ROMAN POLANSKI: A FILM MEMOIR - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Polanski's powerful personal recounting of his early years during the Holocaust and the tragedy of Sharon Tate almost overshadow this feature documentary's less-than-satisfying handling of the child rape and Polanski as a filmmaker.

Roman Polanski: A Film Memoir (2011) ***
Dir. Laurent Bouzerau
Starring: Roman Polanski, Andrew Braunsberg

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Laurent Bouzerau might be one of the best directors you've never heard of. He's directed, produced and edited over 150 documentaries - all good, a few great. He is the pioneer of extra feature documentaries that we all take for granted on our DVDs and Blu-Rays. As a laserdisc geek, I remember always being blown away by the Criterion Collection laserdiscs and their fantastic extra features. It was here where I first saw Bouzerau's credit - he was not only responsible for making the documentaries, he was even the producer of some great Criterion laserdiscs.

Where he really shone, in my opinion, were his formidably exhaustive "Making Of" documentaries for Universal Pictures - again, on laserdisc (where his Jaws and 1941 docs were feature length masterworks of the form). Years later on DVD, I was also impressed with his magnificent Hitchcock documentaries. also for Universal.

Bouzerau is a pioneer, a genuine filmmaker and the real thing. When I found out he was the director of Roman Polanski: A Film Memoir, I dove into the film with complete and utter abandon. Imagine then, my disappointment, when it became obvious that Producer Andrew Braunsberg didn't just turn over the reigns to Bouzerau completely and instead, seems to have used him as a camera jockey.

The film, as it stands, is a conversation between Polanski and Braunsberg. The latter has been a friend and producer to the famous child rapist and auteur for many years and while Bouzerau shoots the proceedings with simple, effective competence, one wonders how much he really had to do with the film. I only need compare this picture to Bouzerau's previous work where his voice and passion for cinema are so clear to make the assumption that Braunsberg has used this great talent to merely point and shoot.

Bouzerau was surely, in one way or another, involved in numerous aspects of the movie that clearly DO work, but the disappointment comes in realizing just how great it could have been if he'd been given carte blanche to apply his own unique voice to the picture (as was clearly apparent on so much of his earlier work). Even though all his home entertainment documentaries were client-based, the fact that they clearly have so many individual touches to them suggests that he was working at the peak of his powers.

It doesn't always feel that way here.

And so, we have a conversation between two old friends. When Polanski talks about his days as a child during the Holocaust and his early years before attending the Lodz film school, he opens up in the sort of frank manner that might ONLY have been secured in conversation with a friend. I guarantee there will be no dry eyes in the house during these moving and harrowing sequences. As well, Polanski's recollections of Sharon Tate, the horrendous Manson Massacre and the aftermath is painful, honest and truly horrifying.

Yes, he is both a great artist and a human being who has suffered what no man should suffer.

He is, however, a child rapist. I feel the film lets him off lightly in this regard and his remorse seems to come far too late in his life to have much impact. Granted one feels anger that the Swiss government placed him unfairly under house arrest (during which time this film was made) and that this action on the part of Switzerland was clearly an affront to justice - both for Polanski and his victim. It was the sort of grandstanding that was occurring in the American courts when Polanski was first brought before them. All this is clear and understandable.

The rape is not.

None of this, however - in any way, shape or form - takes away from the genuinely heart wrenching section about Polanski's nightmarish early years. In fact, it offers up far more questions left unanswered about the vile acts he perpetrated upon that little girl and their relationship to his own suffering. Some might suggest this is a more effective way for the film to deal with that issue.

I think it's a cheat.

I expected Polanski to open up so much more than he does here and I suspect he could have if he'd really been pushed to the sort of limits that a friend - on film, no less - might actually be willing or able to go.

Where the film really goes off the rails is in the discussions with Polanski about his filmmaking. It's hardly in-depth and barely skims the surface that his work merits - especially within the context of a personal memoir. I personally had hoped the film could have also gone as in-depth about Polanski's cinema as Bouzerau has accomplished on his previous filmmaking documentaries. This could have been an epic cinematic memoir as opposed to one that feels incomplete. One needs only to look at the brilliant interviews Bouzerau presided over with Steven Spielberg to realize what a lost opportunity this all was.

In spite of these reservations, what's powerful about the film is SO powerful that it's finally an absolute must-see! And one hopes, that Bouzerau and Polanski can someday go head to head - ON film, ABOUT film - specifically, the stunning canon Polanski has amassed to date.

"Roman Polanski: A Film Memoir" is playing this final weekend at the Toronto Jewish Film Festival. For tickets and showtime information, please visit the TJFF website HERE.

If you're interested in reading my previous writings on Roman Polanski, they are as follows:

"You Only Have Yourself To Blame" - The Claustrophobia Films of Roman Polanski
Part One: My Love Affair With The Poison Dwarf - Available HERE

"You Only Have Yourself To Blame" - The Claustrophobia Films of Roman Polanski Part Two: REPULSION and THE TENANT, Roman Polanski and the Art of Humiliation - Available HERE

ROSEMARY'S BABY - Devil Worship always involves sacrifice, but perhaps the greatest sacrifice of all is giving birth... Available HERE

CARNAGE - Roman Polanski Delivers The Goods! First Run Engagement is the Cherry on the Sundae of TIFF Bell Lightbox Retrospective of the Claustrophobia Films of Polanski Available HERE

AI WEIWEI: NEVER SORRY - DVD/Blu-Ray Review By Greg Klymkiw - Artist as Activist - One of last year's biggest hits at Hot Docs International Festival of Documentary Cinema is now available on DVD via Mongrel Media.

Ai WeiWei: Never Sorry (2012) ***1/2
Dir. Alison Klayman
Starring Ai WeiWei

Review By Greg Klymkiw

To have four days, four weeks or even four months of someone's life to capture personal and public moments for a documentary film can seem an imposition of slight to major proportions, no matter who the person is and however they might benefit from it. Then again, the more time a filmmaker spends with their subject, this surely demonstrates a considerable degree of faith, commitment and genuine interest in said subject and within that context, imposition of any sort usually takes a backseat.

Director Alison Klayman spent a period of four years to generate this intelligently structured portrait of Chinese artist Ai WeiWei and thanks to this commitment from both filmmaker and subject, the film is a fine window into the life of an artist celebrated worldwide.

And here's the good news - it's not earnest.

Documentaries on artists - more often than not - are plagued with a formal "quality" that renders them as little more than informational (or educational) tools, yet fraught with a fake enthusiasm and often dull narration in a British accent. (How's that for a generalization?)

Happily, Klayman's film gives us information, education, storytelling with a real filmmaking voice, one HELL of a story and a subject the camera absolutely loves. We see Ai WeiWei's method of working, creating, preparing, collaborating and mounting some of the most stunning works of art that one might never have a chance to see - save for on film.

Ai WeiWei himself is a delight - brilliant, funny and an impish rascal. "Charm" is his middle name and it's all genuine. He works it on everyone who populates the film (save for some idiot bureaucrats and cops) and he clearly is working it on the filmmaker and us.

Klayman provides public and private moments - the latter are especially revealing, poignant and often funny.

Most importantly, what happens to Ai WeiWei over the four years is the stuff that all artists in repressive regimes face and we get a first-hand account of how frustrating, paranoia-stricken and even dangerous it can be. The struggle is the story's engine - Ai WeiWei as a human being and his art are the layers. One of the more astounding activities he engages in is the utilization of social media to document his plight with the authorities all over the world. Capturing computer and iPhone action is never any easy feat, but Klayman wends it so seamlessly into the narrative that it's always a vital part of the tale.

Ai WeiWei: Never Sorry is a document for our time and will remain so until the sort of repression people suffer all over the world is wiped out. In this sense, the picture's universal.

"Ai WeiWei: Never Sorry" is available on Blu-Ray/DVD via Mongrel Media.

GOD'S NEIGHBORS - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Goodfellas in Bat Yam

God's Neighbors (2012) ****
Dir. Meny Yaesh
Starring: Roy Assaf, Rotam Zussman

Review By Greg Klymkiw

You know, if the Catholic Church had been a bit more on the ball, they might have tried to discourage raping little boys and instead worked a bit harder to inspire a genuinely devout cult, not unlike the youthful gang of Hasidim in God's Neighbors, the thrilling feature film debut from director Meny Yaesh.

What we see in this film, our mouths agape in a perverse blend of shock and admiration, are young, skull-capped gentlemen enforcing adherence to religion with their fists, baseball bats and yes, even guns. Between the warmth of kiddush, intensive Torah studies and seemingly endless prayer in the synagogue, Avi (Roy Assaf) and his buddies troll their Bat Yam neighbourhood like Alex and his Droogs in Stanley Kubrick's film adaptation of A Clockwork Orange. However, unlike Malcolm McDowell and his nadsat-spouting ruffians, these deeply religious fellows do not count rape, ultra-violence and Beethoven amongst their principal interests.

Non-observance is the disease. Avi and his buds are the cure.

Got Arabs driving though your neighbourhood? No problem. Got recent Russian-Jewish immigrants playing loud music on the eve of the Sabbath? Get your schwance out of the ringer and relax. Got shopkeepers ignoring Shabbat? Rest easy.

Avi and his band of Merry Hasidim will be at your service.

And service, they do indeed provide. With pleasure.

After beating some non-observers to an absolute pulp for disrespecting all that is sacred and holy, Avi proudly looks up at the apartment windows of the neighbourhood and proudly, happily shouts: "Good Sabbath!"

Good Sabbath, indeed! Our boys toke up mightily, grab a few guzzles of wine and settle in for a restful evening.

This movie is an absolute corker! Exciting, provocative and incendiary - God's Neighbors is a kind of Bratslaver Mean Streets by way of Rabbi Nachman's Goodfellas. These boys mean business. And in spite of my aforementioned slagging of the Catholic Church (and in fairness to the child-raping minions of the papacy), I think it's safe to say that no organized religion is immune from the incongruities between observance and violence. It's what makes the world go round.

That said, like any good coming-of-age story, Yaesh's terrific picture (like Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange) gets to have its cake and eat it too - thrill us with violence, but make us pay for it later on.

At the movie's core is a love story that inspires our hero to journey from out of the darkest depths in order to break free of extremism's and discover the true power and beauty of both life and God. (Let it be said also, that the film rather ingeniously introduces Avi to the woman of his dreams and allows him to court her via an almost - for this film, anyway - de rigueur jaw-dropper of a meet-cute.)

Yaesh's exuberant direction is matched only by the electricity of his actors. Roy Assaf's juiced performance as Avi is a marvel to behold - he runs the gamut of emotions - he's kind, caring, conservative, funny, vicious and loving. He creates an indelible character that inspires revulsion and admiration from us in equal measure. Rotam Zussman as his gorgeous, free-spirited love interest is an added cherry on the ice cream sundae. She's fun, soulful and sexy. We want these two to be together, but thankfully, the great screenplay tosses numerous hurdles for Avi to overcome so that his road to redemption is a constant struggle and never guaranteed.

So get in on the ground floor of Meny Yaesh. This is going to be the first of many first-rate pictures we get from him. Besides, what other film would offer you the following food for thought: The next time you're holding a handgun whilst facing down a non-observant miscreant, you might actually think twice before uttering the words: "Go ahead, punk, make my Shabbat".

"God's Neighbors" is playing at the Toronto Jewish Film Festival.
For tickets and info, click HERE.

THE PLACE BEYOND THE PINES - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Bad writing undermines "Blue Valentine" helmer Derek Cianfrance's sprawling, stillborn and ludicrously overrated crime melodrama.

Who else is getting sick to the point of vomiting with these criminals  played ever-so sensitively by the decidedly un-manly Ryan Gosling? The movies desperately need a new John Garfield to take roles like this. A REAL MAN!!!

The Place Beyond The Pines (2013) **
Dir. Derek Cianfrance
Starring: Ryan Gosling, Bradley Cooper, Eva Mendes, Ray Liotta, Rose Byrne, Bruce Greenwood, Harris Yulin

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I hate going to the movies to watch television, but at a certain point during The Place Beyond The Pines this mantra-like complaint of mine kept rearing its ugly head. The pat, plodding and annoyingly resolute writing never stopped reminding me of all the things I detest about small screen HBO-styled series (or worse, soap operas). The sprawling, pseudo-novelistic approach to drama, designed to keep you hooked and watching week after week, month after month, season after season is not objectionable as such, but when the seams are sloppily visible to the detriment of the drama, I personally have so little patience for this that my first impulse is to blow a gasket.

In light of this, the best that can be said about Derek Cianfrance's movie is that - in spite of the typical aforementioned small-screen failings - the whole affair is over and done with in 140 minutes.

His haunting, harrowing drama Blue Valentine delved into the well-trodden territory of failed relationships, but his direction (and the great writing) always kept the movie compellingly original and heartbreaking. The Place Beyond The Pines is, however, a pallid crime melodrama that plods clumsily and with bothersome familiarity into "sins of the father" territory - a predictable genre, to be sure, but one that usually benefits when blessed with first-rate style, execution and an original approach. Alas, this one doesn't cut the mustard - not a result of Cianfrance's steady direction and a clutch of decent performances (Eva Mendes, Bradley Cooper, Harris Yulin, Bruce Greenwood), but because finally the film is undercut by the screenplay he co-wrote. The writing is full of obvious clues as to where the tale is going, especially since the form of the tale was spoiled for me by a brief glance at some puff piece that assaulted my eyeballs on the net.

I hate going to the movies knowing anything about what I'm going to see. Regular readers know I never watch trailers, read reviews and/or puff pieces before I see movies. I leave any such "research" to after I see a picture.

However, knowing the form Cianfrance chooses does ruin the experience of seeing the movie. After the fact, I eventually read far too many reviews that boneheadedly revealed the form - not necessarily unique as it's been used by many dramatic mediums since the beginning of time - but as far as I'm concerned, revealing it in advance is a spoiler.

The question here is this: Is it the movie's fault that I opened my browser and an idiot puff piece had the word describing the form in its headline? Short answer: Yes. The script is not much good anyway. All the causes, actions and effects are presented, wrapped up and paid off in dull, predictable ways because the tale's trajectory is obvious about ten minutes into the movie. In fairness, I might have not seen the whole movie coming if I hadn't been tipped off to the form in advance, but I can genuinely say I'd have figured out both the form and narrative by the end of the film's first act.

There's a smidgen of a good movie buried here. In a nutshell, carnival stunt man Ryan Gosling reconnects with Eva Mendes, a former gal-in-every-town fling. Wanting to rekindle their romance and be a good Dad to the kid he sired and left behind, he goes on a spree of bank robberies to amass the dough he thinks he needs to do this. His chief adversary is Bradley Cooper, a cop from the right side of the tracks who had every advantage life could offer - including a wealthy family, a law degree and a passion for police work. When their paths cross, the results affect everyone in ways least expected (though I had them nailed). The sons of bank robber and cop cross paths, leading to a friendship that seems doomed from the start.

On the surface, it's a slender narrative that allows a lot of potential to drape several layers upon it. Alas, the layers applied feel like the worst cliches imaginable and worse, are completely and utterly predictable. Its melodramatic aspects are clear throughout. I never have a problem with melodrama, however. I do respond negatively to bad melodrama which, this movie definitely is chockfull of. Narratively, the movie does offer up a decent first act, a calamitously familiar second act and a completely messy, botched final act.

Once again, it's yet another movie eliciting wild acclaim from people who should know better.

I can only scratch my head and hope the next film from Cianfrance has better writing and that the wild enthusiasm for this mediocre picture gives him an opportunity to genuinely knock all of us on our collective butts with a project worthy of what he's normally got the stuff to truly deliver..

Until then, file The Place Beyond The Fines under stillborn, half-baked and overrated.

"The Place Beyond The Pines" is in theatrical distribution via E-One.

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GINGER AND ROSA - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Heartfelt Period Drama from Sally Potter is highlighted by the astonishing performance of Elle Fanning.

Ginger and Rosa (2012) ***1/2
Dir. Sally Potter
Starring: Elle Fanning, Alice Englert, Alessandro Nivola, Christina Hendricks, Annette Bening, Oliver Platt, Timothy Spall

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I can't say I've ever been fond of Sally Potter's movies. Even the acclaimed Orlando left me cold. This, however, all changed with her new picture, the heartfelt period drama Ginger and Rosa. Focusing its lens upon a pair of teenage girls on the deep cusp of burgeoning womanhood in Britain when Cold War hysteria over the "Bomb" was, perhaps, at its highest, this is a film that paints an evocative portrait of a time and place that I think has added resonance for audiences in our contemporary world of strife and warfare.

First and foremost, it's a delicate portrait of a close friendship that goes awry during an era that's just on the other side of the fence that was the swinging, turbulent 60s and when Bob Dylan would soon let the world know that "the times, they are a changing."

Ginger (13-year-old Elle Fanning pulling off 17 like there's no tomorrow) and Rosa (Alice Englert) have been friends practically since birth - two peas in a pod for most of their lives. At first, they rally round the anti-bomb movement together, but it's Ginger who displays the most commitment whereas Rosa is becoming increasingly boy crazy.

Ginger is a soulful child and has to suffer daily bickering between her very Liberal Dad and Mom (Alessandro Nivola, Christina Hendricks) who are hitting an especially turbulent rough patch in their relationship. When her folks split up, Ginger develops an especially close relationship with Dad and at first, he seems determined to open himself fully to this opportunity.

Rosa, however, engages in a torrid affair and it so interferes with her commitment to the "cause" that Ginger becomes frequently annoyed. When the affair turns out to be the last thing Ginger ever imagined happening with Rosa, a strange rivalry sets in.

When Potter's lens is trained on the title characters, the film really works like crackerjack. Less successful are the sequences involving Ginger's relationship with a group of adult lefty activists (all wonderfully played by Annette Bening, Oliver Platt and Timothy Spall). The scenes are good, but they seem to undermine the carefully wrought and poignant disintegration of the girls' friendship.

It oddly feels like a literary sidetrack rather than a cinematic one, but it's a minor blip (and occasionally engaging one) in an otherwise compelling narrative.

What Potter captures and evokes so beautifully are all the details of their BFF  rituals (lipstick, smoking, dolling-up, etc.) and its eventual disintegration as both discover very different needs, wants and goals.

As a character-driven drama, the movie's performances have to be at a high level for the picture to work at all and I'm happy to report that the entire cast acquits themselves beautifully (even those in the section that slows the movie down unnecessarily).

However, the film's distinct highlight is the remarkable Elle Fanning. She burst upon the scene with a star-making performance in J.J. Abrams's otherwise highly avoidable Super 8  as the geek girl from the wrong side of the tracks. The camera not only loved her, but she delivered the goods in two important ways. As the "love interest" for the makeup-effects-obsessed juvenile lead, she acquitted herself nicely with the kind of dreamy, romantic, yet mouth-watering innocence not unlike the great child performances of Hayley Mills in the classic Disney films from the 1960s. Even more astounding were her "acting" sequences in the super-8 horror film her character plays in. Acting like you're acting is always a tough stretch for any actor, but to deliver this with such expertise as a child actress was simply and utterly astounding.

With Ginger and Rosa, Fanning (sister of former child star Dakota Fanning) pulls off the incredible aforementioned feat of being 13 in real life, but playing 17 in Potter's movie. She keeps a straight face whilst evoking the serious young girl who rails against a system that seems so far out of her reach, yet would not change without her activism. We know her commitment will yield disappointing results (the Cuban Missile Crisis is an eventuality here, as well as increased warfare in Vietnam and JFK's assassination), but Fanning's gaze (she has great eyes) are windows into the character's very soul.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is no mean feat.

It's ultimately a movie for all, but I think young kids and teens - boys and girls - especially deserve a shot at seeing this movie on a big screen. The period detail is top notch, down even to the performances themselves (especially important as many directors and actors ignore how differently people spoke and/or moved in earlier periods). As such, Potter renders a world that's not ephemeral like so many contemporary films about youth are (and notably even period pictures). Potter yields an overall experience that speaks to both the will and helplessness of our youth in a world that again has gone terribly awry, a world that might soon be dead if not for the genuine commitment and resistance of our youth today.

It's the kids who will effect change and to that end, Ginger and Rosa is an inspiration.

"Ginger and Rosa" is in limited theatrical release via Union Pictures.

TO THE WONDER - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Terrence Malick provides proofpositive that he will have a fine adjunct career as a writer ofHallmark Greeting Cards.

This is a revised version of my review. As I fell asleep for the last five minutes, I felt it incumbent upon me to see the film again, so I did and watched the movie from beginning to end. This allowed me the opportunity to glean a lot more from Mr. Malick's feature length greeting card. I hope you appreciate this effort.

"Love made us one. I in YOU. You in ME."
The Wonder. The Wonder.
The Horror. The Horror.

Terrence Malick or Jed Clampett? You Decide.

To The Wonder (2012) *
dir. Terrence Malick
Starring: Ben Affleck, Olga Kurylenko, Javier Bardem, Rachel McAdams

Review By Greg Klymkiw

In Paris, the city of love, people talk to themselves. Not out loud, mind you. After all, they aren't afflicted with Tourette's Syndrome but rather, they yammer away in their heads.

In Paris, a Man and a Woman, both pierced by Cupid's arrow, are unable to keep their eyes and hands off each other whilst Hallmark Greeting Card prose-poetry floats from their respective inner sanctums and into the ether - swirling about like the ghostly intonations of the dead.

In Paris, Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylenko play this loving vapid couple. They wander amongst the architectural treasures of Gay Paree, psychically transmitting their purportedly soulful words to each other and to the audience of Terrence Malick's latest pretentious snore-Fest To The Wonder.

Based upon their words alone, either Malick and/or the characters are touched - not by love, but by some form of retardation of the cerebellum.

"Newborn," Kurylenko declares. "I open my eyes. I melt." One certainly hopes, like M&Ms, that she melts in his mouth and not in his hand.

Olga continues, as if she were in a sequel to Twilight: "Into the eternal night. A spark. You got me out of the darkness. You gathered me up from earth. You've brought me back to life."

Alas. no vampires here, and writing that makes Stephanie Meyer literarily akin to no less than Leo Tolstoy himself.

Olga, aside from looking deeply into Ben's eyes, spends an inordinate amount of time jumping up and down like a pogo stick and/or twirling about. At one point, Ben tries taking snaps of her with his digital camera, but she keeps spoiling his shots by snapping at it with her purty mandibles. Presumably, this is because she's happy. Perhaps she is in love. Perhaps, she's hungry. If the latter, there is no doubt - Olga is afflicted with the aforementioned retardation of the cerebellum.

Now, I have to admit I might have missed something, but I really have no idea why Ben is in Paris. He has virtually no dialogue save for a few words of hideously pronounced French. I have no idea why Olga is in Paris either, but though she is Ukrainian, she does speak French quite beautifully and she's gorgeous. Paris has many gorgeous women, so why shouldn't she be one of them?

What I know for a fact is this: Olga and Ben are in love. Just in case, I didn't know, Malick's screenplay wisely has Olga intone in voice-over that she is, indeed, "in love".

Thank you Mr. Malick. Your screenplay is full of helpful information like that. I was grateful during one special moment early on in the movie when Ben and Olga visit some old castle or church or whatever it is - in any event, it's old - and Olga delivers extremely vital story information in the past tense, as if she's remembering it (or something) as we see the lovebirds climbing up some steps, .

"We climbed the steps," reveals Olga.

Again, thank you Mr. Malick. Good to know.

We eventually find out that Ben hails from Oklahoma - not the dullest state in the Union (that honour would go to North Dakota), but dull enough that one wonders why he wants to drag Olga and her daughter back there with him. Once they get there, they move into what appears to be a house lacking much in the way of furniture.

Olga informs us that Ben "speaks very little."

This is true. He's hardly spoken a word and just so we get it, Malick gives us many scenes where Ben speaks very little, save in voice-over when he tells us what we can see for our own eyes.

Apparently, Ben and Olga's daughter hit it off famously. We know this because Kurylenko tells us in a voice-over. We don't actually see it rendered dramatically. Why bother when you can convey this through greeting card voice-overs?

Happily ensconced in hurricane and tornado country, the lovebirds spend quality time walking through fields and looking at the flat landscape and big skies while we get to hear more greeting card philosophy.

Most disappointing here is that we never get any storms. For years, the late, great experimental filmmaker George Kuchar would travel to Oklahoma during tornado season, stay in sleazy motels, watch weather reports, take dumps, inspect and comment upon his faecal matter and put it all on film. This resulted in his ever-so brilliant Weather Diaries.

I mention this only because Malick and Kuchar are brothers in the avant-garde tradition. Kuchar, however, always had a great sense of mordant wit. Malick is humourless. Hence, no tornados. And very sadly, no faecal matter, save for the movie itself.

Whilst living in Oklahoma, Affleck appears to have a job, but damned if I can tell what it is. Olga starts to spend a lot of time doing laundry, washing dishes and going shopping for furniture. (Some might quarrel with this, but I didn't - she is, after all, a Ukrainian woman - put on this Earth by God Himself to serve her Man.) Besides, she isn't living a complete life of drudgery. She has plenty of time to wander through fields, stare at the sky, examine foliage, recite monologues in voice-over and jump around like a pogo-stick. Her daughter appears quite adept at this bouncing motion also. I smiled and chortled to myself in a good natured manner. "Like mother, like daughter," said my internal voice-over.

Alas, as luck and life would have it, Olga and Ben appear to move quickly beyond the "honeymoon" stage of their relationship. Ben starts sniffing around his old flame Rachel McAdams. This allows for more voice-overs. Olga begins sniffing around the parish priest who is having a kind of Gunnar Bjornstrand-like crisis of faith and in turn, has his sights set on Olga. (Or does he? At one point he stares at a very pretty nun while she washes dishes.)

The priest is played by Javier Bardem. His face is so grimly deadpan we expect him to blow someone's head off with an automatic assault rifle. Alas, all we get are voice-overs like this howler: "You shall love whether you like it or not." At one point, Javier visits a home. Is it Ben and Olga's home? If so, who is the woman with a baby in the backyard? Your guess is as good as mine.

In any event, Javier does not knock or go in. He looks at toys strewn about the front veranda. We perk up. Perhaps he is a child molester. Most priests are, after all.

No such luck. He walks away as he speaks to himself in voice-over. "My heart is cold," he says. "Hard." Alas, that's all that's hard.

Olga leaves Oklahoma and goes back to Paris. This allows Ben Affleck to spend a lot of time looking out his window. An Italian woman shows up out of nowhere and babbles nonsensically in Olga's direction. I have no idea who this woman is, but Olga seems to and before you can say, "voice-over," our Ukrainian princess is compelled to return to Oklahoma.

On my first helping of the film, I looked at my watch, sighed and closed my eyes. The last five minutes of the movie was a mystery to me - not because of anything Malick barfed up onto the screen, but because I fell asleep. It was one of those power naps I hate where I had a short, grotesquely vivid dream - you know the kind - where jellylike, viscous blobs fall from the ceiling on your Mother's bed and she tenderly strokes them with the knobby stumps where her arms once were.

After such an awe inspiring experience as To The Wonder, I did not want the aforementioned dream to be the last thing I remembered, so I watched it again. This time, I did not bother to suppress my guffaws and watched it to the end. I'm elated I did. I do not wish to spoil it for you by giving away the ending. Even if I did give away the ending, I'm not quite sure what I'd tell you as I have no fucking idea what the ending was. Suffice it to say that Javier has a ridiculously long voice-over monologue wherein he intones Christ's name many times, various characters stare at the sky, Olga licks a branch and eventually bounces around again like a pogo stick and someone, I'm not telling who, walks into a white light.

As the credits came up, I walked into the toilet and turned on my own white light.

"To The Wonder" is playing theatrically and on VOD day-and-date via VVS Films. If you enjoy gorgeously photographed scenery, you're probably better off going to the movie theatre to see it. On VOD, however, you will not feel compelled, as I was, to repress your endless stream of guffaws.

TORONTO JEWISH FILM FESTIVAL 2013 - Reviews By Greg Klymkiw - 2 absolute must-see events at TJFF 2013: Jerry Lewis in THE JAZZ SINGER + COWJEWS AND INDIANS

FILM.

IT'S WHAT JEWS

DO BEST.

By Greg Klymkiw

FILM. IT'S WHAT JEWS DO BEST.

When I first saw this brilliant tagline for the Toronto Jewish Film Festival (TJFF), I let out a huge guffaw of recognition and appreciation. In fact, whenever those delightful words dance across my memory banks, they bring a warm smile to my face.

Why?

IT'S SO TRUE!!! (Apologies to any Jews who deign NOT to make movies, though the exception to this rule are those Jews who make and/or purvey deli.)

And while there are plenty of Goyim who can spin a great yarn cinematically, we must never forget that Hollywood and the entire notion of the "American Dream" were both invented by Jews. (If you don't know this, you need to read Neal Gabler's Hollywoodism or see Simcha Jacobovici's film version.)

The aformentioned TJFF tag almost goes without saying, but SAY, WE MUST!!!

This year's 21st edition of the festival (running April 11-21) has a fine mix of Jewish pictures in every genre and I urge Jew and Goy alike to smuggle in some Centre Street Deli smoked meat (heavy fat, of course) & plenty of Nortown kishka to nosh while over-indulging in more cinematic Jewish treats than you can shake a stick at.

Here are two highlights:

THE JAZZ SINGER dir. Ralph Nelson (1959) ****

Samson Raphaelson's classic tale of a young man who chooses show business over following in his father's footsteps as a cantor has always been best represented by the truly great Al Jolson film version that launched "talkies." (And whilst I LOVE Neil Diamond's stab at the tale, Jolson is, was and will, forevermore, be untouchable in the role.)

That changes now.

During television's "Golden Age", Jerry Lewis starred in this adaptation for the variety series "Startime" on NBC. Given straight-forward treatment by stalwart camera jockey Ralph Nelson, this might be my favourite hot tip for the entire TJFF. For me, the medium of television has NEVER been better than this magical age and Startime's production of The Jazz Singer is a solid example of why.

I always loved Lewis and ALWAYS thought of him as a great actor - period. Too many people singled him out as a "mere" comedian which frankly, is unfair and disparaging to the art of acting and the genre of comedy. One look at Lewis in his best comedies - The Nutty Professor, for example - and you bear witness to one of cinema's most astounding talents.

The Jazz Singer was recently discovered and restored to its original pristine and historic colour version (as opposed to the black and white kinescope uaed mainly for re-broadcast purposes). The film not only opens a window upon another age of entertainment styles, but allows us to see Lewis in what should have been the role of a lifetime, but had sadly been ignored and/or forgotten. He will delight, amuse and move you to tears.

The supporting cast includes fine performances from Eduard Franz, Alan Reed, Anna Maria Alberghetti and MOLLY PICON!!! MOLLY PICON, ladies and gentleman!!! (Apologies for these superlatives, but MOLLY PICON always deserves superlatives.)

This is a must-see! How can you go wrong? It stars Jerry Lewis in a rarely seen production and features Molly Picon.

Does it get any better than this?

But. of course.

Admission is FREE!!!

CowJews and Indians dir. Marc Halberstadt (2012) ***

If you're able to ignore the clunky filmmaking (dull shooting, rudimentary cutting), the subject matter of this strange hybrid of personal documentary and activist cinema will keep you glued to the screen.

Try to avoid reading any reviews (except mine) and program notes BEFORE you see this one. The title should be enough to lure you. The movie is best experienced knowing as little in advance as possible.

In a nutshell, you'll experience a fascinating journey that involves reparations for a Jew and Aboriginal Americans - working together in tandem to address wrongs they both share. It will inform, educate, surprise and delight.

It probably could ONLY have been made by Halberstadt, but I do wish he'd been able to present his tale with a first-rate creative producer at the helm.

For tickets and more information on the Toronto Jewish Film Festival click HERE