10 years in the making but only 52 minutes long’which, alongside its 4:3 screen ratio, makes it particularly television-friendly’this documentary takes us on a journey into the life Sue Chuter, wrestling fan extraordinaire, with tales of her first marriage and the birth, ten-year estrangement, reunion, and re-estrangement or her daughter. Oh, there’s a little about wrestling too.

Through Sue’s encounters with professional (and mostly American) wrestlers, we see both her devotion to the sport and its stars, and the surprising warmth of the wrestlers. When Sue makes a ten-week Mecca to the United States, Ex-wrestler and television presenter Jerry Lawler is gracious to the extreme, even pointing her out in the crowd before one wrestling match. Lovestruck is astonishing for its portrayal of those in the wrestling community as real, caring human beings.

Lovestruck’s focus on Sue and Spencer’s empathetic hand quiet echoes of the acclaimed, although overrated, 1999 wrestling documentary Beyond the Mat.

Clips of Melbourne’s own original wrestlers, filmed mostly by the late Vern Sundfors in the 1960s at Festival Hall, give background to Sue’s obsession, but their content is of use only to fans of the sport.

Mostly though, Lovestruck is anything but esoteric. Perhaps more might have been developed on a metaphorical level. Spencer called wrestling a great analogy for life in a pre-screening introduction; however, evidence of this fails to arise in the film. But complaints of the film’s insularity aside, Chuter and Spencer combine to create a solid, enjoyable documentary that never crosses into sentimentality.

The warning ‘Contains scenes that may offend some viewers’ is true enough. Some of a more sensitive disposition filed out of the theatre, probably not foreseeing in the innocently titled Edmond the sex, violence and racism to come. For all the darkness and hatred, the laughs are continuous, due in large part to the absurdity of Macy’s character and the situations he puts himself in. Despite all Edmond goes through, it’s his own fault and he doesn’t elicit much sympathy, if any.

With savage beatings, murder, prostitution, sodomy and bigotry, this film could be bit of a downer, but comedy is a great mood alleviant. Watching this otherwise harrowing film, you can only laugh or else be outraged.

As you would expect from David Mamet’s adaptation of his own stage play, Edmond is dialogue heavy. The writing is clever and acerbic with ladles full of awkwardness and tension. Director Stuart Gordon (Re-Animator) has created a straightforward film, one with style and character, managing to wring the most humour out of a situation without it becoming a farce. The whole cast is great: from Macy as Edmond, to Julia Stiles as the waitress and aspiring actress. Even Denise Richards is good.

Reminiscent of the Coen brothers’ Fargo, last year’s French black comedy The Ax and with even a small touch of American Psycho, Edmond will have you laughing and stunned in equal proportions.

Yep, they’re nerds. The funny thing is that they seem to know it, and even funnier, they don’t really seem to care. For a group of social outcasts, the inhabitants of the imaginary world of ‘Darkon’ (a sort of Warhammer board game fraught real life) are for the most part incredibly articulate, thoughtful, and entirely self-aware.

The people documented in Darkon deliver some oddly affecting monologues. From the overweight and self-declared nerd who confesses that he really doesn’t know how to talk to a girl to the slightly hapless Skip, who seeks to redress his failure to follow in his father’s career footsteps by funnelling his energy into his family and the escapist fantasies of the Darkon world, these characters might begin with our pity but ultimately they earn our understanding and empathy.

Structurally and stylistically Darkon is relatively sound, but never threatens to amaze us. In fact, in seeking to convey the intensity of the game’s ‘battles’ by placing the camera right in the midst of the fight, the film becomes a confused blur, a hodgepodge of images and sound.

This attempt at flair points to a greater deficiency on the whole’Darkon is, as are a great many documentaries, absolutely uncinematic. But this is not a fatal blow. Darkon is a film about human beings, and that’s no small thing’style would be merely icing on the cake.

And, strangely enough, sometimes, yeah, it is. Slavoj Zizek (Think Barry Jones on speed with a cleft palate. ActuallyÔøΩƒ∂no, don’t.) is something of a celebrity academic (possibly more for his personality than his teachings), specialising in sociology, philosophy and other topics I don’t pretend to understand. Regardless, he’s hysterically (and addictively) passionate about whatever he’s talking about. Not in a calm, wide-eyed David Attenborough-way either. He’s off the charts. Even his five-year-old son’s toys are not safe from analysis. Zisek explains that his son is ‘progressive’ because he has two ‘lesbian’ Lego women ruling the playroom.

Thankfully, there are some shallower offerings in here for the punters too, with plenty of catchy sound bites destined to plaster amateur reviews like this. Stuff like ‘Love is evil’ and ‘Vegetarians are degenerates.’ You believe him too. The film sometimes bogs itself down with its verbosity. But, hey, if you’re into that sort of stuff, you’ll probably be sweating with excitement.

Also, the short film Death of the Revolution, which would’ve been better had the lead child actor’s English accent not been so thick.

All right, I think I’ve suitably set up what we’re dealing with, as well as completely alienated my family, friends, potential employersÔøΩƒ∂

Sarah Silverman: Jesus Is Magic is basically a concert film; 70-odd-minutes of stand-up with five short musical numbers peppered throughout. And after (or ‘if’ÔøΩÔøΩthere were a few walkouts) you get through all the rude words, it’s actually all pretty ordinary. Which is a shame because, well, she’s just so pretty.

Remember when you first saw Delirious or Raw? Go watch them again. Every line hits. Still. ‘Offensive’ or not. Then go see this. It’s really weak. Could it have the same (albeit cult) success as either of those? No chance. I hope not. Kids today aren’t that stupid, are they?

I like to think I can appreciate a good bad taste joke. But the writing’s just not there. Maybe something’s lost in translation. Australians are pretty un-PC anyway. And we hang shit on different minorities than the US. Maybe it’s become harder to become tasteless. Maybe it’s just me. People were laughing. All throughout. Maybe it is me.

However, having said all that, Silverman’s pretty fearless as a performer. Her delivery and execution are spot on. She’s totally committed (or should be), putting herself out there and playing it all absolutely straight for the sake of the joke. She does really well. She’s just not very funny.

While Roky’s journey from 13th Floor Elevators rock idol to recluse is the ostensible focus of the film, You’re Gonna Miss Me is not standard music doco fare. Closer to Capturing the Friedmans than ‘Behind the Music’, the film revolves around three dysfunctional Erickson family members’Roky, Sumner and Evelyn. Evelyn sees the film as a chance to tell her side of the story, and to prove for the record that she’s a good mother. Sumner, the youngest of five brothers, wants legal guardianship of Roky to ensure he gets medical help. Roky, oblivious, turns every radio and TV in the house up as loud as possible and goes to sleep.

As the film unfolds, it becomes clear that psychosis is only one way of retreating from the world. Evelyn lives in her own delusions, believing yoga can cure Roky’s schizophrenia. She even scrawls her life story in child-like crayon on cardboard sheets in her living room. It’s because of Evelyn that Roky goes unmedicated for so long’she uses ‘Frasier’s’ Crane brothers and their lack of spiritual life to justify her distrust of psychiatry.

Evelyn’s manipulations feed family tensions until a final intervention. Built up resentments come to the fore. Compiled from fly-on-the-wall footage, interviews, home movies and archival shots, You’re Gonna Miss Me is, more than anything, a portrait of decay. And watching Roky deteriorate, it becomes clear that sometimes, there really is something to leaving a good-looking corpse.

The Minutemen never sought commercial success, nor did they receive it; but they exerted their innovative sound’a synthesis of punk, funkadelic riffs, mexicali rhythms, and even a touch of jazz’on a variety of bands, including Black Flag, Dinosaur Jnr, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Members from these bands extol the virtues of the Minutemen, providing amusing anecdotes.

The film moves between interviews filmed in 1985 (prior to Boon’s death) and most recent ones. Bassist Mike Watt provides the bulk of the commentary while haphazardly steering his van around the streets of San Pedro, Southern California. His laconic wit is a hit, although many of the anecdotes provided by George Hurley (drummer) and other artists reveal a hilarious revelation about the band. Apparently, a significant amount of time passed before the band tuned their instruments together’they were under the impression that some preferred their instruments to have looser or tighter strings’undoubtedly causing numerous pitch problems. There was no such discord between the members of the Minutemen.

There’s concert footage aplenty, highlighting the on-stage exuberance of D.Boon, as he jumped up and down on stage vigorously, despite his heavy-set build. There are shots of the rabid audience, initially hostile, coating the band members in spit, before convulsing to the music in a frenzied mass.

This film is for the Minutemen fans and punk enthusiasts. As a former punk enthusiast, I found the film entertaining, but those looking for an innovative approach to punk history should look (and look hard) elsewhere.

The film is told in ‘real time’, recreating from the beginning the hijackers’ start to the day, arrival at the airport, the take off, the nervous take over of the plane, through to the final upheaval at the hands of the passengers.

Cut in between the scenes on United 93 are scenes from Boston, New York and US air traffic headquarters, and even NORAD (North American Aerospace Defence Command). These scenes are generally chaotic, and show bureaucracy at work; communication is scattered like Chinese whispers between the agencies.

The cast is free from any ‘name’ actors, which works to the film’s advantage. As an audience, we are drawn into believing that this is not a glamorous re-enactment of the events of September 11. Instead, the film chooses to present the material in a documentary-like manner.

Obviously there is a large part of the film based on the small pieces of information that is known about United 93. As the only plane that did not reach its target it has long been told that the passengers fought back.

United 93 creates the feeling of being on that plane so well that I even found myself beginning to get anxious as I always do when flying. It is ultimately a thought-provoking film. Writer and Director Paul Greengrass (Bourne Supremacy) has been incredibly careful with the sensitive material and created a film that aims to find some hope from the tragic events of September 11, by using the passengers of United 93 as a means of conveying bravery amidst a situation of terror.

This film is slow, painfully slow. A number of people left the theatre before the end and there was an audible sigh of relief when the film finished. The scenes are long and punctuated by lengthy silences. Camera shots are static and the lighting is dim, casting the actors in shadow. Often they are not even in shot. At one point we watch a closed door as Marie carries out a one-way conversation.

Although the couple try to trivialise the separation, to themselves and to their friends, their feelings and fears are evident. Much of the battle is waged internally and portrayed in body language. Marie seeks solace in a museum and Nicholas in a late night cafe. Both meet single people and get a glimpse into life after marriage, but these scenes do not develop.

Un Couple Parfait is not so much a story as a naturalistic observation of a couple’s failing relationship. We get the point early on and then it just becomes laboured. The couple don’t talk about their issues and problems or what led them to their decision to separate. In fact, they hardly talk at all. There is a sense of the emotion simmering beneath the initial veneer of normality, but it lacks the substance and layers of The Squid and the Whale or Hidden. Ultimately, you feel nothing for the characters.

Todeschini and Bruni-Tedeschi give convincing performances. Most of the focus is on Marie, whose pain generates anger, regret and sadness and she goads Nicholas, looking for answers. From him we mostly get a sullen silence’that’s when you can see him at all.

When Kirkham was given his first video camera at 14, he began to record everything. From his role as dancer on ‘American Bandstand’ to national reporter for ‘Inside Edition’, Kirkham’s obsessive desire to remain centre screen, both in public and private, saw him film over three-thousand-hours of footage. Co-directed by Michael Cain and Matt Redecki, TV Junkie is the condensed result.

All Kirkham wants is ‘the perfect life’: he marries a nice girl from Texas, buys a gaudy house and fathers two sons. Yet despite his wealth, celebrity and all-American veneer, Kirkham’s bizarre home movie footage and video diaries reveal his descent into substance abuse and depression.

Like Tarnation (2003) and Capturing the Friedmans (2003), TV Junkie is the self-documented tale of a family’s implosion. Yet while the previous two films offer insight into the reasons behind these families’ dysfunction, even Kirkham’s confession’like diaries seem performative and guarded. They follow a familiar cycle of avowal, self-loathing and hollow promises. By halfway through the film, the audience began laughing at the repetition and clich‚àöÔøΩ of Kirkham’s proclamations.

Unlike Tarnation, in which self-documentation becomes a cathartic process for both the film-maker and the audience, TV Junkie is strangely devoid of hope or redemption. Kirkham is essentially an unsympathetic and egotistical character, whose need to record everything appears not as an attempt to capture reality, but rather a desire to shape it according to his own requirements.

Despite the film’s positive, somewhat forced conclusion, I left the theatre feeling the only insight I got into Kirkham was his insincerity. TV Junkie reflects the falsity and self-obsession of an era and culture besotted with celebrity and wealth, in which DIY implosion may become the closest thing to ‘reality’.

The old-school and underground-focussed skateboarding documentary Dogtown and Z-Boys was released in 2001 to wide acclaim. It inspired Lords of Dogtown (2005), starring our own Heath Ledger as a pioneer pool skater in Venice, California.

Rick Charnoski and Coan ‘Buddy’ Nichols are skaters turned film-makers, and they are special guests of MIFF, showing a collection of their own and their friends’ short films in Super SK8mm + Mixed Cheese Bits. They’ve come a long way since recording their shorts on ‘five dollar camerasÔøΩƒ∂.bought at the flea market,’ Nichols laughs, and their landmark film Fruit of the Vine started off with a run of five-hundred copies, and eventually expanded to over 25-hundred copies in the US alone.

They could probably wax lyrical about the beauty of a flawlessly executed trick, but this isn’t what interests them as film-makers. ‘We’re more interested in the personalities we’ve met while skateboarding,’ Nichols says. They’re interested in the stories, for instance, of skaters who possess immense artistic talent, or build elaborate yet illegal skate parks under highways’ ‘it just goes on and on,’ he says.

Despite the strong commercial interest in skateboarding, there are still hints of the clandestine evident in their films’in particular, the adventure of finding and creating one’s own skate park heaven with an empty pool. The physical dimensions of a pool lend quite well to skateboard artistry, particularly the indescribable sensation of weightlessness when one skims the upward contours of the pool tiles before meeting gravity. It remains one of the main focuses of Charnoski and Nichols’ films, this relentless quest for the perfect pool in LA, ‘the epicentre of pool-skating,’ Nichols notes.

Their latest conquest involves a swimming pool directly beneath the famed Hollywood sign. Armed with a noisy gasoline pump, the boys drained the pool and did their best to ensure the considerable water runoff was distributed between neighbouring properties (So no significant flooding damage was evident.). Despite their defiant draining act being performed in full view of neighbouring residents, no one bothered to say anything to authorities. Even Nichols is puzzled. ‘That’s what so fucking weird about LA,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Everyone has their air-conditioning on with the windows shutÔøΩƒ∂you could be skating in someone’s pool while they are there.’

It’s this element of trespass which Nichols and Charnoski find so enticing, and Charnoski sees the skateboarding experience as encompassing more than simply a smorgasbord of tricks. ‘I’m as much attracted to trespassing and finding these pools, as I am to skateboarding,’ he says. It’s testament to the old-school brand of skater subversion; a relentless pursuit for the right pool amidst a medley of challenges, including but not limited to: the Neighbourhood Watch, barking dogs, and a throng of skater buddies with a slightly unhealthy adrenaline addiction.

‘We just try to keep it real,’ Charnoski says in a laconic drawl, and he assures me that he and Nichols steer clear of a sensationalist portrayal of the skateboarding culture. They also prefer to utilise the skills of their skate buddies to provide editing, music and production assistance. ‘It’s overwhelming,’ he says with a wry smile, ‘but what our trip is all about, is to mellow things out.’ Well, it’s certainly a refreshing way to wile away the hot summer days in LA.

Michael inhabits a world where gangs demand money from mothers with prams, and violence occurs in crowded streets in broad daylight. After his first beating, Michael seems broken, unable to comprehend the blood that covers his face and drips onto his shirt. He only seems to realise the awful reality of his situation when a classmate, noticing Michael’s shoes have been stolen, starts to tease him about his childish socks.

The film’s strength is the way it incorporates moments of gentleness, which contrast starkly with the otherwise relentless brutality. In one scene Michael helps one of the gang leaders to lift his child’s pram up the steps of the U-Bahn. This image shows how violence has become a parallel life, removed from the reality of day-to-day living in a country of high unemployment and sometimes limited opportunities. The ready acceptance of this duality, both by Michael and the people around him, somehow makes this culture of violence dangerously resilient to change.

Young actor David Kross captures Michael’s dilemma perfectly. Despite his youthful face, he possesses a maturity beyond his years. At times Michael seems an old man, resigned to a life of extortion and beatings. At others, like when he saunters down the street, proud owner of new Nikes and an ipod, he is undoubtedly a child, oblivious to the peril of the situation.

Buck’s portrayal of his characters and their relationships captures a wider, troubled Berlin.

Eureka 7 is another in a long-standing tradition of Japanese animation that involves a 14-year-old and a giant robot. This series sees teenager Renton living in an isolated city, wishing he’s somewhere else. Once Eureka and her trusty robot arrive the show takes it up a notch. It might be a little too heavy on the philosophical meanderings, but once put out for general consumption the kids are going to eat this up.

Basilisk is about two waring clans of ninjas and how two people on opposite sides have fallen in love. Part Romeo and Juliet, part Ninja Scroll, this one is for lovers of the more classic and adult style of anime.

Speed Grapher, very different from the other three episodes on offer, plays out like Film Noir. It’s the story of a man trying to uncover a conspiracy, who has the strange ability to make things explode once he has photographed them. It is definitely aimed at an older audience as it includes all sorts of adult themes. I personally thought this was one of the better offerings from Madman this year. Be warned however, that the animation sometimes isn’t the best.

Naruto is a basic story about a young orphaned boy at ninja school with a mysterious past. He’s a prankster with a good heart, and once he is told some of what his past involves he steps up to the plate and becomes the scholar and ninja that he was born to be. It’s very light on plot with crude animation and backgrounds looking like they were cast-offs from an eighties cartoon. However this was only the first episode and further episodes may see the series evolve into something better than a ninja version of Dragon Ball Z.

Jeliza-Rose (played by extraordinary Jodelle Ferland) is a little girl living with junkie parents (Jeff Bridges and Jennifer Tilly) who alternatively coddle and abuse her, depending on their current drug intake. Jeliza-Rose, however, remains in blissful and callous ignorance of her plight, even when her hallucinating father takes her to the squalid and deserted family farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, and she meets her terrifying American Gothic neighbours. Accompanied by her macabre fingerpuppet doll heads, she turns the eerie, neglected and horrendous world in which she lives into a charming and delightful fantasy land, straight from the pages of her favourite Alice in Wonderland.

With nods to other children’s texts like the Narnia Chronicles and The Secret Garden, Tideland creates a child’s reality so mad and disturbing that it’s little wonder Jeliza-Rose thinks everyone is just playing her games. There is so much possibility for horrors that never quite eventuate, for dangers the child is skirting and never sees. I smiled and even laughed at her na‚àöÔøΩve and matter-of-fact reactions to poverty, drug use, sex, and even death; but the charm and humour is addled always by the black comedy of wide-eyed innocence coping determinedly with the most revolting and disturbing sides of life.

Grotesque in the extreme, this is a beautiful nightmarish journey down the rabbit hole’and what a trip it is.

Through The Forest is very French, and its soft lighting, pretty girls with nice hair and 35 day lovemaking sessions certainly caused a few pangs in this lonely young writer. But it was worth it. I really loved this film, its naturalism and sense of floating through emotional density strikes me as the kind of thing many Australian films try at and fail, but for the French it seems effortless.

There is really little to be commented upon in Through The Forest, as the overall dreamy effect outweighs any detail. The acting is barely noticeable for its naturalism, the music is subtle but very effective in heightening the sense of tension and grief as Armelle sinks deeper into the hole, and the camera work is simple and elegant. In fact, a sense of elegance is the common factor throughout.

The film opened with a short by Francois Ozon, A Curtain Raiser, a wonderful meditation on principles and compromise in a relationship. As uptight young Bruno and his older, looser friend Pierre stand by the window of Bruno’s bachelor pad, awaiting his lover Rosette, Bruno decries her continual lateness. But this time he has given her an ultimatum: if she is more than 45-minutes late, it’s over. Pierre’s stance is, of course, ‘ƒ∂how unFrench, to complain about a woman’s lateness. What sort of woman is not late, some kind of sexless monsterÔøΩƒ∂’

This Film Is Not Yet Rated follows Dick as he attempts to stunt this documentary into meaning and entertainment. He hunts down and exposes the secret identities of parents on the MPAA board responsible for film classifications that stop children from seeing Maria Bello’s pubic hair and puppets peeing on other puppets.

Dick really shows it to them. He goes all out to achieve a dreaded NC-17 rating (no admission under 17 years of age) by creating a montage of sex scenes, which makes up a fair chunk of the film. It’s all very naughty: nipples and profanities. Dick impresses with the length and girth of his lens as he transgresses through other people’s rubbish bins.

Unlike documentaries by directors like Michael Moore, Dick’s subject doesn’t matter a whole lot, let alone justify his extreme antics. Here is something really shocking: there are some things more important than film and a filmmaker’s freedom to further sexualise children for profit.

But of course, no one need look for sense. If they did, someone might mention that a film that needs graphic oral sex scenes probably SUCKS and a script that needs swearing is probably SHIT.

In early 20th century Ireland, rural workers ally to form volunteer freedom fighter armies to take on the brutal British ‘Black and Tan’ squads. Brothers Damien and Teddy form a resistance unit in their dangerous and violent fight for liberation, and use increasingly daring tactics. When the 1922 Partition divides Ireland into two politically opposed states, the Black and Tans march north and a violent civil war erupts, fracturing families.

In The Wind, film-maker Ken Loach presents a close-knit community in County Cork. This localised story tells of ordinary men and women who fight for their ideals and resist occupation. Like the titular song, The Wind addresses the personal sacrifices of war, of careers lost and of relationships destroyed. However, while it is steeped in melancholy, Loach’s characteristic humour’doubly entertaining in the brilliant Irish accent’introduces wonderful moments of grace and levity.

The song’s rustic lyrics are also visually replicated by the camerawork of Barry Ackroyd. The accelerating bloody events are sharply juxtaposed with the Cork countryside in all its soft, lush beauty. Similar references are made throughout the film to the momentous song, which mourns severed relationships and ‘the shame of foreign chains around us.’

The film delivers an uncertain emotional journey. The ideological rupture between the brothers seems lengthy and overtly contrived, while characters bitterly despair their country’s post-occupation fragmentation. The conclusion, in typical Loach style, is shocking to the core. Yet when both young and old echo the same words at the end of the journey, you will no doubt be astounded to find that you have come a full circle.

As the film begins we are momentarily invited to share Youssef’s experience: it opens with a black screen and Youssef’s voice narrating his innermost thoughts. This technique is used at various times in the film’as we see the world poetically unfolding through his renewed vision.

Despite Youssef’s blindness, he appears to have an enviable life. He’s a successful academic at Tehran University and lives in a comfortable suburban home with Roya, his wife, and their daughter. He is, however, also a distant and isolated figure walking alone through the city streets and natural landscapes.

Youssef’s operation allows the film to explore the fragility of family dynamics turned upside down by such a life changing event. He angrily rejects the support of Roya, accusing her of mothering him. In another scene we see Youssef’s young daughter patiently teaching him the names of colours as they sit together at the kitchen table. A trail of self-destruction follows Youssef as he develops an obsession for a beautiful woman he barely knows.

It is the heightened emotions of the characters that drive the plot forward as Youssef discovers the darkness lies within him. Although emotions are brought to the surface, the characters remain one-dimensional with limited insight into their actions and motivations. This has the effect of making the story seem, at times, unrealistic.

The Willow Tree is slow moving, quite heavy-handed and loaded with a strong moral message. It is thought provoking but lacks real entertainment value.

Mitulescu has produced a charming story that does its best to capture everyday life under trying conditions. However, the film’s ‘life goes on’ mentality means there’s a bit too much fluffing about to allow a really satisfying engagement with the main plot. Dorotheea Petre’s Eva is incredibly interesting, but Mitulescu isn’t fully committed to Eva’s story because there are too many interruptions by the adorable Lalalilu. The film’s beautiful cinematography and sterling performances are worthy of praise, but the movie is hampered by a ‘try to please everyone’ approach.

With backing from Martin Scorsese and Wim Wenders, The Way I Spent the End of the World is one of a spate of big budget ‘independent’ films that straddle the line between a challenging depiction of life under difficult circumstances and a straight-up feel good drama. Even though this aspect will perhaps strengthen its box office impact, it’s not innovative cinema. In short, The Way I Spent the End of the World is a nice film to see with your mum.

But Alexandr Sokurov’s third film about totalitarian leaders doesn’t depict anything that closely resembles the events leading up to Emperor Hirohito’s decision to renounce his divinity, after surrendering to Allied Forces. Nor does it depict the human trauma or morals involved. In fact, there is no real story here and at the end of the movie you know as much about the Japanese involvement in World War II as you did at the start.

The film is extremely slow moving and self-reflective. For most of the film Emperor Hirohito is silent, and the silences are drawn out. There is little character interaction, no heroes, no villains, no drama, and pretty much no outside life. And all of this combined says more about Hirohito’the man, the Emperor and the God?than one would read in any textbook or watch in any documentary.

The Sun is really an artistic film piece that is much more like a still but gently moving portrait of Emperor Hirohito and Japanese culture itself. It reveals the very nature of rituals, beliefs and customs and highlights the isolation that all of this creates.

If you’re not a fan of Gus Van Sant’s Gerry, you’re unlikely to enjoy this one. It’s an acquired taste and should come with a warning for those who want to avoid a night of masochism. It’s only if you can appreciate the meaning behind these film techniques that The Sun can be enjoyed.

Life abounds in DIY music. Random people produce random sounds. A quirky play on the universal rhythm and inherent musicality of our moods.

Cut is a humorous satire. At the supermarket, a movie-goer recognises the woman who sits on the Censorship Board, whereupon he launches into detailed tirade, a hilarious rant against authority.

One winter, a monkey in Japan lost his heart to a rabbit. Monkey Love is an exploration of the absurdities and emotional torture that come with falling in love.

Sons: who should be faulted when a son fails to love his father’father or son? A monologue told by an aging father who fails to kindle a connection with his son, Tan captures life’s melodramas in the regret of a father.

New York Girl is realist tract, summoning facets of the young yuppie Singaporean’hodgepodge of pretentious mimicry, ambition and cynicism; all reflected by one actress’s casting call.

Hock Hiap Leong: to pay homage to a local eatery soon to be demolished, a colourful musical of the ’60s is evoked.

A man in love must sing to profess his love, Patrick is told. But Patrick sings so modestly, he cannot be heard. Careless Whisperer is a humorous piece on a man whose love is so gentle- that if love were expressed through song, it won’t hurt to be loved.

As a young man, John tried to combine both worlds by inviting hippies to work and play on his farm in an experiment he called the ‘Midwest Coast’. Failures and family pressures add to his pressures and he retreats to Mexico for solace.

When John returns home to farm again, he is subjected to a small-town witch-hunt. His lifetime neighbour, an aspiring sheriff, comes to the conclusion that John is a child-killing, orgiastic Satan worshipper. I got the feeling that part of the reason the film exists is for John to justify himself to his finger-pointing community.

There is something about the way John places himself as the poetic hero, which is profoundly irritating. Set-up shots of him in Mexico came across as self-conscious and indulgent. But in its poetic efforts, The Real Dirt on Farmer John does look beautiful. Super 8 from John’s wild ’60s days weaves with well-placed interviews and more current digital and film footage, creating a textured and nicely paced narrative of John’s life. A soundtrack littered with Dirty Three tracks adds to the narrative.

Critical of Farmer John’s self-indulgence, I admire him and can see that his eccentricity and efforts make his corner of the world a little bit better.

This is a deserving tale that is pretty well told.

Set against a backdrop of stunning mountain ranges, the film portrays a land being ripped apart by construction workers to make a path for the industrial pipeline, Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan, which snakes its way across the valleys. Sweeping shots of the lush and peaceful countryside is contrasted with close-ups of trucks and monstrous cranes.

The primary focus of this film is the people living in the village who have found themselves pitted against a global corporation while they fight to be fairly compensated for the loss of their land. There is an atmosphere of mistrust, and emotions run high as the people discuss health and environmental risks, government corruption, problems with determining land ownership and large discrepancies with the amounts of financial compensation being offered to individuals. One of the measures of compensation, according to the film, requires landowners to count the number of apple and walnut trees growing on their properties.

Director, Nino Kirtadz‚àöÔøΩ takes the role of detached observer and the camera is non-invasive as we are transported into the homes and daily lives of the villagers and the conflicting world of the company executives.

The film is neither preachy nor judgmental but takes a humanist approach and allows the people to tell their own stories. It is a fascinating study of human nature in the face of future uncertainty and reveals the plethora of different character traits (including strength, compassion and humour), as well as the faults and foibles of people, which surface in a crisis situation.

A powerful and moving account of a highly complex issue.

As a philosopher in the psychoanalytic tradition, ‚âàŒ©i‚âàÔøΩek understands the cinema as a place where fantasy and reality’desire and fulfilment’are always at battle. Consequently, knowing your Lacanian symbolic order from your Freudian death drive is beneficial in extracting the full depth of this film. While ‚âàŒ©i‚âàÔøΩek doesn’t stop to explain for beginners, his breathless yet humorous stream of premises, hypotheses and declarations can nevertheless be well absorbed by those equipped with a rudimentary knowledge of cinema alone.

Divided into three parts, the ‘film’ presented here was originally devised as 50-minute television episodes. The first of these addresses the link between reality and screen’between our base desires and our ‘nice’ everyday behaviours. The second episode looks at masculine desire, femininity and sexuality. The third draws the first two episodes together, and attempts to state why cinema is an expressive outlet for the modern Western psyche.

For all its gravity, this is nevertheless a playful and highly viewable documentary. It’s abstract and intellectually complex, but ‚âàŒ©i‚âàÔøΩek’s sense of humour and director Sophie Fiennes’ sense of cinematic style make this a high-flying tour of modern civilisation rather than the ride through a postmodern house of horrors that it could well have been.

The film isn’t overly political or depressing. You forget about suicide bombers and the Israeli army because they’re not mentioned. Instead, Salama shows us a little-known side of Arafat. His eyes twinkle, he grins and constantly makes the peace sign with his fingers. It’s hard not to like him. Whenever someone breaks through the stronghold of guards to touch Arafat, he envelops the straggler in a fatherly embrace and plants kisses on their faces.

During the interview, all Salama’s questions are translated into Arabic. It’s annoying and you know Arafat can manage alone. With a noticeable lip quiver, Arafat speaks (somewhat) openly in English. The rapport between the leader and filmmaker is unmistakable. Arafat asks about Salama’s family in Australia, but not before he makes clear his dream to reclaim Jerusalem. Interestingly, Arafat says reclaiming the city is a Muslim AND Christian responsibility.

Two weeks later, Arafat becomes ill and is flown to France for treatment. But before he gets into the helicopter, he musters up the strength to give one last wave goodbye. The media frenzy in the compound is phenomenal: ‘He’s dead, right?’ ‘Bush gives his condolences’ Arafat dies in hospital. His body is flown back to Ramallah to be with his people, who poignantly swarm the helicopter on its return.