We’re at the midpoint of the Mill Valley Film Festival and this is where I jump in. Having made the trek from Los Angeles to join in our coverage of the festival, I’ve been immediately greeted with colorful fall trees and some compelling film viewing.  I was lucky enough to catch Whiplash, an intense and (literally) rhythmic film, that kicked off my first Mill Valley Film Festival experience with some serious energy. But like the tree covered hills surrounding this quaint town, the festival continues to show it’s versatility with unpredictably high highs, and deep and somber lows. Stay tuned for the rest of the week as Bernard and I team up to give you more coverage from Mill Valley!

Out in the Bush

[Ananda]

There’s a luxurious feeling associated with watching a matinee on a Wednesday. And after Whiplash’s intensity I was ready to relax with Charlie’s Country. Starring David Gulpilil — a man known as much for his eccentric outback lifestyle as his straightforward acting approach in such films as Walkabout, The Last Wave, and Rabbit-Proof Fence — the Un Certain Regard acting award at Cannes was presented this year to Gulpilil for his performance. While Charlie’s Country is indeed a quiet sort of film, with many gorgeous vistas of the Australian outback, it is anything but calming, providing a distressing depiction of life for the “Blackfellas” of Australia, stuck living at the hands of white law enforcement who essentially introduced the traps the Aboriginal people now fall into: drugs and alcohol.

Fed up when a police officer takes away the hunting spear he’s crafted in order to stave off the starvation threatening him, Charlie heads into the bush to live as his ancestors did. When the relentless rain of the bush makes him ill, he’s forced into medical attention at the city hospital, and is then sucked into life with the Aboriginals there, drinking and smoking and wasting the money he has. Eventually he ends up in jail and has the last of his freedoms stripped, including his identity as they shave his iconic white curls and beard.

The film is not without hope, and director Rolf de Heer steers Charlie back to his homeland and back to the roots he values. Charlie’s Country ambles through this moment of Charlie’s life, lingering on Charlie and his tendency to quietly watch what’s happening around him, the confusion of the injustice he endures reflected in his glassy eyes back at the audience. The film has many funny moments, and was based largely off Gulpilil’s own experiences and life, but its lasting impression is a somber reminder of the way mankind creates its own problems and punishes others for them.

Holding Out for An Anti-Hero

[Ananda]

Charlie’s Country provided the sort of introspection that a well-performed mirror-on-society film can, and it put me in a pensive place. Then Nightcrawler came and jerked me right out of my revery.

Led in full force by a sinewy Jake Gyllenhaal, Dan Gilroy’s directorial debut shocks the system, pulling its viewers down into the underbelly of LA’s late night crime journalism world. Almost more villain than anti-hero, Gyllenhaal plays Lou Bloom, an intrepid but aimless young man whose every bit of diction sounds like the worst of self-help book drivel. What is it about a sociopath that makes them so easy to love? Perhaps because their lack of emotion is so easy to interpret as naiveté?

When Bloom happens across a crime scene one night, he first encounters the audacious and questionable freelance video journalists of Los Angeles. Those who listen to police scanners and roam the streets of LA late at night looking for whatever crime scene will be juiciest to sell to the blood-hungry morning news outlets. Bloom decides to try his hand at it, and as a fast learner he only pushes the boundaries further and further in his relentless pursuit of whatever angle is grisliest. But Bloom’s entrepreneurial spirit knows no bounds, and his ambition drives him beyond the level of the crime he captures on camera.

Gilroy proves a surprisingly astute director, his writing experience translating to engaging characters in all their depraved and unethical glory. Full of noir-ish atmosphere, the film has just enough wickedness to seem fantastical. And thank goodness, or this LA lady might have a hard time ever leaving her house at night again.

The Race-Relations Do-Si-Do

[Bernard]

While Ananda was a few miles down the road in Corte Madera watching the unsettling Nightcrawler, I was in San Rafael, where I was equally unsettled, but in a different way. A custody drama between a white family and a black family that left me perplexed and mildly offended, Black and White, directed by Mike Binder, fumbles its messaging on black stereotypes and white guilt and sullies things even further with inexplicable outbursts of gag comedy. My face was in perpetual “cringe mode”, as at times I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing.

Kevin Costner (who also starred in the ultimate white-guilt fantasy, Dances With Wolves), stars as drunk, rich widower Elliot, who lives in LA. When we meet him his wife’s just died in a car accident, and his daughter died a few years prior giving birth to his granddaughter, Eloise (Jillian Estelle). Fighting Elliot over custody of Eloise is her grandmother (Octavia Spencer) and her absentee, drug-addicted dad, who use Elliot’s racist-ish tendencies and his alcohol abuse as leverage in the case.

Binder on the red carpet

A few things about this film rub me the wrong way. For one, despite the seriousness of the themes and subject matter, the film will throw a random, silly joke in your face that feels tonally inappropriate, frankly. There’s a running joke in the film involving Eloise’s nerdy math tutor handing people essays he’s written on an impossible number of subjects. When he’s on the witness stand, he pulls out an essay and hands it to the judge, evoking a hearty laugh. Seemingly moments later, we see Elliot half-apologetically explaining why he called Eloise’s father a “street nigger”. This ping-ponging from comedy to racial drama is incredibly uncomfortable, making the film is an awkward example of white ignorance.

Like a lost relic from the French New Wave, A Coffee in Berlin dazzles with its melancholic black-and-white imagery and a jazzy soundtrack in line with Woody Allen’s New York ballads, following law school dropout Niko Fischer (Tom Schilling) as he hops from one peculiar encounter to another across the city he’s been stumbling through all his life. The film swept the German Oscars last year, and with it now finding U.S. distribution, we’re finally treated to its modest pleasures.

In his debut picture, Jan Ole Gerster tells an absorbing day-in-the-life story of a young man adrift in a sea of Generation Y wooziness. The film opens with scruffy Niko and his short-haired girlfriend breaking up in her bedroom. She asks him out to coffee, but he declines, claiming to have “a million things to do.” He’s barely trying. He’s got nothing to do. She knows it, he knows it, we know it. The scene ends, and Niko’s fatal flaw is revealed: he’s got no energy to commit to anything, even a beautiful girl shooting him flirty smiles in an unmade bed. He’s a sleepy fellow who believes he’s got nothing to offer the world.

The scene aesthetically recalls Breathless, but Niko is no Michel. He’s got no vigor, no drive to take what he wants, when he wants it. His license is taken away due to drunk driving, his daddy cuts off his allowance (which he’s been living on), and he even resorts to nicking change from a sleeping bum’s tip cup. That is, before a disapproving passerby catches him in the act. It’s a wonderfully funny scene, and most of the film’s humor stems from the unlucky Niko getting beat up by the universe.

Schilling is super-cool in his black leather jacket and button-down shirt. His a performance predicated on disconnection with the world, and yet he’s completely likable and relatable. There’s never any oomph given to the lines he delivers, because that’s what the role dictates. And yet, we listen closely to every word because we know he’s on a journey. He’s a nobody on his way to becoming somebody, and we want so badly for that somebody to break through his carefree veneer. His slow transformation from drifter into searcher is gripping.

The black-and-white aesthetic was a wise choice by Gerster, reflecting Niko’s state of mind while painting a beautifully dark, shadowy portrait of Berlin. There’s something about the combination of B&W images and piano music that fits so perfectly. Maybe it’s their shared percussive nature, or their ability to highlight the skeletal beauty of the art they bring to life. Or maybe it’s the color of the ivory keys that come to mind. Whatever it is, the sweet combination makes A Coffee in Berlin a pleasure to drink in, sip by luscious sip.

The film’s structure is simple but enjoyable, with Niko running into someone, having a weird conversation with them, then leaving equally befuddled and contemplative. From a creepy upstairs neighbor who offers Niko his wife’s meatballs to a girl named Julika who’s crush on and grudge against Niko have endured since they were kids, every encounter is interesting and well-written. There are some moments of tragedy and drama peppered throughout, but they’re half as affective as the moments of awkward hilarity. (The most poignant encounter is a short, simple one in which Niko tries out an elderly woman’s electric recliner.)

Least successful of all scenes is the film’s finale, sadly, which leaves a sour taste. Niko is joined at the bar by an old man who shares a sorry tale from his childhood about broken glass and bicycles. It’s all very reminiscent of one of Tom Waits’ earlier bar ballads, with the old man drunkenly stumbling through his story. The scene ultimately feels regrettably manipulative not in tune with the rest of the picture, which never begs for your attention. It’s like a street performer desperately shoving his tip jar in your face after a great performance: We would have offered up our money anyway, but now you’ve killed the mood. Still, A Coffee in Berlin is a largely enjoyable, understated picture that will tickle those with a taste for DIY indies and the French New Wave.

A Coffee in Berlin trailer

The Artist is a silent black-and-white film by French director Michel Hazanavicius that is easily the most entertaining film of 2011. Essentially, it is a silent film about silent films. The film benefits from being made in modern times in that it gets to toy with it’s self-aware silent self, unlike the era of films it pays tribute to, with occasional sounds here and there. Most people who are passionate about films will have fun with The Artist.

In the year 1927 silent films are what made up Hollywoodland and George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) dominated the screens. Always by his side are his loyal dog and longtime producer Al Zimmer (John Goodman). His latest film was a smashing hit and during a public photo shoot for it, a lady from the crowd bumps into him that catches his eye. The next morning photos of the two together are on newspapers, overnight a star is born.

Her name is Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), a name that will soon be as big as George Valentin’s in Hollywood. She tries out to be a dancer in his next film and he grants her that role. George would have never guessed that by giving Peppy her first break that she would soon surpass him in fame, but she does.

His producer Al from the film studio he works at informs him that they are switching to the future, talking films. It is a future George does not want to be a part of, he believes it is just a fad. Peppy rises to fame as a talkie while the silent era is quickly diminishing leaving George without a job.

To make the situation worse, the Great Depression hits so the money he is living off from his previous success is now gone. He auctions off all of his valuables, the auctioneer says, “Congratulations! It’s all sold, you’ve got nothing left!” Nothing left is right, wife leaves him and he has to down-size to a studio apartment. It occurs to him one day that he has not paid his butler (Ed Lauter) in over a year, so he is forced to make the hard decision to fire him.

The scene that stood out to me the most is when his wife was leaving him because he would not talk to his wife. It was a metaphor for him not conforming as a talkie film actor. And on similar note, another stand out scene is when he had a dream that he was no longer able to speak, he knows that he belongs in the silent era.

Peppy knows that she would not be a star without George. She not only respects him but has always had a romantic connection to him as well. With George going through a riches-to-rags scenario that turns him on the bottle, will she still have the same feelings she once had about him? When you are at the top, it is hard to see the people at the bottom.

Jean Dujardin was the perfect lead for The Artist. He has the face and body language that silent films demand. In this film, his role required him to be charming, funny, prideful, sad and angry without the luxury of speaking. So it was well deserved when Dujardin won best actor at Cannes 2011.

The Oscar nominations will be announced tomorrow but the buzz around the internet is The Artist has a great chance for the top prize of Best Picture. I would not be surprised if it also won Best Original Screenplay and Best Original Score. Also, if animals could win, I think the dog would have a good chance for Best Supporting…Animal.

The Artist proves that a film does not have to have words in order to achieve greatness. When done correctly as in this case, silence can be just as engaging and rewarding as speech is. Similar to a good foreign film when you forget you are reading subtitles, you will likely be so enthralled with the film to notice there is no audible dialogue.