Best Foreign-Language Films

In the thick forests of a corner of Franco's fascist era Spain, in the gardens of a deserted military outpost where a ruthless General governs his men with the barbaric will to succeed, writer and director Guillermo Del Toro offers his audience a ray of hope and a hint of magic with his ethereal fantasy 'Pan's Labyrinth'. Through the eyes of the young protagonist, Ofelia, he invites us into become absorbed in a traditional tale of a kind heart persevering in a cruel world, and when all seems doomed to fail he lulls us gently to sleep, so we can awake with newfound strength and conviction, determined to find the good in us all.

When I first saw 'Pan's Labyrinth' I was almost certain of its greatness; five viewings later and none of the impact has been diminished. The majesty of the execution is intimidating; the technical mastery astonishing. Few pictures are so alive with passion and dedication; you can see Del Toro has poured his heart and soul into bringing his fairytale to life, repeatedly utilising his imaginative prowess in the most remarkable of ways.

'Pan's Labyrinth' has been advertised as a fantasy, and it certainly has supernatural elements, but to define the film through genre is to discredit the ambiguity of Del Toro's beautifully poetic language. In an opening narration of rhythmic delicacy, we are told the story of the King of the Underworld, "where there are no lies or pain", and how his daughter escaped one day into the world of humanity. It is too late to save her, and the King opens a number of portals across the planet to ensure his daughter's soul, perhaps in another body, may one day return to him.

It is implicitly requested we compare such a world with our own, which adds a reason for the setting in the midst of war and human conflict. World War Two is still raging on, innocent lives lost for the irreparable disputes of men with power. Ofelia is the embodiment of innocence; she and her heavily pregnant mother are due to live with her new 'father', General Vidal, but Ofelia's heart and loyalty belong to the one she lost. "It is just a word" says her mother.

At their new home Vidal runs the camp with precision and brute force. He values timekeeping, organisation, strength; but is obsessed with honour and legacy. Sergi Lopez ensures the character never becomes a one-dimensional villain, the epitome of pure evil, for that would dilute his humanity; and the General is surely human. Cold, mean-spirited, sadistic; but human nonetheless. At a dinner party a guest asks to hear the tale of the General?s father, who smashed his watch in battle so his son knew the exact time of his death. We have seen Vidal with this watch; it is well-polished, ticks perfectly, always safe. "No such watch exists", he replies to the guest.

All this drama serves a great purpose in laying strong foundations of human feeling for the fantasy sequences. Del Toro's subtlety in establishing character invites us to engage in more thought about what they are feeling, and why. The housemaid Mercedes, for example, takes a shine to Ofelia, and is clearly a woman with a good soul. Why then does she work for such an uninhibited monster? The house doctor too seems alienated from society at the camp; his expressions and glances repeatedly give this away, but nobody of importance is paying any attention. Del Toro suggests there is more to these characters, and wants us to believe that kindness will prevail.

The fantasy is the best kind of fantasy; not laughably clunky or ridiculously out of place, but a kind that perfectly blends into the reality already established. The gothic, intoxicating atmosphere flows smoothly between one world and the next; the tone never veers off course. One night a fairy invites Ofelia into the labyrinth, where she meets a faun who informs her of her fate. Three tasks must be completed before the full moon, and she may return to her true home.

Ofelia's undertaking of these tasks is delicately paralleled with her mother's on-going pregnancy and the battle of resisting Guerrilla forces in the neighbouring hillside, yet Del Toro assuredly works 'Pan's Labyrinth' into a cohesive whole. His knack for magnificent storytelling keeps the pace tight and our interest fully maintained. When tragedy strikes there is an overwhelming sense of shock and fear. And as the guerrilla's gain ground, and as the full moon approaches, the sense of urgency spills into euphoria and panic.

Del Toro's employment of metaphor and symbolism never seems to threaten such compelling drama. The narration, which he personally translated, doesn't tell us about the imagery on screen, but adds to it, offers us more to think about. The visual and aesthetic qualities highlight the thematic content rather than divert from it. Such a talent to transition all this material so eloquently gives rise to the most interesting question of 'Pan's Labyrinth'; is what we see through Ofelia's imagination, or is it a fully integrated part of the same world?

All of this, all these components born from a natural master of his art propel us to an enthralling and spellbinding finale, culminating at the heart of the labyrinth, where innocence and darkness are locked in inevitable battle where only one can truly claim victory. What makes 'Pan's Labyrinth' so profound, what lends its genuine impact is, I think, Del Toro's precision with not just what is interesting, but what is necessary. Every element of the film means something; not a shot or moment is wasted. And visually, soulfully, the director strikes a chord of humanity.

'Pan's Labyrinth' has deservedly won widespread critical acclaim and a host of awards, including the Academy Awards for Art Direction and Cinematography. It was robbed of the awards for Original Score and Foreign- Language Film, as well as corresponding Picture and Director nominations. It is the best film of 2006. It is a potent, gothic, awe-inspiring fantasy; a searing, blistering account of war; and a sublime affirmation of the resilience of the human spirit. It is an undeniable masterpiece.

The last days of war for Adolf Hitler are dramatically portrayed in this powerful film that delves deep into the Nazi's higher order and how they suffered a dreadful defeat. It is stunningly directed, camera angles and the use of light are used to full effect, and the grislier side of war is presented truly and astonishingly. The acting is also where the force of the film lies - Bruno Ganz captures the menace and horror of Hitler and his power almost perfectly. It's only real fault is that it is slightly too long, the ending drags to what could even be considered an anti-climax - it is maybe this that prevents it from being a true masterpiece. For such a compelling and thought-provoking film however, it's a small and easily overlooked fault at least.

'Amelie' is up to a lot more than you would initially suspect. It may appear to simply be a light-hearted, whimsical fable of colour and melody but watch out; director Jean-Pierre Jeunet knows how to wriggle humanity out of the most seemingly superficial and convoluted situations, and when it's let loose you start to feel more than you at first thought possible.

The full title is actually 'The Fabulous Destiny of Amelie Poulain', but for some reason it was shortened for the English release. But it encompasses the movie better, because the idea of destiny plays a key role in how Amelie thinks and feels about herself. I've dived straight in the deep end here, but it's important to remember the title; that is, the titular character. Jeunet's camera is her perspective, the lens her outlook, and the composure of shots her distortion of the real world.

And the vision of the world from the perspective of Amelie Poulain is a fascinating one, channeled by Jeunet through some comic, insightful narration and remarkable cinematography that twists and contorts itself around Amelie's little bubble of life. She grew up an outcast by restrictive parents, and generally lacks the more useful social decorum that for the rest of us means fitting in and not drawing attention to ourselves.

Yet Amelie doesn't draw attention to herself; she exists in the background, embedded in the tapestry of other peoples lives. So when the shock of hearing a news report on the death of Princess Diana causes her to find an old box of personal treasures, she is intent on finding the owner, and bringing him happiness.

It's from this point Amelie decides she will now dedicate her life to doing good deeds, to bring joy and delight to her friends and neighbours. In each little tale, in every striking character, Jeunet injects the cheerful intentions of his heroine. And with that stirring music, that cumulative sense of excitement that builds and builds with budding energy, 'Amelie' can't help but inflate you with happiness.

Now this might all sound a bit superficial, but shake off that cynical layer and you'll find yourself profoundly moved without realising it. Not all of Amelie's strategies or plans work as she would have hoped; in fact, some of her actions could be called meddlesome. Her idyllic picture of a colourful, clean and peaceful Paris isn't a starting point for social realism either. But Jeunet is urging us to look at the positive side of life; Audrey Tautou brings the most out of Amelie, to expose her humanity, her heart, and inspire us and sieze those oppurtunities that frighten us most.

And when she finds love in the equally shy and introverted Nino, a man who enjoys collecting discarded photos from public booths, you realise Jeunet's intentions work. An hour after watching 'Amelie', think about it, and you'll probably smile. But what about after a day, or a week, or two weeks? After a month? Maybe you'll want to try something new, or lend a helping hand, or be a shoulder to cry on. Or perhaps you'll think of whole new, trivial ways to brighten up a day; it's the little pleasures in life that make it all the more worthwhile.

A drama that explores the relationship between two brothers follows many conventions, yet somehow still manages to feel different and revelatory in its delivery. It has a wonderful score that captures the tension and serenity of particular scenes and helps to emphasise the emotion and distraught of the characters. The director's approach in particular is unique; nothing is what it seems, and we know as much as the character's do themselves so that as the story unfolds it feels more personal and intimate, and then more human in it's portrayal. Connie Nielson in particular is amazing - she evokes so much sympathy from the audience as we feel her confusion and pain that we don't even question her as a character - she feels like a real person. A brilliantly psychological character study, analysing the horrors of both war and home - challenging and thought-provoking.

'Cache' is a film about fear, paranoia and guilt, although cynicists will be quick to label it a weak hybrid of arthouse and thriller. Director Michael Haneke is devoted to attention to detail and crisp storytelling, yet never robs his picture of ambiguity. The film triggers ideas not only about what it means to be human, but what it means to be inhuman.

The film's French title weakly translates as 'Hidden', but the name is nevertheless apt, revealing more about Haneke's obsession with technique and how his style reflects the film's buried themes. 'Cache' opens with a still, single shot at a measured distance from a house which we know nothing about; yet after only a couple of minutes we are aware we are not the only ones watching this location. The camera is being used to observe by an off-screen character. But it remains hidden from public view.

And so the technique continues and plot points begin to unravel. Daniel Auteueil and Juliette Binoche are Georges and Anne Laurent, the bourgeois couple who live behind those walls. They receive tapes from an anonymous sender, and with a chilling realisation we become part of the recording process, part of what is hidden.

But as the fear and uncertainty begins to consume Anne and Georges we realise 'Cache' will not be about uncovering the identity of the sender, although Georges has a vague idea who might be behind them. Haneke is much more interested in how this harassment affects the human psyche; we observe the strain of the pair's relationship, and when their son fails to come home one night, the torture they suffer for a moment of reckless ignorance.

And gradually we become less interested in plot, but more intrigued by character. Georges past comes back to haunt him in mysterious ways, and Haneke raises all sorts of ethical dilemmas about atonement and repression. His preoccupation with the basic elements of film and media is more than apparent. Haneke envisions guilt as a lonely man, fearfully crouched in the corner of his mind and soul, consumed by darkness. His shocking, provocative but gently handled film suggests there is always more than meets the eye; what is hidden will inevitaby come to light.

Following on from Ray Charles, Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan, Edith Piaf is the next musical star to receive the biopic treatment, and director Olivier Dahan provides an interesting, if conventional angle to her story. She began as an impoverished child in Paris, abandoned by her mother. At nine, she sung her first song. Eventually, she reached the dizzying heights of New York, and there she performed some of her finest work. But Dahan doesn't take a chronological stance to her life, instead jumping back and forth from various moments, and while this could be confusing the director maintains a rigid backbone of balance, pace and structure; by the end of the film the audience fully appreciate Piaf's life, even if they cannot recollect unimportant details, names and dates. Marion Cotillard, however, is what makes this role truly memorable - she breathes the world of Edith Piaf in every scene, never diverting from character, never faltering in performance. For the film's interest truly is performance - the boldness, the intensity, sometimes even melodrama all contribute to the thematic ideal of art and Piaf's adoration for love. Not that she was the perfect person - Dahan doesn't shy away from her faults, which there were plenty, but neither is she a cliche of the poor-girl-turned-rich-diva (even though various scenes indicate it so) - we are persuaded her strong-willed exterior covers those feelings of loss and pain she felt as a 'nobody's' child. The film adorns such melodrama with appropriate aesthetics, from cinematography to costume and production design; everything in the film is distinctive in style, relentless in drawing our attentiveness, and this gives the film a striking, memorable look. Then the music - Edith Piaf's own recording for the most part - the music infiltrates the soul, bringing the film to life in almost every scene with - a somewhat paradoxical - great urgency yet quiet patience. Such elevated emotion surely stands out thanks to the downbeat drama of the film, but I couldn't help wonder if at least one, *happy* time of Piaf's life wouldn't be a welcome change. Still 'La Vie En Rose' is a fitting tribute, gloriously stylish, and genuinely emotional.

Review Coming Soon

A look at the early years in the life of Ernesto 'Che' Guevara, the radical idealist who led parts of the Cuban Revolution, 'The Motorcycle Diaries' is a poignant and interesting tale charting a road trip he and his best friend, Alberto, took in 1952 - the one that supposedly caused him to change his outlook on the world. Like most on-the-road films this picture has an episodic narrative that begins as we would expect, but eventually tumbles onto more socially sensitive ground of inequality, poverty and isolation. It moves from the comfortable to uneasy; from convention to innovation. Gael Garcia Bernal delivers an oustanding performance as the young student, gently embodying innocence and excitement at the beginning of the film and portraying an unearthing of understanding with sensitivity and realism. The director's stance is mostly observation, but he uses a montage of those in need of help to ensure the audience realise the harsh honesty of such suffering; the shots are moving images, but could just have easily been photos - instead we understand the director means to illustrate that such poverty is in the present, not the past. Still, such a heavy message never stifles the joys we previously encounter; the mischief of picking up girls in bars, the rows, tribulations and fun the boys share on a year's long journey. Although the eponymous bike fails to grace the screen for the duration of the film, it is easy to see the friends' journey as a homage rather than a failure - the bike is almost a friend whom they lost, yet must finish for, resulting in this engaging picture overlaid with beautiful cinematography and authentic music. 'The Motorcycle Diaries' is funny and charming, but has an extra layer of meaning to lend depth and resonance; despite exposing such a harrowing world it remains a testament to youth, and dreams. You don't have to have knowledge of or agree with Che's politics to enjoy this journey - it's often emotional and turbulent, not quite straightforward, but well worth the ride.

A thrilling and powerful film set in the Mayan civilization and of one man's escpae from destiny. The film has a solid and brilliantly devised first act, which sets high standards for the rest of the feature. The gore is handled well, and the cinematograohy amazing, Gibson capturing some wonderful shots of the scenery and displaying a masterful piece of camera work. It is slightly drawn out, but the brilliant finale and sense of doom makes up for a slightly contrived story.

A martial arts extravaganza thick on looks but less so on plot, 'Hero' is a film that dazzles and amazes during viewing, but once it is finally over the audience is in danger of mild feelings of unsatisfaction. Jet Li stars as warrior Nameless, who recounts several versions of the same story, and it is left within the audience's power to decide which holds the truth - even if the finale results in one being far more likely than the rest. The direction of 'Hero' is near-perfect; the action sequences are delivered with rigour and skill, never failing to engage the audience on a tentative level of second-guessing the outcome, while colour and natural season are used as symbols to reflect mood and invoke atmosphere, shades of red, blue, white and green cleverly employed to distinguish different lines of narrative. The film plays out like a myth or folk-tale, and so like all captivating legends works beyond the metaphysical, and takes twists and turns in style and plot and thematic differences. The acting is all great, but Maggie Cheung as determined enemy Flying Snow resonates as the most affecting; her character is stronger, more defiant, yet still good-hearted to the end. Unfortunately, the choppy narrative means engaging on an emotional level becomes more difficult with each step, and some of the fight sequences seem dragged purely for the sake of extending the already-quite-short running time. In the end, however, the film delivers; the outstanding cinematography and picturesque feel enhance the story-like approach, and the poetic, philosophical undertones show level of depths beyond mere action and adventure. The final range of motives - patrotism, love, honour and sacrifice - all have conflicting impact, the audience being rewarded with heavy discussion rather than disturbing emotional resonance, which isn't so bad at all.

'The Orphanage' is so deeply entrenched in the classic staples of the horror genre that, for a while, you will feel like you have heard the story many times before. There were moments in the opening passages where I despaired at how predictable and lifeless the picture might turn out to be. But wait; the filmmakers have something remarkable up their sleeves. Not simply in the plot resolution, but in how the tale builds a sense of rhythmic tension, in how character arcs evolve, and in our sudden realisation that we are more emotionally immersed within the story than we would have at first thought possible.

Although the advertising focuses heavily on the slogan 'Guillermo Del Toro presents', he is merely the producer. The film is the debut feature of Spanish filmmaker J.A. Bayona, although there are a number of stylistic similarities between this and Del Toro's masterwork 'Pan's Labyrinth'. Nevertheless, 'The Orphanage' is an altogether different picture, and while the likeness between the films initially lingers the narrative is strong enough to make us forget its superior influences.

As a child Laura grew up in an orphanage, in a large manor house settled within the Spanish countryside. A brief introductory flashback shows her and the other children enjoying their time together, playing games in a sunny courtyard. Days after this scene Laura was adopted, but her fondness of this first home remained firm, and as an older wife and mother she purchases the house, keen to restore it and open a new orphanage where lost children may find a happy place to live.

'House of Flying Daggers' is a film where artistry and effects are what are of main importance; plot, characters and subtext are all secondary aspects to the picture. Director Zhang Yimou, who also directed 'Hero' focuses on the look of this film with utter dedication, but unfortunately devotion to style means some of the film's emotional bulk is going to get bogged down; an issue if what we see is going to be more than just visually affecting.

The film is set as China's Tang Dynasty is in turmoil and a secret underground organisation, the House of Flying Daggers, plans to overthrow the corrupt Government. Two captains are under orders to discover the House's leader, and hatch a plan using a blind member of the body to uncover the truth.

The opening half of the film seems inconsistent in tone, and much of the exotic dance or fight sequences seem to act as filler. Some of the dialogue is overly cliche, and the construction is slightly uneven.

That seems a lot of complaints, but they are all minor in gravity. The screen remains awash with intoxicating colour, and the bright and vivid cinematography means the atmosphere is consistently breathtaking and sensuous. The visuals remain the top aspect of this feature.

Luckily, the second half expands plot and characters to their full potential. The romance material is mature, and the film becomes settled in its genre. Ziyi Zhang is a brilliant actress, and the surprising plot twists allow her to display a range of character traits up to the final, poetic finale on a field of snow.

'House of Flying Daggers' lasts a little too long, and the skilled direction is a little rough around the edges, but it ends as a successful film. It's about art in more than one sense, and the focus is bold and strong. You can't walk away unimpressed.

Sometimes a film enraptures us through pure narrative force. We invest ourselves into the characters, the situation - right into the moment when the accumulation of suspense before a crossroads leaves us with an urgent desire to know where things are heading. You become intertwined with the picture's thematic elements, with its mood and ideals, and want to stay with the protagonist all the way.

'The Kite Runner' has the potential to be one of those films, and it has moments where we are almost sure it is about to be so. But director Marc Forster plays it safe - too safe - and so what we must settle with is a nice story, nicely told. Not a bad thing really, but sometimes wasted potential is more irritating than a poor effort.

Based on Khaled Hosseini's popular bestseller, 'The Kite Runner' is the moving story of childhood best friends Amir and Hassan, separated by race and wealth, but united in loyalty and a love for kite-flying. Hassan and his father are Hizarra, a minority group of Shiah-Muslims in Afghanistan, and they work as servants in Amir's household. Although his mother died in childbirth and the relationship with his father often becomes tense, Amir has a faithful friend in Hassan. But while the boys play carefree in the sunny squares of their neighbourhood, the political structure of the country begins to change.

The first hour of 'The Kite Runner' works so smoothly you can almost see the hear the cogs of a perfectly-made picture clicking in motion. The children's adventures are rightly the main focus, while the political talk continues aside, in whispers and offhand remarks that fail to swerve our - or the boys - attention from the fun and games in the streets of Afghanistan. Forster takes a workmanlike approach, sticking to unfolding the story with little distortion or over-stylization, and the surprise is how magnificently the direction brings the story to life. You watch the kites, completely absorbed and fascinated as they swoop and swerve around each other in a flurry of colour and wind.

But then the darkness of reality creeps up on this idyllic way of life. Hassan is involved in a shocking act of violence Amir can't shake off, primarily because of the guilt it bestows upon himself. He acted cowardly. The boys begin to drift; their friendship cracks. And then the Soviets invade.

From this point on the film's tone is too banal to be as affecting as it could be. I felt tense in Amir and his father's escape from the country; but where was the sense of uncertainty and fear? The pacing starts to drag as Amir's life in America unfolds; where is the focus, the narrative push? You ask yourself; where is all this going? What has happened to Hassan?

Fortunately, our questions are answered, and the screenplay throws up a couple of surprises to stir our interest. But the film has already split into two different halves than a cohesive whole, and as the former made such an impression the latter doesn't register on the same scale.

Although it may have made an effort to adhere to the novel, I can't help but think a screenplay built around flashbacks would have worked better. This intercutting framing device is usually the subject of criticism for it's convoluted appearance, but here the parallel could have worked perfectly. Amir's present quest needs greater narrative strength, and perhaps emotional reflection could have had more resonance.

None of the acting is stand-out, but the film works best as an examination of character, an observation of the power of deep friendship and the necessity for redemption to overcome guilt. When Amir finally returns to his homeland under Taliban rule, the changes perceived as 'normal' have a profound effect on his memories.

'The Kite Runner' is moving because it avoids sentimentalism, and doesn't manipulate us into empathy or judgement. We see events unfold, and see how they affect character decisions, and move along with the story. A lack of focus and some structural issues leave it wanting for a masterpiece, but Forster celebrates friendship, justice, and perhaps more prominently, the power of the written word to change our lives.