Encounters at the End of the World (2008, dir. Werner Herzog)

Herzog treats the subjects of his latest documentary in a peculiar fashion. One eccentric man is left to stand in front of the camera long after he's finished his diatribe about having descended from an Aztec King. Another man is cut off in his ramblings by a narration that interjects "to cut a long story short..." When these moments occurred, the audience around me laughed. I chuckled too. They were peculiar folk, after all; I imagine Herzog was being playful in his emphasis on their odd personalities. Then again, images do speak for themselves - what to think of a woman who traps herself in a luggage bag every night on stage?

Who are these people, exactly? They're just a handful of individuals who, as one interviewee puts it, "have each fallen down into the end of the world", that being Antarctica. A philosopher is now driving a forklift, a filmmaker is now serving up ice cream in the cafeteria, and an intelligent young man with a PHD in Linguistics is now keeping his eye on some plants. They're talented in their own field, yet they've somehow found themselves in this place, aiding a great scientific discovery. They've formed a new society, away from society itself. I'd say they deserve their segments.

But shining the spotlight on these individuals, operating within the confines of their immense scientifc compound, is just part of the bigger picture that Herzog is painting. We're in Antarctica to view nature at its most underestimated and unpredictable. It's not long after we've seen the stuffiness of the complex, and the unpleasant sea of mud that surrounds it, that we're thrust into the great white open.

When explorers first came across Antarctica, they assumed for the most part that the icebergs were one big static monster. They aren't, of course - they're constantly moving, at an alarming rate. We know this now - science has aided us in discovering much about the past and present, but the future is unwritten. What will happen to these icebergs can only be assumed, and the speed in which they change is on our hands.

So, is this a film about climate change? No, I wouldn't say so. To assume this would be awfully reductive, ignoring some of the larger considerations at hand. Herzog has always been fascinated with nature, be it his confusion over man's lust for fire or the disinterested stare of a grizzly bear. Nature presents itself in simpler ways here; we look at many beautiful creatures crawling along the seabed, discover new species after a day's worth of diving, celebrate said discovery with a jamming session on a barn roof.

These underwater excursions are shot with swooping (tracking, floating?) shots that glide across oysters, jellyfish and other such wonders of nature, joined with searing opera scores that would lift these sequences to the heights of Herzog's own Lessons of Darkness, if it wasn't for the shakiness of the camera disturbing the flow only slightly. This is but a minor quibble, and the images on show are nonetheless remarkable in their purity.

What sets this apart from other documentaries of its kind are the worries it raises; rather than simply observe the goings-on at the facility, Herzog ponders over the power of nature. Through his encounters at the end of the world - man, creature and iceberg alike - he considers our place in the grand scheme of things, of time. A collection of flowers and cards have been framed in the ice, bordered by popcorn. They are intended for future visitors: alien, perhaps?

The concept of global warming can be discussed and rejected time and again by the men in suits, but it's the problem of every living human on Earth. One thing is for sure: nature is bigger than us. We are not in control. We know very little and we underestimate even more. What could each of us say about the mental states of penguins? Or the calls of the sea lion under the icebergs? Or why a woman chooses to lock herself in a luggage bag?

On the face of it, Encounters is about the kinds of people that yearn further knowledge of the Earth they inhabit. They want to understand more. Unusual characters they may be, but that is what fascinates Herzog and his audience; we were okay to laugh. The nature of man is as intriguing and amusing as that of the penguin and the sirens beneath the icecap.

If I were to talk with these scientists, they would tell me that it's only a matter of time before nature wipes out mankind, and we go the way of the dinosaurs, lost in time. If I was to speak to a Creationist, I would be told that Armageddon is coming, complete with locusts and four horsemen.

Either way, I'm left feeling fairly insignificant.


8

Time of the Wolf (2003, dir. Michael Haneke)

"For everyone in the West, the end of the world is something that they witness from afar, on their television screens, in the safety of their living rooms. I wanted to bring the end of the world to those people."

Michael Haneke says this in a special feature found on the Time of the Wolf DVD, sat smugly, stroking his wispy white beard. The man is smug, it has to be said. Who else would direct a film like Funny Games not once but twice, displaying such contempt for their audience? Haneke does like to test us, to make us ask questions of the film and our own predicaments. Don't most good filmmakers? Looking through his various works, each has a rather humanistic element, be it Cache with its examination of guilt, or the study of communication throughout Time of the Wolf. Haneke is fascinated by the ways in which we speak with each other and ourselves. I delve into Le Temps du Loup, engaged and ready to ask questions as I go; communication is essential...




The boy has been found. What was he doing, out here in the dark? If you witnessed the murder of a loved one, there's no place you'd rather be. Humanity does have a habit of finding itself within the darkness; how we could even begin to search for ourselves in the daylight, no one knows. He's silent, he will remain so for a while. His companion is taller, hesitant, dressed for the cold of winter. He stands at a distance from the rest, fearing their touch. Change isn't preferable.

Onwards they go, heading nowhere fast. They go through trees and fields and train tracks, all empty. They might find a train, might even be on a train at some point. But where will that train lead? What hope can you place on a destination unknown?

And people... more people, arguing over water. Arguing over everything and nothing. Horses are shot, goats have their throats slit. This is life, only smaller; we're in a microcosm. I'm different, and everyone else has remained the same. They're all here with me. Do I know you? He looks different, she is anxious. I saw them earlier, committing a mortal sin, but there is nothing to be done about it here. Evil walks the earth, what little precipice we huddle together on... and it's crumbling. Helpless and waiting for the end.

The screams are agony, the lights in the distance tell me of something sinister. I choose to talk to he who is no longer with us, who will not respond, who can not help any of us. But still he watches.

Kids are the future, aren't they? The small one lights a fire. Could he be one of thirty-six? A Just? A man stops him just in time, cradles him. The camera delicately pulls itself back, leaving them alone together; this is either good or bad. There was almost a martyr for the cause, now a memory of near salvation. Smells like Tark. Has any of it gone to waste? After all, it's the thought that counts.

I'm going to show you something:

Movement - alright, we're going somewhere.

Where?

You tell me.

Why?

You tell me.

You're looking at a black mirror; clean if you wish.

8.5

X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009, dir. Gavin Hood)

I must admit, I've been looking forward to writing up this little number, if only to clear away a few misconceptions about myself. Yes, that's right: this review is all about me. Forget the efforts of Hugh Jackman, Liev Schrieber and Gavin Hood, because Wolverine is now the launching pad with which I can put a few things straight about myself, in the context of comic book movies.

I guess the first thing to make clear is this movie sucks hard. I am better than this film. Why? Because I am a human being, made up of many complex organs that work together tirelessly to keep me alive. I have a brain with which to think and make logical decisions. I can feel emotion, such as the anger and pity I feel towards the producers of Wolverine. I listen to a wide variety of musical genres, and I'd like to think I've reached the point where my film taste is refined enough to filter out anything with the buzzwords 'Michael Bay', 'Eddie Murphy' and 'Paul Haggis'. Ok, I'll flatter myself - that moment came long, long ago.

And yet, I don't love myself. In fact, there is as much self-loathing inherent in me as there is self-admiration. I am as flawed as the next man. Still, as worthless as I could possibly be, that would still not bring me down to the utterly useless levels of Wolverine.

People say to me, "Ed, you read comic books, so surely Wolverine is your thing?" WRONG.

I read comic books, yes, but over the years I have learnt to cut down my subscription into the most essential list of books you could ever need (If anyone's interested, Green Lantern, Batman and New Avengers are rockin' right now). I do this because of two words that I've always stood by in my brief tenure as a human being: QUALITY CONTROL.

I won't stand for mediocrity, and I demand that my music be brimming with passion, creativity and originality; my films must challenge, speak to me or at the very least entertain me; my comic books must be well-written. Good artwork without good narrative? I don't think so.

You see, in the same way that a good director is behind every good film, a good comic book is written by a great writer. If Wonder Woman was written by Geoff Johns, you're damn right I'm gonna give it a look-see. Quality control, people. There is so much content out there, and so little time to take it all in.

Now I'm a fan of Wolverine and the X-Men in general (I even wear Wolverine socks), but I'm not willing to go lightly on director Gavin Hood because of this fact. To slap a brand on any piece of turd and assume that it will appeal to me is absurd. Just look at Quantum of Solace. Let us judge the film for what it is. how it is.

Onto the next misconception: "But Ed, you watch wrestling. That's just angry men fighting each other, what's so different about this?"

Wrong again, friendo. Firstly, I'd like to say that it's usually the people who have no hobbies or interests other than football that tend to call me out on my appreciation of pro wrestling. Ironic. Secondly, wrestling can be interesting when it wants to be. Put the right people in the ring, give them enough time, and they can put on a great show. They can tell a story if they want to. The bottom line is that the fixed, choreographed nature of wrestling is what makes it so great. Because these guys have their moves planned out, everything can run a lot smoother and entertainment through soft violence is achieved.

Translate this to film language, and what we're asking for are well-made sequences of plausible, enjoyable action. I'm talking about the original Die Hard, which didn't need plane-surfing, or dudes leaping from tanks onto choppers, to grab people's attention. I'm talking about the Bourne series, where the action is well edited, as opposed to Quantum of Solace, which aims to ape Bourne's style whilst forgetting to let the audience know what exactly is going on.

Does Wolverine have its merits, taking into account all these preconceptions about my judgement on what makes a good comic book film? Let's compare it to last year's offerings. Iron Man had humour and a charismatic lead in Robert Downey Jr., in addition to the chemistry he shared with the rest of the cast. With Hugh Jackman, all the man seems to feel is great anger towards everyone alive, allowing his character no development over the course of the film. He learns nothing new, forgets an awful lot, and gains more enemies than friends.

The Dark Knight gave us plenty to chew on, what with its nifty subtext about terrorism, neo-conservatism and political leaders. Does Wolverine give us equal insight, or at least some sort of theme? This is a Fox production, so you can answer that one yourself. Maybe the pleas of "you must fight the animal inside you, be good" constantly screeched towards Logan could count as a wider moral, only the very idea is counteracted by every single character in the film bashing the living shit out of each other with canes, claws and playing cards.

Hellboy II was much funnier than Iron Man, but for this one I'll draw on the set design. Big Red's playground was lusciously imagined, filled with the sort of creatures you'd expect to find in the Mos Eisley Cantina, the colourful backdrops you'd expect any other director than del Toro to lazily render with CGI. Wolverine decides to do things the Marvel way, having its production design imitate last year's Incredible Hulk by way of surrounding Wolvy with tanks and other such militaristic backdrops. Such a colourless movie.

Wolverine's girlfriend is slain in the first act - that isn't a spoiler, it's shown in the trailer - and this is supposedly the motivation for him to unleash holy hell on absolutely everyone. As he holds her limp body in the snow, we fail to care. Apparently we should, judging by the heights the score's volume reaches. Once Wolvy's journey begins, we're taken on a humourless romp through a who's who of Marvel mutants.

(Ok, I have to pause here. There is one really, really funny moment in this film. Wolverine finds shelter in the barn of an elderly couple, who out of the kindness of their hearts allow him to stay and recuperate. One bright spring morning they decide to bring him tea and biscuits - when suddenly they are both riddled with bullets and their barn is blown to smithereens by helipcopter missiles. I laughed, but I'm not as sadistic as you'd think, I just thought it was really, really bad luck!)

Gambit, Deadpool, Blob... they're all here, mismanaged in one way or another. It's almost like Epic Movie; they show up to satisfy whichever kid in the audience finds solace in a small cameo by someone who represents not an iota of their favourite character, and then they're gone. They serve no purpose, unless it involves brawling for no reason.

By the end of Wolverine, you almost feel cheated that you've spent so long following these characters jump in and out of frame, slashing each other ferociously, all the while learning nothing about themselves or each other, and neither have you learnt anything about them. Each character in this film is a vessel for presposterous action sequences that bore rather than fascinate. I can think of good few action scenes in X-Men 2 that were a damn sight better than even the best Wolverine set-piece.

So there you have it. My opinions on Wolverine, one of the worst films of the year so far. This is an article about Wolverine, but it's still my article. It's about me. I won't let Wolverine win this fight.

2

Beau Travail (1998, dir. Claire Denis)

A few months ago I watched a Russian film called Alexandra, directed by the immensely talented Alexander Sokurov. Its ostensibly simple plot of an elderly woman visiting her son at a military camp ruminated on much weightier themes of masculinity and social detachment. Fast forward to the present day (or back 11 years, if you will), and after the recent viewing of Claire Denis' masterful Beau Travail, it's clear to see how Sokurov was influenced; or to put it another way, I'm now aware which is the better, more insightful film of the two.

Beau Travail follows a group of men as part of the French Foreign Legion stationed in Djibouti, spending their day practicing routine military training exercises. These involve unusually long periods of stretching, as well as strange dance moves under the beating heat of the sun. There is almost a mechanical, detached element to the practices of the soliders, as if this is all they know. A failed attempt to dance in a nightclub signifies the shortcomings of these young men in applying what they have learnt to the expectations of modern society. These men seem almost removed from any semblance of outward expression, only waking each day at the crack of dawn to carry out what would, to any neutral observer, seem rather odd. Their way of life is defined by its mascunlinity, yet they perform such feminine tasks as ironing their clothes, and not just occasionally, but as part of a strict daily schedule.

Whereas Alexandra had the concerns of the director channeled through the wearied, watchful eyes of its leading woman, Beau Travail finds its recitation of events in the hands of Galoup, a sergeant with the legion and one whose viewpoint is to be taken with a grain of salt. Denis Lavant plays Galoup with such intensity, emitting hard, cold stares that conceal a greater inner pain. Galoup must have his reasons for being grouchy; the arrival of 'heroic' Sentain (Gregoire Colin) into the legion causes quite the stir, not least because the youthful Sentain, with his social skills and vibrant presence, embodies everything Galoup wishes he could be.

It's worth remembering that we are still under the guidance of Galoup's narration, still seeing everything through his eyes. What we know of Sentain, we have taken from the word of Galoup. His eyes are the lens of the camera and we are living through his version of events. Sentain's only real act of offence comes when he delivers a crushing left hook to Galoup after a moment of deliberate provocation from the sergeant, but until that point we are led to believe, by our narrator, that the boy definitely has something up his sleeve.

Interestingly, Galoup's resentment towards Sentain could stem from two main things. He could either be angry at Sentain for injecting some humanity into the sterile unit, and in turn be repressing some of his own emotions, possibly homosexual. It is his refusal to acknowledge any emotion on either Sentain's part or his own that leads him to take action against the young man.

Or, Galoup could simply be envious of Sentain's popularity, fearing that with the acension of the new personality among the ranks of the unit, that Galoup himself is being further cemented as an outsider. Bruno Forestier (Michael Subor) is the commanding officer, and a man Galoup professes great admiration for. With Sentain attracting the attention of most of the troop, especially Bruno, Galoup must feel further alienated and have his dislike towards Sentain increase tenfold.

Both these scenarios occurred to me and are equally plausible, however, I find the former to be the most fitting in the context of the film's themes. The idea of Galoup suppressing emotion in both himself and another further reinforces Denis' indictment of the sterile, emotionless mechanics of the military, and lends an extra poignancy to events.

The vast desert is the canvas for much of the proceedings, and it's all shot with aplomb by Agnes Godard, but I must give special mention to one of my favourite aspects of the film. The score by Charles Henri de Pierrefeu is sublime; understated when it needs to be, at other times full-blown, without ever ruining the moment. Even some of the diegetic songs such as Rhythm of the Night are well-placed, adding to a scene rather than subtracting from it.

The final ten minutes of Beau Travail are the icing on the cake, feeling almost inevitable and yet so sudden and affecting. Needless to say, Galoup's downward spiral does not lead him to an ideal existence. And yet, he still feels compelled to dance...

10