Bernardo Villela is like a mallrat except at the movies. He is a writer, director, editor and film enthusiast who seeks to continue to explore and learn about cinema, chronicle the journey and share his findings.
It’s all too easily to come out swinging at Upside Down. However, I’d be remiss if I didn’t note that the story does hold a lot of potential. The issues the film faces, and never really overcomes, are two-fold: firstly, the film starts with a long, overly-storybook, poorly-delivered voice over explaining the rules of the solar system wherein the story takes place. This type of exposition can be overcome but when you feel like you’ll be tested on rules and plot points at the end it’s the wrong foot to start on. Second, whether or not the science fiction element of the tale is hokey becomes irrelevant because, and it is honest about this at least, it’s perhaps one the most over-fenestrated love stories yet told.
The science fiction aspect makes shallow, general observations that could apply to any place or time, and they are not the point, which makes the façade quasi-farcical and cumbersome. There are some clever things that occur as the story progresses, which owe their debt to rules-establishing, but it’s little more than smoke and mirrors.
It’s a creative film visually, but it’s the same story that’s been told countless times on fancy, colorful stationery; thus it’s a highly redundant experience of little value save for the superficial.
This is a post that is a repurposing of an old-school Mini-Review Round-Up post. As stated here I am essentially done with running multi-film review posts. Each film deserves its own review. Therefore I will repost, and at times add to, old reviews periodically. Enjoy!
Playback
This is a film that has a formula shared by quite a few films in the horror genre: A town with a scarred past that comes back to haunt it anew. However, what this film attempts to is to double said formula. There is the now local-legend of a mass murder in a house but that fuses with a completely fictitious legend about the birth of cinema that borrows more than liberally from a few other films. I certainly cannot knock this film on the ambition front. However, where it does falter are in a few ways: first, the leads are very much in the dark about the famous case, which is an issue. We the audience don’t know the information and need it, but it seems unrealistic that most know nothing or care nothing about it. Second, I appreciate the attempted misdirection, however, the decisions about the paths the leads take also somewhat derails the story. Next, there’s a bit of inconsistency in the divulging of information. In certain cases it’s overly-expository and certain people know too much, yet in others certain aspects keep a little mystery. It’s a difficult balancing act, but it’s botched here I feel. Lastly, the ending does offer a resolution but it’s another one of those unsatisfactory shock cuts that puts a damper on the film when it had grown, just a bit, in the last third.
The elements for Playback are all there for it to work in hindsight but they’re either mismatched or mishandled in some way such that the center doesn’t hold.
The reason is that at current it is a sort of cinematic white whale for me. I’m sure any film enthusiast knows the feeling. It’s one I’ve known at many times. in fact, it’s of the larger themes of a novel I have to get back to editing (future plug! For more current works go here.)
Probably the first cinematic white whale I had was Satantango. Now, that was a blind buy. I heard of this seven-hour film and what it was like and I had to see it. But that was a blind buy. With A Wicked Woman the story of estrangement of viewer and film is a bit different.
The first difference is that it’s a film I’ve seen. I believe it’s one I happened to see pop up on the schedule right before I was about to post my piece on Jackie Searl. It lived on my DVR for a while until the time came for it to be swapped out. The content could not be saved and I haven’t seen it on the TCM schedule since despite looking for it periodically and inquiring also.
Therefore, the limited availability of the film makes this a post that would also fit into my Film Activism category. I’ll get into that as well as how it may resurface again aside from TCM re-air. Clearly, I am glad TCM saw fit to air this fairly obscure title, otherwise, I would not have seen it at all.
Before getting into the journey since I saw it. A bit of what this film actually is.
Synopsis
One thing I’ve discovered since this film aired is more of the wealth of information that TCM provides on its website. Even on a little-known title such as this one there is a bit of information. The first being a highly detailed synopsis. It’s complete from beginning to end. For the purpose of this post I will include only the beginning, which is a very strong open that got me hooked:
When her abusive, rum-running husband Ed storms into their Louisiana bayou shack one night, hotly pursued by the sheriff, pregnant Naomi Trice refuses to allow him to flee with their son Curtis. Determined to take Curtis, Ed knocks Naomi to the floor and tries to force his way to the boy’s bed, but is shot and killed by Naomi. After dumping Ed’s body in the swamp, Naomi gives birth to a boy, Neddie, whose leg is misshapen because of Ed’s abuse. The sheriff, whom Ed had shot while escaping, questions Naomi about her husband, but she refuses to reveal her deed. Later, she makes a pledge to God that if she is allowed to rear all of her children–Curtis, Yancey, Roseanne and Neddie–safely into adulthood, she will give herself up and pay the consequences of her crime. Naomi then moves her family away from the swamp and the still suspicious sheriff, changes her name to Stroud and eventually settles in a small Northern town.
Despite the cause of the leg abnormality, which may fall more of the category weird science than real science, there’s a lot to glom on to that makes this brisk, taut tale one worth watching: an abused wife and child easily engender universal sympathy; however, what sets this film apart is Naomi’s willingness to turn herself in when the time comes. It’s not seeking to get away but rather buying time.
The film then survives an abrupt jump in time of ten years. This is quite a feat because regardless of when it happens this can be jarring, particularly in a tale with young characters, and with so much time passing, things can change and not always for the better and the new complications don’t always work as well as the set-up.
However, the film’s usage of secrets, and motherly responsibility, provide renewable and palpable drama and lead to a thrilling and satisfactory finale.
Backstory
In terms of facts outside the story there are some interesting things to note. The release date of the film is cited as being December 7th, 1934 just after the Code came in, and I agree with Cliff Aliperti’s take on its content in that regard:
Ever notice these titles released immediately after Code enforcement, those from the last half of 1934 and even into ’35, are still a bit rougher than what follows? Take away the Production Code Administration banner at the front of A Wicked Woman and I’d have thought it was a pre-Code release.
Like many films produced in that era, it was an adaptation of a contemporary novel. A Wicked Woman by Anne Austin was released in 1933 and though out of print today is cited as having been 376 pages, which makes a feature under eighty minutes that works quite a screenwriting feat.
A review of the novel from New Books I dug up is not kind to the book overall but can’t help but praise Austin. It seems much of what the film breezes through is likely the latter half of the book which is described as:
Eventually, in the murder trial which clears Naomi, Miss Austin gets back to her own stuff, and does it very well.
Kirkus Reviews seemed more willing to give the book its due:
Melodrama, perhaps, but there is a strong human interest element which gives it dignity.
Though the film didn’t end up being one of the highest grossing films of 1934 (Per reports it failed to earn back its budget) or land on any lists it was a popular enough book for MGM to option and adapt in short order.
Here are some notices for the film that I found. First from Movie Mirror:
“This tough drama shows a mother struggling to raise her four children alone so that they will be able to survive without her, sacrificing her feelings to instill firm discipline.”
The New York Times recognized in it some of the contrary to the melodrama aspect that make it work, namely Mady Christians in the lead:
Yet Miss Christians wades into this ponderous drama with such genuine sincerity and skill that it becomes not only credible, which is a feat in itself, but impressive and considerably touching as well. Somehow in its description of Naomi’s latter-day household, the children growing up into the pangs of adolescence while the mother watches their development with patient and self-effacing pride, the photoplay comes to have a surprising freshness and conviction. Always you are aware that the work is marshaling all its forces for an unashamed assault upon the tear ducts, but you also discover that its assault is a success, and you find yourself helplessly engrossed in this woman’s courage and devotion. In addition to Miss Christians’s virtuoso performance, there is an almost flawless cast to assist her.
Other Info and Searches
Also available on TCM’s site that is of note is that three different running times are listed 71,74 and 76. I’m not sure if this means there was content cut but I believe the one TCM aired was the longest such cut.
When available I’ve requested airings, tried to set reminders, and shown interest in a DVD.
TCM also provides this background information I only found there:
Although reviews claim that Mady Christians, a well-known German stage and screen actress who had worked at Ufa’s Berlin studios, made her American screen debut in A Wicked Woman, modern biographical sources note that Christians actually had starred in a 1916 American film, Audrey, under the name Margarete Christians (see AFI Catalog of Feature Films, 1911-20; F1.0179). Christians moved to the United States in 1933 to escape persecution by the Nazis. Her most celebrated role was as the title character in the 1944 Broadway play I Remember Mama. Shortly before her death in 1951, Christians was blacklisted by the Hollywood community for her reputed involvement with the Communist party.
A Wicked Woman was screenwriter and actress Zelda Sears’s last film. She died on February 19, 1935. According to a Hollywood Reporter news item, Sears, who occasionally appeared in pictures she scripted, had been reluctant to act in this film. Early pre-production Hollywood Reporter news items announced first that William K. Howard was to direct Helen Hayes in the film, and then that Clarence Brown was to direct Hayes and Lee Tracy. None of these directors or actors worked on the production, however.
A Hollywood Reporter pre-production news item announced that Erskine Caldwell was assigned to write dialogue for the film, but his contribution to the final film has not been determined. Hollywood Reporter production charts add Benny Baker and Joe Twerp to the cast, but their participation in the final film has not been determined.
Although Hollywood Reporter news items announced that Christians was to sing “In the Hash,” a “novelty song” by Burton Lane, as well as “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” the only song actually performed in the movie was Lane’s “In Louisiana,” which was sung by an all-black group.
I also recently bugged Warner Archive about it this film. Firstly, to confirm that it was one in their purview. It is:
So it’s a possibility that this film will be released by the Archive eventually. Therefore, I recommend that if you’ve seen it you like the post, or comment it, if you haven’t be on the lookout on TCM as it may pop up again.
Conclusion
Quite frankly finding films like A Wicked Woman is what TCM is all about to me. Some classics are so universal and immortal if you love movies enough you’ll find a way to see them. A channel like TCM will bring you the things you may not have even known existed much less thought to see, and that’s a great thing.
This is a post that is a repurposing of an old-school Mini-Review Round-Up post. As stated here I am essentially done with running multi-film review posts. Each film deserves its own review. Therefore I will repost, and at times add to, old reviews periodically. Enjoy!
The Theatre Bizarre
Recently I’ve been seeing quite a few horror anthologies. Part of the reason behind that is just to familiarize myself with a few more of them and the voices involved in creating them. The second reason, to be perfectly honest, is that due to their episodic nature they are conducive to fractured viewing, which makes them easier to schedule. However, I did see The Theatre Bizarre all the way through in one sitting.
This one, like many horror anthologies, is a bit inconsistent in its quality, which is to be expected when different directors handle each segment. In my estimation, the highs are rather high and the lows are rather low. There are some interesting and at times daring attempts. It’s always hard to gauge them as a whole because this see-sawing in quality is not unusual at all. However, for fans of the genre I do think it’s one worth checking out, your feelings on the whole piece or a particular segment may be greatly different than my own. In the end, I really liked more of the installments than I disliked so it’s worth a watch.
This is a post that is a repurposing of an old-school Mini-Review Round-Up post. As stated here I am essentially done with running multi-film review posts. Each film deserves its own review. Therefore I will repost, and at times add to, old reviews periodically. Enjoy!
Absentia
As per usual, and as I say quite frequently, I went into Absentia knowing very little and that’s the way I prefer it. I knew it was a low-budget horror film and what the basic synopsis was from Netflix. That’s about it. Only later on did I learn more details like the budget was purportedly $70,000 and funded in part by a Kickstarter campaign.
All that stuff is great to know after the fact. Knowing it before you see something can be a double-edged sword. Essentially, either the movie works or it doesn’t. What the budget is, whether exorbitantly high or incredibly low, does not make it immune from, or more deserving of, criticism.
As for the film I really enjoyed it a great deal. It tells a tight-knit simple horror story that gives you just enough information to keep things going but never gets ahead of itself, and the idea is a low-concept production of a rather high-concept idea at the bottom of it. However, the curtain is only barely raised on the horrors being uncovered by these characters. I wouldn’t be surprised if the film was shot rather in continuity because it certainly was doable and the performances across the board got much stronger as the film progressed, and even rather impressive at times. The score is really good and there are good twists to it. This is definitely a Netflix gamble worth taking.
This is a post that is a repurposing of an old-school Mini-Review Round-Up post. As stated here I am essentially done with running multi-film review posts. Each film deserves its own review. Therefore I will repost, and at times add to, old reviews periodically. Enjoy!
Exit Humanity
Exit Humanity is a horror film that has a rather interesting take on the zombie subgenre. With the proliferation of such a genre one must contend with both fatigue and differentiating one’s own story from the crowd. In these aspects is where the film is most successful, and that’s without including the fact that this is an alternate history tale of the postbellum south. The story is an introspective one that is more concerned about those left behind after a plague of zombism, and isn’t so concerned with making the walking dead of this tale a metaphor. Yes, there is a somewhat different spin to the cause and the history, but that ends up being more a narrative necessity than a focus.
With a fairly original take the film is setup to succeed and does, but only barely. Where the film struggles most is in terms of balance. The score is really good but at times only in isolation, at times it’s too intrusive and too intense. There is some wonderfully florid voice-over, but at times it’s too much, and at other times the scene would’ve been better demonstrated visually than through monologue. The film does have its twists and turns that are rather surprising, but after some of those unusual decisions some quickening of pace is needed so that it doesn’t feel aimless.
The film never really lost me as a viewer, however, it had me reeled in at times and let go just a little bit due to some of these inconsistencies. I don’t want to over-accentuate them because I do still like the film, but feel it easily could’ve been something truly special had certain edits been made. It’s worth watching for fans of the genre for sure. I wouldn’t raise an eyebrow if some professed greater admiration for it than I do, especially considering some of the touches it employs such as animation, colored shots and top-notch make-up effects.
A film like The Summer House truly make one examine what the borderline of exploitation and art is. The selfish utilization to capitalize on vulgar tastes is the cornerstone of all forms of exploitative cinema. The mark of art and craftsmanship is if the work in question can take that story element which may be considered to be depraved or base and render out of it a narrative with a greater purpose, one that could underscore common themes or concerns and be about more than just the shocking aspect that will invariably garner the film attention.
Over the course of a summer the Larsen family: Markus (Sten Jacobs), Christine (Anna Altmann), and Elisabeth (Nina Spletstoßer) are rocked to their very foundation by the pains they the carry. Their internalized struggles only externalize themselves in a vacuum and their convergence is combustible. Markus, whose commonplace appears to be indulging his bisexual tendencies on side (even these are rendered to a chilling effect) sees himself reach new depths of decadence. Acting as a catalyst for this pending familial implosion is Markus’ fascination with a friend’s twelve-year-old son Johannes (Jaspar Fuld).
This is not unprecedented subject matter. Lolita and Death in Venice deal with these themes also – and this film does have a less myopic, more diverse vantage point than Michael does. The concern with plots like these is not even so much how tastefully the distasteful can be rendered but rather to what greater purpose does it serve.
Here is a case where the distributor Artsploitation seems to have a rather keen eye. Before I saw Reckless I was fearful it’d be too much in the BTK school of things like Hostel with little other point than to make you squirm, but that was not the case there; and it certainly isn’t the case here.
Each character in this claustrophobic drama has their own distinct arc, and for family members there is scarcely overlap as for many reasons they scantly communicate. One of the bonus features discussed below is a rehearsal of a virtually dialogue-free dinner scene that is the epitome of the state of this family unit for a majority of the film. Each has their own aims and desires which can seemingly be achieved without the others standing in their way. Things of staggering significance are debated and decided upon without consultation, not to spoil it, but some of these are things most couples would discuss.
And for all the attention the sensational aspect of this film will get nearly equal, if not greater, screentime is given to Markus’ escapades with men. This film does a great deal with circumstance and it makes scenes that would otherwise be fairly innocuous chilling because of their set-up and with its more delicate situations it shows restraint and tact while still being disturbing and provocative.
One of the more impressive things about this film is the way it builds itself in a less traditionally formulaic fashion, typical of European cinema throughout, then, after certain revelations, plays perfectly into a classical suspense formula at the drop of a hat. Furthermore, this late in the game shift makes things that seemed a bit too overt before work in hindsight as now subtextual motivations in the cut, edit and performances are clear.
In terms of performance, Jacobs’ excessive openness in glances is partially absolved by late-in the-game revelations. His ability to be distant and stern with his family, chillingly charming and human with Johannes, and calculating with his friends is impressive. Altmann has perhaps the most unenviable arch as much of her unhappiness is unspoken and enigmatic and yet communicates perfectly in some rather difficult solo scenes. Spletstoßer and Fuld have very different characters to play and in each different tones. Spletstoßer often needs to be distant but observing, and Fuld plays more subtext than at times we realize. It’s a triumph for the cast overall, a testament to their trust in Burz and his process.
The Summer House is most definitely an uncomfortable viewing experience that is not for the ill-prepared or faint of heart, for reasons in addition to the aforementioned ones that will remain a surprise. What’s most impressive about the apparent genre-shift is that it then brings out the universal genre reactions inherent to thrillers and had me rooting and reacting audibly to the turns whereas a majority of the film was cerebral and wandering in the gray areas of drama, at best. That is quite a feat in and of itself. In the special features (you can see my commentary on them below) Burz discusses how this is a departure for him in terms of genre and it not being autobiographical. It certainly made me curious about his work as his results here with his troupe on treacherous ground is highly impressive.
Special Features
As is the case with any home video release I review I like to take in all the features. Typically, just for ease, I view them in order. With this film it is actually the preferred method. As you scroll through the features one-by-one you get a more complete view of just how this film came into being conceived.
As is the ideal for this bonus content usually, in a way few releases do anymore, it’s giving you an inside and as complete a look as they can at the thought processes during the making-of and edit.
Having this be the first Burz film I’ve seen, and I believe the first one to come to the US, it was edifying to learn that he works in an improvisational fashion not different to Mike Leigh and others. It was also intriguing to learn how much of a skeleton crew they worked with and some of the restraints of the production making what was accomplished more impressive in a technical regard.
Here are the features specifically, which really make the disc a furthermore immersive experience.
Rehearsal
Master shot of a nearly silent dinner scene where the family’s disconnect is intensely illustrated.
Deleted Scenes
As tends to be the case, the scenes deleted from a film are better off having remained outside the cut. However, there is a curiosity sated here, and one can see how the pace of the film is aided in having excised them.
Extended Scenes
The extended scenes are a bit different and there is additional context added that otherwise is merely inferred rather than shown.
Alternate Ending
When completing the film one of things that will have you pondering it for some time is the ending. Seeing the alternate take will convince you that the way the film chose to go was indeed correct
Interviews
Where this release starts to downright Criterion-like in the amount of additional content it includes is in the extensive interviews with cast and crew, which gives tremendous insight into the creative process, and each member’s views on the myriad themes running through the film.
Curtis Burz (Director/Writer/Editor)
Thoughtfully shares stories on the making of the film in thematic and practical senses, and working with his familiar players.
Bastian Schick (Composer)
Discusses his musical philosophy in constructing the score, his joining the troupe and how he made Burz’ acquaintance.
Andreas Gockel and Peter Sebera (Directors of Photography)
In separate interviews Gockel and Sebera give technical insight on how the location, skeleton crew, and amount of equipment affected decisions. The insights on specs make some of the shots accomplished even more impressive.
Furthermore, it’s interesting to hear each speak separately about their working relationship in the unusual circumstance of co-DPs on a shoot, and their familiarity with one another making the hand-off from one to the other easier.
Sten Jacobs (Actor)
Both lead actors provide interesting insight on what it was like to work in an improvisational atmosphere, as well as one wherein the location made for an unusual production schedule.
Anna Altmann (Actress)
What Altmann adds that Jacob didn’t is insight on a far more enigmatic character. Furthermore, the unique insight of having her real-life daughter playing her daughter on the film and how she was very pleased with the results as mother and actress in allowing her the freedom to the work independently with minimal stage-parent style interference.
Trailer
After having seen all the other material it really is refreshing to finally see the trailer. Knowing the story and events therein one can see how much is concealed in the cut while still making it pique a potential audience member’s curiosity.
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The Summer House is now available on DVD and digital video outlets.
This is a post that is a repurposing of an old-school Mini-Review Round-Up post. As stated here I am essentially done with running multi-film review posts. Each film deserves its own review. Therefore I will repost, and at times add to, old reviews periodically. Enjoy!
The Thompsons
Essentially part of the criteria for falling through the cracks in one year is cognizance. The release date on video for this film was 12/31, which made it a tough one to acquire and view before the end of the year.
This film reaches an honorable and rare duality of being a sequel that one could watch without having seen its predecessor (The Hamiltons) and that continues the trajectory of a series properly. This sequel builds upon its own vampire myth, which is one whose origin is genetic rather than viral. What this film does infinitely better than its predecessor is build mystery, and suspense but also has reveals and significant plot points at a persistent pace. The necessary information, both new and old, is relayed quickly enough such that the raising of stakes happens early and often. You also have here a rather unusual paradigm wherein humanity is the outside world and you’re purely in a vampiric world. What The Thompsons does is firmly establish a foothold for the Buthcer Brothers’ concept in the genre, one that should be supported by those who like seeing new takes on old creatures, and specifically, want vampires to be brutal.
One of the most challenging conundrums a film can face is documenting the activities of a voyeur. Whereas in a novel the author can decide how much of character’s thought processes to reveal, and to what end, even a film’s most earnest attempts to disseminate the desired amount of information may not reach an audience or be received.
This task becomes more difficult when it’s widely agreed that the novel the film is basing itself on is commonly agreed to have an enigmatic protagonist.
The Chambermaid tells the tale of Lynne, the most dedicated and proficient employee at her hotel. She gives the rooms immaculate care and attention. Unbeknownst to the guests she gives them equally clandestine attention looking through their things, hiding under the bed, listening to their conversations, and so forth.
Being placed in the role of observing the observer can be a distancing and disenchanting one particularly when not given sufficient illumination on the character’s motivations, wants, and needs. However, what occurs in this film as Lynne (Vicky Krieps) develops a relationship, both personal and physical with call-girl Chiara (Lena Lauzemis) she begins to emerge from her shell but we remain observers. Much like her psychologist, who remains unseen like Antoine Doinel’s, we’re left in many instances where we see only the surface she decides to reveal.
The film begins with Lynne sharing a story of how her whole philosophy on life was formed at a young age. The majority of the film is her exploring if there’s any truth, any genuine emotion behind the lie she believes life to be. Yet that morsel at the beginning is the only thing easily learned for the audience. And we have more real information than her psychologist ever does, and even we don’t really ever fully know what landed her in in-patient treatment.
In the most banal terms The Chambermaid can be reduced to a woman learning how she can about living life, while being an active participant rather than a passive spectator. Getting her to make that decision will be a process that will be imperfect and cause some pain but one that ultimately happens and it’s the one the audience is invited to see. The ebb-and-flow, the essential struggle underway to come to that conclusion is one that is a bit inundated by the set-pieces and the gorgeous mise-es-scène, which displays that not only can prisons be self-imposed, but they can also be brightly colored.
At the beginning Lynne ruminates on the story her mother told her about the waves being caught in a seashell. As a child, she bristled at this wondering how something so large could be contained in something so small. Yet that statement seems to define the philosophy of the whole film where a much bigger tale of Lynne’s whole life is reduced to this flashpoint where she finally spies something in one of her hotels room that prompts her to act rather than view.
Far too often the word mundane carries with it the connotation of a story that will induce ennui. However, the mundane when skillfully deployed and dramatically rendered even a seemingly simple morality tale can be so universal and inviting that things like language, currency, and location are no barriers.
Such is the case with the Bulgarian film The Lesson. It’s a film whose title is even simpler than its premise, as the title belies the fact that the financial, and moral, complications a school teacher Nade (Margita Gosheva) faces are intertwined and coming at her from several different directions.
The threads that run through this film from beginning to end are: she’d trying to discover which of her students stole a wallet, she’s trying to chase down payment for recent translation work she did for a small company, and then get out of a financial mess in her personal life.
Yet, as the case usually is, each of these issues feeds off the other and they are intermingle wondrously. That is not the only thing that’s awe-inspiring here; one nearly needs to be reminded of the fact that this is, in fact, a film that’s co-directed (Kristina Grozeva and Petar Valchanov). The result is such a singular vision you wish there’d be fewer roadblocks to co-directing. Regardless, in this film Grozeva and Valchanov clearly present a unified, powerful voice that is hynoptic to see.
The film becomes a further inspiration when reading the directors’ statement on the Film Movement release. A real bonus of their physical editions but I will preserve that surprise for those that get it, and also further tease that there’s a fascinating short documentary, Crooked Candy, about a man’s lifelong love affair with Kinder Eggs that must be seen by chocolate lovers and the young at heart.
The film’s neorealist qualities are an antidote not only to the ripped-from-headlines story but also to the overwhelming majority of films that seem to refuse to acknowledge that small stories can say big things and matter a great deal. It’s a drama that builds itself around relatively miniscule amounts of money, we at times don’t even know the total in local currency until later on (and web searches can confirm what the amounts translate to locally), and the point is they don’t matter. It’s about more than livelihood but survival and trying to do what’s right.
The film in its laid back way ups the suspense, about midway through in a way that makes it feel like a traditional third act. An indicator this films 100+ minutes were more than likely built in five-acts. However, there are still surprises, shocks, and drama in store in the latter half.
The central figure in the story is Nade. She is the one whom all events revolve around and must take decisive action when all others are unwilling to do anything much less the right thing. The least an audience asks of its protagonist is that they be watchable. Gosheva makes Nade much more than someone you want to watch but rather someone you have to watch. Her magnetism and sensitivity, intelligence, toughness, and at times impetuousness are all identifiable that make her one we’re drawn to whether we always agree with her decisions or not.
The Lesson, like any lesson, could be an experience that is didactic, drudgery or could be an experience you’ll likely hold on to and cherish for a long time. This film is far closer to the lattermost option on that list.
As tends to be the case, the scenes deleted from a film are better off having remained outside the cut. However, there is a curiosity sated here, and one can see how the pace of the film is aided in having excised them.
The Movie Rat 
