The Diary of a Teenage Girl (2015)

The Perks of Giving Away Your Flower

"I had sex today." 

These are the first words of The Diary of a Teenage Girl, exclaimed by our young protagonist Minnie Goetz (Bel Powley) to her tape recorder. Minnie, a precocious and independent 15 year old with her hormones and emotions running crazy, is the window of this journey back to San Francisco in 1976, to a world of sex, drugs, alcohol, overexposed and washed out cinematography and the odd animated fantasy. And it's a world that comes together seamlessly and effectively by first-time director Marielle Heller. 

Minnie lives with her little sister Gretel (Abby Wait) and her unreliable and oft-neglectful mother Charlotte (Kristen Wiig). Their home also houses a never-ending line-up of Charlotte's friends and boyfriends, who frequently lay around in the loungeroom snorting line after line of cocaine whilst drinking copious quantities of alcohol. Minnie receives more parental input from her father Pascal (Christopher Meloni), scolding her over the telephone from the other side of the country, than what she ever does from her mother; it's this inattention that allows Minnie to commence an affair with her mother's main lover, Monroe (Alexander Skarsgård). 

What starts off as a teenage crush rapidly develops into a sexual fling after Minnie volunteers to accompany Monroe to the nearby bar. He gets drunk, they ferociously flirt with each other and next minute, he is pressing her hand into his crotch before we find them in bed with each other. She marks his leg with the blood from her hymen, and the crazy journey has well and truly begun. Minnie has a number of sexual experiences throughout the film, from school friends to the delinquent Tabatha (Margarita Levieva), but its the jaunts with Monroe that we keep coming back to, and the way this relationship is altering Minnie's world. 

Powley is a potent driver for this film; Heller and her work exceptionally well together to establish Minnie's world in an incredibly wild way. Minnie isn't consistently grounded in reality, and its with considerable gusto that the pair play on that. The animations in particular add so much to that, but Powley's performance is also a monumental factor; her ripe and dazzling portrayal lends itself well to the articulate immaturity of Minnie's world, almost forcing an embrace from the audience that may be at times reluctant to accept what is going on in the narrative because of how shocking or problematic it may be. The film - though often scandalous

and provoking - is never exploitative; the plot balances its explicit subject matter and its integrity well. Minnie is perhaps the teenager we wanted to be, but the child we would never want to own, and the film seems happy to brandish that throughout. Diary is at times a film we've seen before; it's Almost Famous meets The Perks of Being a Wallflower, the coming of age story set in the not-so-long-passed past, complete with some virginity-busting, drug-taking and accompanied by a great soundtrack of 70's hits. And yet, this time it's a female world, complete with her own sexual prowess, epic regrets and animated fantasies. It separates itself by embracing the lead female's sexual journey in a non-judgmental and inspiring way, not to mention the evocative and original measures it takes to recreate the realm of this adolescent female in 1970's San Francisco. It's an exciting journey, complete with its effective triumphs and its devastating falls. And we wouldn't want it any other way.

Boyhood (2014)

An extraordinary look at adolescent life, Boyhood is an artistic achievement like no other; it is the coming-of-age story where we actually watch the main character come of age. Literally. Filmed over twelve years, filming only a handful of days each year, Richard Linklater creates the cinematic equivalent of a 12-year-long patchwork quilt, sewing raw, vibrant, moving moments together in the most creative and beautiful of ways. 

Boyhood's lead character is Mason (Ellar Coltrane), a boy who lives with his sister Samantha (Lorelei Linklater, the director's own daughter) and his mother Olivia (Patricia Arquette). We watch as Mason grows before our very eyes; we watch Mason and his family pack-up and move all over Texas; we watch as various characters come in and out (and back in!) of Mason's life, each doing their part to change and mature the audience's developing surrogate and focus. And it's pure, artistic magic. 

The transitions of the film are nothing short of marvellous; at each different age, we see another shade of Mason filled in, the boy turning into the young man. Each age leaves us satisfied and yet we know the story is never complete; we know this character is growing - and changing - before our eyes, never a rigid whole. There are so many distinctions between the ages, many subtle and understated, others prominent and marked, but never artificial. This is the absolute strength and power of the film; there is such a true sense of development and maturity established in both Mason and his world, and it is achieved in such a dense and layered way. Further, the changing nature of Mason's world is both fascinating but also strikingly relatable; drawing on our own world, we know exactly what Mason is witnessing. We lived through Harry Potter, we all loved our iPhones and Facebook; and yet, through these eyes, the experience is refreshingly new and unique. 

Linklater strikes gold on so many levels here; his screenplay is lucid and luminous, simple and potent, creating a story that hits the spot in a multitude of ways. There are moments in this film that you can see coming a mile off, but he tells it in such a genuine and fresh way that it never feels tried or tiresome; there are other moments that are unexpected, but they are so fluid - never jarring - and just so well-crafted that you never question them. His direction is perfect; everything is assembled in a most exceptional way, such a raw, tender approach to the story that we've seen him bring so many times before, but this time polishing it back to its most pure form. His ensemble are fantastic; his daughter is hilarious, Coltrane gives a candid and legitimate performance and Ethan Hawke is kooky and hilarious but sincere and unaffected as Mason Senior, who we see drop frequently into his children's lives (one would suspect more often captured during the film's narrative than would be the case in real time). And yet the true genius on screen is Arquette, who is absolutely astonishing in her honest and moving portrayal as mother Olivia, and she takes her scenes to another level; it is the kind of performance that should have (and has had) awards thrown at it. 

A fictional film like no other, Boyhood is one of the most overwhelmingly genuine, fresh and real cinematic experiences a viewer can have. It's a rare achievement in cinema, a film that truly captures the human condition in the most authentic and powerful of ways; it's a film that will have you laughing and one that can have you crying; I have little doubt you'll be doing both, sometimes even in the same breath. 

Mommy (2014)

There's a lot about Xavier Dolan's fifth effort, Mommy, which will remind viewers of his first piece, J'ai tué ma mère...except turned on its head; indeed, Dolan even cast the same mommy, Anne Dorval. Mommy shares so much with its predecessor, the dynamic of the mother-son relationship, the explosive histrionics and volatility between the pair; and yet the dynamic is framed in such a different perspective (and ratio). Mommy takes the focus away from Dolan's own eyes and instead focuses on the maternal figure, her struggles, her pain, her choices. If anything, Mommy almost feels like an apology for the earlier film. 

The film is set in a fictional Quebec in the near-future, where legislation has passed forcing parents to either accept responsibility for their children's own actions, or institutionalise them. We meet Dorval's character, Diane 'Die' Després, on the way to pick up her son Steve (Antoine-Olivier Pilon) from a care facility which has expelled him for poor behaviour. Die, faced with little other option, takes Steve into her own care, and leaves her job in order to home school him. It's at this point we see a fuller picture of Steve's temperament; Steve suffers from ADHD and various other behavioural issues, including (notably) an attachment disorder. It's after an episode of violent proportions that the pair become properly introduced to neighbour Kyla (Suzanne Clément); from this point, the three form a bond which becomes beautifully fulfilling for each of them. 

Mommy is typical of Dolan's visual style in many ways, various slowed takes, a vitality and vibrancy in colour that has become pivotal in his works; and yet, it's what Dolan does differently here that makes a powerful impression. The boxing of the film in a 1:1 ratio is an audacious move for he and cinematographer André Turpin; it clearly serves a purpose, which becomes most noticeable during the moments where the ratio isn't applied. These moments are incredibly moving, and the choice to box the viewer into the unique frame pays dividends and then some. Add the almost superb soundtrack choices, including a potent moment to the music of 'national treasure' Celine Dion (no, Dolan is not channeling "My Heart Will Go On") and you have yourself Dolan's greatest cinematic achievement to date. 

Dorval is phenomenal here. Her performance makes the film in so many ways; the viewer is left coping with the same struggles Die faces in every moment. There's an astounding palpability to the intensity of the situations her and Steve face; at every turn, you are left emotionally drained but wondering where the narrative is going to go next. And then Dolan just continues infecting you with his affliction again and again. Clément is also fantastic in what could have been the very bland character of Kyla, whose struggles are oft-neglected by the narrative, but whose own pain you can feel through her pained facial expressions, her oft-sad eyes. And young Pilon is brilliant as well. 

This film is emotion turned up full bawl. Heartbreaking. Gut-wrenching. And all of its players know just how loud to turn it up. A talent finally learning to refine his ability, Dolan has created a film which should easily be considered one of the year's best; Mommy is an incredibly special journey for any fan of Dolan's previous work and more. 

All the King's Men (1949)

There is this recurring image in All the King’s Men. We see it first during the film’s opening credits, and it reappears throughout; the image of a man standing between two flames. Initially it appeared to be a man seen rising from the ashes; however, it did not take long to realise that there was another interpretation of this image, far more devastating and powerful, and likely the more accurate one.

All the King’s Men was the 22^nd winner of the Oscar for Best Picture, and a tremendous winner it is. Directed, produced and written by Robert Rossen, the film details the rise of a hick from a rural county town in an unnamed US state. This hick, Willie Stark (Broderick Crawford in a magnificent, Oscar-winning turn), earns the support of journalist Jack Burden (John Ireland) by fighting against the fraud and corruption which is riddling his local community. A failed attempt at running for a local treasury office seemingly ends his political life, but soon, in an attempt to split votes, he is thrown into a governor’s race as a “wooden head decoy”. He fights tooth and nail, determined to be more than just a dummy hick running to split a few votes, and whilst he gets very close, he is narrowly defeated. This, however, does not deter him – he feels he now has learned just what he needs to win (fade to black). Four years pass and we meet very different Willie, one who is willing to do whatever it takes to win, and through a series of choices made by Crawford and Rossen, we understand that Willie has changed into the very kind of politician he was originally fighting against.

The transformation of Willie from the honourable country boy to the corrupt, womanising politician is a mighty accomplishment for the film, and Crawford must be commended for effecting the transformation so thoroughly. There’s an earnestness in the way he plays pre-governor Willie, a remarkable sincerity and substance to his character; a speech given to the crowd at one of his rallies is a powerful moment where Crawford is able to unleash and present a Willie Stark we want to cheer for. Even in the way Crawford sits offers an identity whose ambition is intricately tied in with integrity. That ambition becomes caught up in Willie’s drunken stupors and leisurely poses as the film goes on; Crawford juxtaposes his debasing dialogue with lazy posture to demonstrate what a depraved individual his Stark has become. Add to that the way in which Willie is shot (there is one moment reminiscent of a speech given by Hitler – the divide between Willie and his audience had never been so great), what he is dressed in, the situations he is thrown into, and we as the audience become so comprehensively aware of what a rotten, degrading individual Willie Stark has become.

The rest of the ensemble manage well; Mercedes McCambridge is the highlight as the cynical and biting political aide Sadie Burke, interpreting Rossen’s dialogue in such a masterful way to convey the many tiers of emotions which Sadie feels towards Willie as a politician and as a person. She is caught between a man she both detests and adores, and her struggles are the most interesting of the film; it’s no wonder she went on to win the Oscar for Actress in a Supporting Role, heavy praise considering this was her film debut. Ireland is also effective as the misled Jack, the torture and dissolution his character experiences is conveyed with such intensity. The screenplay is so intelligently written as well; there are repeated references to religion, a common motif concerning the corruption of mankind and the dialogue packs a venomous punch. It was surprising to see it failed to win the Oscar for its screenplay when so much of the brilliance of this film rests upon its layered and colourful writing. Aesthetically, the film is also unique; shot in a pictorialist style, the film has a striking visual effect on the viewer, so as to link the superficial with the morality of the film. The particular emphasis on the tones of the black and white, and the darkness which riddles various shots certainly is evocative when considered in the light of the film’s main premise.

The piece does occasionally feel slightly contrived (a subplot involving Willie’s son Tom is executed somewhat randomly), and there is a slight messiness about some of it as well, but ultimately, the film is incredibly persuasive as a piece about humanity and power.  It captures the landscape of modern politics so seamlessly – fascinatingly so; in some ways, its ability to foreshadow future events, whilst also retelling past events (the source material is heavily based on Louisiana Governor Huey Long) is most impressive. Furthermore, its discourse on corruption as well as the binary between corruption and truth is an interplay which the film masterfully constructs; this is where the true value of the film lies. All the King’s Men is the ultimate cinematic piece on corruption overcoming idealism, and is perhaps the most intellectually cynical and amongst the most critical films to win Oscar’s highest honour. A man is conceived in sin and born in corruption indeed.

Mrs Miniver (1942)

 It is 1940, and Europe is in the throws of World War II; France is being overrun by Nazis, Germany holds all the cards and Britain stands almost alone in the fight to stop Hitler and his axis of evil. The Allies are doing their best to poke America, but it, pursuing a policy of isolationism, wants European affairs to remain just that. German-born director William Wyler decides he wants to help in the effort to involve the US in this epic war occurring only an ocean away, and thus begins his involvement in the 1942 Academy Award winner for Best Picture, Mrs Miniver.

Mrs Miniver opens on Mrs Kay Miniver (Greer Garson in her Academy Award winning turn), a middle-class woman who is shopping in busy London pre-World War II. She enters a boutique store where she makes quite a fuss about the purchase of what is clearly a very precious and expensive hat. She leaves and boards the train to Balham, where her, her husband (Walter Pidgeon) and her children live. Everything seems fairly pleasant in the world of Mrs Miniver; that is until World War II begins to conquer England, and their lives will be changed forever.

It all seems rather dramatic, and it is; Mrs Miniver is the quintessential World War II propaganda film. It’s easy to see why it felt so important to its time; Presidents pushed to get the film in cinemas quickly, Prime Ministers praised the film’s importance. Contextually, the film works wonderfully; it, both literally and metaphorically, brings Nazi Germany to the doorsteps of the audience in a powerful and persuasive manner. We are forced to reckon with the idea of the world being overrun by a foreign and dangerous force, obliged to acknowledge that the beautiful rose of England may not bloom as it once did before; and I’m sure this felt very real to a Western audience in 1942.

Yet the film feels so outdated; the most nominated director in Academy Award history, William Wyler is as bland a director as they come, and there really is very little extraordinary, or even interesting, about what he does with the material. Its importance seems lost in 1942, back when the director could play on the innate fear of its audience, instead of having to establish the fear himself. The only real strength of the film is found in the performances. Garson is respectable as the virtuous titular character, bringing the requisite charm and warmth to Mrs Miniver in a way only the most able of actors could. What the role requires, she offers in spades, and it’s for that reason the film is watchable. Add to that the brilliant, Oscar-winning performance of Teresa Wright as the equally-lovable and ever-so charismatic Carol Beldon, and the hilariously cutting performance of Dame May Whitty as Carol’s grandmother Lady Beldon, and you get a fairly enjoyable female ensemble. Even the youngest son (who looks sufficiently feminine) Toby (Christopher Severn) is wonderful.

It is wonderful to find a film which was made so as to facilitate the resonance of the war with those at home. The clear focus on the lives of the female characters is indicative of the particular attempt to drive this message home to the common housewife, which is commendable for a film of its time. The unfortunate part is that, try as the film does, the strength of the female characters is laughable by modern standards, and there is even one scene where Mrs Miniver, having proven herself the equal of her husband, is slapped hard on the rear, effectively undoing the work of the writers up until that point. The lack of dimension to all the characters repeatedly undermines the film also, though Wright and Garson do so much to make up for it. Without them, this film would be lost.

Having said all this, Mrs Miniver was a hit in its day, being the biggest film of 1942 and MGM’s greatest earner at the time. The film resounded so well that Roosevelt had parts of the dialogue printed onto leaflets and dropped during the war. It earned twelve Oscar nominations, was the first film to be nominated in all four acting categories and it won in six categories all up. It served its purpose as a propaganda film, effectively summing up the feeling of its time and is a reminder of the horrors which war brings home. And the social discourse which makes its way into the film is fairly powerful, definitely one of the more effective aspects. Yet it is a shame the purpose of Mrs Miniver is so obvious and clear, because the soul of the film remains trapped in the realms of 1942 and cannot move beyond. The next Oscar winner for Best Picture would go on to show how a propaganda film can serve to be so much more…

Le Passé (The Past)

An anxious Marie (Berenice Bejo) arrives at the airport, picking up her estranged husband Ahmad (Ali Mosaffa) so that they can finalise their divorce. She spots him, a hint of bittersweet acknowledgement adorns her face, she moves closer to him but finds a soundproof wall dividing the pair. No matter; she gestures to another, they get his attention and after a few gestures, they're on their way, running to her car and out of the rain. However, a number of walls remain built up around Marie, and they follow her everywhere she dares to go.

Le Passé (The Past) is Asghar Farhadi's follow-up to the unanimously praised A Separation, a film which claimed almost every Foreign Film award you can imagine in 2011. And knowing he struck a winning formula, Farhadi sticks with what he knows, invoking a number of the same themes in this piece, a brilliantly-told narrative surrounding Marie and the relationships in her life.

Farhadi moves out of his native Iran for this piece, instead setting  the film in France; a change of culture perhapps, but certainly not of the human condition. Loss, change, separation; they are all still pertinent issues in Le Passé. We see Marie take Ahmad back to a house they shared four years earlier before he left, but now Marie's new partner Samir (Tahar Rahim) and his son Fouad (Elyes Aguis) have moved in, and with it, a number of other issues as well.

As always, Farhadi's treatment of the narrative is as objective as possible; he allows his audience to view the situation from as many perspectives as possible and without trying to impart any judgment. This lends itself to the ensemble being able to enjoy an exceptional level of freedom within their performances, and this leads to great accomplishment throughout. Bejo is particularly exceptional as lead Marie, a woman who is struggling with moving on, hampered down by her past as well as the history of the other characters in her life. Rahim is also tragically wonderful as her new partner, whose truth the whole film centres around. As the film progresses, the audience are exposed to new information surrounding his past, and the revelations are handled as well by Rahim as they are by the wonderfully-written screenplay. Pauline Burlet is also great as Marie's eldest daughter Lucie.

The narrative here unfolds masterfully, with Farhadi balancing all these perspectives whilst allowing the film to reach boiling point slowly, washing just enough over his audience to keep them hooked. The only criticism I could level at the film is that by the end, it isn't as tight as it was at the start, perhaps because it offers too much of a slow boil, or potentially because it is so level-handed. Nonetheless, the powerful ensemble maintain such a stronghold on the material, and the power in the story never fades; the film never becomes tedious, it remains as commanding as ever. The camerawork is as imposing as ever, and its scope allows the audience to remain very much involved in the action without ever losing the equal-handedness that Farhadi wants throughout.

Farhadi has created another wonder here; Le Passé is an incredibly well-written, beautifully told story of how we can never entirely get away from our past. This resounding idea is brilliantly captured by Farhadi and his ensemble, and its cogent focus on this never wavers. The human frailty in a way only Farhadi can tell it: vividly, skilfully, brilliantly.

Sarah Polley's 'Stories We Tell'

"When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion." - Margaret Atwood.

Sarah Polley's career has hardly been orthodox. A young Canadian actress who attained her popularity through a burgeoning  television career, she hit the big time with a role in Atom Egoyan's 1997 Academy Award-nominated The Sweet Hereafter. With the odd exception (namely her roles in 1999's Go and 2004's Dawn of the Dead), her acting career often saw her escaping the attention of the mainstream Hollywood machine, whilst still developing an exceptional resume for herself and continuing to maintain the attention of Canada's film industry (the highlight being an award-winning turn in 2003's My Life Without Me).

However, in 2007, things took a unique turn; the then-28 year old churned out her feature film-making debut, the ethereal Away From Her. This, a film about an aged couple dealing with the onset of Alzheimer's disease, saw both Polley and her lead actress, Julie Christie, nominated for Academy Awards, and became one of the most critically-acclaimed films of the year. 2012 saw the release of her follow-up, Take This Waltz, and barely a year later we see the release of her third feature - and her first doco - Stories We Tell.

Stories We Tell is another exceptional knot on the talented actress/writer/director's belt. It unravels a number of truths by providing detailed insight into the relationships of the Polley family, particularly focusing on the relationship between the filmmaker's mother and father. One may think this is a peculiar concept for a film - I know I certainly was hesitant at the idea - but the execution here is brilliant. What appears to be a film of modest scope quickly becomes an ever-expansive and incredibly philosophical adventure, exploring a vast array of topics such as the ownership of a story, the concept of truth, the nature of the memory and familial love.

There is an intricate beauty which Polley achieves, something reminiscent of her first effort; the natural, touching way in which the film weaves its narrative thread about is indicative of an extraordinary insight of the art form. She is so capable of affecting her audience, she knows just how to hit the spot (the use of Super-8 footage throughout is such a powerful tool, as is her father's narration)

and she does so with ease here. The structure of the film further allows Polley to manoeuvre her audience effectively, powerfully capturing the various tones of her story and allowing them to permeate in an organic way across the whole film. The film is truly all about perspective, and Polley considers that thoroughly in providing her messages to the audience. There is such an equally-handed, balanced way that she provides her narrative, and the fractures of the narrative are such a vivid core to the piece; I daresay even the vivid core to the film.

Something else which should also be noted is the way in which watching this film will affect the way its audience thinks about Polley's other work; certainly, a number of the themes explored in her two previous releases are brought to the forefront here and, when taken in light of both Take This Waltz and especially Away From Her, the shattering realisation of our filmmaker's truth is beautifully tragic.

Stories We Tell is extraordinarily brave, beautiful and brilliant art from Sarah Polley, and as a documentary piece, its insight is incredible. Its philosophies will embed themselves into your consciousness, its narratives will invade your heart and its beauty will be entrenched in your mind for days. A truly superb piece of cinema.