alexandra maria lara Tagged Articles at Cinematical
Review: Youth Without Youth
Filed under: Drama », New Releases », Sony Classics », Theatrical Reviews », New in Theaters »
A lot rides on Youth Without Youth, Francis Ford Coppola's twentieth feature film and his first after a ten-year absence from the director's chair. His last film was The Rainmaker (1997), an above average John Grisham thriller iced with good performances, although it was an unremarkable film for a man who once earned comparisons with a wunderkind like Orson Welles. I wish I could report that Youth Without Youth is a "comeback" of immense proportions and that Coppola had restored himself as a kind of genius auteur, but the film is far more difficult than that. In some ways, it's as unremarkable as The Rainmaker, but in other ways, it's far too astonishing and complex to be easily dismissed.
Coppola has always caused trouble for auteur critics. Obviously he made two of the greatest films of all time with The Godfather (1972) and The Godfather Part II (1974), and though I'm alone in this, I love The Godfather Part III (1990) equally. Also, we could easily add The Conversation (1974) and Apocalypse Now (1979) to the list of all-time greats. After that, it appears he took a fall, but continued to make interesting films. With a little coaxing, his canon can be divided up into a few neat categories. The masterworks have a kind of reckless intelligence, an uncanny mix of chaos and control. It could be argued that Rumble Fish (1983) and The Cotton Club (1984) belong in this category as well.
Review: Control
Filed under: Drama », Music & Musicals », New Releases », Theatrical Reviews », The Weinstein Co. », Cinematical Indie »
On May 18, 1980, Deborah Curtis walked into her kitchen and found her husband, Joy Division singer Ian Curtis, hanged to death. As depicted in Anton Corbijn's Control, his feature debut, the event is all hers, shot from a distance, outside, across the street. Not even their infant daughter is present, having been left out in the car for what was to be just a moment. And certainly we, the audience, aren't brought in to examine the body, as we might have by another film.
It makes sense, because Control is based on Deborah Curtis' book "Touching from a Distance" (she also produced the film), which has been adapted here by Matt Greenhalgh. The moment should be all hers; it was her loss more than anyone's, in many ways. And at least in the way he's portrayed in the film, Ian Curtis did it just to hurt her, and that's what he's done, and that's what is shown. Sure, he may have been tortured, or unstable or anything else that could defend such a selfish act as suicide, but here he's pretty much a coward who couldn't make up his mind nor face up to any decision he actually was able to make.
Control begins in 1973, when Ian Curtis (Sam Riley) is a bored teenager in Macclesfield, England, listening to Bowie, Roxy Music and Mott the Hoople as all the young dudes of '70s Britain should. Fitting with the glam music, he wears furs and eyeliner, but what makes the setting unsettling is how void of color it is. Yes, Control was shot in black and white, which is only initially strange if you associate the glam scene with anything but an achromatic palette. And it completely foreshadows the wan and ultimately neutral behavior the singer would exhibit throughout the rest of his short, should-have-been-vibrant life.
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