THOROUGHLY MIFFED - PART V: AT LONG LAST LOVE

Not much farther to go now... and bring yer shades: things get a little sunnier from here on in!

20th - TRIANGLE

The plan is simple, yet complex: one of Hong Kong's most famed action directors (let's call him Tsui Hark) concocts a heist picture, directing the first half hour... only to hand it over to another, equally legendary action auteur (say, Ringo Lam) who does the same for the next half hour, going to town, contriving all sorts of problems... which are to be solved by action legend #3 (played here by Johnnie To) in the last half hour. With the players are set, the game is afoot. Will they pull it off? Well, first, I have an embarrassing admission: I missed the first 17 minutes of this film, so I may not be the best judge, given I missed the crucial setup. However, the fact that I not only made head nor tail out of what followed, but really enjoyed it, can only work in the picture's favour, right? I've noticed since that this roundtable exercise in old-school HK action mayhem had a lukewarm reception from the fanbase, but I enjoyed the hell out of it for the exact same reason most of these people didn't: it's a total throwback to early 1990s HK action cinema, when Lam and Tsui were busting it up and emptying billions of bullets upon the screens of cult movie devotees like yours truly, before the American studios ripped everything off. It seemed to me, other than the introduction of mobile phones, TRIANGLE makes absolutely no attempt to be a 21st century heist film. I've been saddened by the gradual decline of Hong Kong action cinema, crushed by the raging cinematic storm from South Korea. Maybe I'm not seeing the right flicks, but since the INFERNAL AFFAIRS trilogy wrapped up, nothing to come out of HK has excited me. But let me be abundantly clear: TRIANGLE isn't the saviour -- there's way too many characters and not everything holds together -- but rather, a valentine. A jolt to remind me why I fell in love with Hong Kong genre cinema, way back in '93 (yes, I had to discover them all on SBS TV and thus arrived later than all you hardcore HK buffs, fuck you), and for that I'm eternally grateful to Tsui, Lam and To, once and forever masters of their domain. Now if only they'd pried John Woo from Hollywood complacency to join them... sigh.

19th - WEST 32ND

Ever wondered what John "Harold" Cho of HAROLD & KUMAR, ETC (lazy referencing, I know, but much better than calling him John "Mom I Love To Fuck" Cho) would be like as the lead in a US/South Korean crime drama? Well, wonder no more: catch yourself some WEST 32ND! Seriously, he's very good here, playing an ambitious New York lawyer doing some pro bono work, for a Korean immigrant family whose son has been accused of killing a Koreatown nightclub owner. While he feels some duty to his heritage -- not to mention the boy's very attractive older sister -- he really has a feeling this case might make him partner of his firm. Finding out the truth means getting to Mike, the leader of the kid's gang, who may or may not have put him up to it. Plunged into the criminal underbelly of NY's Koreatown, John (he's also called that in the film) finds himself in exploring a side of his culture completely alien to him, and finds in Mike an unexpectedly kindred spirit. Directed and co-written by Korean-American Michael Kang, the film is slick, fast, pretty and always engaging, and doesn't waste one of its economical 86 minutes. Sure, it's not without cliches, but the unique Koreatown setting, the terrific performances and Kang's focus on character elevate it somewhat. The ending seemed strange to me at first, but upon reflection I found it actually wrapped up rather smartly, and darkly, which is always a nice bonus. A tight, effective little flick.

18th - THE GUITAR

This tale of a young woman, stricken with throat cancer, who emerges from the worst day of her life -- she loses her job, breaks up with her boyfriend, and is informed she has a month to live -- hell bent on living her life to the fullest by loading up on credit cards and buying all the comforts she always wanted but could never have. This feature directorial debut for Amy Redford (daughter of you-know-who) is an occasionally implausible, feather-light fable on one hand, and a fantastic showcase for star Saffron Burrows on the other. Mainly due to Burrows' winning, almost childlike performance, the film is an entertaining, genuinely sweet tale with some intriguing stuff going on under the surface, as Burrows' character breaks taboos at the same speed she acquires objects. Redford doesn't quite nail the tone all the way through, as the film very much starts in a place of reality, then switches sharply to something more like, well, a movie. Interestingly, the picture feels very much like an extended student film, with some scenes running a little too long, a general lack of polish in regard to editing and storytelling, even its emphasis on one character and (mostly) one location. This cuts both ways, however, providing a slight hinderance yet adding to its charm. It's great to see a movie using Burrows this well -- the girl really can act -- and being a film with a woman front and centre that rarely surrenders to "woman's movie" cliches. Charming stuff.

17th - ROCK 'N ROLL NERD

Before MIFF, I knew just three things about Tim Minchin: his name, his deranged glare (seen from posters around the city during the Melbourne Comedy Festival) and the fact his comedy was musical in nature. In addition to what I knew, I had also heard he was pretty great, so I thought this rise-and-rise documentary might provide an excellent introduction to the man. Once I heard the opening verse to his song ROCK 'N ROLL NERD, and found it seemed to be describing me, I knew I would be rewarded; you can bet your last dollar when Minchin comes back to town, I'm buying a ticket. This documentary has the fortunate grace to be made by a friend of the comedian, Rhian Skirving, who has captured that rare beast: a star rising from the ground up. The film literally begins with handycam footage of Minchin playing a tiny Melbourne venue, followed by candid footage of him at home, planning the embryonic stages of his career, and goes from there. As the film follows Minchin performing his first Melbourne Comedy Festival show to the high-pressure stakes of the Edinburgh Festival and back again for his highly anticipated follow-up, you would think the film would grow sycophantic and cloying, but it's remarkably even-handed. Skirving just sits back, following Minichin with his camera through all moods -- even when the subject grows annoyed -- highs and lows and captures some amazing moments. Ever wondered what it would be like to be a comedy festival sensation and be courted by promoters and agents? You'll find it all here, in absorbing detail. In addition to the narrative, there's plenty of concert footage to illustrate what all the fuss is about. One particular sequence, which details the genesis, development and first performance of the sophomore show's signature song, SO F**KING ROCK, is balls-out brilliant, and I guarantee the song will be bouncing around your head when you leave the theatre. A treat for both Minchin fans or, like me, those new to his charms, this is a riveting fly-on-the-wall experience.

16th - ACOLYTES

I, for one, am excited that Australian filmmakers and -- more significantly -- Australian funding bodies are rediscovering a taste for genre films. We have such a rich and varied history in them (as evidenced in a certain docu which ranks very highly on this list... there's a spoiler!) it's a real shame when we all but give them away, as what occurred during the 1990s. But thanks to WOLF CREEK's success, "Ozploitation" is starting to enter what may be its second coming. ACOLYTES is very much a thriller with audiences in mind, from its lurid serial killer plot to its slam-bam sound design, which jolts you out of your seat more than once. Basically, three teenagers live in fear of a local bully until they discover they share their suburb with a serial killer, and... well, I'm not going to divulge any more. Only to say that all performances are top notch, especially from Joel Edgerton, as the very suburban slayer, and an unrecognisable Michael Dorman (ironically, the man who replaced Edgerton on SECRET LIFE... I always knew he had a performance like this in him) as the bully. Director Jon Hewitt, who has previously directed edgy, ultra-low-budget guerilla genre works, does a nice job of building suspense and keeping his first big(ger)-budget picture slick, tight and active and, like all the Aussie films I saw at this year's fest, it's gorgeously shot and all technical work is top-drawer. The script -- where most Australian films go wrong -- for this one (by Queenslanders Shane Krause and Shayne Armstrong, with Hewitt) is better than most; while it utilises its fair share of cliches, it manages to turn a good many of them on their head. It isn't going to make anyone rethink the genre, but it's smart, entertaining and nicely done, and for an Australian thriller, that's a huge tick.

15th - MAN ON WIRE

By 1974, French professional tightrope walker/nutcase Philippe Petit had already successfully completed wire walks over the Notre Dame cathedral and the Sydney Harbour Bridge -- unsanctioned and totally illegal, of course -- so he was naturally looking for his next challenge, but this one had to be huge, legend-etching stuff. While flipping through a magazine in a doctor's office, he innocuously found his muse: the still-under-construction Twin Towers in New York City. Soon to become the world's tallest buildings, they provided the tightrope Everest Petit craved. This vibrant, hugely entertaining documentary is the tale of how Petit did it, step by agonising step, much of it told in gregarious style by the likeable Petit himself, as well as his revolving door of accomplices. Termed at the time "the artistic crime of the century", the operation is scoped, planned and executed like a heist, and director James Marsh makes the brilliant choice to treat it as such, with camera angles, music and amusing reveals of interview subjects -- even branding them with OCEAN'S ELEVEN-like nicknames -- with the flavour of a Jules Dassin flick. I won't say any more, except to urge you to see it; it's one of the most purely fun documentaries you'll ever see, an absolute popcorn doc.

14th - LIONEL

A authoritative, affectionate, and affecting, documentary about legendary Aboriginal boxer Lionel Rose, the man who became the first Aboriginal Australian to win a world boxing title. While he may be a household name to boxing enthusiasts and Aussies over 30, most people tend to forget what a towering figure he was here in the 1960s. Forthright, boyishly charming, self-effacing, terrific with the media and even better with his fists in the ring, Rose was a flat-out superstar in this country, winning Australian of the Year and even recording a Number 1 hit single! Upon returning from his bantamweight title fight against Harada in Japan, he was greeted by over 100,000 people on the steps of Melbourne Town Hall. This beautifully crafted film shows us all this, his gradual fall -- weight problems derailing a ill-fated comeback, battles with drinking, losing his winnings, and being convicted of a stupidly small-time burglary -- and subsequent rebirth as an elder statesman of the indigenous community, as director Eddie Martin employs an arsenal of virtually every surviving scrap of archive and news footage, as well as some beautifully shot present-day interviews and intimate segments of the man relaxing with family and alone. What's really striking about this documentary, besides the thoroughness of it, is that it just oozes class and love, yet doesn't sugar-coat its subject. It's like a documentary made by your best friend, who will show the world why you mean so much to them, yet won't shirk from showing your difficult or dark side... but all delivered with the affection and sensitivity of someone who'd lie in traffic for you. (I believe Martin is quite close to the Roses personally.) A riveting, warmly funny, occasionally tragic and ultimately enriching portrait of the first 60 years of one of this country's greatest athletes.

13th - GONZO: THE LIFE AND WORK OF HUNTER S. THOMPSON

In what is fast becoming to be a yearly tradition, MIFF rolls out yet another documentary about the late, great maestro of Gonzo, Hunter S. Thompson. Not that I'm complaining; I could seriously watch this dude for hours, he's just so incredibly brilliant, funny, perceptive, loose and, of course, batshit bananas crazy. This time, it's recently Oscar-anointed documentary filmmaker Alex Gibney (TAXI TO THE DARK SIDE) whose lens is trained on the subject, and he directs with great pace, style and verve, and really makes a film out of it. While showing us plenty of archive footage we've seen before -- notably in last year's excellent MIFF-screened docu BUY THE TICKET, TAKE THE RIDE: HUNTER THOMPSON ON FILM... there's only so much vision to go around, I guess -- this film makes an effort to focus on events of Thompson's life I knew little about but mere lip service; namely, his vehement support for 1972 Democratic Presidential candidate George McGovern, and Thompson's own campaign for Sheriff of his adopted hometown of Woody Creek, Colorado. Narrated by Hunter's screen alter ego Johnny Depp, featuring vox pops of varying (mostly ace) insight from everyone from childhood friends to Depp and Sean Penn, and put together with panache, Gibney's film is a document every bit as entertaining as its subject, even if it isn't quite the definitive record it strives to be.

12th - CALIFORNIA DREAMIN' (ENDLESS)

Firstly, I have to say, I take small issue with the "Endless" tag placed upon this work. The film has been labeled such as its Romanian director/co-writer, Christian Nemescu, was killed in a car accident before he got a chance to finish his edit, so it is allegedly being released to the world in the exact state the film's producers found it after he died. My issue is, it didn't feel endless to me... in any way. Essentially an extended battle of wits between an American Military Colonel (Armand Assante, who's fabulous) and an equally hardheaded station master, as the US Army are carrying NATO supplies on a train passing through Romania to Kosovo (this is set in the early 1990s), and need to get there ASAP. But they don't have the proper papers, which rubs the somewhat tyrannical station master, Doiaru, the wrong way, and no amount of "just get it done" phone missives from the US Army, or the Romanian government for that matter, can budge him. While this all plays out, many of the American soldiers and the local girls have one thing on their minds... particularly Assante's number one soldier and Doiaru's fiesty daughter, which certainly throws a spanner in the works. There's so much socio-political subtext going on in this film, nicely bubbling under the surface at all times, it spun me out a little, to the point where I wasn't sure I was absorbing as much as I should. The ending is highly satisfactory, and it's followed by a tiny little coda which works in a very ambiguous European way. For those expecting a long, dry, sombre, seemingly "endless" Romanian film weighed down by political subtext and the doom and gloom of war, prepare to be disappointed! This a film with a lot on its mind, but nothing more present than audiences. It's eminently watchable, shot and edited with effortless skill and, yes, frequently funny, even sexy! I hope Numescu is resting in peace, and if this is a harbinger of what was to come from this young man, then we're all the poorer for his absence.

11th - JESUS CHRIST SAVIOUR

Damn, this was fun to watch, even if at times it resembled a major disaster, somewhere between a ten car pile-up and a bridge collapse... take your pick. This isn't a documentary, it's a concert film, with some title cards from 2008 added, so here's the lowdown: In 1971, German actor Klaus Kinski, he of the uncomfortably intense mad-eyed stare and ever-shortening fuse, and tormentor of Herzog, performs a self-penned monologue at Berlin's Deutchlandhalle about the Messiah, called JESUS CHRIST SAVIOUR. Starting off by narrating around the events then switching to first person, Kinski is so into this it's very, very funny. But what's even funnier, and conversely, sadder and weirder, is the moment sections of the crowd start turning on him (particularly when some of seem to have attended precisely for this purpose) and, Kinski being Kinski, the actor can't resist the temptation just to yell comebacks and threats to these rogue elements, even while preaching his revisionist gospel in the third person (keep in mind, the "third person" is one Jesus H. Christ, esq.). Kinski is magnetically mad -- you've never heard the word of Christ until it's been screamed at you by an unhinged German -- the crowd are, by degrees, funny and annoying and watching Kinski walk off, start again from the beginning, walk off, and repeat over and over again, is an unwitting joke which packs an awesome punchline. The energy in the hall is born straight of late-60s unrest and the kids in the audience seem to carry a deep resentment of Kinski's financial status. Absorbing, highly entertaining stuff.

Oh my stars and garters, as Dr H McCoy used to say!! Have we reached my Top 10 Films of MIFF 2008????

That's right, ladies and germs, watch this space in a few days and we'll spank this puppy, wrap this sucker up and ride it all the way to Vegas. You know what I'm talkin' about? Oh. You don't? Hmm. Okay... you know where to meet me, I'll show you, you follow my lead.

It's the TOP 10 and IT'S COMING!!!*

(*and rest assured, no-one is happier about this than me!)

TSIK

THOROUGHLY MIFFED - PART IV: THE ROARING TWENTIES

When I made the decision to review every film I saw at MIFF this year, I can only conclude that a very Australian mindset captured me, because a stiff shot of "She'll be right, mate" can be the only reason an otherwise sane person would battle through reviews to 59 freaking movies. Last two years, I saw and reviewed 21 and 27 pictures respectively, and they'd been a breeze! How hard could this be, really? It's only more than those two combined, right? *cue deadpan look to camera*

Lunacy. Fucking lunacy. And I'm in too deep now, and have no choice but to forge ahead... Thankfully, the films are gradually improving. Without further faffing about:

30th - WENDY AND LUCY

A small, sparse, well-executed, 'meat & potatoes' American independent film about an indigent young woman (Michelle Williams) traveling the country with her dog, Lucy, on her way to Alaska to find work and freedom. We find her on the day her little life unravels; down to her last dollar, her car breaks down, she gets arrested for shoplifting and loses her dog. Light on for story, sure, but story is never the point for these kinds of films, it's all about mood, reality and capturing a slice of life, all of which this film actually does pretty well. Williams is terrific, the film is shot and edited with extreme subtlety and Wendy's actions and interactions all have the ring of truth, and at a slim 80 minutes, doesn't outstay its welcome. WENDY AND LUCY won't set anyone's seat alight, and it's nothing we haven't seen before, but in terms of its modest aspirations -- a snapshot of a woman staring her life in the face as it falls apart around her -- it succeeds beautifully.

29th - CELEBRITY: DOMENICK DUNNE

An Australian-made documentary taking us through the high and low life of famed Los AngelesVanity Fair columnist Dunne, this is a snappy little effort. Kept humming along by the now-81-year-old subject's willingness to share, his very much intact sense of humour and talent for observation, and the circus of events and personalities involved -- plus some damn good vox pops from such reliable luminaries as Robert Evans and Dunne's actor-producer son Griffin -- the film is constantly engaging. If anything, it threatens to drown in its own L.A.-ness, its sense of self-importance, the feeling that Los Angeles is the centre of the universe. The dreadful revelation which changed the course of Dunne's life -- his daughter being murdered at just 23 -- and the metamorphosis it triggered in him, from celebrity gadfly and budding Fitzgerald to professional celebrity court reporter, adds some much-needed gravity to proceedings. Overall, a colourful, entertaining docu about a colourful, entertaining man.

28th - BRANDO

Befitting the man, this is a mammoth (165 minute) record of the life and times of the Actor Who Changed Everything, particularly in terms of American screen acting. Produced by the Turner Classic Movies (TCM) network, this is a fairly loving portrait, as you'd expect, chock full of entertaining interviews with many who knew, loved, worked with or were influenced by him, and incredibly light on criticism or objectivity. Nobody wants a character assassination, but a deeper look into his later-life eccentricities and anguish would've provided a touch more edge. It does provide a terrific illustration of what impact Brando's arrival had on Hollywood and, most crucially, his fellow actors, and packed with terrific anecdotes. It's always entertaining, but very much a made-for-cable-TV affair, and overlong by about half an hour. Sometimes the line between exhaustive and exhausting can be incredibly slender, and BRANDO isn't always on the right side.

27th - REDACTED

Despite all the hate heaped on top of the guy, I always find Brian De Palma an interesting figure among American film directors. Capable of true genre greatness (CARRIE, SCARFACE, THE UNTOUCHABLES and MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE... and I'm ashamed to say I haven't seen many of his 1970s flicks like SISTERS, THE FURY or OBSESSION), highly entertaining camp nuttiness (PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE, RAISING CAIN) and the odd intelligent exploration of society's big questions (GREETINGS, CASUALTIES OF WAR) -- as well as, yes, many misfires -- De Palma has had one of the more varied (and variable) careers of his contemporaries, so I'm always intrigued by what he'll do next. REDACTED, indeed, is something different again, caught somewhere between CASUALTIES and his avant-garde beginnings -- if in experimental spirit rather than content. A comment on today's proliferation of mixed media messages and how their subjectivity further compromises the truth rather than propagates it, it tells the story of the rape and murder of an Iraqi girl and her family by American peacekeeping soldiers through video blogs, a fictional documentary, news footage, CCTV, taped military psychology sessions and so forth. It sounds like a mess, but it actually gels together rather well, progressing in a surprisingly linear fashion. The actors do a great job being as real as possible and blending into the background... but De Palma, as writer more than director, lets the dog run off the leash in the final quarter, as his characters start saying and doing things that feel more like the actions of movie characters than the flesh-and-blood archetypes they were previously. Added to that, the movie traverses well-well-worn territory, and when the 90 minutes is done, you're left with the feeling that, while told in an interesting and innovative way (some may say "gimmicky"), it hasn't told us anything new or shown anything particularly enlightening. Still, it's well executed and, while not to everyone's taste, is quite good as a piece of preaching-to-the-converted antiwar polemic.

26th - LET THE RIGHT ONE IN

Oskar is twelve, slight, sickly, lives in a freezing Swedish commission flat with his mother and gets bullied at school. One reason for the latter is his interest in the macabre, which gets him labeled a freak of sorts. However... this interest is very much piqued when the new girl next door (also twelve... and then some...) turns out to be a vampire. Elegantly shot, leisurely paced and bursting with terrific ideas, this is one of those films that's A-L-M-O-S-T there, but not quite. Unfortunately, it's also bursting with too many extraneous plotlines which take up slabs of valuable screen time and distract from the intriguing central dynamic. However, I'm always up for any new or unexpected twists on the Vampire genre, and on this count, the picture delivers. Oh, and the second-to-last-scene is killer.

25th - OLD FISH

An aging policeman working and living in the slums of China is kept around by the force almost as a monument; his fellow cops call him "Old Fish" and treat him with a mixture of respect and amusement. But the old man has one edge over his more technologically advanced fellow officers: after the war, he specialised in disarming land mines left by the Japanese, and by default has become their resident explosives expert. So when a rash of home-made explosive devices pop up at dilapidated housing flats across town, Old Fish is The Man. Some incredible suspense is created as we watch this old fella -- he'd be pushing 60 -- struggling to stay his hands and slow his heart as he takes apart device after device, as his slightly smug colleagues can only watch in fear. Director Gao Qunshu ratchets up the tension beautifully, and creates an evocative portrait of the grimy, desolate slums not so far from China's urban centre -- I'm sure this isn't a place the Chinese authorities would want foreigners to see. However, after you've seen Old Fish disarm the first four bombs, it becomes clear the filmmakers don't have much more up their sleeve (there is an interesting suspicion that Old Fish may be planting them himself, but this idea is quickly discarded) and the action eventually becomes monotonous, padding out the film to an overlong 113 minutes, and it's a little hard to swallow this force don't have a single officer trained in explosives. It eventually builds to a nice ending, which leaves you wondering how much more fulfilling the film could've been with some judicious second-half editing.

24th - BEST MIFF SHORTS

Thankfully, a remarkably subdued and decidedly not cringe-inducing award session preceded a selection of six of the award winners.

First was JOHN AND KAREN, a cute English animation about an awkward, all-too-human conversation between a polar bear (John) and a penguin (Karen). Amusing anthropomorphic antics, but hardly stunning or gutbusting... as good as it was, it's hard to believe this was the best animated film on offer.

Secondly was the ambitious, attractive, but massively dull HELL'S GATES, based upon the cannibalistic exploits of 1790s Australian convict Alexander Pierce and his increasingly starving fellow escapees. With such effort put into evoking the period (on an incredibly low budget apparently, kudos) and building mood, this had the potential to be genuinely fearsome, but goes nowhere and unforgivably ends up a thunderous bore. Unfortunately, at 21 minutes, it was also the longest short on offer, not helping its cause.

Then came 296 SMITH STREET, which agonisingly evokes a day in the life of Ahmed, a Collingwood (or is that Fitzroy?) pawnbroker and his customers: occasionally ingratiating, often agitated, and always on a knife's edge. Shot in black and white yet bleeding realism, sometimes amusing and increasingly nerve-wracking, considering the clientele are always a heartbeat away from violence, this was one of the best for mine.

Just as great was Irish short NEW BOY, a simple yet punchy and painfully real story (based on a short story by Roddy Doyle) of an African boy's first day at school after emigrating to Ireland. Nervous, affecting and ultimately funny, this is beautifully done.

Next up was the Aussie JERRYCAN, fresh of winning the top short film prize at Cannes. It's a spunky, beautifully shot film, with a really strong sense of place, about two kids in a country town trying to stave off perennial boredom and find something to amuse themselves, eventually coming across the titular petrol-filled item... naturally, explosive hijinks ensue.

Finally, there was the actual grand prize winner, the Danish short DENNIS. Living with his domineering mother, Dennis is a hulking bodybuilder who exists in a state of abject loneliness. He calls up a girl from the gym for a date and, to his surprise, she accepts. However, the painfully shy big guy finds that's only half the battle as the date goes in an unexpected direction. By turns amusing and painful, this is a nicely told little tale.

In some way or another, all six displayed the possibilities of the short film format to positive effect, much more than the utter dreck Tropfest routinely serves up year after year.

23rd - LA ANTENA (aka THE AERIAL)

A visually stunning homage to silent German expressionist cinema, or a family film co-directed by Guy Maddin and David Lynch: take your pick, as either description can be applied to -- yet not fully explain -- this odd little fantasy concoction from Argentinian cinematographer-turned-director Esteban Sapir. Set in a world where no-one can speak aloud, but can project visible words (like subtitles) into the air, where a nefarious media magnate named Mr. TV -- the man who stole their voices in the first place -- controls all television and music output, even much of the food the silenced citizens eat. This isn't enough for him, though: he wants to steal their words, too. Enter a recently sacked network employee and his daughter, and the only two people in town with voices (a torch singer without a face known only as “The Voice” and her son, born without eyes), as they discover Mr TV’s plan and plot to stop him. Charming at times, downright bizarre at others, this is one of the more inventive films I’ve ever seen, and although it has that fuzzy, soft-light look shared by such all-CGI films as SKY CAPTAIN AND THE WORLD OF TOMORROW, it is stunning to look at. Plot-wise, it takes a while to get going, but it is so unique and frankly whacked-out you can’t help but be hooked.

22nd - SEVEN DAYS SUNDAY

The winner of this year's Jekyll and Hyde Award. The story of two disaffected youths, living in the slums of Leipzig, who spend their days staving off boredom by drinking stolen booze, chatting up local girls and, for one of them anyway, mugging the odd passer-by. In minute detail, we watch these two go through their day and into the night; one of the guys fancies a girl, the other one contrives to get off with her just for something to do, there's a misunderstanding, they end up at the most boring-arse party in the history of humanity... and all the while your eyes are glazing over, realising that, no, nothing is actually going to happen. At a slim 79 minutes, you wouldn't think the film would have a chance to grow boring, but there I was, at the 40 minute mark, falling asleep, peering at the clock on my phone and actually contemplating leaving... something I never, ever consider, let alone do. It was that bad. Suddenly, one of the boys tells the other, "I want to kill somebody"... and the movie turns on its head in every conceivable way. We can only watch helplessly as these two stalk the streets, waiting for some poor unsuspecting bloke to murder for their own pointless gratification. It's horrible, agonising stuff, and merely watching their disaffected behaviour enraged me. What's more, when the killer is caught, he makes no attempt to hide what he's done, almost as if he's disconnected from the world. The actor who plays him, Ludwig Trepte, perfects the bottomless, permanently blank stare of a youth who is both utterly unrepentant and completely uncomprehending of the tragedy he has wrought. As the main characters -- including the girl -- all struggle to deal with the aftermath, the film takes on a genuinely sad tone and it just shatters your soul. Amazingly, yet tellingly, this was the film school graduation film for its writer-director Niels Laupert, who promises big things on the back of this. Notable for being one of the few films at the festival to really get a strong emotional reaction out of me, I was left wondering what might have been, had the entire film been that good.

21st - DIARY OF THE DEAD

The catalyst for this year's welcome retrospective, George A Romero's newest film is, like his other DEAD films, a rumination on a social theme. This time, like De Palma's REDACTED, it focuses on the YouTube generation, the proliferation of personal cameras and the need to film everything: is this the pursuit of truth, or mere exploitation? What's more, if you shoot a disaster and don't help, are you in some way complicit? Romero goes some way to answering these questions, but often it's at the expense of any kind of interesting character work, as the young filmmakers at the heart of this story -- we find them making a low-budget horror movie when the zombie outbreak occurs -- are as uninspiring as any in the filmmaker's entire oeuvre. Making up for this shortfall somewhat are some highly effective zombie scenes (considering the film's relatively low $2 million budget -- and Romero DID invent the genre, after all), a hilarious encounter with a surprisingly hardy Amish fellow (the film's highlight), and the director's trademark swipes at the modern human condition. Even when they're flogging their theme over and over to the point of exhaustion, Romero and his editor keep things moving along at a fine pace, and throw the characters some interesting curveballs along the way. Not as effective as NIGHT, DAWN or even LAND OF THE DEAD, DIARY still does enough well to not embarrass the franchise, and in this age of dull, brainless studio horror remakes, it's nice to have guys like Romero out there, still proving time and again that the genre is worth a damn.

Next up: we get to the good stuff... the back end of my TOP 20 OF MIFF '08! Come join me, if you've got the stamina. I dare ya.

TSIK

THOROUGHLY MIFFED - PART III: THE NQR BRIGADE

Just before we hook into the countdown: I'd like to share a few thoughts with the viewing public since the last blog:

- Go see THE BANK JOB. It's slick, charming, unpredictable and terrific fun.

- After canning DONKEY PUNCH, I checked out its IMDB page and saw that the first review was merely titled "Donkey Pish", which cracked me up. If I were a Scot, that totally would've been my review.

- Are there any more horror films of the 1970s and 80s to remake? I really think they got everybody. Even clunkers like MY BLOODY VALENTINE and MOTHER'S DAY are getting a re-run. Are there really that few new ideas out there? Studios can't claim "brand recognition" on this stuff with a straight face, can they? Wait a minute: I haven't heard anything about a HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME remake...*

*Expect an announcement from Fox Atomic in the coming weeks.

Now, back to the MIFF Madness: these are the noble failures, or the straight sixes -- films which achieved small goals and nothing more -- or the Ritalin-popping ADHD cases, which couldn't quite keep focused enough to deliver on their intentions 100%... starting with:

40th - IDIOTS AND ANGELS (& short HOT DOG)

I've never seen any of Bill Plympton's stuff before, but I'm aware of his status as a big name in animation, and know enough about his work to spot it at ten paces. The synopsis of IDIOTS AND ANGELS -- a horrible, deeply misanthropic man who suddenly sprouts angel wings, which work against his base nature by forcing him to do good deeds -- struck me as intriguing, so I thought it might make an ideal introduction. I'm still not sure if this proved correct, as the program was something of a mixed bag.

Before the feature was a funny Plympton short called HOT DOG, about a puppy whose obsession with joining the Fire Department often gets the better of him. While it may sounds like a fun idea for a Pixar short, it's got a little more of an adult tinge to it. Not heart-stopping brilliance by any stretch, but it is quite entertaining.

By contrast, IDIOTS AND ANGELS contains some fantastic ideas and truly inspired visuals, but shows an unfortunate tendency toward going around in circles. It's got a lot to say about the world we live in today, about man's inhumanity to man, commercial opportunism, taking the low way out even when the high way is the easier option and so forth; even flirting with being a superhero tale at times. It wanders off the reservation somewhere between the second and third acts, however, making all sorts of weird digressions that subtract from the film's narrative thrust and creating a bit of cinematic dead air. There's enough good stuff here to be engaging, and I'm sure Plympton's fans will eat it up, but -- even though it's only 80 minutes long -- it could do with some trimming.

39th - DEAD ON: THE LIFE AND CINEMA OF GEORGE A. ROMERO

I've always been a big fan of Romero's work, so I was looking forward to this documentary in a big way. Now, to be fair, we were warned that this was a "work in progress" -- and, boy, they weren't kidding. Director Rusty Nails rounds up a startling array of Romero's friends and collaborators, as well as seemingly unlimited access to Romero himself, to shed fascinating insight into (and shower much affection upon) the big man and his methods, and thankfully looks at his entire career, not only focusing on his DEAD movies, but giving decent air time to lesser-known flicks like THE CRAZIES, JACK'S WIFE and KNIGHTRIDERS. So what's the problem? It's staggeringly badly shot and lit (the guy can't learn how to compose a damn frame?), ineptly edited (an opening credits montage, which should be no more than a minute long, goes on for four minutes!) and, at 127 minutes, goes on forever. Let's hope Nails hires a decent editor to hammer (oh ZING!) his labour of love into shape, at which point I'd love nothing more than to see it again and be forced to eat this rating.

38th - REVERSE SHOT: REBELLION OF THE FILMMAKERS

In the early 1970s, a seemingly never-ending cabal of German filmmakers -- among them, Werner Herzog, Wim Wenders and the iconoclastic Rainer Werner Fassbinder -- formed their own socialist-style film production and distribution company, Filmverlag Der Autoren, to make movies which reflected modern Germany warts and all, then pump any profit into achieving total independence. A noble goal, inevitably doomed by the standard personality clashes, money issues and conflicting visions of direction which plague such ventures. It's a fairly standard rise-fall-fragmentation story, and the extremely dry treatment it's given here does it few favours. What's more, there are so many names being thrown around, and even less anyone but the most fervent German film buffs would recognise, that it's tough to remember who's who. Jolts of energy are provided by interviews with the always amusing Herzog, jovial filmmaker Laurens Straub (the docu's co-director, with Domenik Wessely), and archival footage of the magnetic, hilariously egomaniacal Fassbinder. A potential motivational tool for filmmakers, otherwise recommended for film historians only.

37th - ACCELERATOR PROGRAM 1

The Melbourne International Film Festival introduced the Accelerator program to support emerging Australian and New Zealand -- now joined by Irish and Singaporean -- short filmmakers, giving them a platform to be seen at a major festival and preparing them for feature filmmaking. The fruits of this year's program, however, suggests the current nature of Australian films may not change in a hurry: highly technically accomplished films with incredibly dull content -- or, at least, relatively dull treatment of interesting themes (or even the other way round) -- at their core. Anthony Chen's thunderously dull, one-note observational piece HAZE looks at a pair of Singaporean teenagers losing their virginity while playing hooky; Aaron Wilson's AHMAD'S GARDEN is a lush, spare, yet strangely unfulfilling tale of a man doing what he can to make life in a detention centre bearable (cute ending though); THIS IS HER, from NZ director Katie Wolfe, is a cuckolded woman's quirky look at her failed marriage and the bitch who stole her husband away, with amusing flashbacks and juxtapositions; John Alsop's HE. SHE. IT. is a lighter-than-air Aussie short about the efforts of a jaded, soon-to-retire schoolteacher (Steve Abbott, otherwise known to fans of Good News Week as "The Sandman") to bring an outcast teenage boy and girl together; THE SKY IS ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL, from Jeremy Cumpston, is a limp and ultimately pointless exercise concerning a bitter taxi driver, a depressed prostitute and a concerned young girl; Dustin Feneley's HAWKER, another mood piece of little consequence about the relentlessly crap life of a door-to-door salesman, boosted only by an excellent central performance from Melbourne actor Syd Brisbane; and my favourite, the shortest, sharpest and funniest of the bunch, Kiwi director Jason Stutter's CAREFUL WITH THAT AXE, a 2 minute gaspfest about a very small boy's fascination with his dad's axe and woodchopping, with a killer climax -- the least self-important here and, therefore, the most fun!

36th - SURVEILLANCE

After a hiatus of 15 years, Jennifer Lynch, daughter of David you-know-who, returns to the director's chair with a fairly standard psychological thriller enlivened by some odd and over-the-top touches -- although, it must be said, not as balls-out weird as one may expect. Namely, the performances of Bill Pullman and Julia Ormond investigating a roadside bloodbath, which may or may not have been initiated by two very creepy redneck cops (Kent Harper and Third Rock From The Sun's French Stewart!), and some wild twists you'll probably see coming from some distance away. If taken too seriously, this will really rub you the wrong way, but have fun with it, enjoy the scenery chewing and you'll have some fun. A fairly minor work which suggests Lynch is slowly dipping her toe back into the pool after the unmitigated disaster of her debut, BOXING HELENA.

35th - IN SEARCH OF A MIDNIGHT KISS

In a nutshell? This is your bog-standard, next-to-no-budget, snappily sardonic, independent black-and-white New York rom-com... except, it's set in Los Angeles. This minor wrinkle doesn't make much of a difference, if any, but I get the feeling this flick isn't out to redefine its genre, rather it's just looking to make for a nice, fun night out... and on that level, it works. For the most part. Once our hero gets caught masturbating over internet porn -- upon which he's photoshopped the head of his housemate's girlfriend -- he thinks it might be time to hook up, so, with New Year's Eve approaching, he places a "misanthrope seeks misanthrope" ad on an internet dating site. Meeting with said misanthrope goes strangely, but well, and soon they're wandering around LA on NYE falling in and out of various stages of apathy/like/dislike/love/hate, until midnight falls and... well, you know. You've been here before, but I'm a big lover of black & white, there are some genuinely funny quips and asides, and writer-director Alex Holdridge has a good sense of what kind of film he's making and to keep it moving. Forgettable? Sure. Fun? You bet.

34th - ASHES OF TIME REDUX

I was frankly shocked to hear that Wong Kar-Wai, Hong Kong's chronicler of too-cool-for-school tortured lovers, had written and directed an historical martial arts film in the early 1990s. So, being familiar with his work, I tried to imagine how it would play out: it'd probably substitute his usual blasts of urban neon for vibrant feudal cloths, and ultimately focus upon ancient warriors more obsessed with lost or unrequited loves than slaying scores of bandits. Turns out I wasn't far from the truth: the story concerns a killer-for-hire living a reclusive life (nursing the pain of a lost love, natch) in the middle of the desert, as a jaded, self-proclaimed "solver of problems". As various characters cross his path, he proves rubbish at this, solving nothing and often trying to convince each of them to solve the others' for him. It's a visually beautiful film, pregnant with sorrow and mourning, but it's just as often confusing and the battle scenes are shot and cut with little care for coherence. Naturally, the film succeeds best when Kar-Wai plays to his forehand; namely, sad-eyed jilted lovers wandering a wasteland, searching to fill an unquenchable vacuum of the soul.

33rd - NIGHTWATCHING

Peter Greenaway lends his lush, eccentric eye to Rembrandt and, specifically, the creation of his work The Night Watch. Very theatrical in tone, with every scene shot in the idiom of a Rembrandt painting, it's visually spectacular to behold. Equally eye-catching is his casting of Martin Freeman (Tim from Gervais' The Office, or Arthur Dent from HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE) as Rembrandt -- what seems monumentally unlikely is possibly the most successful aspect of the picture, as Freeman is fantastic, imbuing Rembrandt with an everyman charm and, dare I say it, lust for life which immediately puts us in his corner. However, the film is way too leisurely paced for its own good, and tacks on a terribly extraneous, largely insignificant plotline onto the end of the film, padding an already lengthy film by another 20 minutes. The picture works best when it's focused on the artwork; Greenaway works like a detective, drawing historical theory and artistic instinct to analyse what the Dutch Master poured into his masterwork from every angle, and it's dazzling to watch him lay it all out. Overall, while it may have lost me from time to time, it's a mostly intriguing, and always attractive, film.

32nd - SUKIYAKI WESTERN DJANGO

Anyone familiar with the work of Japanese cult auteur Takashi Miike won't need me to tell them he's insane, and this spaghetti western mash-up does nothing to prove otherwise. Opening with the first scene in an extended cameo from another certain American cult auteur (surname starts with T, ends with "arantino"), speaking near-gibberish against a deliberately fake-looking painted matte background, before bursting into an improbable gunfight, you know you've booked a two hour ticket to whackjob country... The plot, such as it is, kicks off like A FISTFUL OF DOLLARS, with a crack gunman wandering into town between two warring gangs, and finding them both vying for his services. The legends of how these gangs came to be, how they conduct themselves, and the shenanigans which occur henceforth are pure Miike, meaning it's a total paradox: visually spectacular yet often (intentionally) ramshackle, stunningly original yet rather derivative, and philosophical yet utterly, deeply, profoundly nonsensical. Awful and brilliant in equal measure -- often in the same scene! -- SUKIYAKI WESTERN DJANGO is, without a doubt, like no other spaghetti western you'll ever see. Yet, like every spaghetti western you've ever seen. Hell, it's Miike! Got it? Good.

31st - ACCELERATED FICTION SHORTS

The Accelerator program strikes back, with shorts directed by former Accelerator alumni, who obviously didn't grasp the whole "prepare them for feature filmmaking" part of the brief. I only saw the first three of the six shorts on offer, but I think I saw the best of the bunch. The first, DIRECTIONS, was not it. The story of a childlike man who befriends a wonky shopping trolley and takes it (or does it take him?) on an adventure attempts to be Keatonesque in its feats of near-silent physical comedy whimsy, but somebody needed to tell director Kasimir Burgess that hiring an actor who just looks funny ain't a done deal: they need to actually be able to, y'know, do physical comedy. One can only imagine how cool this could've been in the hands of, say, a Frank Woodley. The second short, Erin White's FOUR, is a colourful comedy of swinging neighbours in 1970s Australia and the unlikely union they form. It has an awesome 70s look -- where did they find all those wallpapers and fittings??? If nothing else, the film is a marvel of production design -- and the story, initially a parade of cliches, really deepens and grows on you; it's a cool little film. Thirdly, and most triumphantly (as Bill and Ted would say), is THE FUNK, a black-and-white, semi-animated (with digital live-action stills) visual stunner about a man who wakes up in the titular mood and just can't shake it, and can only watch from within as it begins to dominate his life. It's a beautiful, weird, sad story told with stunning economy and unique vision and, to top it all off, is narrated by the ever-excellent Jacek Koman. THE FUNK is one of those rare shorts which demands to be seen, early and often.

Next: more imperfect gems (of sorts) and we get closer to the good stuff... seeya soon!

TSIK

THOROUGHLY MIFFED - PART II: THE DREGS DON'T WORK

Okay, so it's been firmly established that the Melbourne International Film Festival is my favourite time of year, in fact, it's my -- and many Melburnian film buff's and fan's -- idea of Christmas.

Now, let's take that metaphor a step further.

You remember when, as a kid, you waited for Christmas to come since, like, I don't know, April. All those months of anticipation, and every time there's a sign that the season-to-be-jolly is getting closer, you mentally ticked it off in your head -- major department stores start stocking Christmas trees and props, tree-shaped signs and displays start popping up around the city, your favourite TV shows start winding up for the year, your parents become more strangely circumspect about what they've been buying on shopping trips, and so on -- and have started making your lists of what you want, hoping at least one or two of the items makes an appearance under that new addition to your living room: the hulking sap-dripping pine tree that barely fits beneath your living room ceiling...

Cut to: the night before Christmas: the time of joy is almost upon you, and you try to sit up all night, waiting for Santa to come grab those cookies and milk you left out there for him 'cause, after all, he's such a rotund bastard, he has to scoff them all, right? But, inevitably, you fall asleep, and when you wake up the next morning, there are now PRESENTS where there were none before, under the tree! You're so incredibly pumped, there are some sweet looking boxes under there, your carefully prepared Christmas list is at the forefront of your mind, there were 20 or so items on there, this has GOT TO be one of them, although the box doesn't quite look big enough to fit an Action Man Army Helicopter/Barbie Dollhouse and Corvette Combo but, even so, you pick it up with both hands and with unmitigated glee, you tear it open, your huge eyes bulging happily out of your small head as you see...

...undies and socks. Or next year's school books. Or (as I once received from a beloved relative), a can of deodorant.

See, MIFF has those too, even amongst all the brilliance and coolness. The cinematic equivalents of your box-'o-socks: they look good in the box, but when you open 'em up, it's full of rubbish, or just stuff you didn't want.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the crappy clothes I got for Christmas:

(Don't worry, the cool toys will come later. I promise.)

MY WORST FILMS OF MIFF 2008

50th (Dead Last) - WORDS OF ADVICE: WILLIAM S BURROUGHS ON THE ROAD
WOW. I've seen some woeful, cack-handed dreck in my time, and WORDS OF ADVICE is as deserving of the title as any. Without doubt one of the worst documentaries I've ever seen, managing to make a highly interesting subject utterly uninteresting, by focusing on the most inactive period of his life, rounding up the least interesting people he knew and a "who-cares?" of random academics, then shooting it like your parents fumbling around with their old crapped-out handicam. Amateurish from top to toe, the whole enterprise apparently spring-boarded from an interview the filmmakers (Danes Lars Movin and Steen Moller Rasmussen) saw, between Burroughs and a Danish writer named Dan Turell, a Richard O'Brien lookalike who allegedly idolised Burroughs, yet acted like a pompous jerk the entire time and completely rubbed his idol up the wrong way. Upon seeing this, the filmmakers thought, "Wow, William S. was in Denmark during the 80s! I wonder what he got up to…?" To which anyone -- and I'm happy to speak on behalf of even the most ardent of Burroughs fans here -- would've answered, "WHO CARES?!??" Why talk about all his Beat-heyday shenanigans with Ginsberg and co., his accidental manslaughter of his wife or, hell, even his work in any detail, when you can burn film on crap poetry readings, book signings by a man well into his autumn years and doomed confrontations with second-string Danish poets... 'cause that's what everyone's breaking shit down to see. It’s hideously shot, moronically edited (at one point, some poet Burroughs knew is describing him as "The Greatest Performing Artist in the World"... and this is followed by footage of Burroughs stumbling over his lines at a poetry reading -- without a hint of irony) and, while just 74 minutes long, manages to feel padded and interminable. The documentary form has come a long way in the last two decades -- via Morris, Moore, Herzog, et al – but these chumps futz about like it never happened, turning out a shambles that would struggle to get an airing on community TV, let alone slip into a major film festival. Disgraceful.

49th - ETOILE VIOLETTE (short)
Shown as a short, but as it clocks in at (seemingly endless) 45 minutes and screened with a 59 minute "feature", it's fair game. Shown as the first in a double feature to showcase the, umm, talents of French actor/auteur Serge Bozon -- the second being his slightly less turgid mini-feature MODS -- the pairing succeeds only as a warning. Written and directed by frequent Bozon collaborator Axelle Ropert, what could've been a potentially sweet 15 minute short about an introverted, not-terribly-gifted tailor (Bozon) who takes night classes in French literature to boost his education and meet people, becomes a grossly overlong, masturbatory exercise in a thoroughly French style of mind-numbing pretension. To wit: the tailor slips into a dream sequence where he meets the 17th century writer he's studying, where they walk aimlessly through the forest, trading utterly pointless philosophical questions, before deciding to walk backwards, in slow-motion, for about, oh, three or four minutes. The closest thing to a bright spot is the class' lecturer, whose gung-ho devotion to his curriculum is intermittently amusing, but it's crushed beneath the weight of this dreadful, elongated bore. And where does a "short" get off being 45 minutes long?!?!?

48th - INSIDE
Speaking of terrible French films, I give you INSIDE. I'd heard this was boundary-pushing horror, promising extreme savagery, white-knuckle suspense and some intelligence, but -- aside from the film's one signature moment towards the end -- it delivers nothing bar the savagery. Well, it may have, if we could see any of it: the entire film is appallingly underlit, often taking place in pitch darkness. (Setting the tone for Greater Union fiascos to come, we were shown a muddy DVD copy of INSIDE, rather than a 35mm print. While I'm sure this didn't help the colour woes, I'm still convinced the picture could've used a Kinoflo or three.) Beatrice Dalle plays a psycho (for a change) who craves the unborn baby of an emotionally isolated young woman, who is still recovering from a car accident which claimed her husband's life. Spurning her family, the girl insists on being alone on Christmas Eve, where she's visited by Dalle instead of Santa. We know that Dalle can do nuts, and if you've seen anything from HAUTE TENSION to FRONTIERES, you know the French can do gore, but apparently all directors Alexandre Bustillo and Julien Maury can add to the equation is to shoot it in pitch darkness. It's so incredibly annoying, as once you can't see anything, all suspense vanishes, and one's involvement along with it. What promised to be a fun blast of shock value turns out to be a highly disappointing gorefest.

47th - DONKEY PUNCH
This film has copped some rapturous reviews from horror buffs in the know, but after watching it, I'm baffled, and can only speculate that they're high on the same gear the film's characters are ingesting. A paranoid slasher thriller for the Ibiza generation, the film admirably takes the time to set up its characters... well, it would be admirable, if any of these characters were remotely likeable or interesting. Instead, we're stuck on a yacht with seven of the most despicable people you're ever likely to meet trying to get into a beach dance party, and then we're supposed to feel something as they turn on each other. Why can't a modern horror film ever have decent characters we can give a shit about?? The suspense is surprisingly ineffective; the scene leading up to the titular event works the best, but from then on the film grows increasingly banal. The death scenes are badly shot and uninspired; we are constantly treated to lingering close-ups of weapons tearing into skin, yet poor camera geography and a limited makeup FX budget conspire to confuse just what part of the body we're slashing now. Very standard, well-below-average fare.

46th - GOMORRAH
The scourge of organised crime, specifically the damage it does to and influence it has over the wider Italian community, is probed here with a SYRIANA-style structure, with four or so vignettes interwoven to create a large socioeconomic canvas. Unfortunately, this is not nearly as interesting as it sounds, as it is so dry, bland and lifeless that it's really tough to get involved, piling boring or annoying characters atop pale, uninteresting tableaus, rushing about an urban battleground with no foundation to keep the audience grounded and engaged. Yes, it's a real-life tragedy, and I admire director Matteo Garrone's intention to tackle the subject realistically, but it has to succeed as an arresting piece of cinema, and he misses that mark by a wide margin. And what did the plotline about the tailor surreptitiously working with the Chinese have to do with anything?? What should've been engrossing ends up being yawn-inducing.

45th - MODS

Written, directed and starring French actor/auteur Serge Bozon in 2002, MODS kicks off seeming like a film from the Wes Anderson universe, or possibly a throwback to the kinds of 1960s French films which influence Anderson so much, but, like Anderson's films, you quickly realise the film is being quirky for quirky's sake, and begins to get on your nerves. However, unlike Anderson's films, which have a sharp sense of humour and crack actors to save them, this is more dead than deadpan. The performances are just serviceable, the story -- concerning two impassionate soldiers who visit their brother at University, who's bedridden with a serious case of ennui, which seems to affect the entire campus -- goes nowhere at a rate of knots and, despite frequently breaking into odd dance sequences (scored to '60s-sounding songs you've never heard of), the film is devoid of any kind of energy, which is key to a picture of this type working. More French pretension without substance.

44th - 40 X 15: 40 YEARS OF THE DIRECTORS' FORTNIGHT
For me, MIFF 2008 was not good for the French. This year's films seem to be falling into all the bad old habits: rampant pretension, quirk overload, emotional detachment, a lack of focus. The latter is especially applicable to this lifeless documentary, which refuses to inject any sort of verve or energy into the format, which is ironic considering its raison d'etre is to celebrate 40 years of boundary-smashing filmmaking. Detailing the inception and history of the Cannes Film Festival's non-competitive sidebar for innovative directors, the film meanders between talking heads (an uneven split between lengthy anecdotes by former Cannes programmers and all-too-brief vox pops from filmmakers like Werner Herzog, Spike Lee and Jim Jarmusch), and is bafflingly split into "Part 1" (the retrospective) and "Part 2" (an insider's look at last year's selection process), even though Part 1 seems to comprise the first 70% of the film. It's like they suddenly got the insider access at the last minute and felt obligated to use it. They needn't have bothered; the "fly on the wall" novelty lasts about ten minutes, after that it's like watching paint dry. As for the historical section, the film makes a real point to describe the turbulent political state which gave birth to the Fortnight, but does absolutely nothing to set the scene or create a palpable sense of time and place. Anathema for your average person, this is for rabid art film buffs only.

43rd - MIFF FOOTY SHORTS
A collection of 12 short films celebrating the role of Australian Rules Football in various communities. The program kicked off with a sour taste, when MIFF Director Richard Moore announced that a longtime MIFF employee had made a film for the competition and, despite it not being selected in the final 11, he was going to show it anyway. Talk about "who you know"... and true to form, the film (about two brothers who played over 500 games with Ormond FC) was rubbish, by far the worst of the bunch. I didn't see the last film, but most of the first 11 were all very nice, inoffensive handicam/DV-shot documentaries ticking off all the heart-tugging subjects: a women's football team, the 60 year old guy pulling on the boots, the little kid playing Auskick, the club with an Autistic statistician, the country footy team keeping the town afloat, the country town keeping the footy team afloat, the team who hadn't won for three years, and so on. (I was surprised at the absence of the Indiginous experience, actually. It was about the only football minority not represented, and arguably one of the most important.) Diverting from this formula were CLEM, a mockumentary about 3 generations of footy supporters, notable only for its unintentionally creepy Photoshop work, and ALONE, TOGETHER, the only fiction film of the bunch, featuring comedian Lawrence Mooney as a coach -- oddly obsessed with fabric metaphors(!) -- trying to rev up his team of losers, who all have something else on their minds (revealed by inner voiceovers). While cute and mildly amusing, it didn't rock my world. The only film I really responded to was Sky Davies' and Paul Green's CHILD REARING FOR RICHMOND SUPPORTERS, a genuinely funny mockumentary about the not-immediately-apparent benefits of making your child barrack for Richmond -- builds strength in character, makes them ask the big philosophical questions of life, etc. It's rough and amateurish, but has plenty of wit and spunk, and will appeal to anyone who's devoted their lives to a pack of battlers. Overall, a pretty middle-of-the-road program.

42nd - LITTLE DEATHS

A fairly middling collection of short ruminations upon love and relationships, from emerging Australian filmmakers, tied together by the conceit of a lonely tollbooth cashier's (Abe Forsythe) speculation upon his customers' lovelives. It's a wraparound story that feels much too cute by the end, an affliction which plagues most of the shorts, too. Two or three are funny (my favourites were segments featuring a pickup artist, and a peeping tom and his all-too-willing object of voyeurism, and the adventures of Caroline Craig and her dildo -- man, the more I go on, this is starting to sound like '70s Oz Sexploitation film FANTASM, but I assure you it's not), one or two are genuinely sweet, about three almost-but-not-quite deliver on good concepts and the rest are merely misconceived. I was expecting an anthology film and got exactly what it sounds like: a Australian short film program. It's not a bad film -- well, some of it is -- it's mostly cute and harmless, yet very little of it sticks in the memory, and something tells me that will be a fairly common reaction amongst filmgoers -- if it gets a cinema release at all.

41st - THE PLEASURE OF BEING ROBBED
I have to confess something here: this is one of two films that your intrepid reviewer was massively late for, missing the first 20 minutes. Which, for a film that's only 71 minutes long, I'm sure is a handicap. However, so little occurs in the 51 minutes I did see that I felt almost vindicated; surely not too much could've happened in the first section? The premise of the film is this: we follow a young woman, Eleonore, around for a day. Eleonore approaches every situation with childlike wonder, and likes to steal objects -- bags, cars, bikes, whatever -- to enjoy them, then gives them back. Thing is, that -- to me -- is the pleasure of robbing, but I saw no evidence of the pleasure of being robbed. Maybe it was all in the first 20 minutes, but I sincerely doubt it. Sure, the film is mildly diverting and more than a little French New Wave-y, but it forces you to ask questions about what you believe a film is. Should a film require a plot? If a film consists of watching someone, no matter how sweet, go through their day, does that constitute a real film? I have to say, I did find this mildly diverting to watch, but felt next to nothing when it was done. In soccer (or "football", for our British readers) parlance, a 1-1 draw.

That's the ten worst down, we're getting ever closer to the good stuff, only... 40 to go!

Yikes.

Till the next installment (I'll try to get them out quicker, I promise!),
TSIK