Barfi!: Film Review

Chances are, someones already told you to run out and see Barfi!, Anurag Basus tender romantic comedy starring Ranbir Kapoor as a deaf man. The film has opened strong in India, and word of mouth among Indian and diaspora audiences is bound to elevate Barfi!s fortunes still more with repeat viewings. Auds new to Hindi films may find much to like here, as well.

The film -- told mostly without dialogue -- is a refreshingly non-commercial exercise, with Kapoor in a Chaplin-inspired performance; Telugu actress Ileana DCruz adding elegant solemnity as an upper-class woman who falls for the spontaneous Barfi against her parents wishes; and most spectacularly former Miss World Priyanka Chopra, sans makeup, as an autistic girl.

Actors playing differently-abled characters often walk a fine line (cue Robert Downey Jr. in Tropic Thunder), and Hindi films are not known for their subtlety as a rule, but here Basu has guided Kapoor and especially Chopra to turn in exceptionally restrained, organic performances.

Barfi was named Murphy by his parents, who spotted the name on an old British radio. Unable to pronounce his own name, he says barfi (ice cream), and the nickname sticks. Barfi and his parents are poor but happy, living in a ramshackle cottage on a hillside in remote Darjeeling, when he meets Shruti (DCruz), who is visiting family there. Immediately smitten by her beauty, Barfi attempts to woo Shruti, and although she is already engaged to a successful businessman, slowly her defenses come down.

At the same time, Barfi befriends Jhilmil (Chopra), the autistic daughter of a wealthy Darjeeling family.

When the helpless Jhilmil disappears, her family turns to the local police inspector (Saurabh Shukla, stellar as a hilariously put-upon small town cop), who pronounces her dead and is tempted to pin the crime on Barfi to placate the family and ensure his own job security. A caper ensues, finding Jhilmil and Barfi on the run to Kolkata, where their shared experiences draw them inexorably closer.

Basu handles the growing attraction between Jhilmil and Barfi with a deceptively light touch, letting it draw viewers in as their relationship gets more serious; and beautifully depicts Shrutis ambivalence about whether to fight for Barfi or watch as he and Jhilmil live out their own story -- as unusual as it may seem on the surface.

In a way, Basus approach to presenting Barfi is not unlike the way the character himself gets by in the world, with a mix of mischief, cleverness and sweetness (Basu even throws in a dash of the bittersweet whimsy of French filmmaker Jean-Pierre Jeunet).

The dreamy landscapes around Darjeeling, a city in eastern India, deserve a special mention. Production designer Rajat Poddar evokes the 1970s with myriad simple details, and the gorgeousness of Darjeelings tea plantations, quaint narrow-gauge trains and mist-shrouded hills is captured in some lavish visuals by cinematographer Ravi Varman (who no doubt has been inspired by Santosh Sivan). The films soundtrack (Pritam), enriched by accordion and strings, adds depth as well. Indian VFX house Pixion does seamless work, while costume designers Aki Narula and Shefalina capture the colors of Bengali tradition in Shrutis silk saris and Barfis homespun sweaters and suits.

Anurag Basu, in a welcome change from the typical Bollywood saga, has given us a singular love story and an unforgettable character in Barfi.

Opened: Sept. 14, 2012

Cast: Ranbir Kapoor, Ileana DCruz, Priyanka Chopra, Saurabh Shukla

Director: Anuraj Basu

Screenwriters: Anurag Basu, Sanjeev Datta

Producers: Ronnie Screwvala, Siddharth Roy Kapur

Director of photography: Ravi Varman

Costume designers: Aki Narula and Shefalina

VFX: Pixion

Sound designer: Shajith Koyeri

Editor: Akiv Ali

Music: Pritam Chakraborty

Not rated, 120 minutes

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The Manzanar Fishing Club: Film Review

The shameful internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II has received scant cinematic examination, which makes The Manzanar Fishing Club something of a puzzler. As it title would indicate, this documentary concentrates mainly on the fact that a large number of the internees at the Manzanar War Relocation Center in California were dedicated fishermen who through various means were able to temporarily escape their confines to enjoy trout fishing in the waters of the Eastern Sierra. Its a nice little human interest story, but hardly seems worthy of this full-length treatment.

Thats especially true since this film directed by Cory Shiozaki seems more wonkishly interested in the intricacies of angling than in the larger social and moral themes that might have been more richly explored in the extensive interviews with the now elderly survivors. As subject after subject describes in great detail the sorts of rods, reels and bait they used, its hard not to bemoan the lack of greater thematic depth.

The filmmaker also uses archival footage, occasional recreations and interviews with historians, children of survivors and a former guard to relate the tale. But he allows too many of his subjects to ramble on in digressive fashion, blunting the impact of what they have to say.

Some of the accounts of how the inmates managed to forge rudimentary fishing tools and escape the camps confines with the help of sympathetic guards are undeniably moving. But theres a much larger story that has yet to be fully told, and this minimalistic effort seems like a woeful missed opportunity.

Opened: Friday, Sept. 14 (Barbed Wire to Barbed Hooks LLC)
Director: Cory Shiozaki
Screenwriter: Richard Imamura
Producers: Cory Shiozaki, Richard Imamura, Lester Chung, John Gengi
Executive producer: Alan Sutton
Photography: Talk Story Media
Editor: Lester Chung
Music: Bill Ungerman, James Achor, George Abe, Harold Payne, Dave Iwataki
Not rated, 74 min.

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Resident Evil Retribution: Film Review

Its easy by now for film critics to identify with Alice (Milla Jovovich), the badass heroine of the extremely lucrative Resident Evil film franchise. Shes constantly being besieged by a seemingly never-ending series of monsters, and we -- at least every couple of years or so -- are forced to sit through yet another installment of the mind-numbing series.

The film opened without press screenings, which seems an entirely reasonable tactic since only the most video-game obsessed viewers will appreciate the endless battle sequences that do an admittedly terrific job of replicating the games' artificial visuals with live humans and a prodigious amount of CGI effects.

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For those keeping track, this installment ends precisely where the previous one ended, with a titanic battle sequence aboard a ship where Alice is fighting the multitudinous forces of the evil Umbrella Corporation which is intent on transforming the earths population into flesh-eating zombies.

The action then inexplicably shifts to a placid suburban neighborhood, where Alice is now a blonde housewife who wakes up to a loving husband (Oded Fehr) and an adorable hearing-impaired young daughter (Aryana Engineer). But it isnt long before reality rushes back, in the form of legions of undead who swarm their home.

It all naturally turns out to be a dream sequence, with Alice then reawakening in the corporations confines clad in -- much to the delight of the teenage boy fan base -- some barely concealing towels. But it doesnt take long for her to don her trademark skintight black latex suit and automatic weaponry to once again take battle against a variety of monsters. These include a pair of menacing giants waving what look like meat tenderizers and numerous creatures with enough tentacles bursting out of their mouths to spur hungry theatergoers into craving fried calamari.

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Thats pretty much it for the plot in this particularly action-heavy fifth edition that helpfully includes an introductory narration by Jovovich to bring viewers up to speed. Other story elements are provided by explanatory computer graphics that help clue us in to who exactly is fighting who.

Featuring brief appearances by enough veterans of previous installments to please rabid fans if confuse the uninitiated, the film features man sequences in simulated versions of such cities as Moscow, Tokyo and New York, all of which, not surprisingly, emerge the worse for wear.

Its all pretty much an excuse for the lithe Jovovich to engage in a constant series of gravity-defying fight scenes in a futuristic universe apparently devoid of carbohydrates and most laws of physics. Shes accompanied for much of these violent exercises by a new sidekick, Ada Wong (Li Bingbing), whose dress cut up to the waist makes it convenient for her to access the firepower strapped to her upper thigh.

Director Paul W.S. Anderson stages these sequences with his usual flair, using a variety of elaborate effects that include x-ray visuals in which we get to see the bloody effects of the carnage on bones and organs from an inner as well as outer perspective.

The blas reactions to the violent mayhem from an opening day crowd demonstrated that even the series longtime fans may be reaching their saturation point, although a climactic scene in which one of the characters declares that this is the beginning of the end indicates that at least one more apocalyptic installment will be hitting multiplexes before too long.

Opened Sept. 14 (Screen Gems).

Production: Constantin Films, Davis Films/Impact Pictures.

CAST: Milla Jovovich, Michelle Rodriguez, Kevin Durand, Sienna Guillory, Shwan Roberts, Aryana Engineer, Colin Salmon, Johann Urb, Boris Kodjoe, Li Bingbing.

Director/screenwriter: Paul W.S. Anderson.

Producers: Jeremy Bolt, Paul W.S. Anderson, Samuel Hadida, Don Carmody, Robert Kulzer.

Executive producer: Martin Moszkowicz.

Director of photography: Glen MacPherson.

Editor: Niven Howie.

Production designer: Kevin Phipps.

Costume designer: Wendy Partidge.

Music: Tomandandy.

Rated R, 95 min.

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In the House: Toronto Review

TORONTO In Francois Ozon's Swimming Pool, a parched crime writers creativity is reinvigorated by her proximity to a sexually uninhibited younger woman. A less carnal male twist on that dynamic sparks the director's seductive new film, In the House (Dans la maison), which is perhaps his strongest work since the 2003 drama. This time the older figure is a joyless schoolteacher and failed novelist whose vicarious involvement in a gifted students reality-based fiction reawakens his senses until the scenario gets out of hand.

Freely adapted by Ozon from Spanish playwright Juan Mayorgas The Boy in the Last Row, this is a delicious, teasing reflection on mentoring, the creative process and the very nature of fiction, with its ability to conjure alternate lives and more fulfilling identities for both author and reader. It may be a touch too muted and ambiguous in its payoff for some audiences, but its charged with the same flavorful air of dangerous sensuality and subversive humor that first put its French writer-director on the map.

A literature teacher at the pointedly named Gustave Flaubert Lyceum, Germain (Fabrice Luchini) is beyond despair over his grammatically impeded students refusal to engage. So when, as a written assignment, Claude (Ernst Umhauer) turns in a meticulously detailed account of his weekend thats as psychologically intriguing as it is ethically troubling, Germain is hooked.

It's the first of many such essays, and each of Claudes installments ends with the phrase to be continued. Initially reserved in his encouragement, Germain begins prodding the student in more daring directions, urging the youth to love his characters.

Claudes serialized soap opera actually revolves around the normal middle-class family of his fellow student Rapha (Bastien Ughetto), a source of envy and desire. With the symbolic weight of their home underlined in the films title, production designer Arnaud de Moleron has given the family a tidy two-story cottage fit for a suburban fairy tale. Nestled on a patch of perfect green lawn, its shot by Jerome Almeras with caressing elegance. This imagery becomes even more significant when, late in the film, a glimpse of Claudes contrasting domestic situation is finally revealed.

As is often the case with Ozon, hints of homoeroticism ripple through the scenes between the young writer and both Germain and Rapha, a dim bulb being tutored in math by Claude. When Rapha reads an essay in class ruminating on whether Claude has overtaken his jolly father, Rapha Sr. (Denis Menochet), as his best friend, the kids self-exposure is agonizing.

Claude played by Umhauer with an ingratiating openness that could be calculated or innocent works his charms on everyone as he infiltrates the family. But the real object he covets is Raphas exquisitely bored mother Esther (Emmanuelle Seigner, gorgeous), who floats through the house wearing pretty floral-print dresses, the quintessential Euro-MILF. When the story acquires darker, more sexual overtones, Germain raises his eyebrows and asks, What is this, Pasolini? Even without the question, however, the echoes of Teorema are clear.

As we watch each new episode unfold, Germain shares the chapters with his frustrated wife Jeanne (Kristin Scott Thomas, in fine acerbic form). The manager-curator of an art gallery whose job is in jeopardy, she becomes an equally avid reader. Some of the visual jokes concerning Jeannes questionable taste in contemporary art are heavy-handed, but they serve to underline the gulf dividing her from classicist Germain, which Claude also picks up on and exploits.

A puzzle-like element infuses the film as both teacher and student exert their influence on the narrative taking shape, with Germain physically intruding on the fiction to comment at key points. While the line between imagination and reality is continually blurred, its clear in the cruel final developments that ultimate control always rests with the writer. But Ozon refuses to make Claude irredeemable or to negate the mutual rewards of their exchange.

Philippe Rombis lush orchestral score sometimes indicates otherwise, but relatively little of any great dramatic substance happens at least not in the definitively real version of the story. The pleasure of the film is the ways in which Ozon finds tension in Claudes interaction with the family and with Germain, who makes some reckless choices. The very ordinariness of the familys existence is rendered exotic through Claudes eyes, fueling a sustained sense of mystery as to where things are headed.

Doing a complete switch from his more comic roles and his obnoxious character in Ozons Potiche, Luchini plays a richly contradictory figure here. Part poignant sad sack, part uptight prig and part exploitative predator, his participation in Claudes story becoming almost maniacally voyeuristic. Under the directors firm hand, the entire cast does incisive work.

Venue: Toronto Film Festival (Special Presentation; Cohen Media Group)

Production companies: Mandarin Cinema, FOZ, France 2 Cinema, Mars Films

Cast: Fabrice Luchini, Kristin Scott Thomas, Emmanuelle Seigner, Denis Menochet, Ernst Umhauer, Bastien Ughetto, Jean-Francois Balmer, Yolande Moreau, Catherine Davenier

Director-screenwriter: Francois Ozon, freely adapted from the play The Boy in the Last Row, by Juan Mayorga

Producers: Eric Altmayer, Nicolas Altmayer

Director of photography: Jerome Almeras

Production designer: Arnaud de Moleron

Music: Philippe Rombi

Costume designer: Pascaline Chavanne

Editor: Laure Gardette

Sales: Wild Bunch

No rating, 105 minutes

Read More

In the House: Toronto Review

TORONTO In Francois Ozon's Swimming Pool, a parched crime writers creativity is reinvigorated by her proximity to a sexually uninhibited younger woman. A less carnal male twist on that dynamic sparks the director's seductive new film, In the House (Dans la maison), which is perhaps his strongest work since the 2003 drama. This time the older figure is a joyless schoolteacher and failed novelist whose vicarious involvement in a gifted students reality-based fiction reawakens his senses until the scenario gets out of hand.

Freely adapted by Ozon from Spanish playwright Juan Mayorgas The Boy in the Last Row, this is a delicious, teasing reflection on mentoring, the creative process and the very nature of fiction, with its ability to conjure alternate lives and more fulfilling identities for both author and reader. It may be a touch too muted and ambiguous in its payoff for some audiences, but its charged with the same flavorful air of dangerous sensuality and subversive humor that first put its French writer-director on the map.

A literature teacher at the pointedly named Gustave Flaubert Lyceum, Germain (Fabrice Luchini) is beyond despair over his grammatically impeded students refusal to engage. So when, as a written assignment, Claude (Ernst Umhauer) turns in a meticulously detailed account of his weekend thats as psychologically intriguing as it is ethically troubling, Germain is hooked.

It's the first of many such essays, and each of Claudes installments ends with the phrase to be continued. Initially reserved in his encouragement, Germain begins prodding the student in more daring directions, urging the youth to love his characters.

Claudes serialized soap opera actually revolves around the normal middle-class family of his fellow student Rapha (Bastien Ughetto), a source of envy and desire. With the symbolic weight of their home underlined in the films title, production designer Arnaud de Moleron has given the family a tidy two-story cottage fit for a suburban fairy tale. Nestled on a patch of perfect green lawn, its shot by Jerome Almeras with caressing elegance. This imagery becomes even more significant when, late in the film, a glimpse of Claudes contrasting domestic situation is finally revealed.

As is often the case with Ozon, hints of homoeroticism ripple through the scenes between the young writer and both Germain and Rapha, a dim bulb being tutored in math by Claude. When Rapha reads an essay in class ruminating on whether Claude has overtaken his jolly father, Rapha Sr. (Denis Menochet), as his best friend, the kids self-exposure is agonizing.

Claude played by Umhauer with an ingratiating openness that could be calculated or innocent works his charms on everyone as he infiltrates the family. But the real object he covets is Raphas exquisitely bored mother Esther (Emmanuelle Seigner, gorgeous), who floats through the house wearing pretty floral-print dresses, the quintessential Euro-MILF. When the story acquires darker, more sexual overtones, Germain raises his eyebrows and asks, What is this, Pasolini? Even without the question, however, the echoes of Teorema are clear.

As we watch each new episode unfold, Germain shares the chapters with his frustrated wife Jeanne (Kristin Scott Thomas, in fine acerbic form). The manager-curator of an art gallery whose job is in jeopardy, she becomes an equally avid reader. Some of the visual jokes concerning Jeannes questionable taste in contemporary art are heavy-handed, but they serve to underline the gulf dividing her from classicist Germain, which Claude also picks up on and exploits.

A puzzle-like element infuses the film as both teacher and student exert their influence on the narrative taking shape, with Germain physically intruding on the fiction to comment at key points. While the line between imagination and reality is continually blurred, its clear in the cruel final developments that ultimate control always rests with the writer. But Ozon refuses to make Claude irredeemable or to negate the mutual rewards of their exchange.

Philippe Rombis lush orchestral score sometimes indicates otherwise, but relatively little of any great dramatic substance happens at least not in the definitively real version of the story. The pleasure of the film is the ways in which Ozon finds tension in Claudes interaction with the family and with Germain, who makes some reckless choices. The very ordinariness of the familys existence is rendered exotic through Claudes eyes, fueling a sustained sense of mystery as to where things are headed.

Doing a complete switch from his more comic roles and his obnoxious character in Ozons Potiche, Luchini plays a richly contradictory figure here. Part poignant sad sack, part uptight prig and part exploitative predator, his participation in Claudes story becoming almost maniacally voyeuristic. Under the directors firm hand, the entire cast does incisive work.

Venue: Toronto Film Festival (Special Presentation; Cohen Media Group)

Production companies: Mandarin Cinema, FOZ, France 2 Cinema, Mars Films

Cast: Fabrice Luchini, Kristin Scott Thomas, Emmanuelle Seigner, Denis Menochet, Ernst Umhauer, Bastien Ughetto, Jean-Francois Balmer, Yolande Moreau, Catherine Davenier

Director-screenwriter: Francois Ozon, freely adapted from the play The Boy in the Last Row, by Juan Mayorga

Producers: Eric Altmayer, Nicolas Altmayer

Director of photography: Jerome Almeras

Production designer: Arnaud de Moleron

Music: Philippe Rombi

Costume designer: Pascaline Chavanne

Editor: Laure Gardette

Sales: Wild Bunch

No rating, 105 minutes

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Inch'Allah: Toronto Review

Among the growing number of films coming out of Palestine, one can see the divide opening up between locally made, no-budget documentaries like Emad Burnat and Guy Davidis stirring 5 Broken Cameras and well-financed Western coprods like Denis Villeneuves Oscar nominee Incendies. Squarely in the latter category, the Canadian-French InchAllah has all the right credentials, including writer-director Anais Barbeau-Lavalettes (If I Had a Hat, The Fight) passionate feeling for the region, but lacks the originality to catch fire, or to go beyond an outsiders p.o.v. In the end, it illuminates Western preconceptions more than the motivation behind terrorism. Tackling such a sensitive and controversial topic in a highly obvious way, the drama will have some trouble slipping past the festival wall into commercial arenas, though following its Toronto bow, it will be released in Quebec by Les Films Christal at the end of the month.

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The action opens with a powerful explosion in an Israeli outdoor caf, which will be explained at the end of the film. The whole story unfolds through the unblinking, doe-like eyes of Chloe (Evelyne Brochu), a young Canadian obstetrician who is working in a clinic for pregnant women in a refugee camp in Ramallah, Palestine. Every night she passes through border control on her way back to her Jerusalem apartment. She spends evenings on the town with her drinking buddy Ava (Sivan Levy), an Israeli conscript her own age whose much more expressive eyes convey the horror and despair she feels over her work as an armed border guard.

In the clinic, Chloe becomes close to the pregnant Rand (Sabrina Ouazani) and her militant big brother Faysal (Yousef Sweid.) The poorest of the poor, Rand and her little brother, the autistic Safi, scavenge in a garbage dump along the wall separating the camp from a settlement of Israeli colonists. There are skirmishes. When one character is deliberately crushed under an Israeli army tank, and another is sentenced to 25 years in prison, and another is cruelly denied access to the hospital that would save her baby, the stage is set and the fuse is lit.

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Barbeau-Lavalettes screenplay is too by-the-numbers to convince an audience that reality is this simple. Its portrait of endless misery is unleavened by the joking camaraderie and family warmth that local filmmakers normally inject to lighten the load (Elia Suleiman springs readily to mind.) More importantly, her Canadian protag seems too inert to have ever landed up where she did, making her an untrustworthy witness to all these tragedies.

If Brochu seems permanently depressed and distanced in the lead role, the lively, outspoken Ouazani makes Rand intense and appealing, if unpredictable. Sivan Levy (Polytechnique, Caf de Flore) brings a pleasing psychological complexity to the Israeli character Ava that helps balance the story a little bit.

Tech work is good throughout, while Levon Minassians somber, dirge-like music track underlines the tragedy of the war.

Venue: Toronto Film Festival, Sept. 12, 2012.

Production companies: micro-scope (Canada), ID Unlimited (France) in association with July August Productions (Israel)

Cast: Evelyne Brochu, Sabrina Ouazani, Sivan Levy, Yousef Sweid, Carlo Brandt, Marie-Therese Fortin
Director: Anais Barbeau-Lavalette

Screenwriter: Anais Barbeau-Lavalette
Producer: Luc Dery, Kim McCraw

Coproducer: Isabelle Dubar

Associate producers: Eilon Ratzovsky, Yochanan Kredo
Director of photography: Philippe Lavalette

Production designer: Andre-Line Beauparlant

Costumes: Sophie Lefebvre

Editor: Sophie Leblond

Music: Levon Minassian

Sales Agent: eOne Entertainment

No rating, 101 minutes.

Read More

Inch'Allah: Toronto Review

Among the growing number of films coming out of Palestine, one can see the divide opening up between locally made, no-budget documentaries like Emad Burnat and Guy Davidis stirring 5 Broken Cameras and well-financed Western coprods like Denis Villeneuves Oscar nominee Incendies. Squarely in the latter category, the Canadian-French InchAllah has all the right credentials, including writer-director Anais Barbeau-Lavalettes (If I Had a Hat, The Fight) passionate feeling for the region, but lacks the originality to catch fire, or to go beyond an outsiders p.o.v. In the end, it illuminates Western preconceptions more than the motivation behind terrorism. Tackling such a sensitive and controversial topic in a highly obvious way, the drama will have some trouble slipping past the festival wall into commercial arenas, though following its Toronto bow, it will be released in Quebec by Les Films Christal at the end of the month.

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The action opens with a powerful explosion in an Israeli outdoor caf, which will be explained at the end of the film. The whole story unfolds through the unblinking, doe-like eyes of Chloe (Evelyne Brochu), a young Canadian obstetrician who is working in a clinic for pregnant women in a refugee camp in Ramallah, Palestine. Every night she passes through border control on her way back to her Jerusalem apartment. She spends evenings on the town with her drinking buddy Ava (Sivan Levy), an Israeli conscript her own age whose much more expressive eyes convey the horror and despair she feels over her work as an armed border guard.

In the clinic, Chloe becomes close to the pregnant Rand (Sabrina Ouazani) and her militant big brother Faysal (Yousef Sweid.) The poorest of the poor, Rand and her little brother, the autistic Safi, scavenge in a garbage dump along the wall separating the camp from a settlement of Israeli colonists. There are skirmishes. When one character is deliberately crushed under an Israeli army tank, and another is sentenced to 25 years in prison, and another is cruelly denied access to the hospital that would save her baby, the stage is set and the fuse is lit.

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Barbeau-Lavalettes screenplay is too by-the-numbers to convince an audience that reality is this simple. Its portrait of endless misery is unleavened by the joking camaraderie and family warmth that local filmmakers normally inject to lighten the load (Elia Suleiman springs readily to mind.) More importantly, her Canadian protag seems too inert to have ever landed up where she did, making her an untrustworthy witness to all these tragedies.

If Brochu seems permanently depressed and distanced in the lead role, the lively, outspoken Ouazani makes Rand intense and appealing, if unpredictable. Sivan Levy (Polytechnique, Caf de Flore) brings a pleasing psychological complexity to the Israeli character Ava that helps balance the story a little bit.

Tech work is good throughout, while Levon Minassians somber, dirge-like music track underlines the tragedy of the war.

Venue: Toronto Film Festival, Sept. 12, 2012.

Production companies: micro-scope (Canada), ID Unlimited (France) in association with July August Productions (Israel)

Cast: Evelyne Brochu, Sabrina Ouazani, Sivan Levy, Yousef Sweid, Carlo Brandt, Marie-Therese Fortin
Director: Anais Barbeau-Lavalette

Screenwriter: Anais Barbeau-Lavalette
Producer: Luc Dery, Kim McCraw

Coproducer: Isabelle Dubar

Associate producers: Eilon Ratzovsky, Yochanan Kredo
Director of photography: Philippe Lavalette

Production designer: Andre-Line Beauparlant

Costumes: Sophie Lefebvre

Editor: Sophie Leblond

Music: Levon Minassian

Sales Agent: eOne Entertainment

No rating, 101 minutes.

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Arthur Newman: Toronto Review

TORONTO A man living in quiet desperation and a woman whose suffering is a good deal less inconspicuous try to jettison unwanted identities in Arthur Newman, a road film that (thankfully) has less to do with golf than its synopsis might suggest. Landing leads Colin Firth and Emily Blunt helps the commercial prospects of director Dante Ariola's feature debut, and Firth makes a convincing dive into the title character's psyche; some plot elements may give critics pause, but for a not-quite romance its commercial prospects are solid.

Firth's title character is created before our eyes: Fuddy-duddy Fed Ex employee Wallace Avery, judging his life a failure, stages his death and drives off in a just-bought convertible practicing convincing ways of saying "Hey. I'm Arthur Newman." Having been a promising golfer before choking on his first PGA tour, he intends to start a new life as a golf pro in Terre Haute. Not as romantic as a new identity on a Caribbean beach, perhaps, but it's probably as appealing a fantasy as a Wallace Avery can project.

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At the first motel on his route north, Arthur rescues a woman (Blunt) who has OD'ed on cough syrup after a botched attempt to steal somebody's car. Charlotte Fitzgerald is a mess, and is using her twin Michaela's ID for reasons less concrete than Arthur's: Living her own life simply seems too fraught for her. Needing someone capable of handling daily life, Charlotte decides to accompany Arthur.

Teasingly, Charlotte introduces Arthur to a new game: As they travel, they target happy couples and break into their homes when nobody's around. They play dress up, adopt the residents' identities, and make out. The conceit is an ingenious way around the difference in the characters' ages and backgrounds: Instead of trying to convince us this beautiful young woman would be attracted to a deeply square older man, screenwriter Becky Johnston invents a scenario in which sleeping with him is a kind of rejection of both their unwanted identities.

Ariola brings out the sweetness of the game, though, especially in the first outing: having targeted two senior citizens who have just gotten married, Charlotte affects gently formal Southernisms while asking her imaginary, elderly groom to lie down beside her. Blunt plays the scene beautifully, leaving ample room for ambiguity; at the same time, it's clear that Arthur will be playing this game for real, no matter whose wardrobe he's raiding.

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In addition to the growing possibility that Arthur will get his heart broken, there's the issue of the cash -- the bag full of money he's funding this self-reinvention with, and which Charlotte spots early on in their time together. Having introduced her as a thief, the film isn't too heavy-handed with hints that she might run off with the bag, though the danger never fades.

The movie doesn't even care where all that dough came from, and is better off that way. If Arthur had stolen it from work, say, we'd have to deal with police on the couple's trail and the constant worry that getting caught having sex in a stranger's bed might lead to more than a red face and a trespassing charge. For the hero of Arthur Newman, who's already carrying the weight of a failed career, marriage, and fatherhood, the stakes are high enough already.

Production Company: Cross Creek Pictures
Cast: Colin Firth, Emily Blunt, Anne Heche, M. Emmet Walsh, David Andrews, Kristin Lehman
Director: Dante Ariola
Screenwriter: Becky Johnston
Producers: Alisa Tager, Becky Johnston, Mac Cappuccino, Brian Oliver
Executive producers: Helen Cappuccino, Andrew Cappuccino, Lisa Bruce, Natalie G. Hill, James Holt, Eric Greenfeld
Director of photography: Eduard Grau
Production designer: Christopher Glass
Music: Nick Urata
Costume designer: Nancy Steiner
Editor: Olivier Bugge Coutte
Sales: UTA, CAA
No rating, 100 minutes

Read More

Arthur Newman: Toronto Review

TORONTO A man living in quiet desperation and a woman whose suffering is a good deal less inconspicuous try to jettison unwanted identities in Arthur Newman, a road film that (thankfully) has less to do with golf than its synopsis might suggest. Landing leads Colin Firth and Emily Blunt helps the commercial prospects of director Dante Ariola's feature debut, and Firth makes a convincing dive into the title character's psyche; some plot elements may give critics pause, but for a not-quite romance its commercial prospects are solid.

Firth's title character is created before our eyes: Fuddy-duddy Fed Ex employee Wallace Avery, judging his life a failure, stages his death and drives off in a just-bought convertible practicing convincing ways of saying "Hey. I'm Arthur Newman." Having been a promising golfer before choking on his first PGA tour, he intends to start a new life as a golf pro in Terre Haute. Not as romantic as a new identity on a Caribbean beach, perhaps, but it's probably as appealing a fantasy as a Wallace Avery can project.

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At the first motel on his route north, Arthur rescues a woman (Blunt) who has OD'ed on cough syrup after a botched attempt to steal somebody's car. Charlotte Fitzgerald is a mess, and is using her twin Michaela's ID for reasons less concrete than Arthur's: Living her own life simply seems too fraught for her. Needing someone capable of handling daily life, Charlotte decides to accompany Arthur.

Teasingly, Charlotte introduces Arthur to a new game: As they travel, they target happy couples and break into their homes when nobody's around. They play dress up, adopt the residents' identities, and make out. The conceit is an ingenious way around the difference in the characters' ages and backgrounds: Instead of trying to convince us this beautiful young woman would be attracted to a deeply square older man, screenwriter Becky Johnston invents a scenario in which sleeping with him is a kind of rejection of both their unwanted identities.

Ariola brings out the sweetness of the game, though, especially in the first outing: having targeted two senior citizens who have just gotten married, Charlotte affects gently formal Southernisms while asking her imaginary, elderly groom to lie down beside her. Blunt plays the scene beautifully, leaving ample room for ambiguity; at the same time, it's clear that Arthur will be playing this game for real, no matter whose wardrobe he's raiding.

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In addition to the growing possibility that Arthur will get his heart broken, there's the issue of the cash -- the bag full of money he's funding this self-reinvention with, and which Charlotte spots early on in their time together. Having introduced her as a thief, the film isn't too heavy-handed with hints that she might run off with the bag, though the danger never fades.

The movie doesn't even care where all that dough came from, and is better off that way. If Arthur had stolen it from work, say, we'd have to deal with police on the couple's trail and the constant worry that getting caught having sex in a stranger's bed might lead to more than a red face and a trespassing charge. For the hero of Arthur Newman, who's already carrying the weight of a failed career, marriage, and fatherhood, the stakes are high enough already.

Production Company: Cross Creek Pictures
Cast: Colin Firth, Emily Blunt, Anne Heche, M. Emmet Walsh, David Andrews, Kristin Lehman
Director: Dante Ariola
Screenwriter: Becky Johnston
Producers: Alisa Tager, Becky Johnston, Mac Cappuccino, Brian Oliver
Executive producers: Helen Cappuccino, Andrew Cappuccino, Lisa Bruce, Natalie G. Hill, James Holt, Eric Greenfeld
Director of photography: Eduard Grau
Production designer: Christopher Glass
Music: Nick Urata
Costume designer: Nancy Steiner
Editor: Olivier Bugge Coutte
Sales: UTA, CAA
No rating, 100 minutes

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Underground: Toronto Review

TORONTO Anyone who recalls fondly the wheezing sound of a dial-up modem will be drawn into Underground, but so too will anyone looking for personal insight into the formative years of WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange. A portrait of the guerilla whistleblower as a young hacker, writer-director Robert Connollys well-acted biodrama is a taut cat-and-mouse game, but also an engrossing look at how the activist instinct is born. Made for Australian television (it airs on Network 10 later this year), the film should capitalize on global interest in Assange to land international bookings.

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Those who have followed Assanges eventful story will know that he was first arrested at age 20 in 1991, charged on 31 counts of hacking and computer crimes. Due to court lenience motivated by the nomadic existence of his childhood, and to the judges agreement that the crimes were largely victimless, Assange was fined and released on a good conduct bond. That arrest is the concluding point of Connollys account, which draws with dramatic license on Suelette Dreyfus book of the same name. Yet considering that the outcome is known, Connolly pumps the story with suspense.

Moving swiftly through exposition duties, the early scenes show Julian (Alex Williams), his mother Christine (Rachel Griffiths) and young half-brother Adam (Ben Crundwell) on the run from Adams father (Daniel Frederiksen), who wants to whisk the boy off into a cult known as The Family.

The main action takes place in the Melbourne suburbs from 1989, when Australian Federal Police became aware that telecommunication companies and other entities were being hacked by locals, launching Operation Weather to investigate. That task force is headed by Detective Ken Roberts (Anthony LaPaglia), who recruits computer-literate Jonah (Benedict Samuel) to fill the large gaps in his knowledge.

Using the code name Mendax, Julian and two equally tech-savvy buddies known as Prime Suspect (Callan McAuliffe) and Trax (Jordan Raskopoulos) declare themselves The International Subversives. Theres an adventure-like quality to the way their exploits are portrayed, operating by firm look-dont-touch ethical rules. They can go in but steal nothing, cause no damage and must share information.

However, having been exposed from a young age to his artsy mothers passionate engagement in anti-nuclear protests, Julian gets increasingly curious about the places where secrets are being locked up. As news reports chronicle the buildup to the Persian Gulf War, Julian hacks the Pentagon site and U.S. military command, where he finds disturbing evidence that Iraqi civilian shelters are among the bomb targets.

All this, of course, is the foundation for what became WikiLeaks, tracing the roots of Assanges distrust in government and the media and his belief that knowledge of injustice should be made public. Connolly refrains from directly entering the ongoing debate over whether Assange is a heroic freedom-of-information warrior or an irresponsible subversive. What interests him and makes Underground tick is examining how one young mans unique gifts, to quote his mother, blossomed into a galvanizing political conscience. Promising newcomer Williams, straight out of acting school, depicts this path with compelling focus and conviction.

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While Laura Wheelwright (Animal Kingdom) is appealing as Electra, the teenage girlfriend who becomes Julians wife for a short time, and the mother of his first child, some of the emotional drama is more pedestrian. Increasingly shut out of his obsessive computer time, and frightened about legal repercussions, Electras I cant do this anymore, Julian scenes are standard-issue biopic fodder.

More interesting are the exchanges with concerned but supportive Christine, who acknowledges with a mix of pride and defiance, My son sees the world differently from most people. As played by the self-possessed and whip-smart Griffiths, Christine is clearly not making empty boasts when she says she has tried to show him values that are bigger than him.

LaPaglia, who worked previously with Connolly in The Bank and Balibo, has less to do in a stoical role that nonetheless is essential to the films procedural aspect. The actor brings his customary strength and intelligence to the old-school detective, for whom it becomes vital to crack the case before the CIA. While Ken represents by-the-book authority, LaPaglia also conveys subtle hints that he admires Julian's tenacity, and just possibly, his principles. This adds to the impression of Undergrounds overall sympathetic and socially like-minded view toward its complex subject, without in any way beatifying him.

Working with cinematographer Andrew Commis and production designer Melinda Doring, Connolly captures the relatively recent yet already distant period with authenticity. Theres a particularly astute feel for youth culture of the time, before everyone was plugged into cell phones, iPods, tablets and social network sites. Scenes in which Julian and Electra move into a Melbourne squat are enlivened by blasts of garage rock, while its a nice touch that cops break the Subversives cryptic lexicon via Julians love of Australian rad-rockers Midnight Oil. Elsewhere, Francois Tetazs score is used efficiently to drive the action, which is edited at a brisk pace by Andy Canny.

What the film captures perhaps more lucidly than anything is the remarkable enterprise of Julian and his associates during a time that now looks like the dinosaur age of digital technology. It gives the story an extra punch that Assange was accessing U.S. military secrets before the World Wide Web came into being and the Information Superhighway was paved.

For the record, Connolly appears poised to step up his career to the next level, with the announcement made during Toronto that he is attached to producer Gale Anne Hurds revenge thriller, The Shipkiller.

Venue: Toronto Film Festival (Contemporary World Cinema)
Production company: Matchbox Pictures, in association with Network Ten Australia
Cast: Alex Williams, Rachel Griffiths, Anthony LaPaglia, Laura Wheelwright, Callan McAuliffe, Jordan Raskopoulos, Benedict Samuel, Ben Crundwell, Daniel Frederiksen
Director-screenwriter: Robert Connolly, from the book by Suelette Dreyfus
Producer: Helen Bowden
Executive producers: Rick Maier, Tony Ayres
Director of photography: Andrew Commis
Production designer: Melinda Doring
Music: Francois Tetaz
Costume designer: Katie Graham
Editor: Andy Canny
Sales: NBC Universal International
No rating, 95 minutes.

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Painless (Insensibles): Toronto Review

TORONTO -- The wounds inflicted by Spains long and violent history of Fascism are given a powerful allegorical remedy in Painless (Insensibles), an impressive and absorbing debut feature from writer-director Juan Carlos Medina.

Taking cues from Guillermo Del Toros The Devils Backbone and Pans Labyrinth, the film convincingly lifts elements from the dark decades of Francisco Francos extensive reign, blending them into a phantasmagorical suspense story involving children who are mysteriously resistant to physical pain, even if they remain all too human. Cleverly constructed in a series of successive flashbacks and guided by a steady directorial hand, this Toronto Vanguard premiere should see mucho fest and arthouse play, sealing Medinas reputation as a talent to watch.

A haunting opening scene set in 1931 shows a little girl, Ines (Liah OPrey), setting herself on fire and hardly batting an eyelash. Cut to the present day, where hard-working neurosurgeon, David (Alex Brendemuhl), gets in a terrible car accident, his wife instantly killed but his 6-month-old unborn child miraculously surviving.

The script (co-written with Luiso Berdejo, [Rec]) maintains this crosscutting structure up to the very last sequence, oscillating between scenes set before, during and after the Second World War, and ones of David digging into his familys shady backstoryan act prompted by the revelation that he has a fatal form of Lymphoma requiring an immediate bone marrow transplant. While the back and forth initially feels systematic, the dueling plots are elaborately enough intertwined to keep things compelling, with the past and present eventually melding together as David uncovers the truth about his origins.

If the contemporary sequences move along in the swift manner of an icy Euro thriller, the flashbacks have the creepy, unsettling spirit of a gothic fable: Along with several other children from her Catalonian village, Ines is rounded up and sent to a secluded hilltop asylum, where a doctor (Roman Fontsere) keeps each child isolated in a separate cell. There Ines meets the troubled introvert, Benigno (Ilias Stothart), whos first seen casually chewing on his own flesh, but eventually transforms into a skilled and thoughtful student under the guise of Professor Holzman (Derek de Lint), a German-Jewish scientist seeking refuge from the Nazi regime.

Its during these asylum scenes that Painless truly comes into its own, drawing numerous parallels between the self-anesthetising capabilities of the children and the domination of the Fascists over a period that stretched from the Spanish Civil War to the 1960s, when Francos dictatorship was comfortably installed in power. While certain gorier momentsincluding a childs worst nightmare: the dissection of a puppyhave a stomach-turning quality to them, whats much more disturbing is the idea that insensitive kids like Ines or Benigno could become the ideal puppets for a regime that was hell-bent on staying in power.

Cinematographer Alejando Martinez (Blackout) captures such scenes in eerie, sepia-toned compositions, while the modern-day parts are filled with cold colors and minimalist interiors that reflect Davids own inscrutable persona. Indeed, while its often hard to read what the man is feeling (which is no fault of the well-cast Brendemuhl), its only when the walls (literally) come down during the films emotionally-charged finale that what at first seemed to be a story of cold-blooded survival delivers another message entirely: Even the painless are not immune from suffering.

Production companies: Les Films dAntoine, Tobina Film, Roxbury Pictures, Fado Filmes, A Contracorriente Films, in association with Backup Films
Cast: Alex Brendemuhl, Tomas Lemarquis, Ilias Stothart, Mot Stothart, Derek de Lint, Ramon Fonstere, Silvia Bel, Bea Segura, Lia OPrey
Director: Juan Carlos Medina
Screenwriters: Juan Carlos Medina, Luiso Berdejo, based on an original idea by Juan Carlos Medina
Producers: Antoine Simkine, Francois Cognard, Miguel A. Faura
Executive producers: Manuel Monzon, Isaac Torras, Goncalo Galvao Teles
Director of photography: Alejando Martinez
Production designer: Inigo Navarro
Costume designer: Ariadna Papio
Music: Johan Soderqvist
Editor: Pedro Reibeiro
Visual effects: Luis Tinoco
Sales: Elle Driver
No rating, 101 minutes.

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A Special Day (Un Giorno speciale): Venice Review

Roman Holiday meets Before Sunrise in Francesca Comencinis slight but charming A Special Day (Un Giorno speciale), at heart a brisk two-hander for youthful, likeable leads Giulia Valentini and Filippo Schiccitano. Debuting quietly in Venices Competition three years after Comencinis older-skewing The White Space scooped five unofficial awards on the Lido, it should recoup what must have been a pretty modest budget when released in Italy on Oct. 4. Festivals and small-screen buyers seeking accessible romantic fare should give it a look, as Comencinis eye for social detail gives her fluffy story an unexpected and welcome gritty edge.

A resident in a scruffy Roman suburb, 19-year-old TV addict Gina (Valentini) aspires to a showbiz career and is willing to scale the ladder by means of "porn films, naked photos" and "escort" work if necessary. Shes granted an audience with a high-ranking politician in his city-center office and is picked up by an official limo driven by twentyish Marco (Schiccitano) on what turns out to be the lads first day at work. When Ginas appointment is delayed, Gina and Marco have to kill time together and initial frictions give way to more intimate and tender exchanges.

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Working from 2010 novella The Sky with a Finger by actor/writer Claudio Bigagli -- a star of 1992's Foreign Language Oscar-winner Mediterraneo -- Comencini and her co-scripwriters arent exactly reinventing the wheel here with their dialogue-heavy exploration of how passion buds over a limited time-frame.

But newcomer Valentini and Schiccitano, building on his debut in Francesco Brunis well-received Easy! (Scialla!) from last year, are easy on the eye and the ear, and manage to find that crucial element of chemistry to ensure audiences root for them both individually and as a potential couple.

With his Tom Cruise-ish looks -- black hair, dark eyes, and an easy, toothy grin -- Schiccitano displays a genial charisma that bodes very well for his future prospects. The screenplay places a rather greater burden on his co-star, especially in the latter stages as the brassy but vulnerable Gina finally gets to meet the sleazy, string-pulling Congressman (Antonio Zavatteri) and Valentini capably belies her inexperience.

Essentially a showcase for the two leads, A Special Day certainly displays the duo to best advantage thanks to cinematography by Paolo Sorrentinos usual DP, Luca Bignazzi. Eschewing the eyepopping operatics associated with Sorrentinos flashy enterprises, Bignazzi gets up close and personal here with lightweight digital cameras that yield slick widescreen images. In a project where few supporting players get much of a look-in, well-chosen Roman locations ranging from run-down peripheral projects to the magnificent ruins of the Forum do more than their share of silent scene-stealing.

Venue: Venice Film Festival (Competition), September 8, 2012.

Production company: Palomar
Cast: Filippo Schiccitano, Giulia Valentini, Antonio Zavatteri, Roberto Infascelli, Danielle Del Priore, Rocco Miglionico
Director: Francesca Comencini
Screenwriters: Francesca Comencini, Giulia Calenda, Davide Lantieri, based on the novel The Sky with a Finger by Claudio Bigagli
Producer: Carlo Degli Espositi
Director of photography: Luca Bigazzi
Production designer: Paola Comencini
Costume designer: Ursula Patzak
Music: Ratchev & Carratello
Editors: Massimo Fiocchi, Chiara Vullo

Sales agent: Rai Trade, Rome
No MPAA rating, 83 minutes

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A Special Day (Un Giorno speciale): Venice Review

Roman Holiday meets Before Sunrise in Francesca Comencinis slight but charming A Special Day (Un Giorno speciale), at heart a brisk two-hander for youthful, likeable leads Giulia Valentini and Filippo Schiccitano. Debuting quietly in Venices Competition three years after Comencinis older-skewing The White Space scooped five unofficial awards on the Lido, it should recoup what must have been a pretty modest budget when released in Italy on Oct. 4. Festivals and small-screen buyers seeking accessible romantic fare should give it a look, as Comencinis eye for social detail gives her fluffy story an unexpected and welcome gritty edge.

A resident in a scruffy Roman suburb, 19-year-old TV addict Gina (Valentini) aspires to a showbiz career and is willing to scale the ladder by means of "porn films, naked photos" and "escort" work if necessary. Shes granted an audience with a high-ranking politician in his city-center office and is picked up by an official limo driven by twentyish Marco (Schiccitano) on what turns out to be the lads first day at work. When Ginas appointment is delayed, Gina and Marco have to kill time together and initial frictions give way to more intimate and tender exchanges.

PHOTOS: Venice Film Festival: Robert Redford and Shia LaBeouf Present 'The Company You Keep'

Working from 2010 novella The Sky with a Finger by actor/writer Claudio Bigagli -- a star of 1992's Foreign Language Oscar-winner Mediterraneo -- Comencini and her co-scripwriters arent exactly reinventing the wheel here with their dialogue-heavy exploration of how passion buds over a limited time-frame.

But newcomer Valentini and Schiccitano, building on his debut in Francesco Brunis well-received Easy! (Scialla!) from last year, are easy on the eye and the ear, and manage to find that crucial element of chemistry to ensure audiences root for them both individually and as a potential couple.

With his Tom Cruise-ish looks -- black hair, dark eyes, and an easy, toothy grin -- Schiccitano displays a genial charisma that bodes very well for his future prospects. The screenplay places a rather greater burden on his co-star, especially in the latter stages as the brassy but vulnerable Gina finally gets to meet the sleazy, string-pulling Congressman (Antonio Zavatteri) and Valentini capably belies her inexperience.

Essentially a showcase for the two leads, A Special Day certainly displays the duo to best advantage thanks to cinematography by Paolo Sorrentinos usual DP, Luca Bignazzi. Eschewing the eyepopping operatics associated with Sorrentinos flashy enterprises, Bignazzi gets up close and personal here with lightweight digital cameras that yield slick widescreen images. In a project where few supporting players get much of a look-in, well-chosen Roman locations ranging from run-down peripheral projects to the magnificent ruins of the Forum do more than their share of silent scene-stealing.

Venue: Venice Film Festival (Competition), September 8, 2012.

Production company: Palomar
Cast: Filippo Schiccitano, Giulia Valentini, Antonio Zavatteri, Roberto Infascelli, Danielle Del Priore, Rocco Miglionico
Director: Francesca Comencini
Screenwriters: Francesca Comencini, Giulia Calenda, Davide Lantieri, based on the novel The Sky with a Finger by Claudio Bigagli
Producer: Carlo Degli Espositi
Director of photography: Luca Bigazzi
Production designer: Paola Comencini
Costume designer: Ursula Patzak
Music: Ratchev & Carratello
Editors: Massimo Fiocchi, Chiara Vullo

Sales agent: Rai Trade, Rome
No MPAA rating, 83 minutes

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Satellite Boy: Toronto Review

TORONTO Setting a modestly scaled but archetypal quest story against the vast terrain of Western Australia, Catriona McKenzie's Satellite Boy radiates respect for traditional folkways and the Aborigines who manage to maintain them despite the encroachment of modern life. Combining the credibility factor of veteran Aboriginal actor David Gulpilil with a cute-kid story and some stunning vistas, the picture has solid potential at arthouses.

First-time actor Cameron Wallaby plays Pete, who is seen early on proclaiming his boredom with the lessons his grandfather Jagamarra (Gulpilil) tries to teach him. Wandering the bushland hunting small game with a spear, Jagamarra insists that this hard country has powers and will help those who learn to listen to it.

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The two live at an abandoned drive-in cinema, Pete's mother having fled to seek work in the city. When a mining company announces they're going to bulldoze the dwelling in a few days, Pete steals off with young buddy Kalmain (Joseph Pedley) to find the company's headquarters and change planners' minds. The boys quickly find themselves far from their route, needing sustenance and shelter; without initially realizing what he's doing, Pete keeps them alive by thinking as his grandfather does.

McKenzie's script follows a template found in some other kid-centered imports. Viewers won't often catch Wallaby trying to be cute, though, and the closest the film comes to feel-good convention is in David Bridie's score, whose occasional bursts of optimistic verve are slightly out of sync with the stark, challenging landscapes DP Geoffrey Simpson has to offer. Over the course of their journey, the boys see the striated mountains of the Bungle Bungles, stagger barefoot over flat, cracked plains, and sleep beneath a sky with more stars in it than our own.

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Jagamarra calls to those same stars to return the child to him, and to the earth beneath his campfire; the old man's communion with the natural world is depicted with a respect that stops short of condescending enlightened-primitive clichs. McKenzie's vision isn't as otherworldly as some that have taken wide-eyed moviegoers to the outback, but it suggests that, more than four decades since we encountered Gulpilil in Walkabout, Australia is still big enough to keep secrets from Europeans bent on taming it.

Production Company: Satellite Films

Cast: David Gulpilil, Cameron Wallaby, Joseph Pedley, Rohanna Angus, Dean Daley-Jones

Director-Screenwriter: Catriona McKenzie

Producers: David Jowsey, Julie Ryan, Catriona McKenzie

Executive producers: Colin McCumstie, Troy Lum

Director of photography: Geoffrey Simpson

Production designer: Sam Hobbs

Music: David Bridie

Costume designer: Maria Pattison

Editor: Henry Dangar

Sales: Celluloid Dreams

No rating, 89 minutes

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Satellite Boy: Toronto Review

TORONTO Setting a modestly scaled but archetypal quest story against the vast terrain of Western Australia, Catriona McKenzie's Satellite Boy radiates respect for traditional folkways and the Aborigines who manage to maintain them despite the encroachment of modern life. Combining the credibility factor of veteran Aboriginal actor David Gulpilil with a cute-kid story and some stunning vistas, the picture has solid potential at arthouses.

First-time actor Cameron Wallaby plays Pete, who is seen early on proclaiming his boredom with the lessons his grandfather Jagamarra (Gulpilil) tries to teach him. Wandering the bushland hunting small game with a spear, Jagamarra insists that this hard country has powers and will help those who learn to listen to it.

VIDEO: Toronto 2012: THR Hosts Toronto Film Festival Cocktail Party For Top Industry Players At The Thompson Hotel

The two live at an abandoned drive-in cinema, Pete's mother having fled to seek work in the city. When a mining company announces they're going to bulldoze the dwelling in a few days, Pete steals off with young buddy Kalmain (Joseph Pedley) to find the company's headquarters and change planners' minds. The boys quickly find themselves far from their route, needing sustenance and shelter; without initially realizing what he's doing, Pete keeps them alive by thinking as his grandfather does.

McKenzie's script follows a template found in some other kid-centered imports. Viewers won't often catch Wallaby trying to be cute, though, and the closest the film comes to feel-good convention is in David Bridie's score, whose occasional bursts of optimistic verve are slightly out of sync with the stark, challenging landscapes DP Geoffrey Simpson has to offer. Over the course of their journey, the boys see the striated mountains of the Bungle Bungles, stagger barefoot over flat, cracked plains, and sleep beneath a sky with more stars in it than our own.

VIDEO: Toronto 2012: Inside THR's Video Diary Featuring the Festival's Leading Talent

Jagamarra calls to those same stars to return the child to him, and to the earth beneath his campfire; the old man's communion with the natural world is depicted with a respect that stops short of condescending enlightened-primitive clichs. McKenzie's vision isn't as otherworldly as some that have taken wide-eyed moviegoers to the outback, but it suggests that, more than four decades since we encountered Gulpilil in Walkabout, Australia is still big enough to keep secrets from Europeans bent on taming it.

Production Company: Satellite Films

Cast: David Gulpilil, Cameron Wallaby, Joseph Pedley, Rohanna Angus, Dean Daley-Jones

Director-Screenwriter: Catriona McKenzie

Producers: David Jowsey, Julie Ryan, Catriona McKenzie

Executive producers: Colin McCumstie, Troy Lum

Director of photography: Geoffrey Simpson

Production designer: Sam Hobbs

Music: David Bridie

Costume designer: Maria Pattison

Editor: Henry Dangar

Sales: Celluloid Dreams

No rating, 89 minutes

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The Bay: Toronto Review

TORONTO An unexpected detour for director Barry Levinson into mock-doc horror, The Bay is an unnerving eco-disaster thriller that refreshes the found-footage trend with surprising effectiveness. Playing by classic B-Movie genre rules but with a mostly convincing veneer of reportorial realism, this lean, micro-budget entry sustains tension while delivering squirms, even if it drops the ball in the wrap-up.

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At this point in the game, the bastard children of The Blair Witch Project, Cloverfield and Paranormal Activity have sorely tested the limits of films in which a single camera is somehow never switched off or put down for long. Such lapses in credibility are not totally absent here.

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But Levinson and screenwriter Michael Wallach mostly manage to circumvent the problem by gathering multiple media sources. These include news cameras, police vehicle cams, surveillance video, smart phones, Androids, Skype and underwater goggle cameras. On top of that are sound sources such as recorded phone conversations, 911 calls, scientific and medical logs and Coast Guard transmissions.

Editor Aaron Yanes makes nimble use of the disparate visual and audio textures to thread together an urgently paced recap of Independence Day 2009 in the seaside town of Claridge, Maryland, on Chesapeake Bay. (The actual shooting location was Georgetown, South Carolina.) Over the course of 24 hours, events spiral into a full-blown catastrophe that claims hundreds of lives.

The extent of the calamity is conveyed up-front, as Donna Thompson (Kether Donohue) addresses the camera with grave seriousness to blow the lid off secrets carefully concealed from the media. The conceit is that a wealth of digital evidence was confiscated in the wake of the mass tragedy and has been accessed three years later via a Govleaks website.

An inexperienced student reporter interning at the time for a local news channel, Donna was assigned to do fluff coverage of the Fourth of July festivities. Levinson and Wallach nod wryly to every watery terror movie since Jaws and the original Piranha in this setup, as Donna takes in the crab-eating contest and interviews the beauty queen, who gushes, I think its every girls dream to be Miss Crustacean!

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Cutting back and forth between her awkward TV coverage and shaken present-day interview, Donna chats on-camera with the Mayor (Frank Deal), oblivious to his culpability in ignoring danger signs and to the fact that he would be dead several hours later.

We quickly learn that the bodies of two divers were fished out of the bay and while their deaths were blamed on rogue bull sharks, the bites didnt fit that profile. Theres also the matter of 45 million pounds of chicken excrement being dumped in the water each year from the massive local poultry industry, all of it loaded with chemical steroids. Then there was that nuclear reactor leak in 2002 that caused gradual ground seepage.

When people start turning up with bleeding rashes, boils, bubbling lesions and parts of their tongues missing, The Bay takes shape like a viral epidemic thriller in the vein of Contagion. Working ER at the hospital, Dr. Abrams (Stephen Kunken) is mobbed by patients presenting bizarre symptoms resistant to treatment. His examinations point to twin parasites eating their bodies externally and internally. (Watch the trailer below.)

Basing their story on the toxic pollutants and flesh-eating bacteria increasingly prevalent in the Chesapeake Bay, Levinson and Wallach cook up a mutant breed of the isopod that enters a fish through its gills and devours its tongue, replacing that organ with its own body. Of course its not long before humans are playing host.

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There are holes, such as failing to provide an adequate explanation as to why the parasites all get crazy hungry on the same day. But thats also part of the fun of a movie that mixes an earnest faux-documentary cautionary tale with horror and gore conventions.

Character development is less a priority than the escalating sense of alarm, and the sinister evidence that authorities outside Claridge are working on containment, not solution.

In addition to Donna, who continues documenting events with her cameraman even after the station shuts down her broadcasts on FBI orders, there are a handful of key conduits to the story. Dr. Abrams conducts a long Skype exchange with the Center for Disease Control, refusing to abandon the hospital even after his staff has fled. Prior to the July 4 events, oceanographers Sam (Christopher Denham) and Jaqueline (Nansi Aluka) record their studies of infected fish, discovering that much of the bay is a marine dead zone. And a young married couple, Alex (Will Rogers) and Stephanie (Kristen Connolly), shoot vacation video as they sail in from another town, bringing their baby to visit his grandparents.

While Connolly was one of the leads in The Cabin in the Woods, the actors mainly hail from the supporting-player end of the film spectrum, or from the New York stage. Using unfamiliar faces here was a good choice in upping the sense of ordinary people in an it-could-happen predicament, though Donohue is a little flat as the central witness. Denham (a lead in the indie drama Sound of My Voice, also seen at the Toronto festival in Ben Afflecks Argo) is an appealing, wiry presence; he has a nice running joke concerning Sams difficulty understanding his colleagues French accent.

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Once they have laid waste to the entire town, littering Main Street with half-chewed corpses, the filmmakers are less resourceful in finding a way to wrap things up. The ending is rather abrupt, and sticklers for rulebook horror plotting might gripe that we dont get to see someone save the day. But the evidence of a government cover-up to avoid widespread disruption of summer tourism and trade along the Eastern seaboard gives a chilling note to the conclusion. While the visceral scares are a distant second to the tense atmosphere, Levinson maintains suspense, aided by Marcelo Zarvos ominous score.

Stepping outside his standard range and angling for a different demographic, the director has found a novel way to expand his collection of Baltimore movies.

Venue: Toronto Film Festival (Midnight Madness; Lionsgate/Roadside Attractions; opens Nov. 2)
Production companies: Baltimore Pictures, Haunted Movie
Cast: Will Rogers, Kristen Connolly, Kether Donohue, Frank Deal, Stephen Kunken, Christopher Denham, Nansi Aluka
Director: Barry Levinson
Screenwriter: Michael Wallach; story: Levinson, Wallach
Producers: Barry Levinson, Jason Blum, Steven Schneider, Oren Peli
Executive producers: Brian Kavanaugh-Jones, Jason Sosnoff, Colin Strause Greg Strause
Director of photography: Josh Nussbaum
Production designer: Lee Bonner
Music: Marcelo Zarvos
Costume designer: Emmie Holmes
Editor: Aaron Yanes
Visual effects: Hydraulx
Sales: IM Global
R rating, 84 minutes

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The Bay: Toronto Review

TORONTO An unexpected detour for director Barry Levinson into mock-doc horror, The Bay is an unnerving eco-disaster thriller that refreshes the found-footage trend with surprising effectiveness. Playing by classic B-Movie genre rules but with a mostly convincing veneer of reportorial realism, this lean, micro-budget entry sustains tension while delivering squirms, even if it drops the ball in the wrap-up.

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At this point in the game, the bastard children of The Blair Witch Project, Cloverfield and Paranormal Activity have sorely tested the limits of films in which a single camera is somehow never switched off or put down for long. Such lapses in credibility are not totally absent here.

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But Levinson and screenwriter Michael Wallach mostly manage to circumvent the problem by gathering multiple media sources. These include news cameras, police vehicle cams, surveillance video, smart phones, Androids, Skype and underwater goggle cameras. On top of that are sound sources such as recorded phone conversations, 911 calls, scientific and medical logs and Coast Guard transmissions.

Editor Aaron Yanes makes nimble use of the disparate visual and audio textures to thread together an urgently paced recap of Independence Day 2009 in the seaside town of Claridge, Maryland, on Chesapeake Bay. (The actual shooting location was Georgetown, South Carolina.) Over the course of 24 hours, events spiral into a full-blown catastrophe that claims hundreds of lives.

The extent of the calamity is conveyed up-front, as Donna Thompson (Kether Donohue) addresses the camera with grave seriousness to blow the lid off secrets carefully concealed from the media. The conceit is that a wealth of digital evidence was confiscated in the wake of the mass tragedy and has been accessed three years later via a Govleaks website.

An inexperienced student reporter interning at the time for a local news channel, Donna was assigned to do fluff coverage of the Fourth of July festivities. Levinson and Wallach nod wryly to every watery terror movie since Jaws and the original Piranha in this setup, as Donna takes in the crab-eating contest and interviews the beauty queen, who gushes, I think its every girls dream to be Miss Crustacean!

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Cutting back and forth between her awkward TV coverage and shaken present-day interview, Donna chats on-camera with the Mayor (Frank Deal), oblivious to his culpability in ignoring danger signs and to the fact that he would be dead several hours later.

We quickly learn that the bodies of two divers were fished out of the bay and while their deaths were blamed on rogue bull sharks, the bites didnt fit that profile. Theres also the matter of 45 million pounds of chicken excrement being dumped in the water each year from the massive local poultry industry, all of it loaded with chemical steroids. Then there was that nuclear reactor leak in 2002 that caused gradual ground seepage.

When people start turning up with bleeding rashes, boils, bubbling lesions and parts of their tongues missing, The Bay takes shape like a viral epidemic thriller in the vein of Contagion. Working ER at the hospital, Dr. Abrams (Stephen Kunken) is mobbed by patients presenting bizarre symptoms resistant to treatment. His examinations point to twin parasites eating their bodies externally and internally. (Watch the trailer below.)

Basing their story on the toxic pollutants and flesh-eating bacteria increasingly prevalent in the Chesapeake Bay, Levinson and Wallach cook up a mutant breed of the isopod that enters a fish through its gills and devours its tongue, replacing that organ with its own body. Of course its not long before humans are playing host.

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There are holes, such as failing to provide an adequate explanation as to why the parasites all get crazy hungry on the same day. But thats also part of the fun of a movie that mixes an earnest faux-documentary cautionary tale with horror and gore conventions.

Character development is less a priority than the escalating sense of alarm, and the sinister evidence that authorities outside Claridge are working on containment, not solution.

In addition to Donna, who continues documenting events with her cameraman even after the station shuts down her broadcasts on FBI orders, there are a handful of key conduits to the story. Dr. Abrams conducts a long Skype exchange with the Center for Disease Control, refusing to abandon the hospital even after his staff has fled. Prior to the July 4 events, oceanographers Sam (Christopher Denham) and Jaqueline (Nansi Aluka) record their studies of infected fish, discovering that much of the bay is a marine dead zone. And a young married couple, Alex (Will Rogers) and Stephanie (Kristen Connolly), shoot vacation video as they sail in from another town, bringing their baby to visit his grandparents.

While Connolly was one of the leads in The Cabin in the Woods, the actors mainly hail from the supporting-player end of the film spectrum, or from the New York stage. Using unfamiliar faces here was a good choice in upping the sense of ordinary people in an it-could-happen predicament, though Donohue is a little flat as the central witness. Denham (a lead in the indie drama Sound of My Voice, also seen at the Toronto festival in Ben Afflecks Argo) is an appealing, wiry presence; he has a nice running joke in Sams difficulty understanding his colleagues French accent.

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Once they have laid waste to the entire town, littering Main Street with half-chewed corpses, the filmmakers are less resourceful in finding a way to wrap things up. Sticklers for rulebook horror plotting might gripe that we dont get to see someone save the day and the ending is rather abrupt. But the evidence of a government cover-up to avoid widespread disruption of tourism and trade along the Eastern seaboard gives a chilling note to the conclusion. While the visceral scares are a distant second to the tense atmosphere, Levinson maintains suspense, aided by Marcelo Zarvos ominous score.

Stepping outside his standard range and angling for a different demographic, the director has found a novel way to expand his collection of Baltimore movies.

Venue: Toronto Film Festival (Midnight Madness; Lionsgate/Roadside Attractions; opens Nov. 2)
Production companies: Baltimore Pictures, Haunted Movie
Cast: Will Rogers, Kristen Connolly, Kether Donohue, Frank Deal, Stephen Kunken, Christopher Denham, Nansi Aluka
Director: Barry Levinson
Screenwriter: Michael Wallach; story: Levinson, Wallach
Producers: Barry Levinson, Jason Blum, Steven Schneider, Oren Peli
Executive producers: Brian Kavanaugh-Jones, Jason Sosnoff, Colin Strause Greg Strause
Director of photography: Josh Nussbaum
Production designer: Lee Bonner
Music: Marcelo Zarvos
Costume designer: Emmie Holmes
Editor: Aaron Yanes
Visual effects: Hydraulx
Sales: IM Global
R rating, 84 minutes

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No Place on Earth: Toronto Review

TORONTO Let those who think they've heard every inspiring tale of Holocaust survival have a talk with Chris Nicola. His discovery of a cave where dozens of Jews waited out the Nazis is the subject of Janet Tobias's No Place on Earth, which not only uncovers their story but finds a handful of them still left to tell it. The astounding tale has strong arthouse appeal and looks like a natural for feature adaptation.

Nicola was spelunking in a 77 mile-long Ukrainian cave in 1993 when he discovered stoves, buttons, and shoes that were clearly left by people who had lived there. Fascinated, he began to ask locals for an explanation. "Maybe some Jews lived there" was the most he could get.

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Almost a decade of searching later, the New Yorker got a tip leading to a man in the Bronx who, with his extended family, had lived underground for 511 days starting in 1942. Through interviews and the diaries of a remarkable woman named Esther Stermer, he and Tobias have pieced together the history of the 38 people who lived there.

The environment of these caves is essential to the film's appeal, so while Tobias spends plenty of time with her elderly survivors (shooting them, cave-style, with a single light source in front of a black backdrop) she also echoes their memories with plentiful reenactment footage -- actors scrambling through narrow gaps, digging to establish escape routes, and marveling at the cathedral-sized chambers they occasionally discover.

The film's narrative is episodic, focusing on last-ditch missions to find food above ground and on a few dramatic moments -- the most gripping being the day when German soldiers showed up in the cave. As they were marched out to what they assumed would be immediate execution, some were able to slip down darkened passageways, using their familiarity with the labyrinth to vanish.

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Tobias leaves these stories occasionally to recount Nicola's investigation; at the film's close, he leads a group including four survivors back to the cave where, as he puts it, a group ranging in age from two to 76 did things that modern adventurers would find unthinkable. As we see a 91 year-old watch his granddaughter descend into the hole in the ground that saved his life, it's hard not to wonder how this all remained private family lore for six decades.

Production Companies: Sierra Tango Productions, A List Films

Director: Janet Tobias

Screenwriter: Paul Laikin, Janet Tobias

Producers: Janet Tobias, Rafael Marmor, Paul Laikin, Nadav Schirman, Susan Barnett

Executive producers: J. Flint Davis, David McKillop, Timm Oberwelland, Katja Zink, Jeff Field, Susan Werbe, Molly Thompson

Directors of photography: Sean Kirby, Edu Grau, Peter Simonite, Csar Charlone

Music: John Piscitello

Editors: Claus Wehlisch, Alexander Berner, Deirdre Slevin

Sound:Lewis Goldstein

Sales: Submarine Entertainment

PG, 82 minutes

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Liverpool: Toronto Review

TORONTO A lightweight mystery-romance set not in the Beatles' hometown but around a Montral nightclub of the same name, Manon Briand's Liverpool follows a coatcheck girl whose misguided attempt at a good deed turns up a massive e-waste conspiracy operating out of the city's port. Its sweetly shy heroes are difficult to dislike, but their fumbling adventure is best suited to the small screen.

Stphanie Lapointe plays milie, a girlie-voiced wallflower who watches nightly as innocent-looking Tom (Charles-Alexandre Dub) visits the club and goes home alone. Tom pines for her as well, but they don't meet until milie gets embroiled in a strange mess involving a dying rich man, his greedy son, and Clara, the man's long-lost daughter. Packing up his chubby vintage Fiat with every gizmo Apple currently has on its product-placement list, Tom sets out to help milie find Clara.

Clara's been kidnapped, lest she show up to claim her half of the old man's estate. As they hunt for her at her college campus, the young sleuths engage in a flurry of social-media connection-seeking that makes Briand look pretty proud of herself: I know all about this texting stuff, the scene seems to say.

But Briand knows the downside of tech as well, and works a real-world ecological concern -- the illegal export of dead electronics, whose toxic components turn Third World villages into cancer hotspots -- into the plot as the roundabout cause of Clara's kidnapping.

Briand and her cast don't take any of this too seriously, as all the gumshoe work is just an excuse for Tom and milie to bond. But nobody told composer Ramachandra Borcar, whose Bernard Herrmann-like score places a blanket of seriousness atop the perky action. A different approach here would've had quite an impact, as is witnessed by scenes in which likeably kitschy '60s pop accompanies the action.

Production Company: Max Films
Cast: Stphanie Lapointe, Charles-Alexandre Dub, Louis Morissette
Director-Screenwriter: Manon Briand
Producers:Roger Frappier, Luc Vandal, Felize Frappier
Director of photography: Claudine Sauv
Production designer: David Pelletier
Music: Ramachandra Borcar
Editor: Richard Comeau
No rating, 112 minutes

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The War of the Volcanoes: Film Review

The real drama was definitely behind the cameras in the Mediterranean 63 years ago when Ingrid Bergman and Anna Magnani starred in competing films, Stromboli and Volcano, about women plunked down on neighboring Aeolian islands. Terrific Italian newsreel and archival footage from the post-WWII period makes Francesco Patierno's informative and gossipy short documentary a real treat, one that will go down very well with cinephile audiences at festivals and specialized venues and on television.

This is a story that encompasses passion, cheating, jealousy, revenge and vindictiveness on an appropriately volcanic scale, involving two of the cinema's greatest female stars and the director who quit one for the other. The battleground was Godforsaken dots of land made famous by the rival films and the anti-climactic result was two big flops no one wanted to see.

If there's one key player who comes off here smelling like rather a bad fish, it's director Roberto Rossellini, who screwed over his cousin by stealing his material, snuck out on Magnani for Bergman, made the latter a pariah in the U.S. by getting her pregnant and spent more than 100 days shooting a terribly under-prepared film.

But, as the plentiful visual material in this film attests, the Italian media were ready for him when he arrived with a Hollywood movie star on his arm. Suddenly famous in the wake of Rome, Open City and Paisan, Rossellini had been approached in the late 1940s by his cousin Renzo Avanza and four Sicilian friends who had patented new techniques for underwater filming and had written a story about local tuna fishermen he thought might appeal to Rossellini.

But the director's mind was elsewhere. Having received a fan letter from Bergman offering to work with him, Rossellini slipped out of the rooms he shared with Magnani at the Hotel Savoy one morning to walk her dogs but left them with the concierge. He never returned, instead heading straight for New York, then to Hollywood to meet Bergman, who was at the peak of her celebrity as well as married with a young daughter. They began their affair and the director began plotting Stromboli, set on the bleak island in a community of poor fishermen.

Scenes of Magnani suffering alone and talking on the phone from her last film with Rossellini, L'Amore, cheekily serve to pave the way for her vengeance. Realizing that Rossellini had poached their idea, Avanza and his cohorts went to Hollywood, where they made a deal with Warner Bros. and prominent director William Dieterle to make a rival film, Volcano, with none other than Magnani to star.

Suddenly, the tabloid press was focused on two forlorn little islands that were hitherto noticed only when their volcanoes blew up, which they did with some regularity. Bergman's relationship with her new director soon became obvious, as did, eventually, her pregnancy, Magnani was out for blood and Italy, so the documentary insists, became a nation hopelessly divided between supporters of each camp.

Meanwhile, filming proceeded with agonizing slowness, particularly on Stromboli, for which Bergman had arranged financing with Howard Hughes, whose dislike for Rossellini only increased as the budget soared. Footage of the shoot is depressing, showing the difficulty of working on a remote location with no infrastructure and artists whose intense mutual attraction is the only thing that can have made the experience bearable.

Remarkably, the films premiered in Rome the same week in 1950, Volcano disastrously so when the projection broke down, as the documentary shows. Despite its infamy for having occasioned its star's infidelity and exile from Hollywood, Stromboli bombed too. In just under an hour, Patierno relays this wild episode in famous lives with verve, wit and you-are-there visuals that make it come alive in a way that it never could on the printed page.

Venues: Venice, Toronto, New York Film Festivals
Production: Cinecitta-Luce, Centro Studei Eoliano
International sales: Wide House
Director: Francesco Patierno
Writers: Chiara Laudani, Francesco Patierno, based on a book by Alberto Anile and Maria Gabriella Giannice
Producers: Andrea Patierno, Clara Del Monaco
Editor: Renata Salvator
Music: Santi Pulvirentu
52 minutes

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The Man Who Laughs (L'Homme Qui Rit): Venice Review

A powerhouse end justifies some clunky means in The Man Who Laughs (L'Homme qui rit), Jean-Pierre Amris' functional, liberal adaptation of Victor Hugo's 1869 novel that builds stealthily to a surprisingly moving finale. Very much designed for audiences rather than critics, this opulent period fantasy/tragedy received predictably harsh press when world-premiering as Venices closing film. But the French/Czech co-production, co-funded by Luc Besson's savvy EuropaCorp and shot entirely on Prague sound-stages with some stiffly artificial results, may yet enjoy the last "laugh" after its Dec. 26 release in France.

Two years ago Amris' comedy Romantics Anonymous exceeded expectations when bowing in the same holiday frame. And the fact that The Man Who Laughed arrives in Gallic cinemas only two months before Tom Hooper's heavily hyped English-language Hugo adaptation Les Misrables certainly won't do this homegrown rival any commercial harm. Ironically enough, it was Les Mis' distributor Universal who enjoyed a worldwide smash in 1928 with the best-known of the five previous adaptations of Hugo's book: Paul Lenis semi-silent with Conrad Veidt unforgettable as the disfigured hero Gwynplaine.

While unsuitable for younger children with its dark themes, sexual suggestiveness and scary visuals, Amris' version appeals as a long-term moneymaker on TV and DVD where its Gothic-romance elements might even click with the lucrative Twilight crowd. International prospects in non-French-speaking countries will however be hampered by the fact that journeyman Amris lacks the visionary lan that a Burton, Gilliam or Jeunet might have brought to this creaky old table of a property.

A wandering orphan cruelly deformed at the hands of villains whose identities and motives remain unsatisfactorily murky throughout, Amris' Gwynplaine finds his freakish looks make him a valuable showbusiness attraction thanks to the promotional skills of kindly, larger-than-life mountebank Ursus (Grard Depardieu). After years of enjoyable traveling-show toil - The Elephant Man this certainly ain't - Gwynplaine learns that he's actually a wealthy aristocrat and is catapulted to a life of castle-dwelling luxury.

Set in an unspecified epoch sometime just before the French Revolution,Guillaume Laurant's screenplay departs from Hugo's text by having Gwynplaine (Marc-Andr Grondin) use his new status to bewail the lot of the poor and downtrodden: "Je suis un misrable!" he yells in Parliament. But this proto-one-percenter realizes that he's much better off back with Ursus and company, having fallen in love with his lifelong friend and co-performer, the blind, blonde and beautiful Da (Christa Thret).

Whereas Veidt's Gwynplaine sported such a nightmarish permanent grin that Leni's picture is often classified as a horror movie, Canadian pinup Grondins scarring is more subtle, and doesn't detract from his dashing appeal - with his mane of black hair and delicately pale features, he resembles a junior version of Alan Rickman's Severus Snape from certain angles. This Gwynplaine's makeup effects are much closer to the carved rictus of Heath Ledger's Joker from The Dark Knight, thus completing a neat circle of literary and cinematic references as the face of Bob Kane's original comic-book character was modeled on Veidt's Gwynplaine.

Grondin, meanwhile, is known to Francophone audiences on both sides of the Atlantic: he broke through in Jean-Marc Valle's smash C.R.A.Z.Y. (2005) then took the Most Promising Male Actor award at the Csars three years later for The First Day of the Rest of Your Life. Having popped up as hedonistic hockey prodigy Xavier LaFlamme in Canadian comedy Goon last year, he forms half of a highly photogenic couple here with the evanescent Thret, a relative newcomer who shows distinct promise in a potentially sappy role.

Both are often overshadowed, however, by older hands including Serge Merlin as scheming footman Barkilphedro and Emmanuelle Seigner as a glamorously decadent Duchess. Best of all is a generously top-billed Dpardieu, who imparts the well-named Ursus with bearish physical presence, considerable humor and no small measure of pathos. Despite his legendarily Stakhanovite workrate, Dpardieu has notched only three Csar nominations in the last two decades and, if campaigned in the Supporting Actor category, could well nab further recognition from the France's academy.

It certainly helps that he's so prominent in the tragic finale which deploys Arvo Prt's 'Cantus in Memoriam Benjamin Britten' to devastating effect, the Estonian composer's haunting elegy a refreshing change after Stphane Moucha's hyperactive, derivative score. The Prt track, long a favorite of filmmakers worldwide, somehow retains its power despite overexposure - it's been used in the climax of one French production this year already, Alice Winocour's Augustine - and here rounds off proceedings in grandly tear-jerking style.

Venue: Venice Film Festival (Closing Film - Out of Competition)
Production companies: EuropaCorp, Incognita Films
Cast: Marc-Andr Grondin, Grard Depardieu, Christa Thret, Emmanuelle Seigner, Serge Merlin
Director: Jean-Pierre Amris
Screenwriter: Guillaume Laurant, based on the novel by Victor Hugo
Producers: Edouard de Vsinne, Thomas Anargyros
Director of photography: Grard Simon
Production designer: Franck Schwarz
Costume designer: Olivier Briot
Music: Stphane Moucha
Editor: Philippe Bourgeuil
Sales agent: EuropaCorp, Paris
No MPAA rating, 93 minutes

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