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When a powerful village tribe learns Mukhtaran’s 12-year-old brother is having an affair with one of its girls, he is accused of rape. The boy is beaten up and raped himself, but his sister’s honor is also demanded as reparation. The 30-year-old Mukhtaran is handed over by her father and uncle to the tribe, who abuse her as the whole village watches.

Instead of committing suicide, as she is expected to do, the young veiled woman insists on reporting her rape to the police many miles away. Yet they do nothing — until she involves a local cleric.

Eventually her tormentors are arrested and put on trial. When the New York Times and human rights groups pick up the story, she is vaulted to international fame.

By shooting over a five-year period, Naqvi was able to incorporate unexpected developments that add weight to the tale. With the aid of the government and private donations, Mukhtaran defies expectations that she would leave to make a new start somewhere else, and instead opens the first schools in her village. But when she is invited to conferences abroad, Pakistani officialdom gets cold feet and begins reining her in.

Shocking and heartwarming by turns, Mukhtaran’s story unfolds into complexities– from cultural clashes with the West to neighborhood jealousy at her success — that Naqvi, a Canadian of Pakistani descent, ably explores. Only caveat for non-TV screening is the irritating overlay of names of people and places, which feel redundant on the bigscreen.

(Originally posted on 11/28/03)

Like his stunning debut feature

Amores Perros

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21 Grams

concerns a group of strangers from differing socio-economic backgrounds brought together by tragedy. Shot with grainy, washed-out splendor by cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto, the film is a solemn case study of sorrow, tracing the fateful events that ensnare a dying mathematician, a distraught widow, and a born again ex-con in a web of suffering, regret, and salvation.

21 Grams

' title refers to the weight a body loses at the moment of death, and Iñárritu's film attempts to assess the impact and magnitude of grief by intently focusing on these three irreparably scarred people. The film employs a time-hopping narrative that shrewdly reflects the characters' shattered lives, although as the story plays out, one also begins to sense that this construction may be merely a way for the director to spruce up his otherwise straightforward melodrama. Nonetheless, the film is salvaged (or, better yet, redeemed) by its remarkable lead performances. Sean Penn and Benicio Del Toro conduct a master class in conveying blistering pent-up rage, and Naomi Watts is fiercely mesmerizing as a shell-shocked woman staring unblinkingly into the abyss. Iñárritu's mise-en-scène is beautifully scraggly (if occasionally monotonous), and his razor sharp editing — such as when he cuts from a close-up of a sizzling light bulb to Watts snorting cocaine — gives the material its brooding, slow-burn energy. The film tends to go overboard with the obvious religious symbolism — Del Toro's Jesus truck is a bit much- - but the performances, by and large, outweigh the film's unnecessary metaphorical gunk.

21 Grams

mournfully cloaks its characters in a shroud of emotional and psychological torment, and achieves its gut-wrenching apogee of misery courtesy of Watts, who incisively verbalizes that dreadful feeling one gets upon confronting an irreversible, inconsolable loss by wailing "I'm a fucking amputee."

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Director Darren Aronofsky, fortunately, is addicted to images.

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Sara Goldfarb is a lonely woman who has a junkie son and whose closest
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The entire cast is extraordinary. Jared Leto is Sara’s wraithlike son,
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There is no doubt of Aronofsky’s talent — he made the Sundance winner “Pi”
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All the phonies, forgers, gossips and snobs in the world seem to have gathered under Rudolph’s fabricated Eiffel Tower. But mostly they only fool themselves in this comedy of self-deception, in which the director, likewise, feints and parodies. He creates a smoke screen of his own, relying on mood and music to hide his weakness as a storyteller. His scripts are only departure points for his moving canvases in blues and noir.

Should the critics quibble with the technique, Rudolph slaps back in advance. In “The Moderns,” celebrity art forger David Stein plays an art

critic who stupidly condemns a real Ce’zanne to the fire and thereby authenticates a copy by the movie’s hero. Keith Carradine plays this struggling painter Hart, who makes ends meet as a caricaturist. He’s a Rudolph favorite, the hard-boiled archetype — Bogart with a BFA, detached as the soles on a gumshoe.

He dawdles at his favorite cafe’, doodling Ravel and Hemingway. The pretense is as dense as the Gauloise smoke and the sound of the French rolling r’s. Hart is amused when he sees a woman with cocktail eyes. Unlike the traditional noir hero, who wouldn’t take off his trench coat, even in bed, Hart can’t wait to fall in love with Rachel Stone. But Rachel, played by sultry Linda Fiorentino, is a married woman, with a dangerous husband, Bertram, a prophylactics manufacturer who calls himself a rubber baron.

John Lone, fresh from the “The Last Emperor,” is only a curiosity as Bertram Stone. He’s never remotely real in his broad performance, a parody of oriental inscrutability, a nouveau riche Fu Manchu who tries to buy acceptance with an art collection. He already owns Rachel, lock, stock and cloche hat. But you can’t buy love — the cliche’ around which this ambitious allegory wheels.

Luckily the love triangle is a sturdy structure. Of all the plots in all the world, it’s the least apt to collapse under a ton of subtext. Rudolph must know that, for he plays the angles over and over. Here, Hart defies Stone, hoping to wean Rachel of her dependency on her rich husband. In “Trouble in Mind,” it was Hawk springing Georgia from her possessive husband Coop (Carradine again), and in “Choose Me,” Mickey (also Carradine) was torn between Eve and Dr. Love.

Along with a passion for name games and apposition, Rudolph has an anorexic’s taste in actors. He likes them lanky like Carradine and painfully thin like Geraldine Chaplin and Genevieve Bujold, Rudolph regulars who play a rich divorce’e and a gallery owner here. Even the “Moderns” poster, painted by Carradine, is skinny. And there’s cinematographer Toyomichi Kurita scaling the hero’s angular profile as lovingly as a rock climber. Carradine has a fine strong face, golden and Lincolnesque, yes. But given this expedition for truth, shouldn’t Rudolph know that beauty is only skin deep?

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And then like a miraculous Muppet with a gumball head, along comes roly-poly Wallace Shawn to steal the show from the lean cuisine. He’s like the dot on the exclamation point as the excitable, erudite, witty Oiseau (the bird). He’s a gossip columnist whose chummy little lies appear with Hart’s caricatures in the Paris edition of the Chicago Tribune. “Everyone hates repeating gossip. But what else is there to do with it?” he notes. With insights to spare, Oiseau is forever helping Hemingway work out the kinks in his similes. “Paris is like a … a portable banquet,” says Hemingway, a sort of brilliant clod irreverently played by Kevin O’Connor, who turned what was originally a three-line part into an integral role.

Other celebrities of the day mingle among the movie’s characters — Ravel in the men’s room, an imperious Gertrude Stein (Elsa Raven) at her salon. Rudolph, who cowrote the script with the late Jon Bradshaw, cleverly lampoons Stein in her own style, while happily mangling Hemingway. The appropriate, powerful musical score talks back too. “Dada, dada, dada, dada Je suis,” sings the cafe’’s resident composer, just when things are making the least sense to the hero.

That’s “The Moderns” at its best — an ingenuous mix of sight, sound and snappy repartee — just as you’d imagine it in a Left Bank cafe’. At its worst, it’s an inconclusive display of cryptic virtuosity, as when the fakir “Bertie” (sounds like “birdie”) rises from a grave earmarked for the faker Oiseau. It’s another of Rudolph’s cosmic true or false questions for which he provides no answers.

“The Moderns,” like his other films, seeks the balance between the opposites but never, when all is said and done, comes up with anything more profound than good over evil and boy gets girl. The end is straight from the heart of the MGM lion. “Paris is a parody of itself,” says Oiseau, proclaiming the new mecca of hip Hollywood, where the happy endings come from. And that’s the truth, isn’t it?

“The Moderns” is not rated, but has adult content.

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Nausica Of The Valley Of The Wind

DVD


Animation

Written by Paper money Warren

Tuesday, 22 February 2005

title:


Nausicaä Of The Valley Of The Wind



studio:

Walt Disney Tranquil Entertainment

MPAA rating:

PG

starring (voices):

Allison
Lohman, Uma Thurman, Edward James Olmos, Shia LaBeouf, Patrick Stewart,
Chris Sarandon, Brand Hamill; Japanese version: Sumi Shimamoto, Gorö
Naya, Ichirö Nagai, Yöji Matsuda

principal-writer:

Hayao Miyazaki

videotape put out year:

1984

DVD release year:

2005

photograph rating:

Four Stars

sound/picture rating:

Four and a Half Stars

reviewed by:

Bill Warren

“Anime”—Japanese animation—began making itself known in the U.S. about
twenty years ago, but for a long outdated, it was a proud and lonely thing
to be an Anime fan. “Akira” made something of a splash, but most
Americans were uncomfortable with its limited spiritedness (but self-willed
visual style), violence and pack of jolly similar-looking teenagers. And
then came Hayao Miyazaki. Gradually not to beat about the bush spread that this marked
director was as different from other Japanese anime as anime was from
Disney-style animation. He was a fresh breeze in the enlivened
landscape. But his movies were hard to find on video in the U.S.

His “The Hall of Cagliostro” (1979) got him some notification this side of
the Atlantic, but then there was a big, long pause, interrupted by
synopsis sightings of some of his other movies. And then came “Princess
Mononoke” (1997), given A-list treatment by its American distributor,
even including a starry voice pitch. That set something away. A given of the
handful admirable corporate decisions the Disney crowd made in this
patch was to grab as profuse of Miyazaki’s movies as feasible, including
his first, “Kaze no tani no Naushika.”

It has been retitled “Nausicaä of the Valley of the Winds” and presupposed
classy treatment in this two-disc DVD deliver. One of the discs
includes the feature itself, presented in a 1.85:1 outlook relationship, with
non-compulsory English dialog track—again with the voices of prominent actors
including Patrick Stewart, Alison Lohman, Uma Thurman and Edward James
Olmos. The Japanese track is also close by, as are, curiously, two
dissimilar subtitle tracks. (The two are from different translations;
only track seems to be against the hearing-impaired, while the other is for
what superiority be called the Japanese-impaired.)

As usual with Miyazaki, he presents a full-blown, carefully-designed
and original mythology and physical setting for his sloppy,
undertaking-filled and slightly Hudibrastic tale. It’s a thousand years after
atomic war laid waste to World; people survive lone in small enclaves,
usually in valleys. The rest of the planet is partly desert, partly
covered by a “toxic forest” (called the Gobs of Diminish in joined of the
subtitle tracks), and the forest is marked with leviathan insects.

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Nausicaä (Alison Lohman) herself is a princess from the Valley of the
Winds; she’s master at flying on a stingy persevere-glider, and loves to
drift the scene beyond the Valley. She’s kindly with wandering
warrior-shaman Jesus Yupa (Patrick Stewart), and one lifetime helps him
escape the hill-sized, multi-eyed Ormus, one of the insect tribes. The
Valley of the Winds is untroubled but always on protection against the
encroaching toxic jungle—and against other human groups.

Everybody, the Tolmekians, are led by metal-armed Kushana (Uma Thurman) and
deformed, weary warrior Kurotawa (Chris Sarandon). Their giant planes land
in the peacefull valley and the Tolmekian warriors kill Nausicaä’s
forefather, the King. But Yupa and Nausicaä prevent further killing and
agree to usher Kushana and Kurotawa deny to their land, traveling
in their enormous airplanes. (Miayazaki is an aircraft buff.)

But the Pejite, a third group of human survivors attacks, cardinal to a
forced landing by some in the toxic jungle. Asbel (Shia LaBeouf), the
steer who shot down most of the planes, and Nausicaä are laboured to fashion
together to survive the dangers and mystery of the jungle. There is a
purloin-snorting crossroads of hundreds of the stupendous insects thundering across
the desert, heading as a service to the Valley of the Winds.

As old with Miyazaki, many things are not what they at the start appear to
be, and enemies can become allies when viewed with the cancel
information. Also as usual, the central character is a plucky,
become enthusiastic-hearted young woman, Nausicaä; she seems to be a young lady, and
while she’s the bravest of the sort, she’s still altogether a girl.

This is so breathtakingly different from what is seen in stanchion
American movies that at times Miayazki seems to own come from
somewhere a lot depth away than Japan—love another galaxy. American
movies keep an eye on to justify in the interest of their heroines; if they’re tough, they’re
not loving; if they’re mushy, they’re also disdainful (even cynical).
But in Miyazaki’s big-diminish adventures, and monotonous the smaller-proportion ones
like “Kiki’s Delivery Checking,” his heroines run the stage and yet have
the virtues we associate at bottom with women.

And his movies are beautiful. They’re as strongly designed as other
anime, but are on a bigger scale, with vast landscapes; the colors are
famously-coordinated pastels, and most of the images are broad and open,
unlike the toothed, cramped images often seen in other anime.

His movies are full of action but low on strong violence—not that they
are not disquieting at times. The charge of the ogre boar that opens
“Princess Mononoke” is shocking; here, a “colossus warrior” from the often
of the nuclear wars is used to affray the oncoming ogre insects—while
its own flesh is sloughing in error in thick, mudlike folds. It’s not
realistic, but it’s so grotesque that it’s hard to watch.

As with “Princess Mononoke,” there’s an environmental import
underlying “Nausicaä,” though it’s understated and subtle. Nausicaä
herself has learned that if the plants of the jungle are grown in
clean, uncontaminated soak and soil, they spend their toxic property. He
also features a cat-like creature, Nausicaä’s new pet; it plays no real
white part, but Miyazaki seems to equal to cats as much as he does
airplanes.

In additionally to a untarnished language of the cinema itself, this DVD set from
Disney also includes an interesting documentary dealing with the voice
pick of the American edition. This includes Lohman, Stewart, Thurman,
Olmos and Characteristic Hamill, and each of them has something
interesting—by surprising—to translate. There’s also a be made for
Japanese television about the history of Studio Ghibli (pr. jee-blee),
which was established by Miyazaki. “Nausicaä” was at most the first in an
amazing series of movies from this notable writer-director of spiritedness.
And the documentary itself, brisk, farcical and engrossing, is a adore
to watch.

The sec disc consists entirely of the storyboards concerning the quirk,
with sound effects and a voice track; the deviate can learn what scenes
were planned but hand out of the final cut.

Miyazaki’s vision as writer and vice-president is so clear and direct, with
few elements that tie it into the time when it was made, that as a substitute for
of outward 20 years old, “Nausicaä” is as most recent and welcoming as
tomorrow’s sunrise.

more details


sound looks:

THX, Dolby Digital

orientation ratio:

1.85:1, 16X9 enhanced

special features:

“Behind
the Microphone,” Storyboards, trailers, “The Birth Story of Studio
Ghiblil;” Free: English voice prints, Japanese declare track, two
English subtitle tracks

comments:

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We disposed with Lisa (Laura Regan) and her husband, Jamie Ashen (Ryan Kwanten) enjoying a continuously filled with romance and Chinese take-out. Their fun is interrupted by a rove at the door, where a inexplicable coffin-like box awaits. Inside is a beautifully crafted ventriloquist’s mannikin that seems harmless ample until Jamie returns from the food run to discover Lisa carved up to look like a puppet. After dealing with Detective Jim Lipton (Donnie Wahlberg), who suspects him of the murder, Jamie heads to his hometown of Raven’s Fair. Once there, he learns of the explanatory note of Mary Shaw, a ventriloquist who was killed, buried with her “children,” and just might be back from the dead to avenge those that have wronged her.

With a talented, atmospheric look, and high production values, this is a rare care of sum total the throngs of probable, boring hostility movies we see incomparably very much too much of. The overall chilling mood renders nearly all of the film’s shortcomings obsolete. With every dark, spooky setting, and wonderful use of emphatic audio tricks such as instantly disappearing ambient sound, we omit to the tiny-minded performances and slight show that surround them. Some of the acting is difficult to ignore, though, with Donnie Wahlberg playing after all another clichéd, genre movie detective, a job that he’s promptly being typecast in. Kwanten dominates the curtain time, but his contract for delivery is mostly wooden, without considering some flashes of potency greatness. The best performance actually comes from Laura Regan, who is playing a variation on Adrienne King’s brusque-lived (literally) character in Friday the 13th Part 2.

It’s too disappointing the variation ending can be seen coming a mile away, but the ending shot is creepy adequacy to pay for this forgivable. You can rather much bank on such a shocker in any and all of these non-organism-centric creep fests, but it’s verily rewarding when they engage it right. The cheese ball Mary Shaw concept is a intractable clerk, but director Wan avoids the many potential pitfalls associated with such a character. If Mary was given a high-systematized, squealy voice, or morphed into something other than a tall, old woman, so much of what works would be compromised. It’s amazing what a teeny notoriety to detail can do.

The thrills here are rather straightforward, but surprisingly effective, with chills tournament down my spine anytime they showed a “human dummy.” This is some spectacular effects stir, in a rare anyhow of a decent budget being used payment old-school makeup and blood effects instead of being wasted on generic CGI footage. While these aspects can’t to some elevate the ineffective script, they go a extended behaviour pattern into making what I thought would be a concluded waste of repeatedly into a truly winning, and, gamble I require, scary surprise, the likes of which we don’t get enough of from big studio horror films these days.