A Fortnight of Film

I think I can safely say that my participation in this year's Hong Kong International Film Festival was a rousing success! After attending a mere four films last year due to that impeding business trip to the Middle East, I seriously doubled down on my efforts and made it to a whopping eighteen movies over the past two weeks! (Heck, I went to four screenings yesterday alone!)

As always, the mix of flicks consisted of beloved classics from generations past, current Oscar-winning movies I've been longing to see, foreign films from every corner of the globe and intriguing documentaries that shed light on little known topics. 

There weren't too many disappointments, and there were several films that stopped me dead in my tracks, with jaw-dropping moments that knocked me over with their power and beauty. It was pretty much a perfect festival, and you should run—not walk—to track down some of the movies that were shown!

The first movie that I caught this year was called Claire Darling. Pitting French screen legend Catherine Deneuve against her real-life daughter Chiara Mastroainni as a feuding mother-child duo, the film told an intriguing little tale of an elderly woman selling off her household's prized antique treasures, much to the consternation of her estranged daughter, who gets wind of the sale from a friend. It was undeniably entertaining to watch the two actresses play off one another, and the production values were of a very high nature. In the end, it was far from my favorite movie of the festival, but it was a great way to kick things off. And the venue, the JC Cube in newly-restored former police station Tai Kwun, was stunning. I'm going to make it a mid-year resolution to spend more time in this amazing space, whether in the screening room, restaurants, bars or amazing open spaces.

Next up was This Magnificent Cake!, a felt stop-motion animated drama telling five somewhat connected tales in Colonial Belgian Congo. Yes, felt. As in, all the characters and settings are creating out of the fabric. It was witty and fast-moving, but the real treat wasn't in the stories themselves but rather the unbelievably detailed characters and settings. I don't think I've ever seen a feature-length felt film before, but I hope there are more in the cards. The creativity of the filmmakers was on full display, and I was seriously impressed with the end result.

The screening of This Magnificent Cake! was in a cinema called the Metroplex, all the way in Kowloon Bay, about a forty minute MTR ride from my office. To be honest, it was the next movie of the night that convinced me to make the trek out there. But when I decided to do it, I figured I might as well see what else was playing to make the journey worthwhile. Hence, I had my first "two movie night" of this festival!

About an hour after This Magnificent Cake! ended, I caught a movie-themed documentary called What She Said: The Art of Pauline Kael, summarizing the life and work of the New Yorker's acerbic film guru. Ms. Kael was one of the first critics whose writing I encountered, through an old CD-Rom called Cinemania that cataloged many of her reviews.

Some of them have stuck in my head for years. Writing about There's No Business Like Show Business, she noted that "Ethel Merman sings the title song in a monstrous white gown that looks as if it's going to attack her." That seeing Pearls of the Crown "is rather like flipping the pages of a history book while drinking champagne." Of The Lady Eve, that "Barbara Stanwyck keeps sticking out a sensational leg, and Henry Fonda keeps tripping over it." Of Grand Hotel, that, "if you want to see what screen glamour used to be, and what, originally, 'stars' were, this is perhaps the best example of all time." And of the female lead in the original Dracula, that "pale Helen Chandler...seems too anemic to attract a vampire."

Her review of Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte is classic enough to be reprinted here in its entirety:

Bette Davis in a Grand Guignol melodrama directed by Robert Aldrich—an attempt to reproduce the box-office success of their camp Gothic What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, in which Davis's co-star was Joan Crawford. Crawford was to have appeared in this one also, but became ill and was replaced by Olivia De Havilland. Davis is a rich, dotty recluse living in a moldy mansion in Louisiana; she wanders about the shadowy rooms in streaming hair and billowing nighties, whispering telepathic endearments to her long-dead daddy. De Havilland  is her treacherous cousin, Agnes Moorehead the witchlike housekeeper, and Joseph Cotten the family doctor. The story, redolent of mutilation and assorted horrors, is from a novel by Henry Farrell, who was also the source of the earlier film. A lot of people seemed to enjoy the spectacle of Davis crawling and howling and looking wildly repulsive. 

Her typical snark is readily apparent in her vicious excoriation of Her Cardboard Lover:

A mistake that Norma Shearer made when she was old enough to know better. Her companions in this overstuffed whimsey that turns into sheer misery are Robert Taylor and George Sanders. George Cukor is listed as the director; it's up to him to refute the charge. With Frank McHugh, Elizabeth Patterson, and Chill Wills. From a Jacques Deval play that had been filmed in 1928 with Marion Davies, and in 1932, as The Passionate Plumber, with Buster Keaton; the adaptors (John Collier and Anthony Veiller were among them) must have hidden even from their families. J. Walter Ruben  produced, for MGM.

But my favorite review of all just might be her recap of Cecil B. De Mille's 1934 Cleopatra, which captures the utterly addictive improbability of that over-the-top production. She labels it "terrible" but you get the impression she's also eager to see it again:

The dialogue sounds like gossip over backyard clotheslines, with occasional Shakespearean overtones—flattened, of course. ("Her infinite variety" becomes "She's always new.") In this De Mille version, the actors' diction provides such dividends as Caesar (Warren William) saying "Nope" to the senators, and Antony (big, solid Henry Wilcoxon) mumbling "I'm dying, Egypt, dying" in the inflection of "I gotta pain." The extravaganza is moderate, with too much Rome and too little Egypt, and the usual Roman holidays, processions, and atrium orgies. Cleopatra (Claudette Colbert) wiggles her slim hips and wonders if her dress is becoming. It is, and the big bash aboard her barge has its own dreamy chic. A netful of beautiful adagio dancers are hauled out of the sea, which certainly beats popping out of a giant cake. Like the later, longer Elizabeth Taylor version, it's terrible yet compulsively watchable. 

Needless to say, I didn't always agree with Kael's assessments. As you can probably tell from her review, she despised Norma Shearer, one of my favorite movie stars. And she once wrote that It's a Wonderful Life—with its "bewildering" reputation—"is doggerel trying to pass as art." Of one of my top ten films, To Be or Not To Be, she declared that director Ernst Lubitsch "starts off on the wrong foot and never gets his balance."

Then again, we're in complete accord on the best line in Animal Crackers, we agree that Erich Wolfgang Korngold's score to The Adventures of Robin Hood is "marvelous," and we share a reverent affection for Unfaithfully Yours. I sighed in relief when I learned that her verdict on All About Eve, my all-time favorite film, is that it's "ersatz art of a very high grade, and one of the most enjoyable movies ever made." I can concur with her assessment that Double Indemnity is indeed "one of the high points of 40s films." And Children of Paradise is certainly the "lushly romantic" "one-of-a-kind film" she proclaimed it to be.

But, whether she loved a movie or hated it, Kael had a way with words and, as the examples above confirm, her style was incredibly memorable. (Want more proof? She wrote that Lifeboat's "chief virtue is that it provides a raucous opportunity for Tallulah Bankhead to strut her comic sexiness." Of Torn Curtain, that "Brian Moore is credited with the original screenplay, but probably his friends don't mention it." And of Joan Crawford's final film, Trog, that the legendary actress plays "Stella Dallas with an ape instead of a baby girl," going on to conclude that "some actors will do anything to be in movies: she [Crawford] probably would have played the ape.")

As you can surely guess, What She Said immediately hit my radar when I read about it in the film listing, and I was ridiculously excited to see it. (Remember, I went all the way to Kowloon Bay for this screening.) I must confess, although I was thoroughly entertained, I didn't feel I learned too much about the subject's personal life and upbringing, which I think could have humanized her a bit more. Still, seeing clips of Kael in her prime, spouting off her opinions or hurling insults over what she considered sub-par film-making made for an entertaining night. 

On Saturday afternoon, I breathlessly ran into the screening room of Hong Kong Polytechnic University with seconds to spare, the lights dimming and opening titles about to commence. The film was Olivier Assayas' newest charmer, Non-Fiction, and it was the first film of this year's festival that I absolutely loved. Wholly captivating, with a quintet of sparkling main characters, Non-Fiction tells the story of two couples in the French literary demi-monde whose personal and professional lives intersect in various ways. Starring Guillaume Canet and Juliette Binoche, the film was ineffably witty from start to finish, full of marital infidelity, clever banter and meta touches. If Ernst Lubitsch were alive and working in Hollywood today, this is the kind of picture he would turn out. Luckily, Olivier Assayas is around to do the job now.

Back on Hong Kong Island that night, I popped into the Hong Kong Arts Centre to see an old Korean classic called My Mother and Her Guest from 1961. Introduced by a noted Seoul-based professor who had flown to Hong Kong to curate a special celebration of the centenary of Korean film, My Mother and Her Guest literally blew me away. The love story about a widow and her new tenant, who just may be a perfect second husband, was all told through the eyes of her young daughter. And what made the film so spectacular was that the two romantic leads hardly ever shared the screen together. It was truly unforgettable, albeit in a rather heartbreaking sort of way.

Moving from Asia to South America, Sunday's first movie was the Argentinian crime saga El Angel, a somewhat fictionalized account of that country's most notorious 1970s serial killer (who is still serving his life sentence behind bars). With a retro soundtrack and a loving evocation of the era, El Angel was almost addictive in its style. When the lights came up and I checked my watch, I thought there was some mistake. The time flew so quickly I could hardly believe two hours had already passed. Echoing shades of Tarantino, the director made a violent epic that was uncomfortably amusing until you stopped to reflect on what you were laughing about.

With a significant break before my next screening, I had a nice long wander around Kowloon, eventually stopping for a tasty Sichuan meal at a random restaurant on Portland Street, before heading back to Polytechnic. 

The movie that night was If Beale Street Could Talk, Barry Jenkins' newest drama which won Regina King the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress at February's awards ceremony. Jenkins' director of photography is a man named James Laxton, who also photographed his last film, Moonlight. Let's just say, this director/cinematographer combination should be required under Hollywood law to turn out at least one film together a year. The images of the film were ethereally beautiful, and the story was compelling. 

On Monday, I had a list of a few potential titles kicking about, but none that jumped off the page so greatly that I had my heart set on seeing it. However, finishing work and knowing Tai Kwun's JC Cube was only a few minutes' walk, I opted to take a chance on 1951's The Flower Girl, one of four old Chinese films being screened featuring the actress Li Lihua.

As the granddaughter of the film's producer introduced the screening, I began to get an inkling that I might be in for a treat. Then the film started... and I quickly realized I was watching pure perfection. Adapted from Guy de Maupassant's Boule de Suif, which also formed the basis for Shanghai Express, The Flower Girl was that rare combination of dynamite acting, compelling screenwriting and assured direction. There wasn't a false note in the entire picture, and I couldn't believe I almost skipped out on seeing it. It was easily the highlight of the festival for me, a movie I plan to see again and again. I feel like singing it's praises from the rooftops. If you have a chance to catch this stunner, please do yourself a favor and buy a ticket.

At times, it brought tears to my eyes and, towards the end, induced the entire audience to burst into spontaneous applause. And it hit me that, although I like to think I know a lot about classic film, there is a whole world of old movies from outside the Hollywood system that is still waiting to be discovered. The theme of this year's festival was "Colours in the Dark," so I suppose it was a tad ironic (though probably not surprising to those who know me well) that the high point for me was actually in black and white.

The next day, there was another Li Lihua movie, this one a romantic trifle from the late '40s, called The Barber Takes a Wife and introduced by a noted local film critic. A Chinese riff on pure screwball comedy, it followed the budding courtship between a barber masquerading as a tycoon and a penniless beauty passing herself off as a wealthy heiress. Each wants to marry the other under the mistaken assumption of vast wealth, but, of course, by the time reality comes-a-calling, they are too much in love to do much about it. As the Bard once wrote, the course of true lever ne'er did run smooth, but being a 1940s rom-com, you know it will get there eventually. The perfect denouement, culminating in one of the most adorable final shots I've ever seen, capped off this champagne cocktail of a movie.

After the stretch of great movies that had continued pretty much unabated for the past string of days, I decided I didn't feel like traipsing over to Kowloon on Wednesday to catch the movie I had highlighted on my itinerary. I decided that, with the packed conclusion of the festival approaching, I could afford to take a little break from movie-going and instead indulge in a good, old-fashioned horse race in Happy Valley.

But it was back to business on Thursday.

One of the gala presentations of this year's festival was Asghar Farhadi's newest movie, Everybody Knows, which sees the director switch locales from his native Iran to the Iberian Peninsula. Opening the competition of last year's Cannes Film Festival, Everybody Knows was one of the two or three titles I was most excited to see on the itinerary.

I loved Farhadi's earlier films, A Separation (which won the Oscar for Best Foreign Film) and The Past, and the added attraction of his casting Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem immediately piqued my interest. When I learned that Farhadi himself would be attending the screening to do a question-and-answer with the audience, I booked a ticket. And three friends—Katie, Yvonne and Liz—decided to attend, as well, which made for an amazing evening in the Grand Theatre of the Hong Kong Cultural Centre.

Farhadi participated in an intruding discussion for about an hour after the closing credits, moderated by a German critic and (somewhat frustratingly) interrupted by a translator, as the auteur spoke mainly in Farsi. He took questions from the crowd and shed lots of light on his film-making style. And it was such an incredible opportunity to see such a master in person.

Like that, another Friday was upon us, and the festival was entering its final stretch. I beelined from work to Tai Kwun to catch the sold-out screening of Loro, Paolo Sorrentino's take on Silvio Berlusconi's political career. Gorgeously shot in stunning color and liberally peppered with gratuitous nudity and surreal moments, it was a trippy, brilliant movie. Impossibly cool, effortlessly stylish, Loro is difficult to sum up in any number of words. My advice: Go see it, and on the big screen!

From Tai Kwun on Hollywood Road, I had to leg it down to City Hall for my next movie, the 1927 silent drama 7th Heaven, starring Janet Gaynor and Charles Farrell. Of the eighteen movies I caught during the festival, this was the only one I'd seen before. I caught it back in 2011 or 2012, when it was screened as part of the French Film Festival. Twice, in fact. I loved it so much that I went to both screenings during its last run. And when I saw it on this year's film listing, I relished the opportunity to savor it once more.

Gaynor won the first ever Academy Award for Best Actress for her performance in this film, combined with two others (Sunrise and Street Angel—it was the only year the award was given in recognition of a performer's combined recent work). And the mix of poetic expressionistic camerawork with an emotional love story remains dynamite over ninety years after the film's initial release.

On Saturday, I was back in Kowloon, at the Grand Theatre of the Cultural Centre for yet another sold-out screening of yet another recent Oscar-winner: Free Solo. Awarded Best Documentary Feature, the film follows the exploits of Alex Honnold, whose mind-boggling rock climbing prowess resulted in his being the first person to scale the heights of Yosemite's El Capitan without any safety gear whatsoever.

I had put together an ideal itinerary for yesterday, Sunday, the festival's penultimate day. I had only bought one ticket in advance, but I knew that if everything worked out the way I expected, I'd see four movies in total. I was ready to drop one if I felt exhausted or overwhelmed. But in the end it wasn't necessary. The timings were pretty perfect, stretched out enough to make it easy to travel from venue to venue. And all four were unforgettable.

I started back in Tai Kwun on Hollywood Road, for a screening of a documentary feature called Midnight Family. Set in Mexico City, the film traced the harrowing nocturnal life of a poor family who operate a private ambulance in the sprawling capital. Truth be told, I'm not sure the film would have ever entered my peripheral vision had it not been for my recent trip. However, I'm so glad I caught it.

It was engrossing, taut, dramatic and humanistic. And as an added surprise, the director, Luke Lorentzen, appeared post-screening to field questions from the crowd.

Hopping the MTR to Kowloon Station, I was soon with Yvonne and Liz again in Elements, at the recently renamed Premiere Cinemas (formerly the Grand Cinema), to catch Edmond. A hysterically comedic re-telling of the first staging of Cyrano de Bergerac, Edmond vividly recreated the fin-de-siecle Paris of your dreams, with great performances from the entire cast.

I'm sure quite a few historical liberties were taken, but  hardly cared. The tale was imaginative and delightful from start to finish, and it's another one of the movies I'd highly recommend if you have a chance to see it.

Luckily, my third movie of the day, In Fabric, was also in Premiere Cinemas. So Liz, Yvonne and I were actually able to squeeze in a pizza and a round of wine overlooking Elements' ice skating rink before they went on their merry way and I returned to the theater.

I'm not sure how many movies can be described as delicious, but In Fabric would certainly be one of the few. It was a campy, over-the-top, horror comedy about a possessed, evil red dress that brings misery and misfortune to those who come across it. With bright, vivid image punctuated by creepy moments and an appropriately nightmarish musical score, In Fabric was odd, entrancing and endearing.

With plenty of time to spare, I took a nice, leisurely walk from West Kowloon to Tsim Sha Tsui for the last movie of the day, Pawel Pawlikowski's black-and-white follow up to his Oscar-winning Ida. Filmed in an old-time ratio and perpetuated with both Polish folk music and haunting jazz, Cold War was a fitting finale to a full day of film.

Sadly, today marked the festival's conclusion, and my last ticket—ironically one of the first I actually purchased—was for Francois Ozon's By the Grace of God. It was a bittersweet ride on the Star Ferry after work, back across to Tsim Sha Tsui while relishing the glorious view but knowing HKIFF 43 was drawing to a close.

Ozon is among my favorite directors working today, and his name attached to a film is enough to induce me to book a seat. So when I realized the Asian premier of his newest work would be closing this year's program, I quickly snapped up a spot.

His take on the sex scandal within the Roman Catholic Church made for compelling, compulsive viewing. While Spotlight memorably told its own tale from the point of view of journalists breaking the story, By the Grace of God instead focuses on the survivors trying to get on with their lives, some more successfully than others.

Clocking in at over two hours, but not a second too long, By the Grace of God was a perfect last note for HKIFF 2019. Moving, powerful and heartbreaking, with moments of humor to help you through the pain, the film is perhaps atypical for Ozon, whose quirky filmography is the stuff of legend, but proves his durability and expertise at his craft.

So with this year's festival now drawn to a close, I think I made up for last year's light film load. Eighteen films sure ain't bad, but my goal is to hit an even twenty next year! Twenty movies at HKIFF 2020! See you there!