Fist of Legend

Fist of Legend is a Hong Kong action film set in Shanghai in 1937 when the city was occupied by Japanese forces. Chen Zhen (Jet Li) learns that his Chinese martial arts teacher Huo Yuanjia has died in a battle with a Japanese fighter. Distraught he leaves for China immediately to avenge his death. Upon arriving he beats Ryoichi Akutagawa, the man responsible, with such ease, he suspects foul play and this prompts an investigation that leads to, what else? More combat. This is a 1994 remake of 1972′s Fist of Fury, which starred Bruce Lee.

Fist of Legend is really highlighted by some impressive fights that favor realism over wire-driven choreography. However the plot is still your standard issue mix of escalating racial tensions between the Japanese and Chinese, differing methods of rival martial arts schools, and good old fashioned revenge. This barely made a dent in Hong Kong’s box office when it was first released. I didn’t find the story to be particularly revolutionary but connoisseurs of the genre have since labeled this as one of the greatest martial arts pictures of all time. It certainly paved the way for Jet Li’s launch into Western cinema. The bouts are admittedly pretty spectacular. One especially exciting scene occurs when Jet Li visits the Japanese dojo to challenge the assailant who killed his master teacher. His many students attempt to stop him but Jet Li’s talent proves too formidable and he defeats the entire class, even taking a moment to tie his shoes in the process. Later Jet Li challenges a surprisingly sympathetic Japanese Karate Master in a field…blindfolded. And finally there’s the climatic battle where he goes against General Fujita, the Supreme Killer. Any one of these would be an incredible set piece, but taken together it’s a lot of bang for your buck. If a martial arts film is judged by the quality of its fight scenes then Fist of Legend is worth checking out.

Blu-ray Notes: In the original multi-lingual movie, Cantonese and Japanese is spoken by different actors. Unfortunately there is no original language option. All 3 audio choices on the Blu-ray are dubbed: Cantonese, Mandarin or English. You’re going to get weird synchronization issues regardless of which version you chose. I can’t speak for the Chinese options, but the English voiceovers are hopelessly wooden and unnaturally stilted. I found Cantonese with English subtitles to be the most acceptable.

Amour

An austere, unflinching portrait of an elderly Parisian husband and wife facing the difficulties that precipitate aging.  Becoming older is the subject of this heartfelt film – specifically the physical and mental breakdown of a man’s spouse as she falls ill. The script treats the issue with sensitivity and there is a surprising warmth to a chronicle with which director Michael Haneke is usually not associated. But the filmmaker, whose oeuvre was described by one author as a “cinema of cruelty”, hasn’t really changed that much. Sentimental accounts are not his bag and true to his sensibilities, there are aspects that highlight this as a drama done in his quintessential style.

Georges and Anne are retired music teachers in their 80s.  They’re attending a recital of one of their previous students near the beginning of the picture. When they return home, they discover they have been robbed. The minutiae of their conversation informs us that they have a comfortable ease with each other that only a long-time married couple would have. The next morning as they’re sitting down to breakfast, Anne begins staring off into space and doesn’t respond to his questions. Georges is concerned and he arranges for her to see a doctor. He determines she requires surgery. It isn’t successful once completed. This all happens in the first 15 minutes. As the narrative develops her capabilities slowly deteriorate over an extended time span. We are essentially confined to their apartment. With the exception of a few scenes featuring their daughter played by Isabelle Huppert, these two carry the entire movie. The action is claustrophobic and agonizing. At one point about halfway through, he’s getting ready for bed for the night. There’s a knock at the door. Let’s just say what happens next is a good example of one of those intense moments.

At the heart of Amour are two engaging performances that are tantamount to our connection to this story. Jean-Louis Trintignant is an internationally recognized French film star with films darting back as early as 1956. Anyone who has ever seen A Man and a Woman will remember him in his 30s. Ditto Emmanuelle Riva who starred in Hiroshima, mon amour back in 1959. As Georges and Anne These two actors are essential to our “enjoyment” of this production. I use quotes because enjoy is such a strong word.  The actors are warm and genuine, but the mood is chilly and remote. The central couple are equally genial and sweet. They could be our grandparents. We are drawn into their plight because we care about them. Once you do, there is no turning back as you descend a path of gradually building despair. Haneke’s traditional use of extremely long static takes is particularly effective here. They present the developments as real life, without artifice. There’s no score, another Haneke attribute. These qualities lull the audience into a state of depression. It is startlingly unsentimental. The lack of visual or audio cues is refreshing in it’s presentation of an idea often manipulated with such indicators. This is Haneke’s version of a disease-of-the-week TV movie. It’s not a reassuring portrayal, but it is sobering and honest.

Rust and Bone

Ali is a penniless man with his five-year-old son Sam to take care of. While crashing at his sister’s place, he gets a job as a bouncer at a local nightclub, relying on his abilities as a former street fighter. Stéphanie is a woman who works as a killer whale trainer at a marine mammal amusement park. They meet at the club where he works after she is attacked in a bar brawl. Nothing of consequence occurs between the two. He leaves his number and they part ways. Then, following a tragic accident that leaves her disfigured, she calls up the derelict man out of the blue and the two enter into a relationship of sorts.

On the surface Rust and Bone is an uplifting drama detailing the triumph of the spirit, but that horribly clichéd phrase doesn’t even come close to doing this movie justice. It’s raw, sexual and completely without pity, much like our male protagonist Ali. Impoverished and nomadic, he is a brute force that inexplicably meshes with the more emotional and financially secure Stéphanie. Although both have imperfect lives that need fixing, she would appear to have little in common with Ali. But at this very low point in her existence she reaches out to him and his response gives her renewed faith and a will to live.

At the heart of Rust and Bone are two really powerful performances from Marion Cotillard and Belgian actor Matthias Schoenaerts. The nature of their relationship is akin to something Tennessee Williams might write about. Marion Cotillard tries to subvert her beauty to embody the grit behind a woman who has all but given up on life. She’s incredible, we’ve come to expect that from her at this juncture in her career . What’s surprising is relative newcomer Schoenaerts who matches her for intensity. He garnered indie praise as the star of Bullhead which was the Belgian nominee for best foreign film in 2011. That picture raised his profile, but this should be an even bigger breakthrough. He’s charismatic in a way that has people already inviting comparisons to actors like Tom Hardy or Jason Statham. The story is equally focused on him, actually more so, and his shocking lack of sympathy, but undiminished desire, is reassuring to her.

Jacques Audiard, who was responsible for 2009’s much lauded A Prophet, wisely knows when to have his stars minimize theatrics and let the moment speak for itself. One of my favorite scenes is indicative of the attitude of the film. In one particularly brutal bare knuckle fight, Ali is badly beaten on the ground, face bloodied from being hammered. Sitting on the sidelines, Stéphanie watches helpless from the car. As he’s being pummeled, his eyes catch the sight of her stepping out from the protection of the van. One anticipates her to come barreling from the parked vehicle, hysterical and sobbing uncontrollably. You foresee Stéphanie throwing herself over the combatants in order to stop the bout. But she does none of these things. The lower half of her legs are in view as they step forward out of the car. She walks calmly toward the two men, and then stands, like an inspiration to her man. Galvanized by her presences, he is inspired to summon what little strength he has left to fight back.

Rust and Bone is the most unsentimental sentimental picture I saw this year. It’s also the most romantically unromantic. It’s a tale of contrasts and it’s those contradictions that make the chronicle so unpredictable. It’s a narrative that is not easily categorized because its outlook is rather unconventional. It subverts the conventions of a traditional (read Hollywood) romance at every turn. Theirs is not a typical love story. However it emphasizes the need to be loved and the physical passion that goes along with that love. As the melodrama begins to pile up near the end, one setback after another almost – almost! – threatens to derail a saga shaded in nuance. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen. This remains a thoroughly engaging portrait of two disparate people who oddly need each other.

Holy Motors

If I were to observe an open heart surgery as a series of procedures sans narration, I might at various moments throughout the process be repulsed, then fascinated. I’d have no idea what would come next and so I would be compelled to keep watching from a curiosity standpoint – spellbound by the procedure in its unfettered access. Then when it was all over and the body had been sewn back up, perhaps I’d remark that it was fascinating. But there would be no drama to engage my emotions. It certainly wouldn’t qualify as a movie with a plot. Just an array of maneuvers connected together by a common operation. Such is the experience of Holy Motors.

Holy Motors is one of those unconventional fantasies that Luis Buñuel or Federico Fellini or David Lynch might direct. Except those directors usually have *ahem* a discernable point. Basically this is a accumulation of sketches strung together that tells the story of Monsieur Oscar who travels to miscellaneous meetings in the back of his white stretch limo. Before exiting his vehicle, he dons assorted disguises for each one. There’s some exposition in the beginning that implies he’s an actor being watched by an audience. The cameras are invisible, an offhand remark informs us. For each assignment, he dons a different costume as these mini movies recall various genres: a melodrama, a gangster flick, a musical, etc. Holy Motors is a series of visual short cuts.

The most memorable of these vignettes is a rumination on the fairy tale, Beauty & the Beast. French director Leos Carax has only made 5 features (and a few shorts) since 1984. As an elaboration of his own segment from the cinematic triptych Tokyo! Lavant plays a monster named Monsieur Merde (even non-French speakers understand that word). He’s a red haired and bearded creature that recalls a satyr from Greek mythology. Here he kidnaps a beautiful model (Eva Mendez) on a fashion shoot, from Père Lachaise Cemetery and absconds with her deep within the catacombs of Paris. What happens next is sort of symptomatic of every tale. We’re captivated with what might take place, then led through each story simply to find it goes nowhere. Each narrative starts out with promise and then deteriorates into a non ending. This one is particularly sad as it is desperate to shock. It ends stirring feelings of embarrassment by the viewer for actress Eva Mendes. How did she get roped into this? I wanted to rescue her from the ugliness.

Much has been written on Holy Motors as this hard to classify, visionary art piece, but it really doesn’t seem all that innovative unless you consider stringing a collection of short films together a radical concept.  Holy Motors contains little that is pretty or joyful.  Leos Carax directs his frequent alter-ego, actor Denis Lavant. The 51-year old French star reluctantly journeys from appointment to appointment with nary a smile. He wears disguises with an unemotional professionalism not because he wants to, but because he has to. In a succession of vignettes, Monsieur Oscar assumes 11 characters including a beggar woman, an alien by way of a motion capture suit, a lecherous monster, a disappointed dad, an accordionist, an assassin, a dying man, and a former paramour in a perplexing bit in which pop star Kylie Minogue sings. Even her song is joyless. Lavant plays a mostly misanthropic bloke in each piece. He’s rather unlovable and kind of repulsive. Slowly over time we grow sorry for this individual. If we are to presume that Holy Motors is a movie about the making of movies, then I can only deduce director Leos Carax’s viewpoint is that they’re a drudgery to perform. While some have championed the images as a celebration of film. I see it more as a wake.

The Raid: Redemption

“If you don’t watch the violence, you’ll never get desensitized to it!” — Bart Simpson

As I sat watching The Raid averting my eyes every now and then to instances of bloodletting too disturbing to stomach, I reflected upon this quote. The movie’s raison d’être appears to be devising a myriad of interesting ways in which to dispose of human life. There’s bullets entering skulls, knifes ripping through flesh and good old fashioned hand to hand combat. Apparently it’s pretty easy for most people to slip into a primitive state whereby Darwin’s survival of the fittest validates the instinctual urge to “kill or be killed”. Critical acclaim on the site Rotten Tomatoes currently hovers at 84% positive. I can appreciate that there’s a visceral high from checking one’s sense of decency at the door. I’ll sheepishly admit that I have no problem with violence when it justifies the story. Quentin Tarantino has based an entire oeuvre on this fact.

Where the narrative fails is that the assaults are the story. The Raid resembles a video game, where trivialities like plot and script are irrelevant and the object is to kill! kill! kill! allowing one to obtain the maximum high score. In that respect, director Gareth Evans succeeds. The body count is astronomical. Yet even then the fight scenes often brought an unintentional smile to my face. Did it ever occur to these attackers that they’d achieve greater success if they charged all at once, rather than spacing themselves out one or two at a time? Of course then we wouldn’t get the elaborately controlled events in which every altercation is at least a 10 minute minimum.

Director Gareth Evans’ actors are more athletes than thespians displaying impressive feats of acrobatic skill. Case in point, star Iko Uwais who plays the lead, also serves as the fight choreographer along with fellow actor/martial artist Yayan Ruhian. Given the technical brilliance of the altercations, comparisons have been made between this and the South Korean thriller Oldboy. Indeed there are physical encounters contained within that rival the corridor scene of that modern classic. This movie is all corridors actually. One particularly memorable spectacle starts with a combatant smashing through the floorboards of a room with an axe. After jumping through that hole, the camera continues to follow the guy through the opening still filming from behind. I’ll admit it’s an unique point of view. However the dramatic structure of Oldboy is light years beyond the simplistic storytelling found here. There is no plot, only sadism. The carnage is virtually non-stop, only occasionally pausing for someone named Mad Dog to deliver a line like “Pulling the trigger is like ordering takeout.” Now I know how Alex felt in A Clockwork Orange when he was being administered the Ludovico technique by Dr. Brodsky.

NOTE: This review is for the unrated cut released to Blu-ray, not the R rated version distributed to U.S. theatres back in March 2012. If this edit held an MPAA rating, it would most likely be NC-17 for the extended shots of graphic violence.

Headhunters

Every now and then a film comes along so quietly, without fanfare, that when it manages to entertain in such a consummate way, I walk out of the theater like a zombie shocked at how great it was.  Headhunters is one of those pictures. Not only is it one of the best of the year, it’s also a reminder that sometimes, the most exciting stories aren’t being made in Hollywood or even the U.S. at all. The white knuckle ride is based on Norwegian author, Jo Nesbø’s bestselling novel of the same name. The thriller furthers the rise of Scandinavian crime fiction. It follows in the recent success of the Millennium Trilogy by Stieg Larsson of which The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is the most famous entry. The production was such a success in its native Norway, there’s already an American remake in the works. Please see this first.

Roger Brown lives a dual life. Within the law he works as a corporate recruiter, finding talented people who work for other companies and making them lucrative offers to join the firm with which he‘s currently employed. Roger sort of looks like a healthier blonde version of Steve Buscemi. He’s married to a ridiculously tall gorgeous blonde who exacerbates his crushing insecurity that he isn’t good enough for her. You see at 1.68 meters tall (about 5’5”) he’s got a bit of Napoleonic complex. He’s got a mistress as well. In order to keep them both happy he showers them with expensive gifts. That obviously costs a lot of money and so he has taken on a second job of sorts. Here’s where he operates outside the law stealing rare works of art.  Then one day he interviews a job candidate who seems to be the perfect match for a new CEO position. He’s a handsome but ruthless technical expert named Clas Greve, played by actor Nikolaj Coster-Waldau. The actor is evil on TV as well as brutal swordsman Jaime Lannister on Game of Thrones. Coincidentally Clas Greve is likewise in possession of a rare and priceless masterpiece by Peter Paul Rubens which Roger would desire to own. Upon learning of this, Roger realizes his two worlds are about to collide. Little does he know how catastrophic the merger will be.

What makes Headhunters so ridiculously engaging is how the narrative develops in a way that you cannot guess the outcome. That’s precisely the fun. Like classic suspense of the past, this has the kinds of twists and turns that would make Hitchcock proud. There’s one surprise after another and the developments are innovative in that way. However I can attest, Headhunters is very much an example of modern storytelling that resembles something by Quentin Tarantino or the Coen brothers. It’s bloody and raw. Think Pulp Fiction or Fargo. If you think those are lofty comparisons, you haven’t seen this movie. Yet there’s a humanism present that sets this apart from those classics and makes this distinctly different. These are people with insecurities and weaknesses that are altogether apparent. In between the action, there is a declaration of love that’s incredibly touching. They still long to be loved. The violence never seems gratuitous, only necessary to emphasize the absolute nightmare of which Roger becomes a part. It’s a drama that starts slowly but as the tale unfolds it seizes the viewer with brute force. It’s pretty over the top. There’s a depiction of an auto accident where I literally forgot to breathe for 60 seconds. But that’s the standard set piece prevalent here and that’s what makes this thriller so exhilarating.

The Intouchables

There’s scene in The Intouchables where unlikely caregiver Driss lets loose to Earth Wind and Fire’s “Boogie Wonderland” in front of a staff of domestic workers and classically trained musicians. The display is such an expression of joyful abandon, it was at that moment I fell in love with this movie. Granted it’s a bit calculated. Remember that scene where Julia Roberts is singing off key in the bathtub in Pretty Woman? Well yeah it’s kind of like that. But nevertheless it’s the instant that I realized that this is a wonderful French film and Omar Sy should be a star.

The chronicle concerns Philippe, a quadriplegic due to a paragliding accident. He’s a millionaire in a palatial mansion and is interviewing applicants to be his caregiver. Driss is a black man from Senegal living in a Paris ghetto. He’s just been released from a six month prison term for robbery and is currently unemployed. The public assistance Driss receives requires proof he is applying for work. Knowing he is unqualified, he merely applies for the job in an effort to satisfy the requirements. I won’t reveal the reasons why Philippe hires Driss over more qualified candidates, but it makes perfect sense. On paper the set up sounds hackneyed and manipulative. It would be easy to dismiss the premise as a superficial examination on race relations. I certainly felt that way upon viewing the trailer. While it’s one of those crowd pleasing culture clash concepts, it fashions a tale that transcends the material.

The narrative explores the friendship between Philippe and Driss with tenderness and depth. The rapport of this implausible duo is explored in little vignettes that uses the structure, sans the love affair, of a romantic comedy. The account is based on a true story, and while the characterizations are unique, the set up is not. This is a buddy picture detailing how human beings want and need the same things regardless of ethnic or social class differences. Through discussions regarding music, recreational activities, even child rearing, we slowly get an impression of two men that have much more in comon than was originally believed. It’s the performances that elevate this beyond the traditional odd-couple plot. The honesty draws the viewer into their situation. There is a genuine chemistry at work here.

The movie’s charms are admittedly obvious, but the cast extracts emotion with sincerity. Driving Miss Daisy, The Blind Side – there are many precedents. What’s amazing is that the two leads make this subject seem fresh. As a quadriplegic, François Cluzet must act with his face only. Physically he suggests Dustin Hoffman. Although he’s not a household name in the States, he’s a veteran actor who’s been acting in French cinema since 1980. 2006′s Tell No One is probably his best known work. Omar Sy is part of a comedy duo in France. He’s nothing less than a revelation. Both were nominated for César Awards (France’s Oscar) in 2011. Sy actually garnered the prize for Best Actor besting actual Oscar winner Jean Dujardin. The drama has become a worldwide smash having already earned $350.1 million as of June 2012. The Intouchables grossed $166 million last year in its native country alone to make it the second most-seen French movie of all-time there. It’s even listed amongst the Top 250 films as voted by IMDb users. Despite these accolades, this has incomprehensibly earned the wrath of a couple American critics in really nasty reviews. They somehow detected ugly attitudes within the script. I briefly mention this because such allegations should be addressed as the distorted misinterpretations that they are. Make no mistake, this is an upbeat story with a lot of heart with two marvelous performances at the center. After all how could 17.5 million French viewers be wrong?

Monsieur Lazhar

Monsier Lazhar is a quiet unassuming little drama. Our story begins after an elementary school teacher commits suicide. She hangs herself in the very classroom where she teaches her students. From that shocking, but tastefully presented event, we are introduced to Bachir Lazhar. He’s an immigrant from Algeria who applies for the position of teaching her class. Due to a lack of candidates, he’s quickly hired to replace her. A guarded fellow, Lazhar is something of an enigma. He connects with his students in the face of the cultural gap between them. But something does not compute. His teaching methods are odd. He gives dictation lessons by reading selections from Honoré de Balzac novels. His suggestion for a future field trip is to take his class to see The Imaginary Invalid, a three-act comédie-ballet by French playwright Molière. Both kind of advanced for grade school, wouldn’t you say?  Although the children are perplexed by all this, they do respond to his emotional support. They confront the death of their beloved teacher encouraged by Monsieur Lazhar as he helps them through that grief. In actuality, this teacher is a man with a past. He likewise has his own issues with which he must deal. A man with life experiences that make him rather well equipped for the job. As these revelations come to light, there is a genuine poignancy that never rings false.

Monsier Lazhar is captivating by presenting an honest account, simple and unadorned. It’s a lyrical drama with the rhythms of a play out of the early 1970s. The screenplay is in fact developed from a one-character play by Canadian actress Évelyne de la Chenelière. It’s a soft focus presentation of the emotional damage a tragedy has on a group of young students and the methods their teacher utilizes to comfort them. He gives them a lot of credit and treats them accordingly. The script has pointed commentary on how children cope with the death in contrast to their parents and the rest of the faculty at the school. Yet, despite the film’s title, the students are the true stars here. There’s not one precocious brat amongst the cast. 2 kids in particular give performances of depth and maturity. Actress Sophie Nélisse is the mature beyond her years Alice. Her straightforward, no nonsense personality feels just like a real child. And then there’s actor Émilien Néron as Simon who seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. His feelings of guilt coming to a head in one particularly cathartic scene. These are highlights in a tale that at times can be vague and underdeveloped. This French Canadian nominee for 2012′s Best Foreign Language Film is a relatively slight production. There are times the whole affair can be a bit underwhelming, but the subtlety and discretion with which the story unfolds is commendable.

The Kid with a Bike

Brothers Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne wrote, produced and directed this account of a young boy. Cyril’s bum of a father has placed him in foster care because he doesn’t want to deal with the responsibility of raising his son. Samantha, a woman who works at a beauty salon is touched by his plight and offers to look after him on weekends.  His bike is more than a means of transportation, it’s also the last remaining physical link that connects him to his father. When the bike is stolen, he meets Wes, an older kid with ulterior motives. Cyril’s desire for a parental figure is rooted in the kindness of others.  Samantha attempts to shield him from the negative influence of this teen with questionable objectives. Wes exploits something in Cyril’s personality we haven’t seen yet. Their relationship reveals the film’s most striking development. This French language export from Belgium won the Grand Prix, the second-most prestigious prize at the Cannes Film Festival in 2011.

Coming of age tales heavily rely on the emotional connection that audiences share with the protagonist. If we can’t identify with the star, then the story may not have merit. Even the best child actors can drift into precociousness. This is not the case here, as young actor Thomas Doret is captivating in a natural rendition. The Dardenne brothers get credit for allowing our lead character to just react. When faced with the reality of his situation, he underplays, sometimes in silence, which speaks much louder than any dialogue ever could. His acting is less of a performance than the candidly captured portrait of an actual 11 year old boy. He commands attention.

Doret’s talent makes up for the bare bones details that sometimes remain underdeveloped. Where is Cyril’s mother? Or why does Samantha agree to take care of him so quickly? These are valid questions. Yet the sketchiness of the narrative feels like real life. Often there aren’t valid reasons. For me the hardest thing for me to understand was his dad’s capacity to disassociate from his pre-teen son. How could a father abandon his child after 11 years so easily? The justification he gives doesn’t substantiate the magnitude of his decision. At first the lack of specifics is frustrating. However It provided a justification for Cyril’s subsequent misbehavior. The youngster’s inability to accept his father’s abandonment matched mine. He was an unruly little boy but I felt as he did. Despite his unmanageable behavior, Cyril always remained a sympathetic individual at heart

This heartbreaking tale never suffers from over-sentimentality. It mines emotion honestly from authentic drama. True to the structure of the plot, even the conclusion is profound in its uncertainty. It’s one of those endings where you might ask yourself, well what happens next? Ah but such is life! The brilliance of the story is in its ability to reflect the uncertainly and ambiguity of human existence, all united by Thomas Doret’s honest portrayal of a troubled youth.

A Separation

At its apex, the medium of film can capture a situation so perfectly that it goes beyond mere entertainment and matures into a reflection on the human experience. A presentation of characters so authentic and so raw that you forget that you’re sitting in a theater watching a movie, but have wandered into a circle of people and are now eavesdropping on their lives. A Separation is just such an experience.

Simin and Nader want a divorce. Well that’s not exactly true. Simin feels that Iran isn’t a suitable environment for their 11 year old daughter, Termeh. She wishes for all 3 of them to emigrate from Iran. But Nader’s father is not well. He has been stricken with Alzheimer’s and his health appears to be getting worse. His father is in no condition to make such a move and so Nader urges the family to stay so he may attend to his father. “He doesn’t even know you’re his son” his wife implores. “But I know he is my father!” he asserts. Nevertheless Simin is still adamant about leaving and so, Nader not wishing to stand in his wife’s way, agrees to a divorce so she may leave. However the court does not view her reasons as justification for their divorce and her request is denied.  Simin subsequently leaves to go live with her parents while their young daughter remains with her father. That’s how it starts, but that’s not where our story ends. The circumstances set the stage for a life altering chain of events.

Director Asghar Farhadi’s treatise is a deceptively simple, but morally ambitious film. It begins rather simply, but with each passing minute, the tension builds. One dilemma gives rise to another and so forth until what began as one problem has become a completely different crisis. What makes A Separation so masterful is its distillation of complex issues so that you see each person’s side equally. At one moment you feel sorry for Simin, but then you gradually understand Nader’s hardship. Then there is their daughter Termeh and her teacher Miss Ghahraei.  Nader hires deeply religious Razieh, as a nurse to take care of his father. She’s married to temperamental Houjat, her husband. Rarely has a picture portrayed a predicament so intricately unbiased that without exception, you can appreciate each individual’s perspective.  The narrative transcends what originates as a simple account dealing with a marital dispute. The film presents the rather tragic idea that sometimes the very noblest of intentions, can cause irreversible harm.

A Separation is a flawlessly directed ensemble piece. We’re introduced to a family and their acquaintances. Usually a director’s hand is apparent, guiding the viewer to a pre-ordained conclusion. In today’s world where most stories dictate there must be a hero and a villain, writer-director Farhadi is a bit of a rebel. He does not preach, but rather demonstrates life as it really is, where nuance and subtlety reign. His point of view is that he has no point of view. Farhadi simply lays humanity bare in a way that renders race, religion, and nationality irrelevant. Yes cultural differences play a part, as they would in any story regarding a group of people. Yet this not a drama about Iran, or Muslims, or even men and women. It is a drama about what it means to be human. In this way, A Separation is quite simply a masterpiece of modern cinema.

Postscript: Movies have competed for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film since 1956. In the entire history of the award only two productions from Iran have ever been nominated. The first was Children of Heaven in 1998. The second is A Separation in 2011. Here’s hoping it’s the first to actually win the award.