Cinematical was just handed this exclusive poster for the film Fugitive Pieces (click on the image to enlarge), based on the best-selling novel from Anne Michaels and directed by Jeremy Podeswa (Six Feet Under, Dexter). A Canadian film, Fugitive Pieces helped launch last year's Toronto International Film Festival, where a whole crop of people really dug it. Named one of Canada's Top Ten of the year, the film "tells the story of Jakob Beer (Robbie Kay), a man whose life is haunted by his childhood experiences during WWII. As a child in Poland he is orphaned during wartime then saved by a compassionate Greek archaeologist. Over the course of his life, he attempts to deal with the losses he has endured. Through his writing, and then through the discovery of true love, Jakob is ultimately freed from the legacy of his past," so says the synopsis. Looks good. Looks meaty. I like it.

Fugitive Pieces is due out in theaters on May 2, and you can check out the trailer right here.

Expect Sigourney Weaver to receive an Oscar nod for her work in The Girl in the Park, which got a warm reception at this year's Toronto fest. Weaver plays Julia Sandburg, a 40-something business executive and mother of two, including a toddler named Maggie. Julia's life, which we can sense has been planned down to the smallest detail, is unexpectedly shipwrecked when, during routine playtime in a park one day, Maggie goes missing under her nose. The child is not found, and her disappearance is tied to a string of similar abductions in the area, leaving practically no hope. Cut to fifteen years later -- Julia now looks to be in her late 50s and has spent the last fifteen years living a solitary, robotic existence, the disappearance having disintegrated her marriage, poisoned her relationship with her remaining child, and taken a toll on her mental health. Existing more or less as a shut-in these past years, her own relatives, including her son and new daughter-in-law, can hardly believe it when she turns up at a family function.

The son and daughter-in-law, played by Alessandro Nivola and Keri Russell, are budding suburbanites who are planning for a new child and have no intention of living their lives in the past, but the past is the only place Julia feels safe, and there seems to be little prospect of her returning to any kind of social normalcy. This is the lay of the land when Louise comes into the picture. A sleazy drifter and scam-artist in her young twenties, played effectively by Superman's dame Kate Bosworth, Louise meets Julia in the city by chance and picks up on her vulnerability, perhaps sensing she's some old, lonely lesbian who can be taken for a ride and cleaned out or more simply, someone who will feel sorry for her. During their first meeting, Louise gives Julia a phoney tale of woe, and in the space of a few minutes, Julia has her checkbook out and is shelling out for travel fare and medical expenses for an unborn child (which doesn't exist.) Louise then wisely disappears, but their interaction isn't over yet.

It's been said that great moves forward don't have to be in mighty arenas; indeed, you could argue that some revolutionary acts are bold precisely because of their triviality. Breakfast with Scot -- a hometown favorite here in Toronto for the Film Festival -- is a heartwarming, fish-out-of-water family comedy. It details what happens to ex-hockey player Eric (Tom Cavanagh) when his partner Sam (Ben Shenkman) has to take in, temporarily, his brother's dead ex-lover's child, Scot (Noah Bernett). Breakfast with Scot shows us gay relationships, gay struggles, gay family. It is as agreeably, tastefully, charmingly slight and lame and trivial as anything the hetero mainstream could make out of the same plotline. The closest thing to a controversy in it is that, as near as I can tell, Eric and Sam aren't using real maple syrup for the title meals.

Eric used to play as a pro with the Toronto Maple Leafs; now, he's a sportscaster. (As a press piece I was handed leaving the screening noted, it's the first time a major pro sports team has let their logo and name be used in a gay-themed film. All I could hear in my head was a paraphrase of The Kids in the Hall: It's a Canadian fact.) Eric 's been so far in the closet for so long he's on a first-name basis with the shoe trees, though -- much to Sam's annoyance, as Sam would probably like to you know, hold his boyfriend's hand now and then. Much to Eric's annoyance, Sam has to take in Scot until his screw-up brother can get back from Brazil. And Scot is ... a bit of a fancy lad? Gay? Who can say -- Scot's 11 -- but he's boa-clad, fond of make-up and might as well be carrying a French horn in one hand and a three-dollar bill -- excuse me, a welded-together Loonie and Toonie -- in the other.

Closing the Toronto International Film Festival, Paolo Barzman's Emotional Arithmetic opens in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, where a family's awaiting the arrival of a guest. But it's not a normal family, and it's not a normal guest. Melanie (Susan Sarandon) is looking forward to the guest's arrival; her husband David (Christopher Plummer), less excited. The guest is Jacob (Max von Sydow), who Melanie hasn't seen since the darkest days of World War II, where Jacob looked out for her and a young Irish boy, Christopher at a French transit camp. At the airport, Melanie's surprised to find that Jacob, just released after 35 years in a prison psychiatric camp, is accompanied by the now-grown Christopher (Gabriel Byrne). Memories, regrets, past pain and and what-could-have-been hang in the air. ...

Based on Matt Cohen's novel, Emotional Arithmetic is earnest and fact-filled ... and completely inert; it's like looking at a civics class diorama. The problem isn't primarily the actors, all of whom are fine; it's more that they aren't asked to do much more than show up and be who they are -- Plummer brisk and brusque, Sarandon flighty-yet-flinty, Byrne handsome but haunted, von Sydow weary but wise. Roy Dupuis, playing Melanie and David's son, actually stands out even though his character's not given much to do; it may be because Dupuis isn't simply coasting on his familiarity and prior roles.

I didn't know it at the time, but I was first introduced to Allan Moyle in Squeeze Play, when he was the "Wet T-Shirt Waterboy." The flick is an old, risque adult comedy that my friend and I would sneakily watch late at night during sleepovers (when we were way too young for the buttocks-ball-catching material). But it wasn't until the '90s that Moyle hit his stride, directing two music-laden, teen cult classics -- my beloved Pump Up the Volume and the goofy yet lovable Empire Records. After that, he was teen-tuckered out and made a few forgettable movies with Baldwin brothers and the surprisingly mellow New Waterford Girl. But now he has revisited some of his previous music magic with the quirky, Canadian black comedy -- Weirdsville.

The flick is pretty much Harold and Kumar meets Bubble Boy, but take away the Fabio-freaks and add in some Satanists. Wes Bentley's Royce and Scott Speedman's Dexter are stoners who hang out with a waifish escort named Matilda (Taryn Manning -- what a surprise). They owe a drug dealer named Omar (Raoul Bhaneja) a big chunk of change, so they strike up an agreement to sell drugs to pay it off. But Royce and Matilda speed through the stash in a marathon week of drugging, and now the trio is without the money or drugs to pay Omar back. Oh, and Matilda has OD'd and died.

"Did we polygraph the Egyptian?"
"He came up clean."
"Polygraph doesn't mean diddly."
'We always say that when they pass."
"Put him on the plane. ..."

That exchange comes early in Gavin Hood's new film Rendition, between senior intelligence officer Corrine Whitman (Meryl Streep) and her underling (J.K. Simmons). 'The Egyptian' is Anwar El-Abrahimi (Omar Metwally), a chemical engineer of Egyptian descent who's been living in Chicago for years, with a wife (Reese Witherspoon) and son and another baby on the way. But Whitman doesn't care about that; Anwar's phone has been receiving calls from a number linked to a known terrorist, so after a conference which sees him flying back to Chicago he's plucked from his flight, hooded and bound and taken to an unnamed North African country, where the head of the local intelligence branch, Abasi (Igal Naor), will try to crack him. CIA field paper-pusher Doug Freeman (Jake Gyllenhaal) is there to observe, not to apply the electric shocks or pour the water until Anwar can't breathe or hurl him naked and shivering into a too-small cell -- because, hey, America doesn't do that stuff. But, through the Clinton-created, Bush-approved invention of 'Extraordinary Rendition," we can ask other people to do it, and pay them to do it, and make all the arrangements to have it happen. ... Anwar's suffering will stop when he tells what he knows. But what if he doesn't know anything?

Deficit drops you directly into a day in the life of an upper-class, college-aged brat in a posh suburban neighborhood outside of Mexico City. Gael Garcia Bernal directs, as well as stars as the main character, Cristobal, and as the film opens we see him driving over rundown streets with a friend, a quizzical expression on his face, giving off the vibe that we're about to enter some kind of crime drama. In a way, we are -- there are hints and accusations peppered throughout that perhaps Cristobal's father is some kind of drug lord, but Bernal isn't interested in bringing these things to the forefront. Instead, he confines any possible backstory to the whispers of the servants, who are both frightened of their employers and in awe of them. One of them, Anan, a dark-skinned Mexican of Indian descent played by Tenoch Huerta Mejia, is propped up as something of a rival to Cristobal even though they are worlds apart. He endures racist snickering and even slurs by the houseguests and zeroes in on one upper-class girl who has captured his attention.

While Anan is pining away and seething at his own poverty, Cristobal is suffering from a more lightweight concern -- his girlfriend, Mafer (Ana Serradilla) is on her way to the pool party, but has gotten lost and needs precise directions in order to get there. The problem is that Cristobal has met someone else at the party, Dolores (Luz Cipriota) and doesn't want Mafer showing up at all. There's a lot of comedy in this film, mixed in and surrounding the overall class tensions and underlying current of criminality, and it's to the credit of Bernal that it all meshes together so well. When dramatic events present themselves, such as Cristobal's receiving a rejection letter from Harvard in the mail, the film doesn't linger on them or turn them into grist for a debate or an argument, it simply acknowledges and moves on. As I watched Deficit at a recent screening, I noticed the audience members paying very close attention, undoubtedly because they had no idea where this film was going but were intrigued by the possibilities.

The best possible signpost to what kind of movie you're in for comes early in Flash Point, when Donnie Yen's hard-bitten cop Jun Ma is standing before the equivalent of Internal Affairs or some other review board. Apparently, one of Jun's more recent busts resulted in a perp with " ... three fractured ribs, a broken hip ... and anosmia. ..." It only took a second to translate the subtitled medical jargon and have it sink in: Donnie Yen hits melonfarmers so hard he slaps the very sense of smell out of their heads.

And after seeing Yen in action, you believe that; hell, you're amazed anyone he slugs even has a nervous system left. Yen choreographed the action in Flash Point for director Wilson Yip, and the Toronto Midnight Madness premier of Flash Point saw Midnight Madness program head Colin Geddes reading an e-mailed manifesto from Yen about how he's enthusiastically moving towards using 'Mixed Martial Arts" for better, stronger, faster fight scenes. I don't know what, exactly, 'Mixed Martial Arts" means, but having seen it, I know I like it. A lot.

Yen's one of a group of cops trying to take down a bloodthirsty band of Vietnamese 'brothers' led by crazy-mean Tony (Colin Chow) with the brutal-crazy Tiger (Xing Yu) as their enforcer in pre-handover Hong Kong; his partner Wilson (Louis Koo) is undercover with the group already. And the fun of Flash Point isn't in the plot, which is just a return to the classic Hong Kong action Woo-niverse of cops and crooks and conflicted undercover agents. It's in the fighting.

Diana (Evan Rachel Wood) and Maureen (Eva Amurri) are two average high-school students, chatting and killing time in the girl's bathroom one day when their conversation is interrupted by a noise from way off in the distance. It sounds like a bundle of firecrackers being set off, and causes them to quickly shut up and perk up their ears. The sounds are repeated, closer and louder, and before they have time to react to what is happening the bathroom door bursts open and a troubled, wild-eyed student is suddenly walking toward them, pointing a machine gun. This is the opening of In Bloom, the new, much-anticipated film from Vadim Perelman, director of House of Sand and Fog and the upcoming Angelina Jolie film, Atlas Shrugged. Based on Laura Kasischke's novel The Life Before Her Eyes, In Bloom follows two parallel timelines: one that begins in the weeks preceding that opening scene and one that jumps ahead a good fifteen years, focusing on a much-changed Diana, now being played by a jumpy and tense Uma Thurman.

The exact timeline of the film is left murky, with the scenes featuring Young Diana no different, stylistically, than the 'present day' scenes. Young Diana doesn't appear at all to be living in the past, and Older Diana doesn't inhabit any kind of futuristic world. It's a somewhat puzzling, but acceptable dramatic choice for Perelman to make, and he presses the intimate connection between the two timeframes by aggressively juxtaposing them. Scenes in Young Diana's world sometimes have a duration of only a few seconds, before we cut back to Older Diana's world for a few more seconds, and so on. Older Diana is an average teacher with a husband and an emotionally troubled daughter, but she still focuses much of her energy on replaying that day in her mind over and over, torturing herself for some reason that's unknown to us. Until the closing moments, Perelman chooses to hide from us exactly what happened in that bathroom, although it's not much of a mystery. I had already written the correct answer in my notes fifteen minutes into the film.

Lust, Caution is a great festival film; it's lush and long and loaded. It's also a bad festival film; I want to go back to it and think about it more, as if it were too delicate or intricate to be understood with the snap judgments and quick appraisals a festival can make you turn to at first resort. Like director Ang Lee's prior film, Brokeback Mountain, Lust, Caution takes a brisk, brief short story (Se, Jei by Eileen Chang) and makes it fill the screen, with plenty of room for visual rapture and strong performances -- and some space for doubts and questions to seep in, with a distant whisper of controversy about sex (for the R-rated Brokeback, over gay themes and characters; for the NC-17-rated Lust, over explicit straight sex) at the edge of hearing.

In wartime Shanghai, Mrs. Mak (Tang Wei) enters a parlor and travels to another world. She plays Mah-Jong with idle, wealthy women (who live in constant danger, in the middle of squalor) and slowly, carefully, carries out the steps in a plan to meet her lover, Mr. Yee (Tony Leung) -- husband to Mrs. Yee (Joan Chen), collaborator in service to the occupying Japanese, torturer. But Mrs. Mak's actions don't speak in the warm close whispers of a lover, but rather in the brittle conspiratorial tones of a criminal. ...

Because she is not Mrs. Mak; she is Wong Chia Chi, and she has been on a four-year journey to meet with Mr. Yee and be his lover. Until some later point, when he can be killed. Lust, Caution revolves around a plot, like a thriller, and we try to read it like that; but it also revolves around character and nature, like a drama, and we see it through that perspective. The movie -- and the audience -- jumps from intimate drama to glossy thrills.

The directing debut of Helen Hunt gets a passing grade, barely -- the story she's telling is as old as the hills, but Then She Found Me is still executed with style. Sometimes charming, occasionally funny, it never draws attention to itself as the work of a director with training wheels on. The film follows the journey of April Epner (Helen Hunt) a 39 year-old woman who is inexplicably marrying a man named Ben (Matthew Broderick) who is so inconsiderate and self-absorbed that no woman could find him to be primo marriage material. Just as they begin to realize their mistake, April gets the shock of a lifetime: her birth mother shows up and informs her that her real father was Steve McQueen. I kind of liked that premise and hoped the movie would go with it, but it turns out to be just a gag. April's mother, played well by Bette Midler, has a couple of screws loose. More to the point, she has a couple of screws loose when it's convenient, and provides sage and sound advice at other times.

Colin Firth co-stars as April's love interest, an emotionally volatile man with a kid who happens to be in the same school where April teaches, which leads to the kind of scene where the teacher is red-faced by having the kid notice that she is having a 'sleep over' with the father. Firth's character, Frank, tries hard to start up a relationship with April and aggressively pushes her onto his kids, but naturally he isn't very understanding of the fact that she's still seeing her almost-husband on the side, here and there. Usually, a romantic comedy of this type would set up the love triangle but make it more or less clear from the start who is going to win out and who isn't, so Then She Found Me deserves some credit for going a more complicated route and portraying all of these characters as seriously flawed. Frank, for instance, is prone to yelling and storming around in an absolute rage, which is never a good sign. Ben is worse, having nothing whatsoever going on in his life.

Many people may have done more for independent film -- producers who funded groundbreaking work, directors who brought crowds to theaters with groundbreaking work, pioneers who paved the way -- but, looking at the career of writer-director John Sayles, it's hard to think of anyone who's done more with independent film. Each of Sayles's movies is different , yet they all revolve around his central concerns -- life, morality, the struggles and rewards of life in America. His new film, Honeydripper, debuts at this year's Toronto International Film Festival -- a completely independent "rock and roll fable" about the birth of rock and roll, set in an Alabama juke joint in 1950. Sayles spoke with Cinematical in Toronto about re-creating the distant past on a shoestring budget, how he found young guitar man Gary Clark, Jr. , working with Danny Glover and Charles S. Dutton and recommended specific records where you, too, can hear the sound of rock and roll being born. You can listen directly here at Cinematical by clicking below:



You can also download the interview right here.

It was at last year's TIFF that Brian De Palma was approached by the guys from HDNet, who made him their 'five million' offer -- we'll give you five million dollars to make any film you want. The film he decided to make was, surprisingly, one he's already made -- 1989's Casualties of War. Redacted tells the same story, of a company of Army grunts who take part -- some willingly, some reluctantly -- in the rape and murder of a young girl. The key difference is that De Palma adopts what I can only describe as a 'bloggy' style to film his movie, instead of using traditional dramatic techniques. We frequently get plot points delivered to us via suspiciously Youtube-like video screens, we watch video letters from the troops to their loved ones back home and vice versa, and most importantly, we see through a home video camera being used by one of the main characters, Angel Salazar (Izzy Diaz.) Salazar is a grunt who plans to attach his documentary war footage to his application for film school after he returns home.

Those who go to Redacted looking for the traditional quirks of De Palma will probably not be disappointed; in addition to the video screens that recall the director's obsession with split-screen, there are also several panoramic shots that echo earlier films like The Untouchables, with one in particular standing out. The camera is placed in the inside of an Iraqi car that is approaching a U.S. military checkpoint, more or less up against the windshield, and as it turns and swerves through the curves of the checkpoint, we see the increasingly agitated faces of the soldiers – agitated because this car is not stopping. All good stuff, but the film has other peculiarities that aren't so successful, such as a decision to add unnecessary subtitles to some sections, and to more or less dump the main narrative in the closing moments in favor of showing stills of dead Iraqis. Even though these stills are explicitly titled as being authentic, during a Q&A after a screening here at TIFF, one of the producers acknowledged that some of them were created by De Palma's team.

In Reservation Road, Mark Ruffalo plays Dwight --a divorced lawyer drifting through life who accidentally strikes and kills a young boy with his SUV one night -- and drives away, leaving shattered lives in his wake. Ruffalo's performance is careful and yet raw, sincere and complex -- and his work opposite Joaquin Phoenix (who plays the father bereaved by Dwight's accident) has riveting power. Ruffalo spoke with Cinematical in Toronto about tackling tough characters, working opposite Phoenix and his character's love of the Red Sox. You can listen directly here at Cinematical by clicking below:



You can download the entire interview right here.