These are the releases that hit movie screens this December 6:
Por Philipp Engel
What happens when a woman is the dominant figure in a couple? That could be the fundamental question that Justine Triet and her co-writer, Arthur Harari, also a director (of notable films such as Diamant noir), as well as a romantic partner, asked themselves when they sat down to write the script for the fourth film of the series. director of The Battle of Solferino (2013). What if he jumps out the window? Hadn't she pushed him, one way or another? What if they are both writers? And, to top it off with “auto-fiction,” with the nerves and the ego struggle that comes with the coexistence of two writers with an intellectual and sexual bond, it is not known to what extent love, in addition to parenthood, What happens when she is successful and he is not? These questions, undoubtedly pertinent in a time in which traditional gender roles are still being blown up, inevitably challenge the viewer of this well-deserved Palme d'Or cannoise that, although it is in line with the best tradition of judicial cinema - Anatomy of a murder (Otto Preminger, 1959), obviously – does so not so much to update it, in passing, with a device as sophisticated as it is original, as to use the courtroom as a metonym for society.
As the protagonist (impressive Sandra Hüller) seems to understand very well, being accused of murder, regardless of everything disturbing about that possibility, is a way of putting the female gender on trial for the fall of patriarchy. And yet, although Anatomy of a Fall can be read as an essay on the subject, it is not a pamphlet, nor does it try to teach, nor does it point fingers. Dogmas are for those who have stopped asking questions and Triet does not dedicate himself to answering them (it is not surprising that the only witness is half blind). The Frenchwoman prefers to cultivate a suggestive, mysterious, even perverse, ambiguity to examine it with a microscope at the intersection of the only two significant spaces that the film inhabits, the courtroom and the isolated house, the public and the familiar. Truth and justice do not exist, it is a commitment between the parties, the film reminds us, the penalty is that it becomes a battle, legal, social or family.
By Jordi Batlle
In the panorama of current Spanish cinema, following the career of Bilbao filmmaker Pablo Berger is frankly stimulating, first of all because of the variety of concepts, styles and genres he covers and the talent with which he handles them. We saw and applauded Torremolinos 73, an inspired portrait of late-Franco Spain (or a Boogie nights with a paella flavor), and years later we greeted with fervor Snow White, a tribute to silent cinema more courageous and creative than the Oscar-winning The Artist, by Michel Hazanavicius, made almost at the same time. Now, after the irregular but very risky Abracadabra, Berger surprises us again by conquering a territory still unexplored by him: animated cinema.
Robot dreams tells a very simple and at the same time very emotional story. A good-natured dog who lives alone in his apartment, chewing routine and boredom day after day, buys a robot by mail to keep him company and instantly a solid friendship is born between them that gives them many days of happiness. Until fate separates them during an excursion to the beach. Set in New York in the eighties, Robot dreams lacks dialogue and focuses its strength, its spell, on drawings with clean, classic lines and bright colors, and on the extraordinary richness of details in its backgrounds. The whole thing has a beauty worthy of The Iron Giant, and there is also a certain resemblance between Brad Bird's robot and Berger's.
Robot dreams may seem (in fact, it is) a very childish and very naive work. And with an excess of tenderness that could become cloying. But tenderness, which is currently priced downwards in the film market, can be a delicacy of the gods when, as here, it is accompanied by sincerity and an unwavering faith in the art of creating emotion with moving images. Wasn't Chaplin's cinema like that, which also moved us without words and which is not so far from Robot dreams?
Por P. Engel
Sequels that take 23 years to arrive are not necessarily the best. If the first Chicken Run (2000), the Aardman label's first feature, was a plasticine remake of The Great Escape, this one shapes the universe cemented by the Bond saga and Mission: Impossible. It incorporates digital effects without betraying too much the original spirit, visually it is quite powerful and conceptually it is more or less ingenious: there is a dystopia, a mix of Barbieworld, Truman show and Stepford women, in which the chickens happily go to the oven as if they won a prize, a bit like us with those happy little phones. But, although the adventure keeps our attention, the house's trademark humor has been lost, and what is worse, we are left to be invaded by nostalgia for those great miniatures with which Nick Park and Peter Lord amazed the world.
By Salvador Llopart
A woman gives birth to her seventh daughter. We are in Sardinia, in 1929, and that number, seven, condemns the newborn to being the witch of the community: a village marked by an exacerbated Catholicism. Paganism and religiosity, therefore, opposed and complementary. The Island of Women talks about that, as well as the condition of women throughout the first part of the 20th century. It is a portrait of peasant life as well as its mystification. We are facing a first film that is contradictory and suggestive at the same time. Absolutely brilliant on the visual side. It is clear that Marisa Vallone, its director, comes from the world of art, with visual references ranging from the British Pre-Raphaelites to the French Impressionists. But failed on the narrative side. Magical and pedestrian at the same time, she ends up getting tangled in her own pretensions.
Por P. Engel
Willy Wonka rejuvenated under the skin of a Timothée Chalamet who gives his all, singing and dancing like he had never done before; the director of the acclaimed Paddington; some songs composed by Neil Hannon, and a scene-stealing Hugh Grant from Oompa-lumpa, what could go wrong? Actually, nothing. Okay, there are jokes about overweight people that may be annoying, not all the songs on Joby Talbot's soundtrack are equally catchy, not all the characters leave the same mark either and, in general, it may lack a bit of claw. But it is the best “fantasy world” to date, a joyful spectacle as baroque as it is dazzling, elegant and balanced in each of its planes, and with just the right dose of sugar. Christmas is in your hands, and it may already be a classic for the next ones
Por S. Llopart
The momonsters leave school and go to spend their first vacation at a camp. The momonstes, as I have discovered these days, are five children's monsters eager for knowledge, protagonists of one of the most successful animated series on Clan TV. Some good, obedient and charming beings. At the camp they continue like this, although a little more mischievous. It is a product for very young children, because you have to be very young to enjoy their, let's say, adventures. At five you're too old for that, I'm afraid. The drawing seems to have been made with an old Commodore 64, and its message lives up to the technical simplicity of its creation. And it has that unpleasant thing, for me, of adults speaking to children as eternal children, rather than as budding adults.
