2003's Top 20

Is Cinema still an art form? It should be! It should always be about Human expression, a way of Mankind transcending itself. But the sad truth is that these days almost anyone can make a 'movie'. However, every once and a while there comes a film, a genuine piece of Art that restores my faith and love for the power and beauty of Cinema. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring is one of those films.



This is a film of an extremely rare beauty. Visually stunning, from Spring to Winter you feel pulled into that place and you almost feel like you're actually there. That's how brilliant Kim Ki-duk is. There is one single location (the lake), no characters' names and almost no plot at all (one single piece of paper would probably be enough) and still, this is such a mind-opening piece of work. A reflection on life and its constant changes, full of symbolisms and with the Buddhist life philosophy in background. From childhood and its innocence, to youth and its complexity and finally 'grown up' life and its solitude. I loved the way the monk changes when he leaves the lake. Leaving as a kid in love and returning as a murderer from the 'world of men', like his master called it. The main message in my opinion. Nature vs. 'The world of Men'...

Let's face it. Asian Cinema has something that no one else has. I'm not sure what is it, I don't think anyone does, but I do know that I had never seen the essence of life captured on film, like Kim Ki-duk managed. A Masterpiece!

Von Trier's most complete work! Amazing film! Great performance by Nicole Kidman!

Bill: "Do you find me sadistic? You know, I bet I could fry an egg on your head right now, if I wanted to. You know, Kiddo, I'd like to believe that you're aware enough even now to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions. Well, maybe towards those other... jokers, but not you. No Kiddo, at this moment, this is me at my most... [cocks pistol] masochistic."



Quentin Tarantino has never hid his love for 1970s exploitation and asian/kung fu genre films. His occasional film festivals have often featured forgotten and nearly-forgotten grindhouse fare and his "Rolling Thunder" distribution company (named after the 1977 revenge flick) has brought back into circulation b-films such as 1975's Switchblade Sisters (from blaxploitation director Jack Hill) and Takeshi Kitano's 1993 gangster film Sonatine, which was the first Kitano feature to be shown internationally and one of Taratino's inspirations for Reservoir Dogs (this
photo, Tarantino himself admited, being an actual tribute to that film and to Takeshi "Beat" Kitano). But with Kill Bill, Volume 1 (and later Vol. 2) Tarantino has taken all of his grindhouse and kung fu inspirations, filtered them through his own particular vision and created a masterpiece that is more than the sum of his influences.

Uma Thurman is The Bride, a member of the elite Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. When she decides to quit the professional assassination business to settle down and marry, leaving without a word after discovering she's pregnant, the other members of the team show up at her wedding - at the wedding rehearsal, actually - killing everyone present and putting her in a 4-year coma. Understandably enraged at having had four years of her life, her planned future and her unborn baby all taken from her, The Bride sets out to extract her revenge on her former team mates (Vivica A. Fox, Lucy Liu, Darryl Hannah and Michael Madsen) and their leader, the enigmatic Bill (David Carradine). Volume 1 sees the Bride start out on her quest and her encounters with a now turned suburban housewife Fox and Tokyo organized crime head Liu before ending on an emotional cliffhanger leading to what would be the concluding installment, one year later.

Even with Tarantino's trademark non-linear storytelling, the plot is strictly fairly linear, in much of the style of the many of the kung fu auctioneers released by the Hong Kong based Shaw Brothers Studio from the '60s to the early '80s. Tarantino is plundering much of the same source material that Ang Lee did for 2000's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. But where Lee concentrated on themes of love, honor and duty, Tarantino is more concerned with vengeance, a much rawer and bloodier business.

When I first saw Vol. 1, I believed Tarantino was - besides making a film he always dreamed of - baiting us to cheer for vigilante justice and excessive bloodshed. But having seen the whole thing now, I see that this takes place in a fantasy world, a police-free universe, in which the Bride represents the struggle of a sinful woman to break free of her chains, rid the world of her devilish master, and make the world safe for herself and whoever might come after her.

Make no mistake, Kill Bill is a violent picture, which obviously put some audience members off (members who shouldn't even be watching it in the first place, for it simply wasn't made for them) and even had the audacity to call it overrated. But the violence almost transcends itself at points. Tarantino (along with fight choreographer Yuen Wo-Ping) stage the most violent and lengthy segment ("The Showdown at the House of Blue Leaves") almost as if it was a dance number, with long flowing shots that showcase the fighting skill of all involved. At one point Thurman and several opponents square off in silhouette backlit by blue light recalling An American In Paris.

Kill Bill wears its inspirations on its sleeve. It opens with the title card "Filmed in Shaw-Scope" that graced the opening seconds of many Shaw Brothers pictures. The flashback describing fellow assassin O-Ren's background is done in Japanese animation style. Living legend Sonny Chiba, star of the Streetfighter series of films in the '70s, appears as Hattori Hanzo, a master forger of samurai swords, former Shaw Brothers star Gordon Liu (1978's 36th Chamber of Shaolin) is Johnny Mo, the head of Lucy Liu's army of black-suited yakuzas, "The Crazy 88", and the - at the time - 19-year-old Chiaki Kuriyama is the insanely psychotic and sexy Gogo Yubari (aka coolest body guard ever created) who, from the moment she appeared in cult films as Battle Royale and Ju-on, obviously got Tarantino's attention.

While many may pick up on the Bride's yellow track suit as a tip of the hat towards Bruce Lee's Game of Death (1978), many may not get the finale to the House of Blue Leaves fight as being visually inspired by the Shaw Brothers production Lady Snowblood (1973). Still, one doesn't need to know that Darryl Hannah's character is inspired in the main character of the Swedish film Thriller (aka They Call Me One-Eye, 1974) to enjoy Kill Bill any more than any other filmgoer. It's certainly fun to discover those little details, but they're just an extra. Kill Bill owes its masterpiece title to itself and, although Tarantino takes many inspiration from all those films, his outdoes most of them, which would be expected.

This same philosophy seems to have directed Tarantino's choice of music for the film's soundtrack. Here he's utilized tracks like Al Hirt's "Green Hornet", Isaac Hayes' "Run Fay Run", Argentinian master Luis Bacalov's "The Grand Duel" (from 1972's Italian Spaghetti Western of the same name) and Nancy Sinatra's cover of "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)" (originally recorded by Cher in 1966). This is not the first time that he's cannibalized another film's soundtrack. Jackie Brown opened with the theme from Across 110th Street from the 1972 crime-drama of the same name. Tarantino makes the most of these selections, cutting images to the music's rhythm for maximum impact.

But Kill Bill - contrary to many's belief - isn't just a triumph of style, there's plenty of substance also. These characters know they're part of a cycle of violence that they may not be able to break free from. Early in the film the Bride regrets that Fox's 4-year-old daughter discovers the end result of their confrontation and tells her "If when you grow up, if you're still raw about it, I'll be waiting". When The Bride defeats Lucy Liu's O-Ren, there's not a sense of accomplishment, but one of remorse, knowing that O-Ren's life was forged from a similar experience of violent loss that has set the Bride on her own path of retribution. Whether or not the Bride can break free of this cycle of violence, especially in light of the film's final line of dialogue, would remain a doubt until April 2004, when the much expected Volume 2 came out.

The best example of modern cinema of how to make a good remake: by keeping the director/screenwriter and changing only the language and enviroment in which the film takes place. One of the extremely rare cases in which the remake came close to the perfection of its original film.

Will Bloom: "You know about icebergs, dad?
Senior Ed Bloom: Do I? I saw an iceberg once. They were hauling it down to Texas for drinking water. They didn't count on there being an elephant frozen inside. The wooly kind. A mammoth.
Will Bloom: Dad!
Senior Ed Bloom: What?
Will Bloom: I'm trying to make a metaphor here.
Senior Ed Bloom: Well you shouldn't have started with a question, because most people want to answer questions. You should've started with "the thing about icebergs is..."



These days a good film has to be complex, 'smart'... It can't be just funny or unpretentious, it has to be meaningful as well. The beauty about Tim Burton is that he can take the most simple idea and turn it into something completely magic and unique. That's what he did with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and Big Fish as well. In my opinion his best work since Ed Wood.

Like I said, originality is everything. So, a story of a young man, a son who tries to come to terms with his dying father who he knows nothing about, is not exactly original... But Burton makes it into something absolutely new, inventive and fresh. With giants, werewolves, witches, siamese twins, bank robbers, hidden cities, circuses, giant fishes, etc. all mixed together, taking us to an alternative reality... Or maybe not. That's what I loved the most; we're constantly doubting Ed Bloom (the old one, played by Albert Finney). Is he a liar, a great story teller? Or he actually went through all of those magical adventures? We just can't help believing it. Like I saw on a Tim Burton interview, the human spirit loves fantasy, loves believing in something it knows it's not real. And isn't that one of our greatest qualities?

One of my most personally strong and emotional cinematic experiences. A film with an enormous sense of joy and wonder as it celebrates our existence, while reminding us of our mortality. You get to experience the sentiment without drowning in it, and you get a sharp-edged ideological exploration of living (and dying) in modern times like extremely few films made in recent years provide.

Pure cinematic bliss. Extraordinary in its beautiful, lyrical simplicity. A quiet, sublime exploration of delicate relationships and uncommunicated frustrations, in a beautifully composed atmosphere of isolation. One of the most witty and strangely beautiful tales of friendship seen in recent years. Sofia ('cause there's only one Coppola) will be one of the most important filmmakers of our century. That could very well be a scientifically proved fact.

Fin: "Well, there are people called train chasers. They follow a train and they film it.
Olivia: Are you a train chaser?
Fin: No.
Olivia: How come?
Fin: I don't know how to drive a car. And I don't own a camera.
Olivia: That'd do it."



One of the most beloved films in Sundance's 20-something years of existence, and certainly one of its greatest discoveries, The Station Agent is one of those completely unselfconscious indie gems that slip through cracks and won't likely see the light of day to the average person, which, let me tell you, is an enormous shame. This film has a gigantic heart. A delightfully whimsy and smart little comedy/drama - the kind of small-town flick that Hal Hartley used to do so well. The kind that makes you laugh and cry - often at the same time.

The Station Agent tells the story of 4-foot-5-inch Finbar McBride (Peter Dinklage). Fin is a train lover. He works in a shop, "The Golden Spike," catering to railway enthusiasts. When the owner, his best friend Harry, dies, Fin inherits a plot of land in Newfoundland, New Jersey with an abandoned train depot. He's a bit of a loner, so he settles down quite comfortably in the abandoned station out in the sticks in the middle of nowhere. There he meets the friendly and talky Joe (Bobby Cannavale), a Cuban vendor who operates out of a snack truck and who can't seem to spend a single moment in silence, constantly talking to anyone who will listen, even if they aren't really listening. While walking from his new home to the local grocery, Fin is nearly run down - twice - by Olivia (Patricia Clarkston), a clumsy and troubled artist with a lot of issues on her mind.

Fin doesn't want friendship or involvement. He doesn't want their pity or interest. He wants nothing more than to be left alone to watch his trains. Of course, curiosity breaks down his defences. In time, Fin is talking with Joe, whose breakfast/lunch truck mysteriously parks itself each morning outside the station, even though it does not appear to be a hotspot of local commerce. Olivia tries to apologize for nearly running over Fin with her SUV and ends up collapsing for the night on his couch. Fin's silent manner, not to mention his stature, makes him the perfect listener. And we know he is listening, we know he cares. You can tell it in his eyes.

These three souls have nothing visibly in common and, in the real world, they probably would never talk to each other. It's what they don't show that will bind them. Each in their own way is hiding, Joe behind a barrage of talk, Olivia by ignoring her husband's calls, and Fin by ignoring most anyone and immersing himself in trains. The Station Agent is, in the end, about how three different people come together and find some peace, I think. This is not a neat package, rather, a true one and is as engrossing and genuine as it might also be mundane. As you watch this film, you get this overwhelming feeling that you're watching something real, and that makes it even more special.

Actor-turned-writer/director Thomas McCarthy has taken the bare bones approach and focused on characters. And he makes you care about his creations. Blessed with marvellous performances, particularly by the perfect Dinklage, McCarthy smartly allows the story to unfold naturally instead of forcing things. For example, there are no unrealistic romantic moments; things develop slowly like they would, perhaps, in the real world.

Dinklage radiates charisma. He has a commanding presence and his subtleties as an actor are really great. Honestly, most likely he could relate to a majority of Fin's little nuances (being, I think this is the right term, a little person himself), which is what sells his performance. The chemistry between him, Cannavale, and Clarkson is what really moves the film forward and their moments together - doing nothing particularly special, like sharing a meal, watching a video or smoking a joint - are an absolute joy to watch. Cannavale is a delight. After what can be construed as a confrontation with Fin, Joe disappears from the film for twelve minutes. You can feel something is missing when he's not there, and when the two reconcile, there's no "I'm sorry, kiss and make up scene." There's just a car ride of silence - understood silence, which is one of the most realistic and treasured little moments the film has to offer.

With Clarkson and Dinklage, McCarthy has cast two of the contemporary screen's great faces, and he films them accordingly. His cinematographer used grainy 16mm film to photograph The Station Agent, which results in a transparent, unfocused look that fits the film's gentle tone (in certain still, night-time moments, Clarkson actually looks as if she's been painted by Gerhard Richter). The film is gifted with not only strong performances from the principals, the supporting cast (including Raven Goodwin as Cleo, a schoolgirl Fin meets, and Michelle Williams as Emily, the cute librarian with a crush on Fin) all strike the right note with little gems of performances.

The Station Agent is the kind of film I dream of making one day. That's the greatest compliment I can give it. It overcomes a premise that sounds a little mawkish and sentimental, and evokes genuine and well-earned emotion and laughter throughout its 88 deft, funny and fabulous minutes. This is at heart a character study, and all three leads are marvellous, creating intricate portraits of lonely people who grow and change because of the effect they have on one another. These characters feel like real people and they're left to bond in the warm silence of true friendship, while the dry New Jersey humour - with which Zach Braff made Garden State - drives the film along at a perfect pace that never drags for a single minute. In fact, you find yourself begging for it not to end.

If you've ever had a really good friend of either sex, you'll understand how this film shows how the bonds of friendship truly know no bounds. It is colour blind, gender blind, and one doesn't need to be a specific height in order to ride it. A precious, precious little film.

Fin: "I'm retired, actually.
Emily: Aren't you a little young to be retired?
Fin: No, dwarves retire early. Common fact.
Emily: Yeah, *lazy* dwarves."

An enchanting, deeply spiritual gem of a film. The spectacular New Zealand setting makes the perfect backdrop for the film's blend of realism and fantasy. Keisha Castle-Hughes is one of cinema's next biggest stars!

I saw 'Ondskan' last year (2005). Even though it took one year and a half, I'm proud that I got to see this Oscar-nominated film in my country, in the theatre. I'm sure not many had the chance...

At first sight 'Ondskan' may not seem exacly original. School bullying, upper class domination, violence... But it's nothing like any other attempt that you might have seen of portraying those 'social problems'. Not at all! It's more like a psychological study of violence. A different look, a closer one, at youth itself. The violence is not pretty, it's dirty and real. Broken noses, arms, lots of blood. Erik is an easy to relate character. He is not exacly the first kid getting into fights at school or being abused at home... I felt an enormous empathy with him. I found myself, at times, wishing that he'd break someone's nose! (I'm not a violent person...). That was the 'moral' aspect of the film working. We see injustice in front of our eyes and we react. Human nature... At last, had to mention the young, super talented cast! Specially Andreas Wilson, obviously, and Gustaf Skarsgård who brilliantly plays the despictable 'rich boy' Otto. Both massive actors!

9/10*

"Many books say "death is relaxing". Did you know that? No need to follow the latest trends. No need to keep pace
with the rest of the world. No more e-mail. No more telephone. It'll be like taking a nap... Before waking up refreshed and ready to begin your next life. That's what they say."



From David Lean's Brief Encounter to Bernardo Bertolucci's Last Tango in Paris to Wong Kar-wai's In the Mood for Love, the chance meeting of strangers and the subsequent relationship they develop within a limited timeframe has long served as a fruitful filmic subject. There's something inherently tragic about the idea of romance cut short by the powers of fate, whether in the form of death, insuperable social taboo, or simply a planned relocation, as in the case of Thai filmmaker Pen-ek Ratanaruang's terrific fourth feature, Last Life in the Universe.

One of the first images we see in the film is a pile of books scattered across the floor, with a slipper on top. As the camera slowly inclines upward, we see a man's feet, with one slipper on, and then his legs hanging above the books. "My name is Kenji", a voice says over the soundtrack, "This could be me three hours from now. Why do I want to kill myself?" he muses, "I don't know. I wouldn't kill myself for the same reasons as other suicidal people. Money problems. Broken heart. Hopelessness. No, not me".

This is clearly a fantasy sequence, complete with two acquaintances of Kenji's entering the room and one fainting at the sight of his lifeless body hanging from the ceiling. But a moment later, we see the real-life Kenji (Tadanobu Asano) standing atop a neatly stacked pile of books with a noose around his neck. He's about to kill himself when he's interrupted by the doorbell. It's his gangster brother, who laughs upon noticing that Kenji was about to attempt suicide, an apparently routine recurrence. He hands Kenji a six-pack of Heineken, which Kenji immediately stocks, labels-forward, in his fridge, a character gesture that matches the clean order of his austerely decorated apartment (dozens of stacks of books and DVDs, and not much else line the walls of Kenji's living quarters).

This scene is an early example of Ratanaruang's rather mordant sense of deadpan humor. Perhaps the funniest and certainly one of the most brilliant comes a little later, when one character says to another that he watches too many yakuza films just before Ratanaruang, with a quick meta wink, cuts abruptly to a poster of Takashi Miike's Ichi the Killer, featuring Asano's image; Miike himself even turns up in the film, in a small part as a yakuza boss.

Kenji works as a librarian at a Japanese cultural center in Bangkok. He has attempted to shut himself off from the chaos of the outside world, but things soon spiral out of control when his brother is killed while visiting his apartment and - out of self-defense, not revenge - Kenji shoots the man who's just murdered his brother. He leaves his apartment as it's beginning to stink from the rot of the two corpses, and is about to jump off a highway bridge, when, once again, his suicide attempt is interrupted - this time by a traffic accident. Following the accident, Kenji strikes up a sort-of-relationship with Noi (Sinitta Boonyasak), the sister of the young girl whose sudden, gruesome and masterfully shot death he witnessed just as he was about to take his own life.

It's obvious, at once, that Noi is Kenji's polar opposite. She's beautiful, but moody and mercurial, and her place is an authentic pig-house, cluttered and surely infested with god-knows-what, dirty dishes piled about a foot above the sink. Nevertheless, Kenji takes it up on himself to move in with her, and, somewhat reluctantly, Noi allows him to stay - much to her abusive boyfriend's responsibility. She's teaching herself Japanese as she plans soon (as in, next Monday) on moving to Osaka, but hasn't mastered the language to the point where she can speak fluently with Kenji, who himself struggles with Thai. So, they converse mostly in broken English as their relationship, marked by a mutual sense of isolation and subtle sparks of romance, gradually takes shape.



Writer-director Pen-Ek Ratanaruang is a self-admitted fan of filmmakers like Jim Jarmusch and Aki Kaurismäki, and he shares some of their preoccupations, such as wryly downplaying the language differences of his characters and showing more interest in household detail than any drama going on outside. The film also reminds me of Tsai Ming-Liang's What Time Is It There?, with its parallels, connections, and criss-crossing cultures. Some critics have also compared the film to Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation, in which a mismatched pair of travellers find each other in a cloud of melancholy. There's truth and untruth about that. Lost in Translation uncovers little bits of truth about people, and Coppola lets her characters - and her story - drift delicately through indistinct thoughts and honest emotions. Ratanaruang doesn't, he orchestrates his characters to attract or repel each other like magnets, adjusting the angles to arrive at an optimally clever conclusion.

Visually speaking, Last Life in the Universe is a little piece of perfection. Ratanaruang and master cinematographer Christopher Doyle (Wong Kar-wai's longtime DP of choice and one of the finest working in cinema today) partner together to supply this offbeat love story with an appropriately dreamy visual design. (Both would work together again in Invisible Waves). If Doyle's photography, gorgeous as always, inadvertently calls to mind his past work on films like Wong's Happy Together and Chungking Express and Chen Kaige's Temptress Moon in its expressive use of light and spatial distance, Ratanaruang's haunting rhythms and idiosyncratic stylistic sense make Last Life a strikingly fresh trip down what may seem a well-worn path.

Doyle's camera glides through Noi's house, and at one point household objects hang in mid-air, recalling the swirling vortex of leaves in Hero. This sort of moody visual poetry is the highlight of a film whose pleasures come not from peace and understanding, and not even from observing human foibles, but from watching a lizard on an apartment and such scenes. The performances are spot-on (with great chemistry between Asano and Boonyasak), the ample humor is gentle and dark, and the guns and gangsters are thankfully minor. Ratanaruang's playful flourishes are exciting - he swaps actresses late in the game, experiments with dream-vs-reality, and shows his opening title some 30 minutes into the film.

One bizarre sequence, in particular, (it could be a dream or fantasy, a stoned hallucination, or just a neat time-lapse trick - and those who've seen the film, I imagine, know exactly which scene it is I'm talking about), is altogether unlike just about anything I've seen on screen before. In its ambiguity and eerie otherworldliness, it serves to epitomize the tone that Ratanaruang successfully sustains throughout the film - and that will very likely continue to stick with you hours, even days after viewing it. Just like the film itself.

A new personal Christmas favourite of mine. I'm literally addicted in watching this film. One of the greatest ensemble casts in British cinema history.

Girl in Cafeteria: "What are you writing?
Alex: Uh, this? It's my plan.
Girl in Cafeteria: For what?
Alex: Oh, you'll see."



Gus Van Sant's Elephant, at first blush, seems on an inexorable path to controversy. The film that put a stop to the nine-year absence of American cinema from the list of Palme d'Or winners, it is a quietly horrifying, fictional exploration of a Columbine-like school shooting... but one with little - or absolutely no - moralizing about its subjects. The film projects a cavernous, labyrinthine American educational system that has little understanding of the deeper social forces affecting its students. Perhaps most provocative, the two male killers share a pre-annihilation kiss. Add political fire-storm, mix well, and serve.

These details, however, misrepresent the undeniably compelling nature of Van Sant's mesmeric film. Told in sparse, improvised dialogue that erupts between longer, langorous passages of time, Elephant strips the tragic sentimentality from this particular social catastrophe, allowing viewers to look reflectively at a larger context. It is moving, yes, and sad too. But it's also fine, magnificent work that makes one re-consider preconceived notions about Columbine?s massacre and its causes. It is important, timely, and visionary cinema.

Considering that Van Sant revelled in unchecked sentimentalism when he directed another story about two mixed-up boys (Good Will Hunting), the cool, even tone of Elephant is refreshing and unexpected; it is, perhaps not surprisingly, the best film of his career. His cast, comprised of over a dozen untrained teenagers in Portland, Oregon, reach astonishing heights under his direction, inhabiting their high-school trajectories with disarming honesty and adolescent ritual. Improvised dialogue can often be indulgent and grating, but here the cast?s personal experiences imbue it with a clarity no screenwriter could have attained. Particularly outstanding are John Robinson as a social butterfly who must care for his alcoholic father, and Alex Frost as the social outcast who takes solace in classical piano and internet gun websites.

Unhurried and unconstricted, Van Sant follows a very particular and personal vision, reflected most exquisitely in the cinematography of Harris Savides. The camera floats ethereally around the campus, a seemingly endless connection of nondescript hallways, vacant gymnasiums, and personality-beige classrooms. Savides fills each frame with a classical grandeur, a rolling beauty that underscores both the banal commonality of high school life and the missed opportunities in every moment. It is as if the camera is telling us that life is precious... and no one is there to listen. Savides' images are complemented by an outstanding score - a collection of songs chosen by Van Sant himself - that enhances the elegiac quality of the filmmaking. The music of Beethoven, in particular, resonates superbly in the film's atmospheric aura.

Much was made of the details of the story, where controversy would always find plenty to rear its ugly head about. The final strength of Elephant, however, is not in these particular plot points, but in its steady, sharp focus on the larger picture. The murders, we all know, are horrific. But the blissful, unaware hours that precede them - which make up the majority of the film - are even more so. The minutiae of high school life becomes electrically charged by the misery we know is imminent, but Elephant never tips its emotional hand to exploit this. The tension stays firmly in us, and not the students - they are dramatically unprepared for cataclysm when it occurs. When tragedy finally does arrive, even we who knew what was coming are unprepared for its impact. What in the hands of a lesser director might have become overwrought or maudlin is instead a cool, dispassionate sadness at the inevitably of a culture gone awry.

Elephant's greatest achievement is to remove the veil of history from these events, making the unreal real again. Great art undoes its viewer, in order to remake us. On that score, Van Sant has scored an unreserved triumph. And I'm sure that Béla Tarr was proud to have influenced such fine cinema.

"So foul and fair a day I have not seen."

A humanistic adventure film that's both rich with characterization and edge-of-your-seat battle scenes, as well as vivid historical details and compelling naturalistic action. Exuberant, entertaining and unapologetically old-fashioned tale of adventure on the high seas, immaculately crafted by Peter Weir - who was much missed - and acted by Crowe, Bettany and a vast cast of talented supportive players. A nice tribute to old pirate/sea classics that we all grew up watching.