Day Night Day Night (Julia Loktev, 2007) - B
The minor hubbub about Loktev allegedly asking us to "sympathize with a suicide bomber" is largely a red herring, since the picture she paints is, at least to my mind, consonant with the sort of religious fanaticism that can drive someone to detonate a nail bomb in Times Square. Portraying the terrorist as an attractive 19 year-old girl who is wracked by fear and doubt and carries a picture of her baby brother in her purse strikes me as noncontroversial, and preferring to think of these people as barely sentient ogres seems unproductive. Indeed, what makes the film crackle for over an hour is its verisimilitude -- as with United 93, the suspense is in the mundane details of something so awful and huge (though what with Day Night Day Night being fictitious, the ultimate effect is quite a bit different). The movie is so unflinching for a while that it's disappointing when Loktev wimps out with a last-act contrivance that allows for some convenient thematic point-making but breaks the terrifying spell -- the ending is kind of akin to the compromise in the 1998 disaster flick Deep Impact, which tried to have its cake and eat it, too, by averting the apocalypse but breaking off a little piece of the comet hurtling toward Earth and having it make a big splash in the Atlantic Ocean.
Brand Upon the Brain! (Guy Maddin, 2007) - C-
This joker is supposed to be the Canadian answer to David Lynch? Please. What made "Twin Peaks" such an awe-inspiring masterpiece is its utter devotion to its story even as it descends into the nightmarish and bizarre; what makes Mulholland Drive one of the finest films of the decade is the way it coalesces both narratively and emotionally even as Lynch mercilessly fucks with your head. Maddin's stuff -- self-consciously baroque plots in late-era silent film pastiches -- doesn't do it for me because it's so damn insincere: I kept expecting a rim shot after every damn chapter break and title card. Sad part is, I really want to see a movie about a teenage mystery-serial detective who comes to an island to discover the true nature of a mysterious orphanage where, it turns out, a mad scientist is piercing holes in children's necks to extract their life essense. It's just not Brand Upon the Brain!, which unloads such a barrage of visual and aural tricks and quirks that it becomes oppressive and no fun at all. What's the point of inventing a story so mysterious and strange if you're not going to take it seriously?
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