Mademoiselle Chambon

From Writer/director Stéphane Brizé, Mademoiselle Chambon (2009), an adaptation of Eric Holder's novel, tells the story of a married builder, Jean (Vincent Lindon), who falls in love with his son's teacher, the titular Mademoiselle Chambon (Sandrine Kiberlain). A simple enough story told through somewhat unconventional means, Brizé utilizes drawn out shots, lengthy pieces of classical music and silences which make 101 minutes feel like 45, however I'm not sure I'm convinced that is a strength of the film.

What began as a curios and charming portrait of family, loyalty and forbidden love, quickly became lost and confused, eventually finishing in neither a confronting or shocking resolution, rather the film simply placed the viewer back into the banality of Jean's life. Understandably the film opens with glimpses into Jean, his wife, Anne-Marie (Aure Atika) and their son's lives, happily sharing an afternoon attempting to work out Jérémy's (Arthur Le Houérou) grammar book. This is one example of Brizé's ability to present sincere realism, funny and sweet in a way that lacked all cliché or pretention. Then, faced with Jean caring for his aged father, we again are reassured this is a tight family unit. However all this is to change when Jean walks into his son's school to pick him up, meeting the charming and flawed Véronique Chambon. After their brief encounter, there is obviously something between them, and what develops is a passion beginning as tiny embers that burn and thrash until the two are unable to escape their passions for each other.

I believe the greatest strength of this film was the emotional manipulation Brizé is able to achieve. The audience is forced into the strange and sometimes confusing mindsets of both Jean and Véronique. When Jean leaves a rambling message on her answering machine, she doesn’t flinch to pick up and talk to him. The next call she gets, the audience expects the scene to repeat, perhaps this time she'll break and pick up, however it isn't Jean calling, it's her mother. Initially there's relief, yet as her mother begins to talk, there's disappointment. Why isn't he calling? The audience is physically thrust into this relationship, even if it is forbidden.

As I mentioned earlier, Brizé's use of a sincere realism really adds a much-needed charm to the film, Véronique arranging cakes on a plate in the shape of a smiley-face or the awkward conversations she has with Jean in the beginning of their relationship give you something tangible, a connection with the characters that can otherwise be missing in the heavy scenes of softly delivered dialogues.

The use of music in the film is poignant, i'll give it that, but it didn't seem to anchor itself in the film enough. Obviously the beauty of the violin and the piano (arguably symbols for Véronique and Jean - "more beautiful as an ensemble than separate") are integral to the passion between the two, which is then juxtaposed by the provincial song which concludes the film - a signal that Jean has left behind his notions of his more 'cultured' life with Chambon and is settling for his pragmatic life with his family.

I feel somewhat ambivalent to the film, I didn't feel any emotional connection to any of the characters, if anyone I felt sympathy for Anne-Marie, the wife, which I doubt was the point. The film read like a series of snapshots - on their own they were beautiful, poetic and very well produced, however they did not fit together as a metaphorical album, the connective thread just didn't seem to be there. As individual scenes, I could see a great deal of beauty and clever direction, but when they were placed side-by-side, it became almost overwhelming, heavy and ineffective.

I am not, and don't think I would commit to, saying that I did not enjoy the film, I am saying that I don't think it was something I would happily recommend simply because it wasn't whole. I feel like it was lacking heart and a solidness that could have made it a really potent story about love and an impossible decision.

I am Love

You can tell from the poster, Io Sono l'Amore (I am Love) is not a generic Hollywood film, even the opening credits harken back to classic European cinematography, which should serve as a warning to those hoping to see a a love-story. Tilda Swinton dethrones herself from forever being seen as the White Witch in the Narnia films and steps into the fall of the haute bourgeois at the hands of passion, and unrestricted love. This is a gracious film, while many may compliment it by crowning it a 'beautiful film’; the director unselfishly provides a fantastic and raw story, complete with a cast of complicated and real characters. While not always easy to watch, the film - as cinema - is near perfection, if you consider yourself a fan of cinema, especially European cinema, this is a film you should not miss.

On the surface, you could simply say the plot centers on Emma (Swinton) and her affair with her son's friend Antonio (the confusingly sexy Edoardo Gabbriellini). If you want to push deeper, as Swinton herself has spoke of many times, the film may read as an allegory to capitalism, and the self-destruction behind those that have too much wealth and not enough love. I prefer to see this film as a far more moving family portrait. Edoardo Sr (Gabriele Ferzetti), patriarch of the Recchi family even announces: "Our family fortune, is built on unity." This is exactly what the film begins with; a family built on unity, structured and together. With the undercurrents of unhappiness are all but apparent, it is not until Emma begins to have what appears to be a hedonistic affair with Antonio's cooking. Her curiosity begins with fascination, her lust with a single bite. While the rest of the family begins to unravel, Emma becomes helpless in love, helpless in loss - helpless in life.

An argument for true auteurism, this film does not tell you everything; you leave the theatre still contemplating the lives of the characters - a gift that can only be attributed to the Writer/Director Luca Guadagnino. Emma's identity itself is only a creation of her husband, as she is just as much a product as the industry her husband's factory creates, and finally 'Emma' is reduced to what she began as - not existing.

There are so many scenes in this film that are touching, shocking or moving – juxtaposed with great silences and quiet movements of snow crunching or heels clipping hardwood floors. The entire film is a visceral feast for the senses; poetic, clever and stunning, one of the best films this year has provided.

Mother and Child

Written and directed by Rodrigo García Mother and Child (2009) hinges its entire story on the delicate relationships between mothers and their children. The son of Gabriel García Márquez, storytelling is rife within García's blood, a skill which reveals itself slowly throughout Mother and Child. The film is not without flaw, in fact a bulk of the script comes off as clunky and awkward, but the true beauty of this film comes in the moments between what is being said.

Imagining the film like a web of interconnected people, it begins close with the story of Karen, the stunningly heart-breaking Annette Benning, who became pregnant at fourteen, and gave up her child for adoption the day of its birth. Thirty-seven years later Karen's life revolves around her elderly mother, the woman who "ruined her life" by forcing her to give up her child. All grown up, Karen's child, Elizabeth (Naomi Watts), is a successful lawyer who begins an affair with her boss (Samuel L. Jackson) and married father-to-be neighbor (Marc Blucas). While it is never fully revealed, it is inferred that Elizabeth's upbringing was not the most idillic, however after moving around for most of her adult life, she has settled down in the hometown of her birth-mother, yet neither woman is actively seeking the other. At the same time, we meet Lucy (Kerry Washington) a woman unable to give her husband the one thing he wants, a son of their own, turns to adoption as a final solution.

Through these three women we meet a constantly expanding cast of mothers, lovers, children and friends all of which provide some input to the various approaches to adoption, parenting and love. Admittedly I went into the film knowing nothing about it, after one of those days you'd rather hide away under the covers, so unexpectedly I sat in the theatre alone, constantly having to readjust myself so no one could see me weeping like the emotionally stable person I truly am. I think the power in this film comes from an immaculate cast and a wonderful cinematography. As I mentioned before, García's writing did grate me the wrong way for some portions of the film, but he is a master at quiet moments of introspection which I felt really made up for heavy dialogue.

As I mentioned, Annette Benning was lovely to watch, her only rival was a surprisingly fantastic performance by Kerry Washington, who I was unfamiliar but totally enthralled by. The character of Karen was obviously one the director loved, her quirks and blunt approach to people exposing her as the fourteen year-old that was never able to move forward with her life - "I'm not a weirdo. I'm difficult." Washington, on the other hand, gave one of those performances that are theatrical in nature, complete and well-formed. Possibly one of the best scenes - the others being any of the early moments of Karen's interactions with Paco (Jimmy Smits) - occurs when Lucy's mother is called in to assist the new mother after sleepless nights. These are the moments when the film truly comes alive.

Like his father, García's notion of time does not follow any strict pattern, he takes small steps in the timelines of his characters, yet launches the spectator months into the future without much notice. Sex featured a few times in the film, and on the whole it was well done, almost poetic, however a scene with Elizabeth and her boss was too much for me, a film that was so littered with innocence and passion did not need what felt like a cheap porno interlude. Obviously not without problems, the film is easy to watch, but I do believe you need to be in a particular mindset to really enjoy it, that mindset being completely devoid of happiness. I'm not sure I would recommend this film to just anyone, it has a necessity of viewership that forces you to ignore the troubled dialogue of religion and sex - or the terrible use of swearing that comes off as so labored - or every character's want to divulge their innermost philosophies at the drop of a hat. That's the world García exists in, the world he has created, a world of philosophizing and missed connections, a world of mothers and their children.