THOROUGHLY MIFFED PART II: FINAL CHAPTER (PART 1) - ONCE UPON A TIME IN MOVIE-OCCUPIED MELBOURNE

You've heard about the rest...

Last - HENRI-GEORGES CLOUZOT'S INFERNO

51st - NYMPH

50th - DEAD SNOW

49th - DOUBLE TAKE

48th - MARTYRS

47th - HORRORS OF MALFORMED MEN

46th - ZIFT

45th - VAN DIEMEN'S LAND

44th - THE BASTARDS (LOS BASTARDOS)

43rd - PARDON MY FRENCH (UN CHAT UN CHAT)

42nd - ALPHAVILLE

41st - THE GIRLFRIEND EXPERIENCE

40th - HANSEL & GRETEL

39th - AN EDUCATION

38th - CHE PART 2

37th - SHADOW PLAY: THE MAKING OF ANTON CORBIJN

36th - LITTLE JOE

35th - MUM AND DAD

34th - THE PRIVATE LIVES OF PIPPA LEE

33rd - MURCH: WALTER MURCH ON EDITING

32nd - THE BURROWERS

31st - DOGTOOTH

30th - BLACK DYNAMITE

29th - YAKUZA EIGA

28th - MOTHER

27th - FISH TANK

26th - RED RIDING 1983

25th - THE WHITE RIBBON

24th - IT CAME FROM KUCHAR

23rd - WHITE LIGHTNIN'

22nd - IN THE LOOP

21st - THEATER OF WAR

20th - CHE PART 1

19th - THE HURT LOCKER

18th - RED RIDING 1974

17th - RED RIDING 1980

16th - TEARS FOR SALE

15th - BRONSON

14th - TYSON

13th - HOME MOVIE

12th - TROUBLED WATER

11th - MOON

And now, ladies and germs... I present to you... THE BEST.

MY TOP 10 FILMS OF MIFF 2009 (#s 6-10)

10th - THIRST

Look, I know it's not perfect. Far from it: It's a good 20-30 minutes too long, it spends a lot of time digressing into elongated comic-relief sequences, it's burdened with a saggy-ass middle, the storytelling in opening half-hour is not entirely clear. Yes, I know all this, acknowledge and accept it. But, you know what?

I still love it. I'd own it and watch it again in a heartbeat.

Because I love Park Chan-Wook. Nobody else makes films like this guy. Ever since OLDBOY unleashed itself upon my cortex at MIFF 2004, I've been in absolute raptures whenever a new work from this mad genius of

South Korean cinema emerges. His mix of gallows humour, outrageous violence, unstoppable set-pieces, operatic hysteria and anthropomorphic curiosity are unique in cinema history. South Korean cinema in general displays many of these qualities, but no-one mixes them together with the confidence, epic sensibility, or seamless yet breakneck changes in tone of Park Chan-Wook. For me, he's one of the most thrillingly original filmmakers working today. So, you can imagine the combination of Park and Vampires was pretty damn high on my anticipatio-meter.

The premise is killer, and I'm surprised more US horror cinema hasn't done it: a priest (the excellent Song Kang-Ho) contracts a killer virus while on an aid mission and, after a futile blood transfusion is performed to keep him hanging on, he miraculously survives, making a full recovery. Thanks to the new blood, he's the virus' first survivor, faster, stronger and fitter than ever before, becoming a Christ-like figure to a collection of the sick and the lame... but the effects of the cure wear off periodically, and he's horrified to discover there’s only one perpetual way to stave off these effects: drinking blood. I won't go into the plot from here on in, as this film has alleyways and surprises I'd rather you discovered unaided.

All I wanted from this film was for Park to provide the last word on a very played-out genre -- to explore old tropes in new ways, to ask novel questions, to provide fresh angles -- and, in this regard, the man doesn't disappoint. There are so many set-pieces in this film which are stunning, beautiful, tragic and comic all at once. Sure, he wastes some time with third wheel supporting characters and travels in bizarre directions -- but some of those are incredibly fruitful and disquieting. From its quiet opening to the stunning final sequence -- one of my favourite scenes of the last few years -- THIRST may outstay its welcome and outlast its ambition, but it certainly delivers something all too rare these days: a Vampire movie which feels fresh. Now, if everyone else can just kindly stop. Thank you.

9th - OUTRAGE

Depending on your point of view, director Kirby Dick is either very brave or very cowardly. Taking on the Motion Picture Association of America's reign of censorship in THIS FILM IS NOT YET RATED is one thing, but what he does with OUTRAGE is balls-out insane: Dick aims to publicly out closeted gay Republican pollies who've gone out of their way to vote down pro-gay legislation. His claims as presented here don't seem to be spurious, either; the politicians cited all seem pretty hypocritical and Dick's research is quite extensive.

You may see Dick's crusade to be a violation of privacy... and if this were anyone but politicians, I would completely agree. But if you're going to actively deny thousands of people happiness purely because of their lifestyle, you forfeit the right to go and live that very same lifestyle in private. These people have to be called to account, and that's what Dick's documentary sets out to do. Despite striding these fine lines of truth seeking versus utter violation v-e-r-y tenuously, there's no denying the film is searing, justifiably angry, hilariously funny, often poignant and incredibly entertaining. I don't know how Washington powerbrokers haven't blocked its release, to be honest. Hell, maybe the First Amendment isn't dead after all.

8th - FOOD, INC.

One of the scariest, most disquieting films you'll see, about the ridiculously far-reaching effect that the indomitable hand of big business has on the food we eat. (Well, on the food Americans eat, for sure. I'll get to that later.) The way USA agribusiness has been centralised, mechanised and automated is shown in shocking detail, as we follow the incredibly compromised path that meat and many other (some surprising) perishables take from the "farm" (a loose term for many establishments) to the supermarket shelf. It's the nightmare you've always known of, or lurked in the back of your mind, given flesh.

The great thing about this documentary is that it presents the current reality in all its horror and duplicity, but then suggests viable alternatives to the status quo (a la AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH); things we can all do and look for that don't require enormous lifestyle changes. It introduces us to organic farmers and good people aligned with bad companies who are trying to do the best they can under the circumstances. The film is incredibly wide-ranging and benefits from exhaustive investigation and research. It's efficiently directed and breezily assembled, but never seems like it's delivering hyperbole. Overall, it's a terrific documentary with a powerful message. (So powerful, the friend I saw it with immediately turned to Vegetarianism and I've been buying Organic meat ever since -- sorry, I love my Chicken and Beef too much.) The only real problem I have with this film, is it's too America-centric. I'd have liked it to take a global view; the whole time you're watching FOOD, INC, you're thinking, "This is America. Surely it's not as bad here, right?" You assume the worst, but hope for the best. I guess the fact I'm assuming the worst at all, proves the film has done it's job. You'll never look at your local supermarket the same again.

7th - ANTICHRIST

I've only recently been introduced to the bizarre, inspired, punishing, emotionally bruising oeuvre of Lars von Trier, but I've rather taken to it. BREAKING THE WAVES, in particular, was heartbreaking, with DANCER IN THE DARK not far behind. ANTICHRIST, preceded by controversy and written & directed during von Trier's bout with depression, was sure to traverse some dark territory. There's some big issues being thrown around here -- the effectiveness/danger/futility of psychoanalysis, the role/demonisation/subjugation of women throughout history -- and von Trier certainly goes there, never one to die wondering.

What I didn't expect, was how much it really worked as a straight horror film. Sure, it's arty, but it's also creepy, moody, unsettling, visceral, suspenseful and sure to wring both sweat and winces out of its audience. It's also visually striking, von Trier's most handsome film yet. Speaking of not dying wondering, Charlotte Gainsbourg and Willem Dafoe throw everything at this, and are stunning to watch. Gainsbourg's fragility and descent are completely believable, and are almost heartbreaking when she's not being scary. Dafoe's got the right amount of male bravado and intellectual rigor for the role of Gainsbourg's psychoanalyst husband, who attempts to fix her severe depression by taking her to the place that scares her the most: their cabin in the lush, yet foreboding, forest aptly named Eden. With its beautiful imagery, horrific subject matter and constant spectre of tragedy, it's a pretty serious film for the most part, with the one exception being a welcome -- and now-famed -- burst of comic mischief in which a ghostly fox utters to Dafoe what is now the movie's catchcry: "Chaos

Reigns." But, otherwise, rather than being a pastiche of shock tactics, ANTICHRIST seems to come from a very personal place within von Trier. It's very much the work of a person going through depression.

Many have commented on the film's misogyny and, while I'm not going to flat-out deny its existence, I don't believe this film is that simple. It uses the demonisation of women throughout the ages as a giant buildup of steam -- a raging storm of social malaise -- which must be released, and for which Gainsbourg is the vessel, the burst valve. She embodies all the stored-up hate bred by centuries of man's inhumanity to woman, and from there, there may be a sacrifice, there may be a catharsis, maybe both. I'm not going to say which. But, because of this approach, I actually found ANTICHRIST's stance to be misogynist and feminist, in equal measure. I think von Trier's feelings toward women are complex and contrary: he seems to take great pride in putting his female protagonists through unfathomable suffering, but clearly admires the hell out of their ability to withstand the adversity, to maintain a sense of purpose and self all the way through and, most importantly, to emerge as the sympathetic heart and soul of all of his movies. (The kind of roles, by the way, actresses generally would kill to play.) In fact, ANTICHRIST's ending seems to be a summation of this recurring theme in von Trier's career, and I'm hoping he can return his lens to other themes from here onward. But as closing statements go, ANTICHRIST is a damn good one.

6th - THE CHASER

It's no secret that South Korea has been at the forefront of innovative genre cinema for at least the second half of this decade. Filmmakers like Park Chan-Wook (OLDBOY), Bong Joon-Ho (THE HOST) and Kim Ji-Woon (THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE WEIRD), as well as their less-well-known contemporaries, are really doing some wild and wonderful things, both technically and thematically. So, every MIFF, I always check in on what those nutty bastards are up to, and am usually blown away. However, after seeing HANSEL AND GRETEL, MOTHER (which everyone else seemed to love, might have to take another run at this one) and THIRST (brilliant yet flawed), I felt that SK hadn't hit one in the centre of the bat this year. So, on the second last night of the festival, I went in to THE CHASER with both trepidation, and faith in an industry which had rarely let me down.

Man, did THE CHASER bring it home. To the names above, you may now add Na Hong-Jin, this stunning crime drama's debut(!!) writer/director. THE CHASER's basic idea is this: a serial killer of prostitutes abducts his latest victim, but what he doesn't count on is, her pimp is a shady ex-cop, who doesn't like his girls being stolen from under him -- he thinks it's a rival pimp poaching his staff -- and won't stop until he finds her. That's all I'm going to tell you, because from there, Na's awesomely constructed, tonally perfect film juggles plot threads, subverts almost EVERY cliche of the genre and springs surprise upon surprise. All three lead performances -- cop Kim Yun-Seok, killer Ha Jung-Woo and abductee Seo Yeong-Hie -- are brilliant, the action is tough and tight, the drama so utterly real, you wonder how in the hell a filmmaker can exercise this much control over such a complex crime action thriller, first time out of the gate. Even at 124 minutes, not a second of screen time is wasted. It's thrilling, funny and wickedly brilliant, the best pure action picture I've seen this year. An absolute, unqualified must-see.

Now... THE TOP FIVE! VERY SOON!!!

TSIK

THOROUGHLY MIFFED PART II: CHAPTER 4 - OPERATION KINOVERLOAD

Now I've gotten the shockers out of the way, the rest of this year's Melbourne International Film Festival was pretty damned fine. Seeing I've treated you to enough epics -- with the top ten still to come -- I thought I'd apply the Cliff Notes brush to the countdown, supplying slightly expanded versions of my Twitter reviews for films #42 through #11, for issues of economy and, well, reader interest. So, here we go:

THE (NOT-SO) DIRTY DOZEN [42-31]

42nd - ALPHAVILLE

This science-fiction/new wave art film pastiche is certainly bold, political and one of Godard's most accessible films (an oxymoron?), but hurt by its glacial pacing and packs in ideas (some intriguing, some overly obscure) at expense of all drama; by the last act you couldn't give a toss what happens to any of the characters, as they're all metaphorical constructs anyway.

41st - THE GIRLFRIEND EXPERIENCE

This was my closing film of MIFF 2009... and, three months after I saw it, I'm still not sure what I thought of it. All I know is, I liked and disliked it in equal measure. Admittedly, I thought I was going to see a film about what it's like to be a high-class escort, and was instead treated to a treatise on what it's like to move among/break into/stay hooked into the Manhattan wealthy set during the Global Financial Crisis. Which is fine, I guess, but not exactly what I was looking for. Soderbergh chooses to play with time and give the audience carefully partitioned portions of our characters' -- escort Chelsea/Christine (Sasha Grey) and her personal trainer partner Chris (Chris Santos) -- lives, which works some of the time, and baffles at others. Sometimes I just wanted him to focus on telling the damn story as opposed to being clever and digressive. In fact, that's really the kind of film it is: engrossing at times, annoying at others. The film certainly is stylish, reflecting one of the film's key themes (surfaces) beautifully. Porn actress Grey is absolutely perfect for her character, with her cold, disaffected visage and carefully assembled look, and Santos is likeable and very effective. All in all, I found this a quintessential 5/10 film.

40th - HANSEL & GRETEL

Spooky/funny South Korean spin on Grimm is sumptuous looking -- the colour palette alone is stunning -- occasionally disquieting and most intriguing... but turns convoluted & soppy in the endless final third. The film is way overlong by a good 20-30 minutes.

39th - AN EDUCATION

Cute, if very stock standard, period coming-of-age picture helped by nice performances from an ace cast (particularly Alfred Molina, Peter Sarsgaard and new star Carey Mulligan) and some trademark Nick Hornby dialogue. It's a perfectly pleasant Sunday afternoon film, where no-one undergoes any seismic change and nothing particularly dramatic occurs. Purely a fun, genteel diversion.

38th - CHE PART 2

Fine, but a bit thin; a stark contrast to the occasionally overstuffed Part 1. This entire chapter is a catalogue of Guevara's failed Bolivian campaign, which seems -- here, anyway -- like a small story stretched to snapping point. Soderbergh's intimate yet strangely distant approach to the first half of this chapter doesn't help, but the final battle and Che's capture are absolutely gripping. The major issue I have with both films, but particularly this one, which finds Che at his lowest point, is we rarely get a look at his dark side. Soderbergh's film shows him as an occasionally stern, yet mostly patient and logical man who was a martyr for the cause. All true, I'm sure, but you don't get to be an expert guerilla warrior and revolutionary by being an all-round nice guy. Guevara may have been a great man, for sure, but I'm equally certain he was no saint.

37th - SHADOW PLAY: THE MAKING OF ANTON CORBIJN

A comprehensive look at the career of ace photographer and director Anton Corbijn, if not so much his life. Prone to wandering into digressive anecdotal territory rather than real discovery, but quite entertaining all the same.

36th - LITTLE JOE

A nice, intimate, very lo-fi biodoc on Warhol star Joe Dallesandro, who seems like an affable blue-collar guy who only wished the work were better. A must for Warhol Factory devotees.

35th - MUM AND DAD

An often tough-to-take kidnap/torture pic, more extreme than expected. (One scene in particular is truly shocking, and retch-inducing, in what is depicted.) Very British -- think Fred and Rosemary West -- extremely perverted, rather effective on its own terms and not without humour.

34th - THE PRIVATE LIVES OF PIPPA LEE

A perfectly fine, late fortysomething coming-of-middle-age dramedy, with Robin Wright Penn as the title character, a woman looking back at her life, which breaks up into very distinct thirds -- perfect daughter, wild child, perfect wife, and wondering who the "real" Pippa Lee is. Beautifully observed and rather cutesy in equal measure. The starry cast is terrific, including a very effective Keanu Reeves.

33rd - MURCH: WALTER MURCH ON EDITING

Basically a filmed lecture on editing from a master of the form, who spends the entire film dispensing wisdom and anecdotes direct to camera. It's very much a filmed lecture for those of us not lucky enough to study at a California film school, and on that level works brilliantly. As a documentary, it isn't much chop, looking as if it were shot & cut in an afternoon, but Murch's insights are essential.

32nd - THE BURROWERS

Here's a unique genre hybrid: the Western Monster Movie! What nasty monsters they are, too; stinging their victims, inducing living paralysis, then burying them -- alive! -- until it comes time to feast upon the, uh, softened carcass. The cast is full of terrific cult actors, principally the LOST trio of William Mapother (LOST'S Ethan Rom), Clancy Brown (the show's pre-Desmond hatch dweller, Kelvin) and Doug Hutchison (the Dharma Initiative's Horace), who are all terrific. Once you acclimatise to the unique backdrop, the execution feels like a fairly standard monster movie... but there's MUCH fun to be had, and the very last scene in the film -- not the standard face-off, but the postscript, if you will -- leaves a wicked aftertaste. The film isn't perfect by any means, but marks writer-director J.T. Perry as a talent to keep an eye on.

31st - DOGTOOTH

Profoundly bizarre, confronting tale of three twenty-something siblings kept from the world, in perpetual adolescence, by their parents. The MIFF program described it as Big Brother via Lars von Trier, which is actually a pretty accurate setup. I suspect this film has a great deal on its mind -- from making statements about the fearful way many people see the world today to the dangers of censoring/hiding the darkness of humanity, and how that can result in an equal, more insidious darkness -- but, I'll be frank: it also concentrates a great deal of energy on grossing us the fuck out. A incredibly acquired taste, but plenty of food for thought for those who want to try it on.

A FEW GOOD MEN (AND WOMEN) [30-21]

30th - BLACK DYNAMITE

Starts as a hilariously pitch-perfect Blaxsploitation satire, Michael Jai White is pitch perfect as the titular hero, the music is wonderful (you'll be singing the "DY-NA-MITE! DY-NA-MITE!!" sting for days afterward), and is shot in the identical style of a Blaxsploitation film... so what's not to love? The rot sets in when, about halfway to two-thirds in, the film becomes all too aware of what it is, and starts throwing out lame post-Zucker Brothers jokes which dated around the time of the HOT SHOTS films. Director/co-writer (with White) Scott Sanders has clearly strived so hard for verisimilitude, why not keep it going? Disappointing to see it go out like that, but the first half contains some of the biggest laughs I've had at the movies all year.

29th - YAKUZA EIGA

Fascinating doc on the background & conflicted, ever-changing relationship btwn the Japanese film industry & the Yakuza.

28th - MOTHER

A beautifully plotted & directed thriller, from South Korean auteur Boon Jong-Ho (THE HOST, MEMORIES OF MURDER) about an overprotective mother whose only son -- an attractive but mentally challenged young man -- is accused of murder, and the lengths she'll go to prove his innocence. The film is elegantly made, is always engaging, has some nice twists and a powerhouse lead performance... but it didn't really connect with me. I felt like I was on the outside looking in the entire time, and I'm not sure why that is.

27th - FISH TANK

Effective UK realist drama with intelligence & heart, but takes a little too much time getting into gear. Performances are excellent, particularly by lead actress Kate Jarvis and the always terrific Michael Fassbender. Beautiful ending.

26th - RED RIDING 1983

Closes this terrific UK crime trilogy with suspense, class & power (if a little drawn out). Smart AND thrilling, although slightly dumbed-down from the two proceeding chapters, but it's great to have a payoff. See all three for a intriguing story, a horrifically insidious antagonistic (police) force and the UK's very best actors on display.

25th - THE WHITE RIBBON

Evokes a pastoral, pre-World War I Austrian village where insidious inhumanity is passed down from each generation to the next. Contemplative examination of humans struggling -- in very small, everyday ways -- between good and evil, gorgeously shot in stark black-and-white, but LONG.

24th - IT CAME FROM KUCHAR

An affectionate look at the eccentric underground filmmakers, filled with hilarious clips & conversations.

23rd - WHITE LIGHTNIN'

A hillbilly's (true!) odyssey thru love, revenge & addiction is nutty Applaichian gothic; loses steam near the end.

22nd - IN THE LOOP

A searingly funny -- and appropriately convoluted -- political backroom farce, based upon the UK comedy show IN THE THICK OF IT, with enough profane pop-culture-themed insults to flay a small nation. Peter Capaldi's campaign manager Malcolm Tucker is a rage-fuelled force of nature.

21st - THEATER OF WAR

All-star Brecht revival documentary is an engrossing look at theatre history that'll stoke your inner artistic revolutionary. Inspiring stuff.

HOT SHOTS [20-11]

20th - CHE PT. 1

Handsome, highly absorbing kickoff to Soderbergh's epic bio, if a little overstuffed with characters, events & time jumps. I do like the way this first film is broken up, though: through his United Nations address, we get the philosophy, through his actions in the Cuba campaign, we get the leader, the strategist, the warrior. Del Toro is predictably terrific as Guevara, but, as with Part Two, this project should've explored the revolutionary's dark side a bit more. A very good film which, with a little more willingness to be critical, could've been great.

19th - THE HURT LOCKER

Long-absent action director Kathryn Bigelow and writer/producer Mark Boal have fashioned a seemingly free-form series of gritty, undeniably tense, almost "day in the life" set pieces that gradually form a character study. Jeremy Renner is excellent in the lead; a career of playing villains of simmering intensity has prepared him well for this portrayal of an Iraq War bomb disposal expert. Bigelow directs the film with the perfect mix of high octane suspense and acute personal observation. (Some interesting cameo players pop up, too; thankfully never to the detriment of the film's reality.) To be honest, it could have done with some trimming -- 127 minutes is far too long for a film with this structure -- but it's very well done.

18th - RED RIDING 1974

This highly entertaining crime trilogy, based upon novelist David Peace's James Ellroy-esque reimagining of the Yorkshire criminal/law enforcement landscape in the mid-1970s to early 80s, kicks off with the story of a cub crime reporter (Andrew Garfield) who stumbles upon police corruption on an epic scale. Even as the film shifts from a wonderfully bleak, ZODIAC-style sleuthing drama to a cliched one-man-vs-system flick, it's still riveting. This first chapter is also one of the most GORGEOUSLY shot films I've seen this year.

17th - RED RIDING 1980

Swaps RR74's photogenic sheen for verite grit, as this hellish saga of police corruption continues to enthrall. The best chapter of the three narratively, as the always brilliant Paddy Considine plays a good, smart cop sent to clean up an evil that goes much deeper than even he can imagine. Really great stuff.

16th - TEARS FOR SALE

Bizarre Serb fantasy/comedy about two fiesty, glamourous women searching for virile men to take back to their impoverished, middle-of-nowhere village -- filled with equally glamourous women, but completely devoid of men -- is packed with outrageous style, an unhinged sense of humour & berserk energy. Unfortunately, once the second half gets underway, various character motivations do alarming 180 degree turns, seemingly just to keep the plot moving. It's the only real blight on what is otherwise a spunky, sexy, fiery and very Eastern European fable.

15th - BRONSON

Spiky, fiery, highly stylised crime biopic; makes no apologies for, or judgements on, its unrepentant subject's violent life. Tom Hardy is a revelation as Michael "Charles Bronson" Peterson, the man known as Britain's most violent prisoner; he's completely unrecognisable from any other role you may have seen him in (this is his CHOPPER, and the chief reason he's slated to be the next MAD MAX). You want an insight into the mind and motivations of this true-life loose cannon, you won't find them here. You want big, bold, operatic, satiric, punchy, witty fun, step right in.

14th - TYSON

An intriguing visual autobiography into the man's mind; director James Toback just plonks the camera on his old friend and lets him speak, then cuts it all together in a very slick, fast, appealing way. And because he's talking one on one with his old pal, Mike Tyson is incredibly frank, self-deprecating, a little "poor me" at times, but seems to take genuine responsibility for (most of) his missteps. One does emerge with an admiration for him for doing this, but at the same time, you don't know if things are ever going to really improve for him, even as he grows older; he's just so at odds with the world around him. The film is revealing, funny, conflicted & a little sad. Definitely worth seeing.

13th - HOME MOVIE

The premise is simple: a Lutheran pastor (Heroes' Adrian Pasdar) moves his wife, son and daughter to a small town to start a new church. Upon arrival, Pasdar's character, who is as much your typical daggy dad as a religious figure, insists on recording every family moment on his video camera. But the kids are acting rather strangely... and calculated... and, well, just damn creepy. I thought this held up the video verite horror genre fairly well, with precious few "Oh, they wouldn't take the camera there!" moments. You have to admire its craft, as it takes its time creating sustained tension, carefully and suddenly revealing subtle yet deeply disturbing behaviour by the children at delicious intervals. HOME MOVIE delivers dark humour, small shocks & the creepiest kids you ever did see.

12th - TROUBLED WATER

A tense as hell human drama of guilt & responsibility from Norway, about a man who is released from jail after murdering a child years before. The first part of the film is this reformed man's quiet struggle to make his way in the world again, while still haunted by his crime. Then, the film takes a surprising parallel track, which I won't reveal here... but it's a cracker. Save for one implausible moment toward the end, Erik Poppe's film pulses with painful reality and dramatic power. Track this one down.

11th - MOON

A deceptively simple sci-fi tale which struck me as entertaining yet unremarkable upon conclusion, yet whose true depth and poignance only hit me hours later. Well, the "unremarkable" isn't entirely true: Duncan Jones' film does display a constant willingness to create somewhat familiar sci-fi movie trappings then completely subvert them. What's more, Nathan Parker's script (based upon an original story by Jones) has a startling amount on its mind, and quite a bit to say about subjects both scientific and socioeconomic... to reveal more would be to divulge the film's secrets, and I'm not gonna be THAT guy. What I can talk about, however, is Sam Rockwell's amazing, Academy Award-calibre performance. This entire film is on his shoulders, and he rises to the challenge in a way that reaffirms how amazingly skilful this actor is. Both his performance and the film entire, are beautifully, subtly thoughtful.

Next up: My TOP TEN films of MIFF 2009... at last!!!

THOROUGHLY MIFFED PART II: CHAPTER 3 - INGLOURIOUS BASTURDS

First, I'd like to thank those of you who read my epic introduction -- membership price bitching, Tarantino fellation and all -- and have waited expectantly for this chapter. What's your reward for your attention, you may ask? A billion (if a billion = fifty-two) reviews!!!

Let's get into it, shall we? Counting down, in order of preference, from 52nd (least favourite) to 1st (favourite):

Dead Stone Motherless Last - HENRI-GEORGES CLOUZOT'S INFERNO

I am an unashamed, unabated film tragic. As such, I adore 'making-of' documentaries. I'll watch useless on-the-set featurettes to catch any peek behind the creative curtain. I'm even more obsessed with directors; following their careers keenly and will regurgitate their filmographies, on demand, with RAIN MAN-like precision. But one director I'm not an expert on (there are still many) is Henri-Georges Clouzot. I knew he was the man behind the classic French thrillers THE WAGES OF FEAR and DIABOLIQUE, among others, but I've not seen any of them, nor have I read anything about the man. Flush with discovery, I was ready to learn about a complex filmmaker driven by obsession to make a strikingly original picture, and be enraptured.

I was not enraptured. Firstly, the film is shot, cut and delivered without the slightest hint of energy or inspiration. The interview subjects are not garrulous, interesting, inspired or eccentric. In fact, they spend most of their time carping about what a taskmaster Clouzot was, despite most of his methods being commonplace today. (Sample gripe: "He would shoot a scene with three cameras. Who shoots a scene with three cameras??!" I stress, this was uttered sans humour. Another crew member whinged about Clouzot working them for fourteen hour days! God help these dudes if they ever work in independent cinema or major US television.)

Secondly, its portrait of Clouzot is mostly full of cliche: he's your stock standard egotistical hell-driven dictator who pushed his crew to (barely) superhuman levels to achieve some thing new, and drove his actors spare in the process, until everyone broke up the band. *Yawn...* Give us some more interview quotes, or some spirited accounts of what a madman/genius he was.

Thirdly, INFERNO, the lost film itself, looks pretty terrible. The entire story is this: Guy goes on holiday with his wife, gets insanely jealous whenever she's near another man, said jealousy manifests itself as hallucinogenic fugue fantasies of impotence/revenge/retribution, fugue subsides, repeat. So, apparently, the entire INFERNO project was cooked up so Clouzot could play with trippy camera shots that will date by decade's end. Oh, and explore the violence of jealousy in a completely superficial way.

Lastly, what should've been a 45 minute DVD-style featurette is stretched to an endless 100 minute dirge. Knowing exactly where it was headed, and tired of being bored stupid, I tapped out at the 65 minute mark, setting a new milestone: the first MIFF film I've ever walked out of. Because I had better things to do... like, umm, wander the streets aimlessly.

51st - NYMPH

The other most boring film of MIFF 2009 admittedly begins with a rather beautiful, startling opening shot, which sets the film's tone perfectly; as it gives you both an indication of what you're in for (glacial pace, endless shots which give one ample time to work out what'll happen next, huge stretches of time where nothing happens) and what it lacks, as the scene has a nice payoff (which you work out well in advance as the camera takes forever getting there), which you better really enjoy, because director Pen-ak Ranaturang ain't gonna spring for another.

The film is kind of a pseudo-horror ghost story which aims for existentialism and self-discovery by just holding the camera on someone as they look at someone, or something, blankly for two minutes. Then, we cut to a shot of what/whomever they're looking at, and hold that for two minutes. Now, I love a long, languid, thoughtful, gradually revealing shot as much as the next guy, but this isn't that. This is art-wank masquerading as existentialism. I LOATHE this style of filmmaking. There has to be something going on ON THE ACTOR'S FACE during these shots. Or in the background. Or, umm, ANYWHERE.

NYMPH is like someone drained all the humanity, emotional reality, dramatic tension and power out of a Terrence Malick film, leaving us only with two nondescript people in a crap marriage staring at nature and disappearing. As a viewer, I'm happy to work a bit, but as a filmmaker, you've gotta bring something to the table, man. I'm not doing all the heavy lifting. There's only so much one can stand of barely sketched characters (only the program gave me any clue as to what the leads did for a living), interminable blank looks, drawn-out silences, shots of trees and dramatic inertia before an entirely different spectre descends: sleep.

50th - DEAD SNOW

While I guess it's more engaging than CLOUZOT'S INFERNO, DEAD SNOW just edges it out as the biggest disappointment of MIFF 2009. I looked forward to this film with massive enthusiasm: It's Nazi Zombies, fer chrissakes, and the trailer was highly entertaining. Unfortunately, "Nazi Zombies" seems to be where the filmmakers' production conference ended. Presumably, the writer/director uttered those two words, pushed his chair out from the table and spent the rest of the day watching EVIL DEAD, SCREAM and SHAUN OF THE DEAD. Because said auteur, Tommy Wirkola, rips those movies off wholesale. Now, as a movie buff turned developing filmmaker, I'm not one who throws the term "rips off" around easily. We all know that very little- if anything- is original anymore, everyone is influenced by somebody and, as one of the SWINGERS boys says, "everybody steals from everybody". But there is an entire character in this flick who's a gross bastardisation of Ed from SHAUN. It rips off shots from Raimi's zombie classics and SHAUN not just here and there, but constantly.

Wirkola isn't adding anything of himself to this concoction, nor is he mixing it all into his own unique tune, as Tarantino or PT Anderson would. All this fanboy adulation would be charming if the story took any interesting turns, or if the characters were funny and relatable, or if the script went to any dark and inspired places besides the hacking of limbs. It's also technically shoddy; all the money went into the makeup and uniforms, because this film boasts some of the most cringingly obvious blue/green screen work since STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE. Most deporably, though, Wirkola does nothing with the Nazi Zombie conceit. Do they march, fight, plan, act in the least bit like Nazis? Apparently not, as Wirkola probably couldn't track down a copy of SHOCK WAVES or ZOMBIE LAKE to rip off. Nup, these are just your average flesh-eating zombies, who just happen to be wearing Nazi uniforms and have a thing for Nazi gold. It's fine to be trashy, guys and gals, but for fuck's sake... be creative.

49th - DOUBLE TAKE

The MIFF program guide pitched this as being one of the most original and thrilling films of the festival. They lied about the thrilling. Using news grabs, clips from the Alfred Hitchcock Presents TV show and advertisements from the 1950s, along with newly filmed footage, Argentinian director Johan Grimonprez attempts to fashion a narrative involving Alfred Hitchcock becoming aware he has a doppelganger, against the backdrop of the Cuban Missile Crisis. What relates these two subjects is fuzzy and tenuous at best... and, as the film drags on, we find there's a lot of that.

One minute we're treated to one of Hitch's awesome AHP intros, then we cut to a coffee commercial, then we cut to poorly matched and cut together shots of Alfred Hitchcock on AFP passing Alfred Hitchcock in one of his big screen cameos, then we segue to a Nikita Kruschev-Richard Nixon press conference, before hearing a modern-day Hitch (sort of-) lookalike regaling us with anecdotes of meeting Tippi Hedren. And it's like that for 80 minutes. The "plot" makes no sense (Yo Hitch: *why* does one have to kill one's double, anyway?), the links between all the threads are shaky, all the gear with the Hitch impersonator is pointless and anything the director wants to say about identity and duality gets swallowed up by baffling -- and, it must be said, often shoddy -- technique. The only bright spots in this entire film are those AFPresents introductions, which are gorgeous, and the Kruschev-Nixon chat, which is amazing footage... which I'm sure you could find on DVD or YouTube. Still, I'm glad they showed up here, or I'd have been forced to commit my own perfect murder out of boredom.

48th - MARTYRS

Much has been ranted about the so-called "torture porn" genre this decade, and I'm not sure where I stand on it. If there's a story, I'm more likely to go with it. Sometimes you've gotta increase the stakes and push boundaries, but don't be clumsy or sledgehammer about it... unless, of course, sledgehammer works. It's a fine line. Horror has to be a tough genre. You can't pussy out. You have to take people where they don't want to go. Horror shouldn't be safe. Sometimes off-camera works, sometimes it doesn't. Then you have films like HOSTEL, which are competently made and come with a genuinely fearsome concept, but just hit the "this is a movie!" switch too often, which sells out the reality and the true horror of the piece.

To MARTYRS' credit, it never hits the laugh button. It never reminds you it's a movie... unless you've seen its many French siblings. See, France has been a hotbed for what some may term "torture porn" of late: HAUTE TENSION, INSIDE, FRONTIERE(S), SHEITAN... and many of these films share all-too-apparent DNA with MARTYRS. Washed-out colours? Check. High-speed shutter? Check. Dark creeping around houses? Check. Random slashing attacks? Check. Dark, twitchy, grey demon visions? Check. High-energy set pieces which wouldn't look out of place in an action film? Check. All of which is perfect if you've got a terrific and/or cohesive story and, well, a point. Sadly, this is what MARTYRS seems to be missing.

The film seems to change plots every 15 minutes: it's about an abused girl seeking revenge - no, it's about said abused girl's best friend, who has to deal with her vengeance-seeking besty (which is actually the best idea in the film, for mine) - no, it's about the vengeance seeker fighting a demon - no, it's about the friend being captured and tortured - and so on. These may sound like standard plot twists, but no: they're all distinct threads. Characters and concepts which seem meaningful exit the movie. The film asks questions and abandons them a couple scenes later. Then, about halfway through, we're finally introduced to the central theme of the film... and, as themes go, it doesn't really stand up. If I'm gonna watch a teenage girl get chained, force-fed gruel and slapped around for 20-30 minutes at a stretch -- I'm not kidding -- I demand a stronger, more meaningful reason than the film gives me.

I've heard some internet pundits say MARTYRS is an examination, a deconstruction, even the apogee, of the "torture porn" sub-genre, of the central horror conceit of suffering young women, of the "final girl" concept. I'm only willing to agree this is what director Pascal Laugier may have been going for, but he's wallowing in it, with a wrongheaded script that's both sloppy and spare. And I'm not even mentioning gaping plot holes or ridiculous character motivations (the girl is tied by the world's longest fucking chain and she never once thinks to hide in the shadows of the cavernous basement to wrap it around someone's neck? Where's your survival instinct?!). The ending attempts a mordant cleverness, but rather just underlines the pointlessness of it all. What's more, our protagonist is never a "martyr" of any sort. She's a guinea pig, stumbling through the ordeal with the barest notion of why she's there. The one thing, the only thing a martyr never lacks, is a purpose. Perhaps Laugier should've reevaluated his.

47th - HORRORS OF MALFORMED MEN

Upon seeing two minutes of pure insanity passing itself off as a trailer for this at the MIFF launch, my interest in this flick soared skyward. There was cackling, bad makeup, cackling, hyperbolic Japanese title cards, cackling, waves crashing upon beaches, cackling, Dr Moreau-style ani-men... I love me some crazy nutty bugfuck Asian cinema and this was from the age of psychedelia, forming a powerful combination I found impossible to resist... So why did I fall asleep halfway through? Sure, it didn't make a lick of sense, but one expects that. It may have something to do with the incredibly slow-moving first act, which sure brings the hokey melodrama, but sits on the crazy for a while, and more's the pity.

There's lots of our lead dude following women around compounds and pining for lost loves, which was all, strangely for a film like this, a bit dull. After some 40 minutes of this, I began trading five minute bursts of melodrama with five minute microsleeps, which persisted for a good half hour... until the uproarious final act, which finally gave up the good stuff. (Only the Japanese would make a film which ends in a crescendo of exploding superimposed floating heads. As ever, I'm not making this up.)

A friend I saw this with made the point that this film seemed all too aware of how nutty it is, and that diminished the experience for him. I can see his point to an extent, but this is based on traditional Japanese Rampo stories, which are traditionally insane, so I don't know how much more licence they could've taken. Was the conviction there? Perhaps. Did I really care? Not really. I came away with the feeling there were Japanese horror films both nuttier and more extreme, both of the time and since, and what promised to be a singular experience didn't quite deliver. Still... that last act is a pisser.

46th - ZIFT

Another MIFF launch trailer which rocked me, only to massively disappoint. Shot in gorgeously stark black and white, this period Bulgarian noir with a rather unhinged, dark-humoured sensibility should’ve knocked me for six. And the opening few scenes are encouraging: handsome, sharp, irreverent and violent, as we see our title character in prison, then departing to restart his life anew. It’s about half an hour in when the problem starts to emerge. Once you remove the, well, Bulgarian-ness of it, it’s really just the same post-QT neo-noir the Yanks and Brits have been pumping out for fifteen years.

Gradually, all the oxygen drains from the film, and, to mix metaphors, it just treads water from there. Full disclosure: the second act sent me to sleep. Sure, it was the third film I saw that day, but I’d stayed awake through many other similar situations this and prior MIFFs. I awoke at the commencement of the final act to find nothing much else had changed: preposterous plot twists and rainswept burials and attempted assassinations, all of which felt tainted by the stain of over-familiarity. I so wish this was a better film.

45th - VAN DIEMEN'S LAND

Let me start off by saying: this is quite possibly the best looking and sounding Australian film I’ve ever seen. No kidding. Debut feature director Jonathan auf der Heide and his veteran cinematographer Ellery Ryan shoot the ever-loving shit out of this notorious tale of Tasmanian convict and eventual-cannibal Alexander Pierce, evoking the exquisite man-as-affront-to-glorious-nature landscapes of Terrence Malick… and losing absolutely nothing in the comparison. Peter Palankay’s sound design is also a thing of haunting, harrowing beauty, just world-class work. Some of the performances are terrific too, most notably a very charismatic Mark Leonard Winter.

You may have noticed I’ve front-loaded this review a little. I wanted to get the positives up front. I want to state that auf der Heide has pulled off a stunning physical effort for a debut feature filmmaker, particularly as he’s still under 30. It’s hard enough to get a film up and made, but rarely are they this handsome. Thing is… the director’s attempts to sustain menace are so endlessly protracted that it winds up almost devoid of it. It’s not particularly scary, just kind of slow and grotty. The characters, aside from Pierce (Oscar Redding) and Winter’s Dalton, are pretty much interchangeable in look and attitude for the first half of the film – and Pierce is so inside himself -- it’s difficult to get a bead on anyone aside from Dalton.

auf der Heide seems to believe that moody sideways glances and endless shots of people staring at campfires passes for character development and narrative tension… and I’m here to tell him, it doesn’t. One or two of the murders have impact, but this is one of the rare pictures which could’ve done with a little more blood. It seems to be a bit too hung up on its own artistic pretension to present the harsh reality of these murders, or cannibalism in itself – which is odd, considering the rest of the picture just bursts with verisimilitude. So the only logical conclusion is, the filmmakers, for all of their ambition, pussied out. Held back. I know this isn’t meant to be a horror picture, but something this ripe with treachery, paranoia and cannibalism should’ve been much more frightening than this.

44th - THE BASTARDS (LOS BASTARDOS)

This Mexican home invasion thriller takes the term “slow burn” and stretches it to snapping point. Two labourers cross the border for a day’s work in LA before heading home and waiting to do the whole thing again the next day. Except on the day we join them, they have nasty plans in mind. There’s plenty of tension at first, as these two edge closer to violence, only to pull back, as the music dramatically smash rises then falls – a pattern which repeats several times in the film, to the point of exhaustion. They’ve been paid to take a housewife (who isn’t what she seems, either) hostage in her home and whack her. However, they’re going spend the night quietly living it up while tormenting her.

I won’t reveal what happens, but it’s safe to say that the picture is 85-ish minutes of tension leading to a – frankly – ridiculously violent denouement, which seems calculated for shock value more than anything else. There’s plenty of social context here though, with the labourers clearly enjoying the perceived fruits of middle-class American life unavailable to them, throughout the evening. Despite moments of genuine menace and style, the whole affair just seems like a lot of time expended on very little.

43rd - PARDON MY FRENCH (UN CHAT UN CHAT)

This French comedy is packed with terrific ideas, fresh concepts, amusing scenes and a cracker of a lead in Italian actress Chiara Mastroianni (Marcello’s daughter, who manages to look scarily like him while being absolutely gorgeous)… but director Sophie Fillières seems to have no feel for the material whatsoever.

The comic tale of a writer and newly-single mother, lamenting both her broken marriage and writer’s block, being latched onto by an aggressively helpful young woman who, as it emerges, is her self-appointed stalker, should’ve been a breezy, bouncy, pacy romp. Instead, it is paced like an Alain Reinais drama, which makes the thing seem ponderous and flabby when what’s going on is actually pretty clever and inspired, and would’ve been massively entertaining with a more understanding treatment.

However, the cast are terrific, but Mastroianni steals the show as the cynical, hard-smoking, neurotic sleepwalking writer who loves her son like crazy (her banter with the kid is one of the film’s highlights.) This is by no means a terrible movie, or even a bad one, simply mis-directed. It’s far too drawn-out and grey for the type of picture it should’ve been, to get the maximum impact out of likeable performances and a witty script. Ripe for an English-language remake, perhaps? So long as they retain Chiara’s services and hire a director with a yen for the material, it just might work.

Next: Mini reviews / rankings of the middle 32!

TSIK

THOROUGHLY MIFFED PART II: CHAPTER 2 - REVENGE OF THE GIANT FACE

The chin was in. Quentin Tarantino was in the house.

Once properly introduced by MIFF Director Richard Moore, the black-suited Mr Tarantino strode out to the stage, as I -- clad in my DEATH PROOF t-shirt -- clapped and hollered like I was at the MCG (wasn't alone there, I might add). Only afterward, upon reflection of my enthusiasm and proximity to QT, did I discover that my behaviour could possibly have been interpreted as, well... gay. And not in the ironic, 40 YEAR OLD VIRGIN style "Know how I know you're gay..." way. No, actually gay.

And I, a comfortably heterosexual man, make absolutely no apologies for this.

Tarantino answered the questions of Australian comedian/filmmaker John Safran (chosen, presumably, either because of his Jewish heritage, or reputation as a provocateur) with his customary enthusiasm, bravado and staggering filmic knowledge. I gotta tell ya: I don't think I could even recall half the conversation (thankfully I can recall the other half, clear as a bell). Just being in the room was sensory overload.

Safran's questions seemed to continually threaten to betray spoilers, but QT was doing his best to keep his film's secrets, talking instead of Goebbels' Louis B. Mayer-style involvement in the wartime German film industry, Eli Roth's "jewish revenge porn" fantasies and the influence of Leni Riefenstahl. Then, as an added surprise -- as if out of a hat -- he produced stars Diane Kruger and Christolph Waltz, who took the mike for a couple of brief introductions. Waltz's demeanour, in particular, gave no indication of the performance we were soon about to see; though he certainly seemed cultured and polite (even if his speech was slightly baffling). As the lights went down, the stars ducked out a side door, but Quentin strolled up the aisle to take his seat in the middle of the theatre, to watch his own film amongst the punters. Which fit perfectly; as much as any director before or since, he's a movie geek just like the rest of us.

(No, I'm not gonna tell you here what I thought of the film! All will be revealed in future chapters...)

So, yeah, you could say this experience shaped my MIFF in 2009. There were other delights (and, like any large event, hiccups) to be found, as well:

- The Coopers Forum Festival Lounge was as gorgeous and awesome as ever... however, they really need to stay open later. It's the perfect stylish, dimly-lit, post-film chillout/discussion venue... and it closes by 11:15. It's the Achilles Heel of what is, otherwise, perfection.

- Once again, the ungracefully aging Greater Union cinema took on the lion's share of sessions (even more than last year, which didn't seem possible), but I didn't experience as many dodgy seat issues as usual. (Besides, of course, the fact the seats there are sort of fundamentally dodgy.) I experienced a grand total of one shaky seat and four wobbly armrests. For better or worse, that's below average. I choose to call that a win.

- The Forum continued its fabulous tradition of being the festival's centrepiece venue; a super cool, old school theatre. Even with the age-old seats (the seating is stadium style, representing brilliant foresight on the part of those who built it), it rarely seems to get uncomfortable. I just adore seeing movies there. (Now, if only they could take back the Regent, and get the Capitol up and running again -- thus alleviating Greater Union of its burden -- and the experience of seeing movies at MIFF would fully return to former glory!)

- Last year, my incredibly awesome girlfriend kicked off a birthday tradition of buying me a MIFF Passport; as my birthday is a month before MIFF, it's pretty much perfect. However, Passports aren't cheap... so naturally I was incensed to hear that, from this year, one couldn't buy a Passport unless they also bought a MIFF Membership. A Membership alone, at AU$83, is quite reasonable, but when you stack it on top of the Passport price, it seemed a little rich. So a MIFF Passport was now going to cost my partner AU$413 and, on her behalf, I was livid. From this perspective, the Membership privileges didn't seem to be worth the cash: a paltry 10% off Festival merchandise, concession tickets to cinemas I don't go to (and, admittedly, the cinema I go to the most -- details schmetails, I'm building a case here!), priority queuing, etc. But, as MIFF is my midyear Christmas, I craved that Passport, so I swallowed my vitriol, complained to the MIFF Twitter page, and allowed my partner to pay the money...

Two days in, I discovered what an idiot I'd been. Two words, folks: PRIORITY QUEUING. My god. It's a whole new world. The difference between getting to the venue and going straight in to snag a decent seat (and to save some for your friends!), and standing out in the bitter Melbourne cold for 20 minutes waiting to be ushered in to a seat plastered against the screen. And, let's face it, I saw 52 flicks for AU$7.94 each, which is an ace deal. Mr. Richard Moore and co., I humbly submit my apology, and substitute it with thanks.

- Although it didn't really touch me personally, I can't rightly talk about MIFF 2009 without addressing the hailstorm of controversy that rocked it, courtesy of China versus a little documentary called THE 10 CONDITIONS OF LOVE, and, to a smaller extent, Ken Loach withdrawing his LOOKING FOR ERIC because MIFF bought an Israeli filmmaker (who'd made an Australian film!) a plane ticket. I'm sure you've read about all the website hackings, the hasty withdrawal of every Chinese & Hong Kong film from the program, the Chinese diplomatic corps pressuring Richard Moore to drop 10 CONDITIONS from the program... all dramatic stuff, and Mr. Moore deserves huge kudos for not backing down a millimetre. Instead of sacking the film, he added an extra session and moved it to a bigger venue, which resulted in serpentine queues the likes of which even MIFF had never seen. Well played, sir.

I really feel this is the year Richard Moore began to make MIFF truly his own, stepping out from the towering shadow created by the game-changing reign of James Hewison. For the most part, he's kept Hewison's better additions and has added his own to push Australia's finest film festival boldly into the next decade, and to Cloud Nine for all Melbourne-bound filmgoers.

Now, to the movies: My 10 Worst Films of MIFF 2009... so no flipping!

THOROUGHLY MIFFED 2009: CHAPTER I - GERMAN NIGHT IN PARIS (well, okay... more like a movie night in Melbourne...)

The Melbourne International Film Festival (let's call her MIFF) came back with a vengeance this year. Not that MIFF '08 was bad, it was great... but it wasn't the inspiring, euphoric, Christmas-in-Julaugust that it normally is. Documentaries ruled the roost for me last year, which, I'll confess, is always a bit of a bummer for me. See, I'm in no way an aspiring documentary filmmaker. I'm all about fiction feature films, and MIFF is the Mecca to which I travel for annual inspiration to make my own movies. So, when the docus dominate and the feature films take a back seat, I have fun, but I don't come away with the electric charge of inspiration which I've happily come to associate with the event. For me, MIFF '09 was a return to all sorts of form: incredible guests, blazing controversy, and, crucially, a strong program of terrific fiction feature films.

MIFF 2009, for me, will always be remembered as The Year Quentin Came to Town. Sure, I never got to meet the big man, but I was insanely lucky enough to attend the Australian Premiere of INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS (whose five chapter titles -- or variations thereof -- you'll find subtitling this very blog), where he appeared in person to introduce the film in his own inimitably effusive fashion.

Okay. I'm gonna remove my "critical blogger" hat for a second and throw on my "stark raving fanboy acolyte of Quentin Tarantino" hat on. Got it? Good. (Don't worry, won't be long.)

I was going to be seeing Quentin Fucking Tarantino in the flesh. I won't lie to you: he's the guy whose films inspired me to be a writer/director. Before I saw DOGS and FICTION, I was deeply interested in films, but thought a schlub like me only had a shot at writing them, if I were lucky. Surely I wasn't qualified to be a filmmaker. I didn't go to film school, hadn't fought in WWII, wasn't cut out to be a general or a dictator... all those cliches I'd accumulated in my head about directors of yore. They weren't weedy little film buffs like me, they were decorated, educated and/or utterly insane men and women of bottomless gravitas and sweeping vision, informed by lives of love and loss. So, when I saw these incredibly alive, stylish, unpredictable pictures from an average (if extraordinarily clever & talented) guy who was inspired by the stuff that I was inspired by -- action films, horror flicks, gangster movies -- and then made specific references in his interviews to the obscure films that inspired his works, for buffs like me to seek out and devour, I felt an actual, vein-deep connection, the likes of which I've experienced about three or four times my entire life. So, to see the man who had indirectly helped to set my life on its current course, in my home city, in the flesh, was one of the most thrilling occasions in my life to date.

Okay, enough of the gross adulation... back to the show.

Turns out getting to the premiere screening was a mission in itself. Sadly, my lovely partner could not attend, and the long-standing backup had pulled out with mere hours to spare (both due to work commitments), so we were on the phone, in a mad rush on the way, to recruit ourselves a Basterd. We got our man -- my friend Steve, who, thankfully, had just gotten off crutches a few days earlier -- and he left immediately, hopefully able to meet us in line. Meanwhile, despite being an hour early, I was greeted by an enormous line... which was a meetup-free zone, as all new arrivals were directed to the back of the queue. This, coupled with overheard rumblings of all sorts of no-turning-back security measures inside, shook me a tad, as I had Steve's ticket and he was still en route. I hoped he'd get there in time to see us in line and grab it on the way past...
Then the line started to move. Fast.

Halfway up the line, a security guard was checking tickets, presumably to stop people fossicking through their pockets at the entrance, thus holding up red carpet snapper magnets seeking a photo op. I had the two tickets folded together, so I showed mine to the dude and put the other in my pocket.

Soon, the line was racing, and I was up to the red carpet. I've never trod a red carpet before, I have to say, and it was kinda cool. Well... it would've been cool, if I hadn't been eyeing off the entrance ten feet away and suddenly thought, "Now, where is Steve's ticket?" Soon, I became That Guy, fossicking through his pockets to find... nothing.

Here I am, standing on a red carpet, friends on one side, paparazzo on the other, pulling everything out of every pocket, looking for Steve's ticket. So much for my auspicious red carpet debut.

Another couple of steps. Now about seven feet away, still not found.

It was now my heart doing the racing, as the Forum Theatre entrance was bearing down on me fast. The doors were now so close I could touch them, as my hands dove in and out of pockets, fumbling through all sorts of wallets and coins and brochures and --
THE TICKET! Hurrah!!

I couldn't even tell you which pocket it was in, as if I'd conjured it out of thin air. But it wasn't over. With Phase 2 down, I instantly clicked into Phase 3: how do I get our Basterd his ticket? Being herded up the stairs, I searched for a lanyard-wearing MIFF door keeper and managed to snag one, to explain the situation. She suggested I write his name on the ticket and give it to her, and she would put it on a table out front for collection. Fair enough. So I began texting Steve to tell him this... when I discovered, a short flight of stairs away, that a table of MIFF people were sequestering everybody's mobile phones. I had less than 60 seconds to type the most clear, yet detailed, message possible on how to pick the tickets up, where they'll be, etc. Banged out the text, read it through, read it again, then sent it off, and turned in my phone in the nick of time. So it was all up to the fates now.

Once in, my friends who had lined up earlier secured brilliant seats, about six rows from the front on the side, which is thankfully on an incline, a nice distance up and away from the screen. And on the exact same side as Mr Tarantino would be standing. Dude would be directly in front of us, not 20 metres away.

But our Basterd hadn't joined us yet. Sure, there were still 20 minutes to go, but I -- in my suave, debonair, customary way -- was stressing. Had my text provided all the info he needed? Was it clear? Was he being stopped at the door, searching for a table not to be found and frantically dialing my mobile, now in the hands of the MIFF-appointed Stasi? All these questions ricocheted around my psyche as local celebrities filed past and sat around us: Mick Molloy, Chris Judd, Lucas from Neighbours, Vince Colosimo and, naturally, MIFF's #1 ticket holder Geoffrey Rush...

An Ennio Morricone style chorus of percussion and choirs, worthy of Sergio Leone, should've sounded as Basterd Steve entered the theatre, ticket in hand, with plenty of time to take his seat and share in the madness.

At last, I could breathe easily. Then, my friend Sarah spies the door and exclaims, "I can see the chin!" Yes, all you've heard is true: Quentin Tarantino's chin enters a room before he does. Awesome.

Chapter II to follow...