EISENSTEIN IN GUANAJUATO: 25th Anniversary Inside Out Toronto LGBT Film Festival 2015 - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Greenaway dallies with biopic like some Ken Russell wannabe.

Eisenstein in Guanajuato (2015)
Dir. Peter Greenaway
Starring: Elmer Bäck, Luis Alberti

Review By Greg Klymkiw

This cellar-dwelling Ken Russell wannabe biopic of Sergei Eisenstein, the famed Soviet filmmaking genius and chief cinematic propagandist for Communist and Stalinist totalitarianism is replete with a wide variety of stunning visuals, but really does nothing to cast a light upon either its subject's work, career and sexuality.

How much of this dull, overwrought Greenaway nonsense you can take will mostly be determined by just how much Peter Greenaway you can hack. All others can stay at home and rent some Ken Russell movies instead.

No matter how outrageously rife with historical deviations (and nutty visuals) Russell's biopics were, I always loved how he plunged to the very roots of his subjects' artistry and not only captured the spirit of the work, but did so by presenting how the said work inspired him. Russell's films were as personal as they were cheekily respectful, not as oxymoronic as you might think, since his delightfully perverse sense of humour added the necessary frissons to reinterpret and/or re-imagine the artists' work.

It was a delicate balance and one Russell didn't always successfully achieve, but his best films were genuinely insightful, thought-provoking and yes, outrageous. For example, I always loved Russell's interpretation of Gustav Mahler's conversion from Judaism to Christianity in Mahler when he created the astonishing set piece of the title character leaping through flaming hoops adorned with the Star of David as Cosima Wagner in pseudo Nazi regalia, complete with what appear to be chrome hot pants, cracks a circus whip like some Ringling Bros. Barnum and Bailey Valkyrie.

A close second to this pantheon of Russell's loving insanity is, for me, the sequence in The Music Lovers when Richard (Dr. Kildare) Chamberlain as Tchaikovsky, explodes the heads off everyone in his life with cannon balls with the 1812 Overture raging on the soundtrack.

I will accept all this heartily.

Alas, Greenaway delivers the equivalent of a few wet farts in this tradition.

Nothing so inspired occurs in Eisenstein in Guanajuato. Greenaway chooses to focus on the time Eisenstein spent in Mexico and essentially squandered his opportunity to make an epic feature film which Stalin himself gave his blessings to. Most of the film is devoted to Elmer Bäck's mildly entertaining nutty performance as he spouts endless bits of florid dialogue, discovers the joys of shoeshines, the heavenly experience of showering (as he cocks his buttocks saucily and swings his dinky about with abandon) and, of course, sodomy.

Yes, Greenaway does not disappoint here. Sergei's anal deflowering is genuinely worth the price of admission. Alas this delicious set piece is buffeted by far too much flouncing about, presented with triple-paned homages to both Eisenstein and Abel Gance until our mad hero is tossed out of Mexico, but not before donning a death masque and racing into the infinite behind the wheel of a roadster.

Heavy, man.

I'm not sure what I was supposed to take away from any of this movie in terms of what made Eisenstein tick nor, frankly, what Greenaway himself admires about one of the true masters of film art. All I really know is that Greenaway continues to make "purty pitchers" and has it in him to craft one lollapalooza of a sodomy scene.

Well, maybe that's enough.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ** 2 Stars for the movie, **** for the sodomy

Eisenstein in Guanajuato is playing at the Inside Out 2015 Toronto LGBT Film Festival. For further info, please visit the festival's website by clicking HERE.

MR. TURNER - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Opens TIFF BellLightbox via MongrelMedia

TIMOTHY SPALL:
JMW TURNER

Mr. Turner
Dir. Mike Leigh
Starring: Timothy Spall, Dorothy Atkinson, Marion Bailey, Paul Jesson, Lesley Manville

Review By Greg Klymkiw

It seems fitting that the first film biography of the great Romantic landscape painter JMW Turner, oft-referred to as "the painter of light", is the product of one of the world's greatest living directors, Mike Leigh (Life is Sweet, Naked, Secrets & Lies, Vera Drake, Topsy-Turvy). The exquisite properties of light in cinema, the glorious dance of film through a projector, the astonishing grace, promise and amalgamation of so many mediums into one, all driven by exposing and rendering the luminosity which, Turner proclaimed on his deathbed as God itself, is what yields this astonishing, moving celebration of a supremely important visual artist.


In a sense, Turner captured the qualities of light and motion on canvas in ways I always felt are what led to those same properties finding their way to be emblazoned forever upon celluloid to capture the heart, soul and visual radiance of illumination, of nature, of life itself. Not unlike insects drawn to amber to be sealed and preserved for all time, Turner's brilliance was creating work that could live forever and inform all visual arts. In his own way, he might well have had the soul of a filmmaker if technology had somehow moved its way up to meet him halfway. Thankfully, we have Turner's legacy of genius, and now we have Mike Leigh's glorious film.




Mr. Turner is perfection incarnate. It is so magnificent that one cannot imagine a greater testament to an artist and his art. Leigh captures a man, an aesthetic movement, a time of ideas and exploration and ultimately, he creates the means by which we can transport ourselves to an era where the sky was the limit with a simple, but deeply felt brush stroke.

Beginning with Turner (Timothy Spall) in middle age and continuing to his death, Mike Leigh pulls off the near-impossible in capturing what being a great artist is. Making use of a myriad of sumptuously-composed tableaux through the lens of cinematographer Dick Pope, Leigh gives us a glimpse into the process that defines artistry, but also allows us a fly on the wall perspective of what indeed might have made this great man thrive. Most wondrously, Leigh achieves this by cinematically recreating and/or imagining both Turner's work and what precisely the great artist could well have seen with his own eyes to inspire his breathtaking visions on canvas.

We delight in numerous scenes of Turner creating, socializing amongst the rich and famous, sparring with other artists and various intelligentsia of England's literary, critical, academic and artistic elite and most of all, Leigh provides us with a deeply felt and meticulously researched film that allows us to experience, at least from Leigh's considered eye, what made Turner tick as a human being. On one hand, he valued a Bohemian lifestyle, while on the other, was able to traverse with considerable freedom due to his wealth and fame. And much as we might crave a wholly sentimental portrait, Leigh fleshes Turner out, warts and all.

Turner eschews his duties as a father to the daughters born from an affair earlier in life and furthermore treats his long-toiling maid servant as a sexual receptacle for his gropings and loin-thrusts, in spite of the mounting ravages of psoriasis which wrack her body. Conversely, hs eals shown to be a man infused with great romance and tenderness, especially in his relations with a widow who at first provides him with seaside lodgings and eventually, a bed to share. Even more passionately, Turner is revealed to bear congenial familiarity and the deepest love for his father, a former barber and now his personal assistant and manager. Turner's connection to his father seems to know no earthly bounds and we both feel and believe it with the same conviction that leads our jaws to drop when he displays utter disregard and contempt for the mother of his illegitimate daughters.

This whole tale unravels in an unconventional manner which makes us think we're on board a solid narrative engine, thrusting ever forward, but in reality, we're cascading on a near-poetic series of vignettes, an episodic odyssey of an artist during one of his richest periods. It is Turner's discoveries as an artist that really carry us along, but the creative vessel, in spite of the occasional pock marks of selfishness and self-graitification in Turner, is also replete with humanity and we experience the man's ever-increasing love for life just as he's also at a point where he begins to sense his own mortality.

The pace of Leigh's film is leisurely, but never less than fascinating. He creates a world of so far away, so long ago, yet there is no fairy tale quality at play here, but rather an acute sense of time and place, so much so that we feel like the proceedings are rooted in a strict adherence to reality and historical accuracy. This, of course, is not to suggest there is no magic since Leigh conjures scene after scene which dazzles us with the sheer magic inherent in the way in which people must have lived. The dialogue and conversations, the drawing room and parlour discussions, the gorgeous, heart-achingly beautiful slowness of life, all unfold in a manner to allow both audience and characters to take in every moment and breath along the way. It is a pace perfectly in keeping with a world we'll never experience, but that we can participate in as viewers and get an overall sense of the pieces of Turner's time which Leigh captures so indelibly for our benefit.

There isn't a single false note in any of the exquisite performances. Even background extras live and breathe with the stuff of both humanity and fully-fleshed character. Though the pleasures from all principal and supporting players are almost incalculable, the film finally belongs to the astonishing Timothy Spall as Turner. Delightfully gruff, curmudgeonly, jowly and turtle-paced in everything, lest he spies a natural beauty of the world which ramps up his facial and physical gestures well beyond his normal demeanour, are just a few of the extraordinary feats of acting Spall offers. But Leigh has made a film of the deepest humanity and so too does Spall render his performance. There are moments in Spall's performance which will never, ever leave you. One of the greatest of these sequences is a look of despair Spall creates for Turner as his father dies before him. It's a look that blends sobs and laughs, tears and a crazed toothy smile and a sense that we are witnessing a man who becomes all too aware of life's dichotomous properties.

And yet, there is always the light, the glorious light. How appropriate then that Leigh begins and ends his film with the Sun in all its splendour. How, in a film that's all about light, could it ever be anything else?

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***** 5-Stars
Mr. Turner opened theatrically on Christmas Day at TIFF Bell Lightbox via Mongrel Media and will be released to the rest of Canada over the coming weeks.

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HOUDINI - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Fun Technicolor biopic of legendary escape artist

If you dare doubt Tony Curtis is one of the most gorgeous movie stars - ever - you're CLEARLY OUT OF YOUR MIND!!!

Yeah, OK, Janet Leigh is HOT, too.

Houdini (1953)
dir. George Marshall
Starring: Tony Curtis,
Janet Leigh

Review By Greg Klymkiw

If you’re looking for a penetrating and even modestly accurate dramatic depiction of the life of Harry Houdini, the legendary escape artist, this is probably not it. If, however, you’re looking for a tremendous performance from a great star in his peak years, you could do a whole lot worse than Houdini. The handsome, virile Tony Curtis commands the screen so voraciously that it feels almost like a one-man show. It isn’t, however, since he’s supported by the mouth watering Janet Leigh as Houdini’s long-suffering and only moderately supportive wife.

Directed by the sturdy prolific hack George Marshall, Houdini is a strangely enjoyable Hollywood biopic. With a script by Philip (Broken Lance, Detective Story) Yordan, the movie, surprisingly, doesn’t have one of the strongest narrative arcs in the world. In spite of this, the picture delights since Marshall cannily keeps his camera trained, like a bee to a flower petal upon the gorgeous, talented Tony Curtis that much of the story, such as it is, hovers within his glorious realm in a sort of crazed adulatory perpetuum. Though the movie plays fast and loose with many of the actual details of Houdini’s life, one gets a strong sense of the man's drive and charisma and, in so doing, captures his mythic essence -- the myth and the mystery.

Part of Houdini’s considerable entertainment value is also due to the attention to production value from powerhouse producer George Pal who crammed the picture with as much wonder and star-power as could only come from the man who produced and/or directed some of the finest entertainments of the 50s including The Time Machine, Tom Thumb, War of the Worlds, When Worlds Collide and, among others, that great series of animated Puppetoons that included the likes of Tubby the Tuba. It was Pal, no doubt, who saw what a perfect Houdini Tony Curtis would make.

Curtis plays the title character as a driven man – driven to romancing the woman of his choosing, driven to success and driven to seeking greater and more dangerous challenges. While Marshall doesn’t have much in the way of a distinctive directorial voice, he spent much of his career capturing star performances and exploiting them to the hilt. Much of Marshall’s best work was in comedy and he trained his workmanlike eyes on such stars as Bob Hope, Martin and Lewis and Jackie Gleason. He also had one great movie in him – Destry Rides Again, a terrific western with Marlene Dietrich and James Stewart, an oater that never fails to entertain.

Houdini begins with a typical Hollywood meet-cute wherein our title character catches a glimpse of the gorgeous Bess (Janet Leigh) from behind a circus sideshow cage where he is made-up grotesquely as a jungle wild man. He keeps wooing her in savage beast mode, but when she catches a glimpse of him without the makeup, she’s also smitten. How could she not be?They quickly marry and begin touring circuses and honky-tonk vaudeville houses as a husband and wife magic act. Soon, this life grows wearying for wifey and she begs her hunky hubbles to settle down and take a real job. He agrees, for a time, and toils, rather conveniently in a factory devoted to designing, building and selling locks and safes. Here he becomes obsessed with the notion of death-defying escapes, manages to convince the little lady wifey. Upon his re-entry into the world of show business, Houdini becomes bigger than he ever imagined was possible.

Marshall expertly handles the escape routines – so much so that even though WE know Houdini’s going to beat them hands-down, we still feel considerable suspense as each one is presented. A lot of the credit for the suspense generated in these scenes must go to Curtis and his performance – alternating as it does from boyish wonder to driven madman. Curtis plays Houdini as no mere entertainer, but someone who is not personally satisfied unless he is genuinely cheating death every step of the way.

Less successfully rendered is the annoying, obtrusive love story. It is a constant blessing that Janet Leigh is so easy on the eyes, for her character is not so easy on the ears. The character of Bess is almost harridan-like in her constant whining: “Harry, don’t do this. Harry, don’t do that. Harry, get a real job. Harry, I want a family. Harry, I want us to settle down. Harry, that’s too dangerous. Harry, you’re going to kill yourself. Harry, you love your stunts more than you love me.”

Nothing like a babe-o-licious harridan to keep a good man down.

Luckily, she doesn’t. The movie forges on with one daring stunt after another and luckily, one of Miss Leigh’s harridan-o-ramas is certainly not without entertainment value. The sequence involving Houdini’s preparations for his famous dip into the icy waters of the Detroit River are as hilarious as anything I’ve seen recently. Tony Curtis lying in a claw-footed bathtub covered in ice cubes whilst a team of men pour more bucket loads on top of him as wifey continues nagging at him, is not only funny, but chillingly (if you’ll forgive the pun) reminiscent of moments I and other men close to me (they know who they are) have experienced with their significant others at the most inopportune junctures.

Men who never grow up will always be boys.

Finally, I wish to divulge the weepy Hollywood ending which bears absolutely nothing close to the real Houdini’s death, but I won't - suffice it to say that Leigh removes the mask of the harridan long enough for Curtis to emote so expertly that it’s a tear-squirting corker of a finale.

And that is worthy of all the Technicolor glory lavished upon this lovely gem from a much simpler time.

The Film Corner Rating: *** 3 Stars

Houdini is available on DVD from Legend Films.

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THE BETTER ANGELS - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Malick protege's gorgeous rural period piece

1817.
Indiana.
Log cabin.
Deep woods.
A boy's love
for his mother.

The Better Angels (2014)
Dir. A.J. Edwards
Starring: Jason Clarke, Diane Kruger, Brit Marling, Braydon Denney

Review By Greg Klymkiw

In life and even after death, our real angels are indeed, as the title of this great film tells us, The Better Angels.

Fading up from a pitch black silent screen, one simple, powerful quotation from President Abraham Lincoln, tells us, and in retrospect, corroborates that this is the very core and essence of the dazzling directorial debut of Terrence Malick's longtime editor A.J. Edwards. It reads:

"All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother."

As the text fades down, we're left with a silent black screen for a few moments until a stately, ravishingly composed and arranged orchestral score envelopes us in the dark. Once the piece ends, we're greeted by harsh monochrome light attempting to break through an overcast sky and resting upon a set of steps that lead upwards to a series of majestic columns.

Moving inside and beyond this brief exterior shot, we're treated to a series of images by a camera aimed along the massive columns as they try to reach beyond the ceiling to be nourished by the light of the heavens. We get a brief glimpse of a bronze plaque embedded into the back wall and try as we might, it's impossible to make out what the words represent since the camera turns itself around as if from the point of view of these words, the plaque flanked by sculpted doves.

From within the darkness of this perspective we finally get a glimpse of the light pouring through the massive columns as the voice of an old man asks, "You wondering what kind of boy he was?" And then, we're gloriously winded by a smash cut to a river at dusk, the still water defined on either side by banks of majestic trees casting dark shadows upon the shimmering beauty, at once beautiful and alternately not unlike a visual representative of a lamentation for a time long passed.

This transition from the cold stone under grey light, representing something long dead, but worthy of the sort of worship its architecture demands, to the stunning beauty of the natural world is not only cinematically powerful, but in fact, is part of the film's overall style and storytelling techniques which, far exceed the cerebral pretence of Edwards' mentor, colleague and producer of this film. Terrence Malick's Tree of Life and To The Wonder were both such ludicrous wanks that it's kind of cool seeing the wankier inspirations being transformed into simple, emotional storytelling.

Our narrator gives us few details about "the boy", but then, we don't need too much more than what we actually see ourselves. What we do see is delivered in the measured pace of rural existence and though there are many Malick-like bits of cerebral looking-up-at-trees and so forth, it's all rooted in character and narrative (albeit a smidgen off the regular beaten path) in addition to the film's extraordinary tone.

The picture is ultimately so gorgeous, so inspiring and often heart-wrenching that this story about a little boy growing up in a little log cabin in Indiana in 1817 is compulsively watchable.

We learn from our narrator that the lad's name is Abe (Braydon Denney) and that he'll eventually leave home at the age of 21. It wouldn't take an Albert Einstein to figure out we're in on the childhood of Honest Abe Lincoln himself, but I suspect if I hadn't known before going in that this is whom/what the picture was dealing with, I'd like to think I'd have potentially been watching the story of a young boy, any young boy and his deep, undying love for his mother.

I will say, though, that the images and events rendered by Edwards and his cinematographer Matthew J. Lloyd, all underscored by a gorgeous soundtrack composed by Hunan Townshend, are ultimately so potent that I did indeed file away my knowledge that we were following the young boy who eventually became one of the great presidents of the United States of America. What's kind of cool about this is that we're left with an evocative portrait of pioneer life that gives us a sense of both the hardships and joys of working the land and being inextricably linked to it.

The narrative of Abe's younger years is presented in a series of impressions of days and nights that proceed over the course of time and we're moved forward by some of the most spectacular jump cuts rendered in any film in recent memory. Though some cuts are clearly of the breathtaking variety, many seem so perfectly fluid and in fact seem as gentle as required, when required. We get impressions of children at play and at work, but we're almost always within Abe's sphere and/or POV. Ultimately, the film focuses upon a simple trinity of characters overwhelming all others populating the frame. The most important relationships involve Abe and his stern father (Jason Clarke) and his truly angelic mother (Diane Kruger).

When Abe raises the ire of his father and gets a stern lecture and/or a painful whipping, it's of course his mother who applies the gentle words to calm Abe and to help him understand and love his father in spite of the punishment. One of the most moving sequences is when Abe's mother tenderly describes the look on her husband's face when he first laid eyes on the boy after birth. She assures him that his father had nothing but adoration in his eyes and that she knew that he would always go to the wall for Abe and protect him with his very life.

We do indeed experience moments of tenderness between Abe and his Dad. We also come to understand that it's Abe's mother who recognizes the boy's special gifts and tries to convince her husband that Abe's not cut out for the rough, brutal hardships of working the land. Dad seems at first to dismiss this out of spite or even jealousy, but as the film progresses, we see that Abe's Dad wants to build fortitude and perseverance in his son.

When Abe's mother is taken ill and dies, Abe's Dad marries anew and Abe's stepmother (Brit Marling) proves to be as angelic, if not even more spiritually connected to the boy. The trinity of Father, Son and Stepmother is also as strong and important as the first one.

In both cases, it is the MOTHER (by blood and by marriage) who is able to outwardly perceive Abe's intelligence and sensitivity, whilst Dad is the hide toughener. One sequence even has a dreamy, ghostly moment when both mothers connect fleetingly and we are infused with an almost spiritual warmth, a glow that carries us and Abe through whatever hardships he continues to face.

And as haunting and sad as many of the impressions Edwards imparts are, we're always tied to the glory and spirit of the natural world and the special love that only a mother and son can have. The film paints a portrait of the formative years of a great man, but what we're often aware of is the potential of greatness in any man who honours God, nature and of course, his mother.

THE FILM CORNER RATING: **** 4 Stars

The Better Angels is in platform theatrical release via levelFILM and can be seen in Toronto at the Carlton Cinema. Why this isn't also unspooling at TIFF Bell Lightbox and/or a decent Cineplex screen is beyond me. It's worth seeing as soon as possible, but I suspect its astounding picture and sound will shine ever-beautifully once the film is released on Blu-Ray.

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MR. TURNER (TIFF 2014 - TIFF SPECIAL PRESENTATION) - Review By Greg Klymkiw

Mr. Turner
Dir. Mike Leigh
Starring: Timothy Spall, Dorothy Atkinson, Marion Bailey, Paul Jesson, Lesley Manville, Martin Savage, Joshua McGuire, Ruth Sheen, David Horovitch, Karl Johnson

Review By Greg Klymkiw

It seems fitting that the first film biography of the great Romantic landscape painter JMW Turner, oft-referred to as "the painter of light", is the product of one of the world's greatest living directors, Mike Leigh (Life is Sweet, Naked, Secrets & Lies, Vera Drake, Topsy-Turvy).

The exquisite properties of light in cinema, the glorious dance of film through a projector, the astonishing grace, promise and amalgamation of so many mediums into one, all driven by exposing and rendering the luminosity which, Turner proclaimed on his deathbed as God itself, is what yields this astonishing, moving celebration of a supremely important visual artist.

In a sense, Turner captured the qualities of light and motion on canvas in ways I always felt are what led to those same properties finding their way to be emblazoned forever upon celluloid to capture the heart, soul and visual radiance of illumination, of nature, of life itself. Not unlike insects drawn to amber to be sealed and preserved for all time, Turner's brilliance was creating work that could live forever and inform all visual arts. In his own way, he might well have had the soul of a filmmaker if technology had somehow moved its way up to meet him halfway. Thankfully, we have Turner's legacy of genius, and now we have Mike Leigh's glorious film.

Mr. Turner is perfection incarnate. It is so magnificent that one cannot imagine a greater testament to an artist and his art. Leigh captures a man, an aesthetic movement, a time of ideas and exploration and ultimately, he creates the means by which we can transport ourselves to an era where the sky was the limit with a simple, but deeply felt brush stroke.

Beginning with Turner (Timothy Spall) in middle age and continuing to his death, Mike Leigh pulls off the near-impossible in capturing what being a great artist is. Making use of a myriad of sumptuously-composed tableaux through the lens of cinematographer Dick Pope, Leigh gives us a glimpse into the process that defines artistry, but also allows us a fly on the wall perspective of what indeed might have made this great man thrive. Most wondrously, Leigh achieves this by cinematically recreating and/or imagining both Turner's work and what precisely the great artist could well have seen with his own eyes to inspire his breathtaking visions on canvas.

We delight in numerous scenes of Turner creating, socializing amongst the rich and famous, sparring with other artists and various intelligentsia of England's literary, critical, academic and artistic elite and most of all, Leigh provides us with a deeply felt and meticulously researched film that allows us to experience, at least from Leigh's considered eye, what made Turner tick as a human being. On one hand, he valued a Bohemian lifestyle, while on the other, was able to traverse with considerable freedom due to his wealth and fame. And much as we might crave a wholly sentimental portrait, Leigh fleshes Turner out, warts and all.

Turner eschews his duties as a father to the daughters born from an affair earlier in life and furthermore treats his long-toiling maid servant as a sexual receptacle for his gropings and loin-thrusts, in spite of the mounting ravages of psoriasis which wrack her body. Conversely, hs eals shown to be a man infused with great romance and tenderness, especially in his relations with a widow who at first provides him with seaside lodgings and eventually, a bed to share. Even more passionately, Turner is revealed to bear congenial familiarity and the deepest love for his father, a former barber and now his personal assistant and manager. Turner's connection to his father seems to know no earthly bounds and we both feel and believe it with the same conviction that leads our jaws to drop when he displays utter disregard and contempt for the mother of his illegitimate daughters.

This whole tale unravels in an unconventional manner which makes us think we're on board a solid narrative engine, thrusting ever forward, but in reality, we're cascading on a near-poetic series of vignettes, an episodic odyssey of an artist during one of his richest periods. It is Turner's discoveries as an artist that really carry us along, but the creative vessel, in spite of the occasional pock marks of selfishness and self-graitification in Turner, is also replete with humanity and we experience the man's ever-increasing love for life just as he's also at a point where he begins to sense his own mortality.

The pace of Leigh's film is leisurely, but never less than fascinating. He creates a world of so far away, so long ago, yet there is no fairy tale quality at play here, but rather an acute sense of time and place, so much so that we feel like the proceedings are rooted in a strict adherence to reality and historical accuracy. This, of course, is not to suggest there is no magic since Leigh conjures scene after scene which dazzles us with the sheer magic inherent in the way in which people must have lived. The dialogue and conversations, the drawing room and parlour discussions, the gorgeous, heart-achingly beautiful slowness of life, all unfold in a manner to allow both audience and characters to take in every moment and breath along the way. It is a pace perfectly in keeping with a world we'll never experience, but that we can participate in as viewers and get an overall sense of the pieces of Turner's time which Leigh captures so indelibly for our benefit.

There isn't a single false note in any of the exquisite performances. Even background extras live and breathe with the stuff of both humanity and fully-fleshed character. Though the pleasures from all principal and supporting players are almost incalculable, the film finally belongs to the astonishing Timothy Spall as Turner. Delightfully gruff, curmudgeonly, jowly and turtle-paced in everything, lest he spies a natural beauty of the world which ramps up his facial and physical gestures well beyond his normal demeanour, are just a few of the extraordinary feats of acting Spall offers. But Leigh has made a film of the deepest humanity and so too does Spall render his performance. There are moments in Spall's performance which will never, ever leave you. One of the greatest of these sequences is a look of despair Spall creates for Turner as his father dies before him. It's a look that blends sobs and laughs, tears and a crazed toothy smile and a sense that we are witnessing a man who becomes all too aware of life's dichotomous properties.

And yet, there is always the light, the glorious light. How appropriate then that Leigh begins and ends his film with the Sun in all its splendour. How, in a film that's all about light, could it ever be anything else?

THE FILM CORNER RATING: ***** 5-Stars

Mr. Turner plays as a Special Presentation at TIFF 2014 and will be released in Canada via Mongrel Media.

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THE WAGNER FILES - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Imagining such a film by Ken Russell instead of this clown.

Something tells me phones didn't exist
during the mid-19th century.

Docu-bio-pic on composer Richard Wagner offers unconventional glimpse into a sordid life that spawned some of the greatest music ever written.

The Wagner Files (2013) **
Dir. Ralf Pleger Starring: Samuel Finzi, Pegah Ferydoni

Review By Greg Klymkiw

There's nothing dreadful about this extended music video documentary bio-pic of Richard Wagner, but then again, there's not much that's good about it either. Utilizing dramatic recreations - none of which are rooted in the 19th Century, but stylized 20th Century facsimiles - director Ralf Pleger patchwork-quilts the whole affair with computer graphics, talking heads of Wagner experts, dollops of animated graphic novel images (which, Pleger clearly thinks are clever) and a cornucopia of staggering topographical visuals all of which are set to Wagner's glorious compositions.

On the plus side, many of the experts called upon to opine and/or furnish biographical details are genuinely passionate and even entertaining as they deliver the actual narrative of the man whose music ("Ride of the Valkyries") is oft-remembered for its inclusion during Francis Coppola's helicopter attack sequence in Apocalypse Now. Unfortunately, it's Pleger's half-baked indulgences that get in the way. We learn that Wagner was a cheat, thief, liar, anarchist, revolutionary, virulent anti-semite and philanderer who required cross-dressing to inspire his act of composing great works of art. We get to follow the jolly little fellow as he tears about Europe trying to establish his career, dodge creditors and law enforcement officials.

The movie certainly gives us a decent enough portrait of the more lurid aspects of his life - which, are admittedly quite entertaining, but we never really get a genuine sense of the mad genius who, in spite of his clear failings as a human being, managed to write some of the most exquisite pieces of music ever wrought. Pleger, however, appears annoyingly self-satisfied with his attempts at stylistic flourishes, that by the end of the film, we get a sense of the keystones that marked Wagner's life, but absolutely none of the genuine passion, flair and invention he must surely have possessed as a musical prodigy. Ah, Ken Russell, where were you when we needed you the most?

Watching the film one imagines how exquisitely the late Ken Russell might have handled this material. Though oft-criticised for his over-the-top, wildly surreal film biographies of Tchaikovsky, Mahler and, among many others, Franz Liszt, I've always felt Ken Russell still managed to convey his love for the music. Though he bent the facts in order to extol the artistic virtues and lives of the composers he chose to immortalize on film, one also got - albeit perversely - numerous details of their lives. I suspect nobody will ever forget Tchaikovsky conducting the 1812 Overture in The Music Lovers as canons fire rounds at individuals in the Russian composer's life, resulting in a series of exploding heads, or the clearly mad notion that Wagner stole all his music from Franz Liszt in the magnificently goofy Liszt-O-Mania and, given Pleger's unremarkable flights of fancy with respect to Wagner's relationship with his second wife Cosima Wagner, one needs only recall the image of Cosima adorned in swastika-emblazoned S&M garb in Mahler as she leads the Jewish composer through an inspired fantasia involving his conversion to Christianity - cracking her whip, licking her lips and thrusting her steel-kickered pelvis as Mahler leapt through flaming hoops with Star of David centres.

Pleger's attempts at revisionist imagery are dull and unimaginative.

Wagner enthusiasts might well enjoy this film, but I suspect the rest of us will sit through it and try to imagine how a real filmmaker, like Ken Russell, might have tackled the life of Richard Wagner - with genuine passion, aplomb and madness as opposed to Pleger's geek-boy gymnastics.

"The Wagner Files" plays theatrically at Toronto's Carlton Cinemas via Vagrant Films."

BEHIND THE CANDELABRA - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Soderbergh Earns Liberace Title of "MR. SHOWMANSHIP"

Behind The Candelabra (2013) ****
(I'm predicting I'll be upping this to ***** after a few more screenings and/or years)
Dir. Steven Soderbergh
Starring: Michael Douglas, Matt Damon, Dan Aykroyd, Scott Bakula, Rob Lowe, Debbie Reynolds

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I have a troubled relationship with Steven Soderbergh.

I was not, for example, on the bandwagon that touted his first feature Sex, Lies and Videotape as God's Gift to independent cinema. I found it dour, pretentious and surprisingly moralistic in all the worst ways. Though there was something to be said for viewing it a few more times over the 24 years since its release to give the picture a chance to work magic upon me, my original response, in spite of occasionally more charitable look-sees remains, like the Led Zeppelin song, the same. My decidedly less-than-impressed opinion of Soderbergh continued: Kafka was a complete mess, King of the Hill and Underneath seemed original enough, but both were strangely unappealing and the much touted Out of Sight drove me up the wall with its showy styling and utter inconsequence.

The Limey, however, represented a major turning point and the showy style, blended with great performances (notably that of Terence Stamp) and a wonderful almost-Mike-Hodges-like-Get-Carter quality delivered a movie I finally loved - obsessively, I might add. Erin Brockovich proved to be a highly entertaining work blessed with first-rate craftsmanship, whilst Traffic delivered a riveting drug thriller - a remake, no less, of the British television production that more than rivalled its source material.

After this, however, it's a strangely disappointing mixed bag - from dreadful (Ocean's Eleven, Ocean's Twelve, Ocean's Thirteen, Full Frontal) to close-but-no-cigar (Solaris, The Good German) to utterly inconsequential (Magic Mike, Haywire, The Informant) to superbly crafted but lacking any passion (Che: Parts One and Two, Contagion, Side Effects). This all kept me wondering: Who is Steven Soderbergh and when will he make the genuinely great movie (and/or movies) he was obviously flirting with?

Or is Steven Soderbergh just a hack in auteur's clothing?

Behind the Candelabra has, at least for me, changed everything. It might be the closest thing to a masterpiece Soderbergh has made - or will ever make. This Made-For-HBO TV movie is based upon the true-life love story between one of America's most beloved show business personalities and a sweet, anonymous, aimless young man. The film is so thrilling, so perfect, so in-your-face great, I was severely disappointed not to see it on a big screen with a huge, appreciative audience and now, I'm feeling more than a little sad that Soderbergh has recently been threatening to retire from directing films.

Maybe he wants this picture to be his swan song just as it's a movie that depicts a swan song of one of our most indelible figures of stage and screen.

From the stunning simplicity of the movie's first moments - introducing a young Scott Thorson (Matt Damon) making sex-drenched eye contact in a bar with a hunky Bob Black (Scott Bakula), through to an overwhelmingly anticipatory stroll within a palatial Vegas hotel and into its grand auditorium, where the flamboyant fur-and-jewel-adorned entertainer Liberace (Michael Douglas) mesmerizes his appreciative audience (and us, frankly) as he tinkles the ivories of his majestic Grand Piano - Soderbergh takes us on an unforgettable ride through one of the creepiest and, at the same time most strangely romantic rollercoasters of late 20th Century Pop-Culture History.

There's not a dull moment in this insane love story and astonishingly, the story sets up the inevitability of the eventual demise of this May-December romance that begins almost immediately following the aforementioned stage performance. Within Liberace's dressing room, we see him riveted to the yummy, young Thorson, his impatience with his young, but only slightly long-in-tooth current boy-toy and his none-too-subtle brunch invitation.

Thorson's first blow job from Liberace's eager lips follows a chaste evening of conversation in a hot tub and before you can say "Candelabra!", Thorson's pounding his schwance into Mr. Showmanship's receptive rectum. The film follows a genuinely passionate love affair through the myriad of ups and downs any relationship goes through. The difference, of course, is that Liberace, as played devilishly by Michael Douglas (in the performance of a lifetime) is completely out of his gourd. He not only enlists the services of a pasty plastic surgeon (Rob Lowe) to stretch his visage freakishly to maintain a "youthful" look, he insists that Thorson undergo similar butchery in order to transform the lad into a younger version of Liberace himself.

"Mr. Showmanship" clearly desired the ultimate fuck - himself.

Richard LaGravenese's compelling screenplay allows Soderbergh the opportunity to constantly dazzle us in ways we've yet to see from him. The film is relentless in detailing the freakish quality of Liberace's celebrity-infused madness and all the craft Soderbergh has honed over the years finally imbues a work that seems possessed with a sense of personal obsession in terms of style and an emotional connection - one that extends beyond the filmmaker himself and to the audience.

The performances Soderbergh coaxes are nothing short of brilliant. Douglas has never been better - this is no mere impersonation, but a living, fire-breathing madman hooked on fame, fortune, fucking and flights of fancy to tickle his every whim and desire. The performance sequences are also a revelation - Douglas, at least to an untrained musical eye, looks like he's really playing - and all the musical set pieces are pure movie magic.

Damon as Thorson, who in many ways is the true central figure of this film, is sad, almost soulless and as such, deeply moving as this young man whose life has been marked by a childhood and adolescence of pain and rejection. There is a seemingly endless hurt in the eyes of this young man shunted from foster home to orphange and back again and it dominates this character and Damon's extraordinary performance. He so clearly wants love and mentorship and a father figure - and for a time, he gets it all from Liberace, but there's also a desperation in Damon's performance - the character never seems completely convinced he'll continue to get the love and nurturing he desires and it's a heartbreaker to see the unfolding of Thorson's demise - by his own hand (he becomes hooked on the drugs prescribed to him by the plastic surgeon) and Liberace's (who starts to tire of the boy-toy-turned-freak-and-addict).

Soderbergh's direction of the many intimate scenes between the characters is marked with the same obsessive showmanship he brings to the musical performance sequences and the movie is beautifully paced and structured (again, much of this thanks to a great script) so that Soderbergh also delivers several beautifully directed montages that leap us forward through the story with considerable aplomb.

In supporting roles, Scott Bakula as an old friend of both Thorson and Liberace brings a kind of Sam Elliot-like calm to the crazed proceedings, Dan Aykroyd as Liberace's manager Seymour invests a chilling malevolence only hinted at in this terrific actor's comic performances and Debbie Reynolds completely embraces the role of Liberace's beloved mother so astoundingly she's virtually unrecognizable. (I didn't know she was in the movie and while watching it, I kept wondering who this great elderly actress was. My jaw thudded to the floor when her name popped up during the end titles.)

The film is replete with much in the way of black humour, but it's so dark, so borderline demonic that one is always second-guessing one's self after releasing gales of laughter - not in a moralistic way, either, but the kind that is rooted in one's own sense of humanity and finally, in the humanity that Soderbergh invests in this sad, mad and ferocious plunge into celebrity culture.

I really mean it when I say that this picture is so terrific that I want to see as many new Soderbergh films as I can before either he or I, bite the bullet. My relationship is troubled no more. He is clearly a gifted artist who will continue to dazzle me as much as he pisses me off.

This, I think, is what makes greatness.

And it's a good thing.

A very good thing, indeed.

"Behind The Candelabra" can currently be seen via HBO Canada and HBO. It's so good, that in spite of how many people have seen it upon its inaugural television showing, I hope it's enterprising sales company E-One will undertake a theatrical release anyway. It's meant to be seen on big, big screens.

ONE MAN'S WAY - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Don Murray rips the screen apart as the famed Christ-loving motivational guru Norman Vincent Peale.

One Man's Way (1964)

dir. Denis Sanders

***

Starring:
Don Murray,
Diana Hyland,
William Windom,
Carol Ohmart,
Virginia Christine,
Veronica Cartwright,
Butch Patrick,
Tom Skerritt

Review By
Greg Klymkiw

"GOD DOESN’T MAKE THINGS WRONG. WE MAKE OURSELVES WRONG. BUT HE MADE YOU RIGHT. HE DIDN’T MAKE YOU WRONG. IF YOU HAMPER YOURSELF WITH FEARS THEN YOU WILL MAKE YOURSELF WEAK. THIS IS THE FIRST DAY IN MY FIRST CHURCH AND FOR ME, THIS IS INDEED A DAY THE LORD HATH MADE. THE LORD HAD HIS EYE ON ME AND HE CALLED TO ME TO BE A MINISTER. GOD SPOKE TO ME AND SAID: 'NORMAN, I HAVE COME SO THAT YOU MAY HAVE LIFE AND HAVE IT MORE ABUNDANTLY' AND I, NORMAN VINCENT PEALE, GIVE IT TO YOU RIGHT NOW."
- Don Murray as Dr. Norman Vincent Peale in One Man's Way

Are there any late Baby Boomers or early Generation X types who do NOT remember seeing well-worn, dog-eared copies of Dr. Norman Vincent Peale's huge best selling book "The Power of Positive Thinking" resting handily on their Dad's desk, book shelf, night table or bathroom reading rack? As a kid, I used to try diving into it, but found the book dull as dishwater. My Dad was, if I do say so myself, a brilliant marketing man who promoted beer in Canada at a time when traditional advertising of alcoholic beverages was illegal and rigorous promotional tie-ins (usually through sports - both amateur and professional) needed to be devised. In his wide territory, he made his company's flagship beer Number One and also tied the company into numerous world hockey championships. When I asked Dad about the book, he referred to it as the Bible for all successful businessmen and added, "It's one of the reasons your old Dad is the best goddamn beer salesman in the country."

Years later, I read Peale's book. Dad was right. It was super inspirational and full of numerous tips for success. It rocked. But for some reason, though, I never equated the book with Judeo-Christian beliefs and values. Maybe when you're brought up in that tradition, you just don't notice that sort of thing as much.

Or maybe, this was Dr. Peale's secret to success in his own life.

One Man's Way was, I must admit, a revelation to me in more ways than one. It's an old-fashioned biopic in the grandest Hollywood tradition, but for some reason, I'd neither seen it before, nor even heard of it. I'm glad, however, to have finally caught up with it. The movie answers more than a few questions I had as a kid about Dr. Peale, but it's also revelatory with respect to its star, Don Murray.

As Norman Vincent Peale, Murray is absolutely electrifying. In fact, it made me realize what a great actor he was. (He's currently in his 80s and still working.) But in his 20s and 30s, with that weird mixture of baby face, square-jawed tough man and blessed with the most piercing eyes, one has to wonder why he never became a bigger star. In the early 1950s he was a constant presence on the stage as well as numerous live television dramas during the Golden Age of American TV. In feature films he etched indelible portraits in Bus Stop (opposite Marilyn Monroe), A Hatful of Rain, Advise and Consent, Baby The Rain Must Fall and perhaps most memorably in The Hoodlum Priest. Then, through much of the late 60s and onwards, most of his work was in television - much of it fine, but often relegated to roles of cops, cowboys, politicians and lawyers (of the seediest kind). That said, his role as the villain in the 70s theatrical feature Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (the terrific Arthur P. Jacobs production that was woefully re-tooled as Rise of the Planet of the Apes) was and still is utterly delectable and creepy.

In One Man's Way, though, is where you really get a sense of how brilliantly he commanded the attention of a camera lens. He drew it towards him like a moth to a flame and as Dr. Norman Vincent Peale, Don Murray was totally on fire.

Directed by Denis Sanders, it has no strong auteurist imprint, but the proceedings are handled with the sort of proficiency needed to move the fine script by John (The Invaders) Bloch and Eleanore (Imitation of Life) Griffin forward and to capture Murray's blistering powerhouse performance as the preacher with a calling to change the lives of men everywhere.

The movie begins with Norman as boy engaging in fisticuffs with another lad during a church service and publicly embarrassing his Minister Dad (William Windom). Even worse is when Norman announces in front of his father's congregation that he doesn't believe in God and Dad orders him "out of God's House." Norman runs away, much to the horror of Mom (Virginia Christine), but Dad knows his son all too well. Sure enough, Norman sneaks into God's House and engages in a heart to heart with the Lord and then Dad. He's back in God's bosom, but vows that he'll never be a preacher like Dad.

Flash forward many years later and Norman (Don Murray) is working as a news reporter with a comely wise-acre hot-chick photographer (Carol Ohmart). They cover a brutal domestic murder and Norman starts to get a bad taste in his mouth. He admits to his editor he might not be cut out for journalism. His editor and female WeeGee-style partner are aghast since Norman is apparently a great writer.

Norman's response is simple: "I feel like I'm watching children playing in tall grass as a snake is about to strike. What do I do? I pull out my notepad."

And, as Hollywood would have it, a huge explosion rocks the neighbourhood on the heels of Norman's utterance of self-loathing. A gas explosion round the corner has blown half a building to rubble and the lone survivor is a little girl (Veronica Cartwright) perched at the top, too terrified to cross a plank of wood that's been extended to the next building in order to rescue her.

What's the son of a Preacher Man to do? He talks the child to safety with all the evangelical fervour of a man born to minister God's Word. He reminds the little girl that God is always "there with you". He quotes God's words: “I am with you always” Alas, this doesn't quite do the trick and the child screams and bawls when another explosion rocks what little of the teetering building is left. Well, now's the time to make God's word really count and Norman (via Murray's inspired, crazed delivery) passionately, almost mantra-like, orders the child to use God to help herself.

“Crawl along the board," he cries out. "It's a bridge, a bridge that God Himself provided. It's good [dramatic pause] and strong [another dramatic pause] and [then shouting with joy] plenty wide. Just say to yourself, 'With God’s help I can do it, with God’s help I AM doing it. GOD AND I ARE DOING IT.” (I'll refrain from any blasphemous jokes about God doing it with Veronica Cartwright, though it's very tempting.)

She repeats the words over and over as she crosses God's good, strong and plenty wide bridge. (I'll refrain from any blasphemous gags about the phallic qualities of the good, strong and plenty wide bridge, though the temptation is great.)

And Don Murray as Norman, his eyes bulging, his stiff jaw jutting and his million dollar smile beaming, screams out: "YOU AND GOD HAVE DONE IT!" (Ditto on blasphemous innuendo, though Eve be dangling that apple twixt her fingers before me.)

It's safe to assume that Norman Vincent Peale has heard the calling of the Lord. He turns in his "sword and shield" (pen and notepad), goes to the seminary, argues with all of his teachers, graduates with flying colours and is sent to minister the University Methodist Church in Rhode Island. Here he immediately wins over his flock with his own passionate interpretation of Psalms 118:24 - an appropriate opener to be sure: "This is the day the Lord hath made. And he made it for you and for me,” he bellows.

Earning a doctorate he moves to a physically larger church in Syracuse which has fallen on hard times. He begins to do everything in his power to promote the church. Every person he meets in the streets he cajoles into coming to worship. He even inadvertently asks a Jewish man to join the church. When the fellow of God's Chosen People reveals his religion, Norman insists: "Go visit your Rabbi, then. He’s a great guy. I met him just the other day." He adds with the wink of a used car salesman: "Your Rabbi and I, we both work for the same boss, you know. Shalom!"

Norman drives attendance to record levels and he works like a madman to eliminate the mortgage on the Church. He does, of course, butt heads with the Deacons who are appalled that Norman has had the "poor taste" to adorn the entire town with colourful flyers bearing the following copy:

"Lost Your Gal? In a Lurch?
Don’t Panic, Pal. Go To Church!"

One of the spluttering Deacons declares: "You cannot build the house of the Lord on the foundation of the Devil."

Norman uses Christ to defend his methods and says that the Sermon on the Mount was how the Word was spread back in the olden days, but now, "God has given us other ways to get to men’s hearts."

For Norman, these "other ways" are ad copy.

And, of course, Norman finds love. He pursues Ruth (the wonderful late Diana Hyland), a beautiful, young college girl who spurns his advances thinking that a "good time gal" like her would never click with a Man of the Cloth. This is nonsense, however. Especially in Hollywood terms. They not only meet cute (she rear-ends his car), but as Norman himself says, "God’s most potent chemistry is when the attraction is mutual." And it most certainly is.

Hyland, by the way is extremely fetching in this role. She too toiled mostly in television during her career which was tragically cut short when she died of cancer. Most audiences will remember her from The Boy in the Plastic Bubble which she starred in with John Travolta. She and Travolta became a passionate item in real life (she was 17 years older than he was) and apparently, he was with her when she died and furthermore, was so traumatized by her passing that he wasn't seriously involved with any woman until he married Kelly Preston many years later. Rumour mongers and tabloids insist both she and Preston are beards to mask his purported gay proclivities. Whatever the truth, she was stunningly gorgeous, had great screen presence and in One Man's Way, she fills the love-interest role with sauciness and passion.

The remainder of the film details Norman taking over a huge Church in New York where he continues his hucksterism to boost attendance, becomes a popular radio personality, an advice columnist in Look Magazine and then puts the Lord's Words into his own and writes his bestselling self-help book "The Power of Positive Thinking".

The conflict between Norman and the established old guard of organized religion here takes centre stage and it's a fight to the finish. And WHAT a finish! Norman, on the verge of resigning is witness to one of God's miracles! Surely this will convince him to stay in the pulpit "for as long as God needs me."

This movie is one rip-snorting entertainment. The accent is on a driven iconoclast and in many ways the picture can work as either an affirmation of God or simply an affirmation of One Man's power.

Either way, it's an immensely uplifting picture and Don Murray gives such a great performance, one can only wonder why he wandered (mostly) through the vast wasteland of network television for the next four decades.

Perhaps, as Norman Vincent Peale and his ilk would say, it was God's Will.

One Man's Way is another release from the MGM Archives. It appears that most, if not all of these titles are not actual MGM productions (those are now part of the Warner Brothers library), but are rather all the independent films MGM picked up for distribution. The movie exists as an on-demand DVD-R. It's a no-frills affair with a premium price and a straight-up transfer. Happily, the source material is in excellent shape and the film looks pretty decent on a big monitor. This is especially a blessing since the movie is shot in full-bodied black and white by the legendary Director of Photography Ernest Laszlo (D.O.A., The Big Knife, Judgement at Nuremberg, Kiss Me Deadly, Stalag 17, While The City Sleeps, etc.)

Like all on-demand archives titles, only a few retailers stock any of them at all (in Toronto, Canada the Yonge-Dundas Sunrise Records store has a great selection) and the only other option is online ordering which not only costs the premium price but shipping and handling. I have a feeling, however, that this title is going to sell very well and ultimately should have had a proper DVD release.