This week’s reviews include “Climax,” “Birds of Passage,” and “Ash is Purest White.”
Climax
“Something’s kicking in…”
Renowned cinematic provateur Gaspar Noé’s latest creation, “Climax,” offers a viscerally disorienting descent into an unblinkingly dark, collective insanity. Set in the winter of 1996, it depicts a second-by-second account of a dance troupe’s ill-fated afterparty one night following a rehearsal. The viewers’ first unfettered look at the large ensemble cast is a rapturously engrossing extended dance sequence which serves as a showcase for the immensely talented cast as well as for the most effective aspects of the film itself. The greatest virtues of “Climax” stem from its ability to demonstrate an understanding of the power of poetic physicality; it’s a movie (ostensibly) about the artistry of dance, and so it internalizes and embodies those elements of the medium that make it uniquely powerful. The seamlessly kinetic drama, the seemingly boundless extension of the self through space, the indelible allure of syncrony: it’s all there in spades, and it makes for a masterfully engaging opening in ways that attest to Noé’s vision. However, the film suffers as its central conceit takes over: somebody drugs the communal bowl of sangria, casting the night’s events into a death-spiral. The film’s grip, initially so ironclad, slowly loses hold as the entrancing veil concealing its crude machinations is torn, burned, and otherwise defiled until it falls to the floor.
“Climax” is built like a thrill ride. Cinematographer Benoît Debie’s photography is structured into several (very!) extended shots that track the intricacies of dance numbers, stalk ominously through labyrinthine corridors, and observe the genesis and violent escalation of interpersonal conflict. Its stream-of-consciousness presentation certainly adds an immersive layer to the proceedings, and its execution is largely commendable and often downright impressive (with the glaring exception of one sequence towards the end that is too long, too dark, and too upside-down). A plausible, if rather generous, interpretation of its uninterrupted presence in the lives of its characters is to see the choice as an act of empathy, a dive into a pool of subjective headspace. Unfortunately, this empathy for its characters is only talent-deep, as, when they’re not dancing, the film instead opts to treat its narrative as a chess game in which a rather sadistic player controls both sides. Using drugs as a transparent excuse to seize even the illusion of agency from its characters, its moves are often no more than set-ups for macabre pay-offs, and the whole way along it ushers viewers forward with a suffocating insistence.
“Climax” offers plenty to love and at least as much to hate. There will be those that appreciate it for its undeniable thrills and its absorbing momentum, just as there will be those that detest its cruel calculations masquerading as chaos. If you’re reading this, you probably think you know which camp you’re in—
—and you’re probably right.
Grade: C
“Climax” is out of theaters; watch for its in-home availability in the coming months.
Birds of Passage
“You know what happens to a family in a war.”
Directed by Ciro Guerra and Cristina Gallego, “Birds of Passage” is an intimate, ethereal gangster epic. Set in Columbia in the mid-to-late twentieth century, its story is told in five cantos and belongs in-large-part to a man named Rapayet (José Acosta). Rapayet’s arc takes him and his family on a dangerously escalating journey through a brutal drug war, where people and values alike come into stark, irreconcilable conflict.
This is a movie that is acutely conscious of the power of mythmaking. It portrays truths at the heart of mythology, truths that are in their own ways driven by otherworldly inclinations and motivations. Leonardo Heiblum’s forcefully sparse soundtrack is comprised of sharp winds that jut across the bow of the narrative and ominously thunderous drums whose voices roll over the film’s sweeping vistas. It’s with this sonic material that the film seems to tap into the power of another plane, building representations of the otherworldly forces that seem to move and be moved by the film’s characters.
“Birds of Passage” truly is an astonishingly fresh vision, and, when all is said and done, will stand as one of the year’s best movies.
Grade: A
“Birds of Passage” is out of theaters; watch for its in-home availability in the coming months.
Ash is Purest White
“Anything that burns at high temperatures is made pure.”
Jia Zhangke’s “Ash is Purest White” is a gorgeously spun, chilled, elliptical tale: not a love story, per se, but one that is itself a reaction to love. The film features a phenomenally assured lead performance from Zhao Tao as Qiao and a nuanced, sensitively-realized turn by Liao Fan as Bin, two people who begin the story as lovers atop a small-time illegitimate business. After a violent encounter, Qiao saves Bin’s life in more ways than one, fending off attackers by wielding the threat of an illicit firearm, eventually taking the punitive fall for its possession. Upon her release after five years, she struggles to find her old place in the world only to discover that it no longer exists.
All of “Ash is Purest White’s” technical elements cohere to form a work which behaves like it is being recalled. Cinematographer Eric Gautier captures the film as though through panes of glass, crafting its imagery into memories stained in various shades of red, green, yellow, and white. These shots are adroitly edited into sequences that hover with Qiao, bringing to life a narrative that unspools over the course of two-and-a-half hours, at first pulled taut, then loosening as her tragic odyssey winds through space and time.
“Ash is Purest White” is a dynamic, conflicted meditation that learns with its protagonist through moments of strength and devastation. As soon as a viewer thinks that they’ve figured out how the film functions, it changes its form, becoming exactly what it needs to be.
Grade: A
“Ash is Purest White” is in theaters now.
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