Encore Awards: Directing

It’s weird, I don’t think that 2010 has offered us a slew of that brilliant films (but more on that later) – but it’s only proof that good direction is not synonymous with great films. For me, seven directors ruled this year for me (the five nominees and the two finalists) – and it’s really something a head-scratcher narrowing the seven down to five. But, I must (wails) – here’s who I decided on.

           
(click on the photos for reviews)
       

THE NOMINEES

Lisa Cholodenko for The Kids Are All Right

Like all that wine Nic keeps ingesting, Cholodenko’s work in The Kids Are All Right gets better with time. Even though I’d admit that subtle would probably be the incorrect adjective to attribute to The Kids Are All Right Choledenko’s work is so good here because it’s not officious. Perhaps, because she co-writes it, she’s especially aware of the mood that the script calls for and she directs it in turn with sudden spurts that are not jarring as she establishes scene, character and setting with a style that’s current (though, not quite modernist) and always conscious of the viewer’s attention span, without being pandering.
                           

                                                                                        

David Fincher for The Social Network

There’s something dangerously close to posturing in the almost funereal which Fincher (and company) decide to ground The Social Network, but in all honesty I don’t mind it. It works – brilliantly too, I might add – because Fincher has always been adept at reconciling themes with directorial choices. Just like he was able to discern the appropriateness of the mock-epic style for Benjamin Button he manages a taut, hypersensitivity here that makes more and more sense as this gloomy (but not repulsive) tale unfolds. It’s all part of the wonderful irony (similarly evinced in the script) that this “social” network seems so insular.

                   

David Michôd for Animal Kingdom

Sometimes I wonder if what could be perceived as Michôd’s occasional apathy to the situations affecting his character is a detriment to the overall narrative, but like his protagonist J – an ostensible indifference is not proof of disinterest. It’s difficult to single out key moments and say, “X scene was well directed”, but that’s the way Michôd knows it should be. I’m not a fan of the word, but there's some organic in the way that it unfolds (ironic, considering the very unnatural bloodshed ensuing). More than even Choledenko, I’d say that Michôd is the director this year that seems to hold the best interest of his characters at heart – for better, for worse.

John Cameron Mitchell for Rabbit Hole 

Together with Lindsay-Abaire Mitchell succeeds in turning this story of stagnant grief into a thoroughly cinematic piece. He doesn’t smother us with the eccentricities to convey the cinematic nature but simply lets if flow as naturally as possible. One trap that directors working on stage to screen adaptations often fall into is the tendency is to over-cinematise their films, but Mitchell is shrewder. He doesn’t avoid the narrowness of the theatre but uses that same closeness to create a cinematic perspective of characters bound by their emotions.
                                            

               
                                        

Roman Polanski for The Ghost Writer

Well, turns out Polanski hasn’t lost it. I wasn’t an unabated fan of The Pianist, and I’m not even an unabated fan of The Ghost Writer but Polanski’s direction – though, not exactly vociferous – is impossible to ignore. He’s a master at thrill, that doesn’t sacrifice cleverness in its quest and The Ghost’s journey unfurls with that same interest in being thrilling, occasionally mocking but always conscious of the story and what’s to come. It’s a prime example of the sort of subtle direction, that’s still noticeable but stands up to more scrutiny on the second and third viewings.
                      

       

FINALISTS: I feel like a right heathen for leaving Alejandro Amenabar (Agora) Edgar Wright (Scott Pilgrim vs the World) off my top 5. They work on different genres, but there’s a singularity in what they achieve. Both find their fortes in managing to keep productions that are quite sprawling in check, and managing to make them strangely personal. Amenabar retracts the sprawling Alexandrian tale to something simple, but not slight and Wright ensures that Scott Pilgrim vs the World is consistently bombastic and larger than life but never out of control. Both men are credits to their trade.

SEMI-FINALISTS: it sort of comes off like I hate Darren Aronofsky and his work in Black Swan, I don’t. When I consider the issues I have with its script, though, Aronofsky’s direction becomes even more impressive. All the heights of the story, and the successes of Nina’s insular journey succeed because he’s so in touch with his characters; it’s the same way that Noah Baumbach (Greenberg) and Sofia Coppola (Somewhere) are in touch with their introspective, and vaguely misanthropic male characters. Baumbach must be more palpably prickly, and Coppola must be more reticent in establishing that languor – they’re both excellent in controlling their stories, though; I’m still a bit partial to his Elizabeth I but it’s clear (to me, at least) that Tom Hooper’s work in The King’s Speech is proof that he’s improved. Though the writing is an important part of the equation, the subtly surprising direcotiral choices from Hooper is one of the reasons The King’s Speech seems neither tedious or rote; Matt Reeves must be more deliberate in directing Let Me In, and he succeeds in creating the appropriate atmosphere for the drama that evokes a sad redolence that’s unexpected given the genre and the subject.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS: Martin Scorsese for Shutter Island; David Russell for The Fighter; Floria Sigismondi for The Runaways. They each have one thing in common, they each prevent occasionally humdrum screenplays from subverting their attempts to create good cinema, and ultimately that’s one of the strongest suits of a good director.
       
So, director of the year...? Who'd you choose?

The Ghost Writer

Ewan McGregor has been in search of a good role for 7 years. He was all sorts of brilliant in Big Fish and Down With Love in 2003 and equally satisfying in 2001’s Moulin Rouge. Yet, there’s that distinct sense that his onscreen joviality makes him an easy person to overlook when people are thinking about “good” actors. It makes sense, in that bitterly ironic way, that he gets the task of playing a ghost writer in Roman Polanski’s latest. A ghost writer, deprecatingly referred to as a “ghost” is a man who must be heard (intermittently) but never seen, one of those people who writes but is never credited. He’s given the task of ghosting the memoirs of Adam Lang, a recent prime minister of Britain. It’s only natural that Lang’s past is strewn with secrets and lies especially when his previous ghost-writer was found washed up on the shore of the island he’s currently inhabiting somewhere in the US.

The Ghost Writer puzzled me almost from that onset. Not that it was difficult to understand, it’s consistently comprehensible; but Polanski’s tone seemed immediately too cavalier even supercilious at times as if he was framing a witty social comedy and not a political thriller....a feeling that is only exacerbated when the title card appears so sinisterly at the film’s end and Alexandre Desplat's mocking (and brilliant) score keeps playing. It’s all very slick. I’m not certain that the supposed disparity in tone and form is an accurate judgement of the movie, because the more of I think of it in retrospect I think that perhaps The Ghost Writer is just a smartly executed fantasy. Something I find interesting about the film is that despite the excess of information available, Polanski is never explicit in stressing the potential theme of illusion and reality, the novel is about a ghost of a man after all. It’s probably part of his larger intent to give the audience nothing readymade, but the decision still seems odd.

The Ghost Writer is the type of film that might be even more fulfilling the second time around (even though I’m not especially anxious to see it again, in its entirety). Polanski’s direction is smooth, so smooth that I’m often moved to distrust what he shows us. Like any good mystery, though, there’s a distinct sense of fluidity as the film glides to its closing without the slightest narrative glitches. Of course, that’s a bit of a problem in itself – like that sickening sensation one gets after an especially syrupy drink. Not that it is “treacly”, per se, but Polanski is so tidy that sometimes you wish that he’d be a little less meticulous in the execution and the wrap-up. Still, it’s this selfsame fluidity that makes the performances of the main quarter all the more outstanding. Me (who grew up with a sister devoted to Sex & the City) didn’t recognise Kim Cattrall * until some time into the film’s second act. She’s altogether fascinating, donning a British accent that I can’t help but applaud. Match that against the cold contours of Olivia Williams scrupulously effected politicians’ wife. Even when her character is at her lowest she still manages to exude the cold veneer of her character. Of course, McGregor is every bit as subtle as he needs be, I’ll admit that Brosnan strikes as a bit too garish to do the role full justice, though it’s not as exasperating as I anticipated.

The Ghost Writer does come off as a bit too lithe on its feet, even the potentially shocking end which is less jarring than just vague. But, it works – sometimes too smoothly, but I’m splitting hairs. It’s a good one.

B+

* For the life of me I cannot account for not immediately recognising Cattrall, it's not as if she looks particularly different (unless you count how youthful she comes off.)