The Yin and the Yang of Mr. Go

1970, UK/Canada (?), directed by Burgess Meredith

Without a doubt, one of the oddest films I've ever seen, I'm not sure that I have the appropriate vocabulary to capture this viewing experience. A Bad Film on the obvious level of construction, pacing, coherence, acting but absolutely fascinating in terms of its rather prestigious cast and for the unanswerable "what were they thinking?" and "what were they trying to do?" questions. On one level, you could posit the film as an example of the results when you plunk down a bunch of actors and a lot of money in an exotic location, but I do think that Meredith was going for a certain absurdist effect even if he didn't quite pull it off -- the plot is certainly the least of his concerns, though it was hard to decide to what extent some of the humour was intended or not. It sounds as though the producers took things into their own hands when they saw what they had paid for, hence the inexplicable framing appearance of Broderick Crawford, who clearly wasn't filming in the same locations. The very young Jeff Bridges' monologue outlining the various oddball plot points serves as a fitting summation of the film, complete with vaguely stoned look. 

La Grande séduction

2003, Canada, directed by Jean-François Pouliot (aka Seducing Doctor Lewis)

A regional British comedy that somehow ended up in Quebec, La Grande séduction tries very hard for Brassed Off territory - economic woes, a village losing its sense of self - but ultimately has neither the latter film's tough-mindedness nor, ultimately, sufficient respect for its characters - we're mostly invited to laugh at rather than with the broadest of caricatures. It' a pity, because the film starts off quite promisingly with a kind of spoof fairytale opening that suggests a rather more robust sense of humour; the film returns to that tone near the very end, but rarely reaches the same heights for the remainder of the running time, though there is a gloriously surreal sequence when the fisherman-villagers play a rule-bending game of cricket - as part of the title's great seduction - on an island in the middle of the harbour.

Away From Her

2007, Canada, directed by Sarah Polley

In many debut films the director seems to throw every trick into the mix first time out, as if there'll never be another chance, with the unfortunate result that the story frequently gets lost in the process. Sarah Polley, though, has far more confidence in her material, and in her own ability to unfold the ties between her characters, never departing from a calm, almost hypnotic style that allows real - rather than paper - people to emerge as she narrates the story of a woman (Julie Christie) dealing with the onset of Alzheimer's disease.

While she doesn't sugar-coat the realities of the disease - particularly from the perspective of those forced to watch a loved one slowly disappear - Polley chooses not to depict Alzheimer's as simply a decline: instead, Fiona's illness becomes a revelatory experience, unveiling the depths of her love toward the man (Gordon Pinsent) with whom she has spent her life, despite his flaws, and in turns the lengths to which he is prepared to go to ensure his wife's continued happiness, even as his connection with her seems to slip.

It's extraordinary to realize just how young the director is, given her acute ability to portray the small transactions that regulate the lives of this long-married couple; her depiction, particularly, of the ways in which Fiona allows her husband to understand how she has come to terms with his behaviour is tender yet utterly unsentimental, as though her disease makes honesty not just possible but essential.

Christie has one of those extraordinary faces that seems to develop a new radiance with age; every moment she's on the screen, your eyes are drawn to her, while she moves and speaks with a quiet, dignified grace that has an unmistakable edge of steel. As her husband, Gordon Pinsent is a fine match for her, a man who looks as though he's been hewn from the Canadian wilds, but who is also, despite his mistakes, possessed of acute intelligence and sensitivity. It's a fine performance from an actor who has rarely had the opportunity to shine.

Eastern Promises

2007, UK/Canada/USA, directed by David Cronenberg

David Cronenberg's Eastern Promises plays out in a strange netherworld London. Set mostly in the parallel world of Russian organized crime, the London streets of the film often seem devoid of the people and action so characteristic of the metropolis. At times, the action of the film seems almost as geographically restricted as the (not so quiet) small town at the heart of Cronenberg's previous film, A History of Violence, as if to emphasize that he has little interest in a tourist version of the city (Stephen Frears's Dirty Pretty Things similarly refused to reduce the city to a series of postcard views).

Cronenberg often seems fascinated by the disconnect between appearances and reality, and he gives that theme full rein here; it's not, of course, an entirely new theme for explorations of gangland, given the simultaneous depiction of brutal violence and close-knit family life in a films like The Godfather. It's not a legacy that Cronenberg denies, it seems to me; rather he uses the diconnect to create truly multi-layered characters that confront us with complex and even unpleasant moral choices. It also allows him to play with audience expectations, and even to spring plot surprises on the viewer (well, at least this viewer); he's expert at the mechanics of genre cinema, while not allowing himself to be limited by conventions.

In this film, Cronenberg is consistently interested in those who are otherwise dismissed: the plot is set in motion by attempts to identify an unknown girl, of little consequence to most people at the hospital where she dies. Cronenberg is also insistent on finding the humanity in characters that others dismiss: a prostitute who is discarded by one of the Russian gangsters is beautifully lit, looking almost like a painter's model, as if to emphasize that this woman is as worthy of artistic attention as anyone else, and that she retains a core of dignity that few are willing to accord her. It's of a piece with the humanist spirit of many of his films, where he finds unexpected tenderness and affection in stories that often contain raw, even brutal violence - such as the memorably bone-crunching sequence here where Viggo Mortensen fights another man in a Russian bathhouse.