenged, as is the modus operandi of writer, filmmaker, actor, photographer and pornographer LaBruce.

This gay zombie flick with tongue firmly planted in its cheek amused and shocked in equal measure. On the one hand it’s a bit confronting to see a dude have sex with another dude’s gaping stomach wound, but on the other hand it’s so ridiculous (and presented so ridiculously) that it’s impossible not to laugh. The characters of Otto and his grand director were brilliantly funny, as were simple tricks like the black-and-white silent movie character.

I’m not sure that I walked away from the film with any sense of an overarching message but I had a good laugh. And that’s nice, innit?

Film rating: 3/5 (The Editor); 1.5/5 (John Surname)
Walkouts: 2/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 0/5
BPM sighting: No

Love hurts - even when you’re over 60.

Sixty-something seamstress Inge is thrown into a torrid love affair after bringing a pair of pants she altered to their owner, the affable 76-year-old Karl. The problem is she’s still in love with her husband of 30 years, Werner, a man whose greatest hobby is listening to recordings of locomotives in the evenings.

With the unbridled passion of 20-year-olds, Inge and Karl’s explicit trysts cause a rift in Inge’s marriage, forcing her to choose between her life-long love and a new infatuation.

The Editor says: The opening scene of Cloud Nine was rather confronting. I mean, watching wrinkly 70-year-olds do the dirty in all its explicit glory is not exactly what I expect to see at 7pm in the evening just after dinner. Unfortunately, the film went all generic and cliched after that — it was a bog standard love affair storyline with old actors instead of young. If the projectionist had stopped the film after twenty minutes and asked me to write the rest of the film’s plot I would’ve got it 95% correct. And the ending was terrible. Just terrible. So utterly cliched and predictable that I was a bit angry when the credits rolled.

It was probably more a two star film but I gave it an extra star because it did manage to get me thinking about the nature of love and lust in humans’ autumn years.

(*shudders*)

John Surname says: The Editor invited me out on a date to go and see a moving picture show, at the moving picture show festival. Being one for a pleasant night of debauchery, I put on my finest pair of trousers and joined him at The Forum to see a German film called Cloud 9.

The film opened with a graphic scene of a man and a woman “making babies”, which is fine, except he was 76 and she was well past 60. The cinema was filled with nervous giggles, except from The Editor, who was breathing very hard and concentrating enormously, and myself, for I am not that immature.

After the film ended, The Editor noted that if you’d been asked to guess the plot of the film after the first ten minutes you would have gotten it 95% right. There were no surprises. The film involved some pretty photography, masses of convulsing wrinkles, and not much else. There was little, to no, subtext, and many lingering images that did not end.

In the end the film had almost no resonance, which is why, as I type this, I can barely remember it.

One and a half stars, Margaret.

Guest review by Craig

Film rating: N/A
Walkouts: 2 people (Craig and The Editor)
Pretentious clapping at credits: N/A
BPM sighting: WTF?

Living alone with his mother in a wintry and miserable Stockholm suburb, shy and lonely 12-year-old Oskar is a victim of school bullies. He spends his days plotting revenge, keeping a knife under his pillow and a scrapbook full of paper cuttings of heinous crimes. When a strange little girl named Eli moves in next-door, Oskar and her gradually become friends. But a series of ritual killings in the neighbourhood lead Oskar to suspect that there is something terribly wrong about his new neighbour…

Adapted for the screen by John Lindqvist from his own award-winning novel, Let the Right One In is an original, atmospheric and intelligent twist on the vampire horror genre.

I can describe Let the Right One In in just 2 words: disturbingly realistic.

We arrived early. I had to queue up with the plebs, while the pretentious Editor walked right on in and saved a couple of seats for us. This film’s opening scenes were shocking, with a score the just screamed horror at me. I should have left right away, however, seeing that The Editor had pre-purchased the ticket for me and saved a seat I thought I had better stick it out.

The film centres around a 12 year old Swedish boy who sleeps with a knife under his bed, is bullied at school, and has a very suspicious neighbour. The turning point in this film for me was very early on. In just the second scene the plot spirals down to the dark murky waters of ritualistic murder and serial killing with the first victim strung up from the branch of a tree by his feet like a piñata and promptly drained of his life sap. Cut from the neck like an animal, the blood ran over the curves that made up the face of the victim before running into a dirty drum with the help of a funnel.

It was at this point that I could take no more and slowly drifted off to a safer place: my mind. I came to with The Ed calling my name as loudly AND at the same time as quietly as you can in a cinema.* “I think I almost fainted,” I said.

“You did,” said Ed. “Let’s go.”

With that, we left the cinema. Not even 10 minutes in and it was lights out for me. That was poor form. I must say.

Based on the small portion of the film that I did see, I highly recommend it — if you are into that sort of stuff. I personally would prefer to watch the director’s cut of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

* The Editor notes — What Craig doesn’t remember is that it took me over a minute to wake him up from his twitchy, eyes-rolled-back stupour. Since I couldn’t lift his legs above his head for blood flow I resorted to inflicting pain while everyone in the cinema watched, thinking I was reviving a mate who’d drawn a little too much happiness into the syringe.

Film rating: 5/5
Walkouts: 1/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 3/5
BPM sighting: No

The graduation film of German filmmaker Niels Laupert, Seven Days Sunday is based on a true story that occurred in 1996.

The film tracks Adam and Tommek, two teenage boys living in the slums of Leipzig. On a random Sunday, bored of petty crimes they decide to up the ante and make a wager, the stakes being the highest they’ve known: someone else’s life.
After failing and wounding one victim, the boys succeed on their second attempt – killing an innocent, and sending their lives into a spiral.

Bam! Third five star film of the festival! This compelling portrait of youth and boredom in rundown ex-communist Germany was a fantastic, if challenging, film experience. Atmospheric direction and cinematography along with gripping performances from the lead actors made my skin crawl and my mind race. The sound design and visual style employed during the key murder scene was masterful and chilling. My only negative is also a positive: at a mere 80 minutes duration I was left wanting more. The film could’ve easily been 15 or 20 minutes longer in the first half to flesh out the two boys’ characters and their complicated relationship.

Film rating: 5/5
Walkouts: 0/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 4/5
BPM sighting: No

Oscar-winning filmmaker Jan Sverák (Kolya) once again teams up with his father, Zdenek Sverák, who wrote and also leads the cast of this comedy about a man who faces life after retirement. This heart-warming production poses a compelling central question: are you ‘done’ once you retire?

Josef, a high school literature teacher, one day realises that he no longer enjoys teaching and promptly quits. After attempts at various occupations, Josef suddenly recognises his strength through a part-time position at the bottle return counter at the supermarket. Always a meddler, Josef’s gentle involvement in other people’s lives soon leads to complications and some dramatic solutions.

Two five star films in three days is pretty bloody special, and definitely worth getting up for pre-midday on a Sunday. This gentle comedic exploration of a man’s struggle to deal with the “autumn years” of his life was a load of fun and stimulated thought. The script was tight and nuanced, the acting was flawless, and the cheese meter stayed just on the correct end of the scale for the whole film.

This year the Melbourne International Film Festival offered for the first time a membership option. For $80 a year you get discount tickets to the festival along with year-round discounted entry at a bunch of cool cinemas around Melbourne. These things are cool, and are probably enough to make me purchase a membership, but there’s one benefit that really floats my boat.

Priority queuing.

Let’s get something straight: I’m totally OCD when it comes to where I sit in the cinema. (I mean, I’m totally OCD about a bunch of other things too, but cinema seating is a big one.) So when I found out that a MIFF membership would allow me to enter the cinema before all the plebs, thereby practically guaranteeing the best seat in the house (two thirds back from the screen, dead centre), I nearly wet my pants in excitement. In previous years I’d been showing up at least 45 minutes before the screening to bags a place near the front of the line and I had been known to use elbows to ensure optimal seating outcomes.

So this year I’ve been gaining a disturbing amount of pleasure from walking into chaotic cinema foyers and waltzing up to the very civilised members’ queue, free from pleb smells, smug in the knowledge that I can sit wherever the hell I want without having to run and punch. Tonight I joined the members’ queue for a film (perhaps a dozen people) right outside the cinema door while hundreds of unwashed people snaked down the stairs and outside around the building in the cold. I was standing in front of an old lady who was wearing very, very high class clothes and held herself with a certain poise, when the ticket scanning person came to scan tickets. Everyone held out their festival passes but I held out a scrappy paper ticket. (You see, I have a festival pass but a friend of mine who is working at MIFF this year scored me a staff complimentary ticket to this particular film.) Anyway, the person scanned my ticket and then the old lady pursed her lips, looked at me severely, and said, “That’s rather sneaky.”

I was taken aback. Obviously this woman thought that since I had a plebeian paper ticket I surely mustn’t be a MIFF member. I decided to play along.

“How’s that?” I enquired politely.

“Well,” she said accusingly while looking down at my clothes like I was an unwashed sack of shit*, “are you a member? This is the member’s queue.”

I played dumb, relishing every moment. I pulled out my wallet and presented her with my Mini Pass, which is a ticket rather than a membership. “Do you mean this?” I asked.

“Oh no!” spat the old lady with disgust.

So I let a beat go by and then looked at my wallet with confusion. I pulled out my membership card. “Oh, is this it?”

I’m not entirely sure what the old lady did next, but it was a cross between blushing, swallowing, rolling the eyes, and eating one’s own liver. She turned away and ignored me.

Old lady: pwned.

* Just in the old bag’s defence, I did look like an unwashed sack of shit.

Film rating: 1.5/5
Walkouts: 0/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 0/5
BPM sighting: No

Child actor-turned-filmmaker Teona Struger Mitevska shines a light on the plight of Macedonian women, floundering in a society failed by both communism and capitalism. The women are three sisters: one sex-obsessed, one a recovering drug addict and one – the baby of the family – who hasn’t spoken since their parents death and, at 27, remains a virgin. In the broken city of Titov Veles, the sisters battle to make a start on life.

This was a pretty poor film, and events at the start of the screening didn’t bode well. Allow me to explain.

Most of the films at this year’s festival are showing at the old Greater Union cinema on Russell Street. I imagine this is because the Regent is out of action (damn you, Wicked) and because MIFF would be getting bargain basement prices from a cinema so desperate for custom. The foyer of the complex is pretty small and can’t even come close to holding the punters lining up for three sold out cinemas of festival films, so the ushers herd people out of the fire exits at the end of films rather than have to deal with them in the foyer. This makes for a lovely end of a film experience, what with being chucked out into a stinking and dark alley full of bins and piss.

Anyway, as the day goes on the films inevitably start to screen later and later as the load/unload of cinemas is clearly taking longer than the organisers expected. I Am From Titov Veles was scheduled to start at 7.20pm and they didn’t even start letting people in until a few minutes before this time. So I’m sitting there in the cinema and people are still streaming in the door and up the aisles and the lights go down and the freakin’ film starts! While people are still having their tickets scanned in the line outside the door!

What absolute and utter bullshit. I was appalled. Why should the poor punters at the end of the line miss the start of the film just because MIFF can’t get its shit together and run things on time?

But back to the film, I suppose. It was tedious. Nice cinematography but bugger all plot development, character arcs or genuine moments of emotional tension. At least the people who missed the start didn’t miss anything important.

Film rating: 4/5
Walkouts: 0.5/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 3/5
BPM sighting: No

A murder mystery with a story that’s as chilly as its ice-cold setting. The plot follows Erlendur, a detective on the case of a seemingly mundane murder. When his investigations reveal a brooding history of buried crimes and police corruption, the floorboards start creaking with grisly secrets. Everything in Jar City – from the haunting choral score to the bizarre culinary behaviours of the stoic detective – emanates a thrilling sense of doom.

A fairly average paint-by-numbers crime thriller plot made better than average by the excellent acting, well developed characters, atmospheric direction and visual style, haunting score, and stunning cinematography. A better advertisement for Iceland’s tourism industry you’ll never see.

Rather than talk about the plot I’ll simply recount a moment in the film in which the main character — a senior, serious and traditional Icelandic detective — and his young assistant detective (who considers himself rather urbane and sophisticated) are in an unremarkable cafe restaurant getting some lunch. The buffet selection looks quite meaty and stodgey.

Young detective: “Um, do you have anything vegetarian?”
Fat, greasy serving dude: (Looking at young detective like he’s a piece of shit on his shoe) “We don’t have any of that guacamole shit here, mate.”
Young detective: “Oh. Well, I’ll just have a latte then.”
Fat, greasy serving dude: (Still looking at young detective like he’s a piece of shit on his shoe and pointing towards unremarkable coffee pot on table) “Coffee’s over there.”

What is it with teh Left and food and beverage elitism?

Film rating: 5/5
Walkouts: 0/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 4/5
BPM sighting: No

Ben suffers from Asperger’s syndrome, a type of autism that prevents him from interacting socially with those around him. The victim of relentless bullying at his high school, his only retreat is the fantasy world of Overlord, an online game where he is free to transform himself and dispatch his enemies without effort. But when the bullying invades his online world things spiral out of control, and Ben is forced to take real action.

The debut feature from Belgian director Nic Balthazar, Ben X is an exploration of school bullying, autism and the effects of online culture.

It’s lucky that this film is engaging right from the start because I watched the start twice. Arriving ten minutes before the scheduled screening time I was shocked to find the opening credits rolling as I walked into the cinema. Obviously the projectionist got his or her arse kicked pretty quickly because the lights came up and the film stopped before the end of the credits sequence. At the scheduled time the film started for proper and I don’t mind admitting that 88 minutes later I had tears in my eyes.

Ben X takes you inside the mind and world of autistic Ben and charts his struggles with living in the real world, drawing constant parallels with his life inside an online game. The lead actor is mesmorising in his dialogue-free performance and the film’s visual direction helps you to empathise even more with the character. The plot is just unpredictable enough, and the twists just plausible enough, that you are taken on an extraordinary and emotional journey from beginning to end. The film’s climactic scene avoids unnecessary cliches, and challenges you to think and feel rather than simply absorb.

A worthy five star film.

Film rating: 1/5
Walkouts: 3/5
Pretentious clapping at credits: 0/5
BPM sighting: Yes

In ancient China, a vagabond swordsman earns his living by hiring others as assassins. His heart was long ago hardened by the betrayal of a woman, but his encounters make him reflect on his lost love.Cut together by director Wong Kar-wai from a variety of prints of the original, this is the definitive version of his rarely seen martial arts film. Digitally tweaked and tightened, Ashes of Time Redux remains pure Wong - a visually bold film that centres on unrequited longing and emotional frustration, rather than the sword fights of wuxia cinema.A star-studded cast includes both Tony Leungs, Leslie Cheung and Maggie Cheung, and masterful camera work by Christopher Doyle (Rabbit-Proof Fence).

I arrived about a minute late for the film (thanks a million, Yarra Trams) which always puts me in a shitty mood, and then I got stuck with a shitty seat so I was in an even shittier mood. About twenty minutes into Ashes Of Time Redux I suspected that I was watching a turkey but crossed all my fingers that my first film of MIFF ‘08 would redeem itself.

It didn’t.

Look, the cinematography and visual direction were pretty bloody good, and there were some interesting sequences from a pure filmmaking point of view, but the film just wasn’t very good to watch. The storyline wasn’t engaging — it was quite confusing in places — and the emotional themes were hideously overblown. Put it this way: Bicycle Pump Man walked out! He freakin’ walked out. And in my long relationship with BPM I’ve never known him to walk out of a film. Pretty damning stuff.