Review: Abuse of Weakness

Abuse of Weakness concerns a filmmaker, Maud Shainberg (Isabelle Huppert) who has a stroke and then becomes the victim of a notorious con man, Vilko Piran (Kool Shen). If you know that which the film fairly readily give to you, you know the whole story essentially.

In this film very little is a surprise. It starts with the stroke: quickly and suddenly. However, without belaboring its rather enjoyable pantomime of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly it moves on to Maud being recovered. She is then looking for her next project and sees an interview on TV where Vilko talks candidly of his criminal past. He is not an actor, but she as a director sees something in him and is convinced he is the one for the movie even though he is not a professional actor.

Sadly, the film becomes a protracted and fairly clumsily laid-out self-fulfilling prophecy. Vilko on the television show explains his entire modus operandi. In this statement if the blueprint to how he will view their relationship. Now, the specifics of what he will do may be vague, but the outcome is apparent. He does not appear to be precisely intelligent, and neither did she appear to be that gullible and stupid such that hardly any charm or coersion is used to extract funds from her.

Another aspect of this film that is noteworthy is the performance of Huppert. She is brilliant in the small recovery section. She also nearly singlehandedly manages to keep this film afloat through most of its running time. However, the problems that plague this film not only remain, but seem to be exacerbated as the story progresses. Even giving her character a pass for her initial fascination we also see her psychic decomposition in an altogether disengaging fashion. She is initially tough and bullheaded. Tacks employed by her favorite conman never change, her resistance and rebellion just lessen over time.

Even if all that were forgivable there is a seemingly tacked-on closing expository scene, which as one might expect, does not offer any real resolution. Instead we watch her confusion as she thinks back and in hindsight tries to decipher why she acted as she did. It illuminates neither the narrative, nor her character in any real way so it could be truncated, if not excised entirely. It seems as if its crafted for potentially frustrated audience members, which at this point I most certainly was, but it offers no closure merely more running time.

That ending does play into a systemic temporal abuse that this film employs. Its pace dies as slow a death as its protagonists will dwindles. Some of that seems to be by design as the narrative chronology encompasses a long period. Yet there comes a point where the illustration has been made and the whole suffers.

There are many stories that are self-fulfilling prophecies. That is a given narrative truism: knowing where this story is going from the beginning does not doom the story to be of little to know interest. The protagonist knowingly going into a precarious situation does make it a harder trick to turn, and does render him or her less identifiable. There is a distancing we feel from events, a torpor of voyeurism that creates a hollow experience. At the beginning and the end, at Maud’s most comprehensible and incomprehensible emotional ebbs, we are at our closest to her; in the interim we are persistently pushed away and forced to hold on for dear life if we care, either in empathetic or morbid way. In the end we care in no way and are left bereft of visceral interaction with the story and numbed from lack of palpable intellectual stimuli.

3/10

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Review: I Am Yours

I Am Yours tells the tale of a young Norwegian Pakistani single-mother, Mina (Amrita Acharia), trying to balance the demands of family, her career as an actress and dating in Oslo.

For last year’s Thankful for World Cinema when deciding what topic I would tackle as the Oscar voters’ issue of the year the co-production was essentially the topic. In modern cinema even films that don’t necessarily have a multicultural aspect are produced by many countries and companies working in concert. Those co-productions are further encouraged by sociopolitical alliances and migratory patterns the world over. In short, the immigrant experience is now a tale that can be told the world over. Whereas Chaplin helmed and starred in the 20th Century’s iconic version, there can be many more visions for the 21st Century from the world over, and this is just one of those tales.

This is a different kind of experience as those which can be exposed through the new post-colonial cinema as I cited here. In films such as this and others such as Shun Li and the Poet the experience is other. While the themes of assimilation and embracing, and struggling with, one’s diversity are omnipresent it’s a different kind of story that can add new complications to age-old human dramas.

I can hear you, if you’re still with me and reading, saying: “Yeah, well that’s great, but how about this movie?” That’s kind of what I’m driving at. The ostensible narrative that of Mina trying to please, or just get along with, her parents (Rabia Noreen and Sudhir Komar Kohli); raise her son (Prince Singh); deal with her ex (Assad Siddique) and date Jesper (Ola Rapace) is not where the interest lies, which is the film’s greatest issue. Essentially, if you’re an optimist it’s a zero-sum operation wherein Mina has to learn to find, and fend for herself, and not try and meet anyone else’s expectations. At worse she loses almost everything in order to realize that she too has to find herself.

One can see through Mina’s passion, of sorts, influences of her ancestral home fighting with influences of her adopted home. They fight for her at different times and when she decides to run to one or the other she is pushed away as not wholly their’s. This read is made easier to infer due to the fact that some specifics of her story are glossed over or omitted entirely.

Due to the fact that I am a first generation American and a dual citizen I am more sensitive, and should be more inclined to be truly moved by such a tale. The issue ends up being that it’s an overly-academic exercise and not as much of a visceral connection. The superficial narrative is not engaging enough to find the riches of the potential symbology and commentary to be truly valuable.

The film functions as well as it does thanks to the captivating and charming interpretation of a pained young girl seeking fulfillment by Amrita Acharia. It truly is a star-making turn such that if the film lacked her contribution it would’ve been a completely lost cause. Instead it does have a heart and soul, it just has one that’s not adequately exposed onscreen to make the film rise above its ascribed station.

If there is any doubt about what some things that should be read, thought on and discussed with regards to this film the title dispels those doubts. Due to what it seeks to express, and the performance of Acharia, it is definitely worth seeking out. It may speak more strongly to others than it did to me, and it is definitely a dialogue that will be, and should be, revisited many times over.

6/10