El Nido Vacio

SAN SEBASTIÁN.- "Siento que tengo cuerda para rato". Así lo ha comentado esta mañana Daniel Burman, el director argentino que ha presentado en el Palacio del Kursaal su filme 'El nido vacío' en la penúltima jornada de la 56ª edición del Zinemaldia donostiarra, acompañado por los productores y los actores principales de esta coproducción hispano-argentina, Cecilia Roth, Arturo Goetz e Inés Efron.

'El nido vacío' narra la situación de crisis por la que pasa un matrimonio argentino tras la marcha de su hija Julia a Israel, visto desde la mirada de Leonardo (Arturo Goetz), un escritor introvertido que no consigue afrontar los cambios por los que atraviesa su vida, mientras que ve cómo su mujer Martha es capaz de superarlo e incluso disfrutar y distraerse retomando sus estudios en la universidad.








La inclusión de dos cuadros musicales en el filme por parte de Burman, a pesar de haber reconocido que odia este género y que le da "vergüenza ajena", supone un contrapunto en el desarrollo de la película y responde según el director, a "la necesidad de encarar el drama desde una perspectiva distinta". De esta manera estos fragmentos se convierten en estrategias para manejar mejor el relato y así, "hacer más liviano y ligero lo doloroso".

Por otro lado, el realizador argentino ha comentado que el paso de realidad y ensoñación en el personaje de Leonardo, responde a una puesta en escena donde el personaje vive su espacialidad con una permanente incomodidad, y ayuda a enfatizar y reflejar la crisis existencial en la que está sumido el personaje. Es cuando Leonardo acepta la situación real en la que está sumido, cuando es capaz de ser realmente feliz.

El cineasta ha comentado que esta película surgió de su particular interés por el vacío que dejan los hijos en la casa de sus padres cuando parten, así como del modo en que las parejas interactúan con estos espacios. "En esta relación entre Martha y Leonardo se traslucen los diferentes caminos que puede tomar una pareja una vez que quedan solos nuevamente", ha afirmado Burman.


Por su parte, Cecilia Roth, una de las actrices argentinas de cine más prestigiosas actualmente y con más trayectoria, se ha mostrado muy halagada de volver al Festival de Cine, al que acudió por primera vez en 1977 y del que guarda "muy buenos recuerdos y anécdotas". De hecho, la actriz ha recordado su paso por San Sebastián con la película 'Laberinto de Pasiones', con la que compartió cartel con Antonio Banderas, el Premio Donostia 2008.

La primera actriz no española en ganar un Goya, ha manifestado estar muy satisfecha de haber trabajado en este proyecto con Daniel Burman, del que ha dicho que "sabe sacar lo mejor de cada uno" además de haber revelado que es "muy divertido".


Daniel Burman

Daniel Burman (born 29 August 1973, Buenos Aires, Argentina) is a film director, screenplay writer, and producer.According to film critic Joel Poblete, who writes for Mabuse, a cinema magazine, Daniel Burman is one of the members of the so-called "New Argentina Cinema" which began c. 1998. Film critic Anthony Kaufman, writing for indieWIRE, an online community of independent filmmakers and aficionados, said Burman's A Chrysanthemum Burst in Cincoesquinas (1998) has been cited as the beginning of the "New Argentine Cinema" wave.




Burman is of Polish-Jewish descent, and he was born and raised in Buenos Aires.

He holds both Argentine and Polish citizenship, like his films' character, Ariel. He studied law before changing to audiovisual media production.

In 1995, he launched his own production company together with Diego Dubcovsky, BD Cine (Burman and Dubcovsky Cine).

Burman is a founding member of the Academy of Argentine Cinema.[4]

His loose trilogy of films, Esperando al Mesías (2000), El Abrazo Partido (2004), and Derecho de Familia (2006), were all written and directed by Burman and star Uruguayan actor Daniel Hendler. They are largely autobiographical, dealing with the life of a young neurotic Jew in contemporary Buenos Aires.

He frequently collaborates with other Argentine Jews, notably writer and klezmer musician Marcelo Birmajer, and César Lerner.

His comedic touches often bring comparison to Woody Allen, a comparison Burman is quick to reject. He said, "It's not a measurable comparison. But I'm very happy with it. I admire him more than anyone else in the world."[5]

Burman's films have been featured in many film festivals around the world. El abrazo partido (2003) took the Grand Jury Prize at the Berlin International Film Festival, as well as best actor for Hendler.

Burman was co-producer of the successful 2004 film, The Motorcycle Diaries, as well as Garage Olimpo (1999).





It is arguable that the loose trilogy of films - Esperando al Mesías (2000), El Abrazo Partido (2003), and Derecho de Familia (2006) - all happen in the same "universe". The three share common traits - they are all written and directed by Burman and all star Daniel Hendler in the title role as a young Jew. Additionally, several actors and actresses appear twice in the films. Because Hendler's characters all share similar traits (they are all named Ariel: Ariel Goldstein, Ariel Makaroff and Ariel Perelman respectively) and because some characters from one film seem to appear in another, the trilogy is usually considered as happening in the same universe. Several continuity problems seem to state, however, that the three Ariels are different persons: in the first movie, Ariel's father is a restaurant owner, and his mother dies; in the second film, his father has been long gone, and his mother tends to a small shop; in the third movie, his father dies in the film, and his mother has been long dead. The Ariels cannot be the same. However, a character named Estela from the first film appears in the second, and is both times played by Melina Petriella. This at least connects the first two movies to the same universe. Additionally, Juan José Flores Quispe appears in the second and third movie as "Ramón". Although his character, unlike Estela, seems to vary from film to film, this seems to suggest that the second and third film also share the same universe, and thus, the trilogy itself is set in the same storyline, with the "Ariel persona" showing either different aspects of the same character or simply being a mere coincidence.





Lost Embrace (Spanish: El abrazo partido) (2004) is an Argentine, French, Italian, and Spanish comedy drama film, directed by Daniel Burman and written by Burman and Marcelo Birmajer. The picture features Daniel Hendler, Adriana Aizemberg, Jorge D'Elía, among others.[1]

The drama was Argentina's official choice for the 2004 Oscar Awards, Foreign Language film category.[2]

The comedy-drama tells of Ariel Makaroff, the grandson of Holocaust-era Polish refugees, who is currently on a complex search for his personal and cultural identity.




Esperando El Mesias


The film takes place in a Jewish community of Buenos Aires.

The picture tells of Ariel (Daniel Hendler), a restaurant waiter and a young man who is torn between his devotion to traditional family ties and the desire for something different, and, of Santamaria (Enrique Piñeyro) an older bank employee who suddenly finds his life in complete turmoil.

Santamaria is unexpectedly fired from his bank job due to the world's stock market shocks. His wife takes this event as an opportunity to get rid of him and put him out on the street.

Forced to make a small living returning stolen wallets, Santamaria finds some hope in a bathroom attendant (Stefania Sandrelli) who is waiting for her husband to be released from prison.

Ariel is very much against the restraints of a future that will see him take over his elderly father's (Héctor Alterio) restaurant and marry a nice Argentine Jewish girl (Melina Petriella).

At the same time, Ariel is also attracted to a sexy co-worker, Laura (Chiara Caselli), who tells him she's a lesbian.





Derecho De Familia


The film tells the story of Ariel Perelman (Daniel Hendler). While he has an easy going lifestyle, he's trying to find his way in life in Buenos Aires, Argentina. He works at a university as a law professor. The film begins with a long narration of the way things stand in his life. He describes his father, Bernardo Perelman (Arturo Goetz), in quite detail. Perelman, as he's known, is a popular public defender who meets his clients where they work or in restaurants so he can determine what they are "all about." Most of his clients are generally poor. He's very close to his secretary (Adriana Aizemberg) since his wife passed away fifteen years ago. Work fills Perelman's days, and Ariel is astonished by his energy.

After lusting after Sandra (Julieta Díaz), an attractive woman who takes his class, Ariel decides to chase her and takes the Pilates class she teaches. Not much happens until Sandra is sued for teaching Pilates without the approval of the company who hold the rights to teach Pilates in Argentina. Ariel (known as Perelman to Sandra) reaches out to his father for help and succeeds in winning the law suit.

In the process Sandra falls in love with the younger Perelman and they marry. She begins to decorate their home for a few years and they have a child they name Gaston (Eloy Burman), who turns out a quite charming young boy. She also starts to teach Pilates in their apartment.

Ariel's office building is shut down for a month because it had collapsed, and he is given some time off. However, he doesn't share this news with his wife. During this time his father starts spending some quality time with Ariel, which makes him think something must be wrong. Ariel is asked by the Swiss kindergarten school were Gaston attends to participate in a play and swim classes with the other fathers. Ariel first rebels but gives in.

The film ends with his father's death and burial and a long introspective look at Ariel Perelman's life in his 30's something.

Happy Go Lucky

Happy-Go-Lucky is a 2008 film by Mike Leigh, shot in 2007 and released on 18 April 2008. It is a contemporary comedy, set in north London and starring Sally Hawkins.


Poppy (Sally Hawkins) is a life-loving, irrepressibly cheerful, Pollyanna-type primary school teacher who is thirty years old, single, and infinitely optimistic and accepting. She lives with her best friend and flatmate Zoe (Alexis Zegerman) in London. She is tested by a repressed driving instructor with anger problems (Eddie Marsan), and tests him in turn. She has exciting flamenco lessons, an encounter with a homeless man, a row with her pregnant sister, and a love-affair with the social worker guiding one of her students.



Happy-Go-Lucky received overwhelmingly positive reviews from critics. As of 18 October 2008, the review aggregator Rotten Tomatoes reported that 95% of critics gave the film positive reviews based on 76 reviews, giving the film a "Certified Fresh" rating, with the consensus that the film is "a light-hearted comedy with moments that bite, and features a brilliant star turn by Sally Hawkins.."[1] Metacritic reported the film had an average score of 82 out of 100.





Sally Hawkins is a real delight in Mike Leigh’s new film as Poppy, a 30-year-old Londoner with a bubbly nature and an ever-present laugh that teeters between lovable and annoying. Hawkins’ performance, and Leigh’s harnessing of it, is a tease: when we first see Poppy, cycling through the West End and joking with a grumpy bookshop assistant before joining her friends for a late-night drunken session, we don’t know what to make of her. She’s loud, joyful and indulges in terrible jokes; surely there’s something wrong with her?

The trick that Leigh and Hawkins finally pull off so cleverly by the end of 'Happy-Go-Lucky’ is that we’re entirely in cahoots with her. Poppy is a mirror to us all: if we find her blind optimism and sunny nature hard to swallow, perhaps there’s something wrong with us instead? By then, too, we know that Poppy is not the blinkered soul we may first think: she is compassionate, perceptive and harbours her own sadnesses like the rest of us.

Leigh always finds plot in character, and ‘Happy-Go-Lucky’ is more of a portrait than a story; a film that’s built around one performance. He is less concerned here, unlike, say, ‘Secrets & Lies’ and ‘Vera Drake’, with following a driving narrative than with minutely observing Poppy through her relationships with others, whether it’s the kids she teaches at her primary school, her repressed driving instructor (Eddie Marsan, excellently playing a heavy-duty bag of hang-ups), her close friend and flatmate Zoe (Alexis Zegerman) or her older, more settled colleague Heather (Sylvestra Le Touzel), whom she joins at flamenco lessons after work. In that sense, it’s comparable to ‘Naked’.

It’s a study in sadness versus happiness, a study in teachers and the taught, a study in how we carry with us everyday the burdens of what we have and haven’t learned. You know you’re watching something both delightfully light-footed and acutely meaningful when Leigh moves so nimbly between scenes at Poppy’s school, her flamenco class and her driving lessons. There’s also a wonderfully moving scene, darker and more poetic in tone, when Poppy encounters a tramp late at night. It’s a funny film – a surprise perhaps after ‘Vera Drake’ – and, crucially, it aches with truth.

Terror’s Advocate

Since his 1969 film More, Schroeder has filmed Ugandan dictator Idi Amin Dada and writer Charles Bukowski, driven by his sustained interest in “monsters.” Vergès is one of them: a flamboyant and enigmatic figure, famous for his defense of the indefensible.

“[Vergès] became a lawyer by accident,” says Lionel Duroy, a journalist for Libération who investigated Vergès during the Klaus Barbie trial. After taking part in the Resistance during World War II, Vergès was appointed to defend an Algerian female bomber (like in Pontecorvo’s film, The Battle of Algiers). “I understand the Algerians’ struggle, and I do not condemn their violence,” he said. Vergès called on international help to save his client, Djamila Bouhired, who became the face of the Algerian Revolution. Had she been executed, he would have shot somebody, Vergès said. Instead, she was pardoned, and he married her.





The outspoken young Communist lawyer became known for his eccentric methods. Insulting judges, singing and waving flags, Vergès developed a dramatic persona. The son of a French father and Vietnamese mother, he was “born angry, born colonized.” Vergès used the court of justice as a tribunal and a stage to expose his anger.

Considering “[today’s] Palestinian is yesterday’s Algerian,” in 1968 and 1969 he defended the Palestinian fedayeen responsible for two El Al Israel Airlines attacks — and became the superhero for the cause of the oppressed. Vergès has said that for him, an acquittal is not the goal — rather, the goal is to expose the colonial crimes of Western nations.

Vergès’ full biography remains a mystery — he went missing between 1970 and 1978, during which time, rumors suggest, he joined Pol Pot in Cambodia, went to Vietnam, or acted as a secret agent for the French government. Schroeder’s rigorous investigation reveals Vergès’ involvement with Congolese dictator Moïse Tschombé. Vergès’ prolonged absence coincides with the emergence of Waddi Haddad’s international terrorist network, financed in part by a former Swiss Nazi, François Genoux, who supported the National Liberation Front in Algeria and Palestinian resistance movements, and is a close acquaintance of Vergès.





“Vergès’ trajectory grew ever more incomprehensible to me,” says the director, “but I always dreamt of knowing more about this character, whom I viewed also as a perverse and decadent aesthete.” Using archive footage and extensive interviews with the lawyer, his entourage and several former terrorists, Schroeder does a fine job at rendering the complexity and the many facets of Vergès’ personality — that of a refined provocateur and great storyteller who loves the spotlight. Although Schroeder conceived it entirely like a work of fiction, the film is still both stimulating and destabilizing, neither denouncing nor endorsing the disturbing character it portrays.

Lionel Duroy says, “[Vergès] should have or could have been a terrorist.” In fact, the film reveals his ties with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine — financed German terrorist “Carlos The Jackal.”

Ultimately, Vergès’ opacity could have jeopardized the film, the way an unfinished puzzle only answers part of the central question: Why does Vergès do what he does, systematically? It is clear from the beginning that his posture denounces both the establishment and the illusion of moral comfort given by the (necessary) trials of terrorists. However, his initial post-colonial stance wears thin. Little by little, we find out Vergès lost faith in political models. Resistance as a motif became sufficient. In the end, his unconditional support for all activity classified as terrorism justifies his nebulous involvement with Holocaust denialists and dictators of all kinds.

“What thrilled me most,” says Schroeder, “was the opportunity, through Vergès, to make a film about contemporary history, about our experience of the last 50 years.” Also the story of world terrorism told through this film, by one man who connects the dots, makes it a breathtaking thriller indeed.

Schroeder confirms that the last time he and Vergès met after the film was made, the infamous lawyer hadn’t lost his cynicism: “[Vergès] says that I am treacherous and he is my victim.”

Los Girasoles Ciegos

Orense, 1940. Cada vez que Elena cierra la puerta de casa, echa la llave a sus secretos. Su marido, Ricardo, amenazado por una despiadada persecución ideológica, lleva años escondido en el piso donde conviven con sus hijos: Elenita y Lorenzo. Salvador, un diácono desorientado tras su lucha en el frente, vuelve al seminario de Orense. Las dudas en la vocación del joven llevan al Rector a retrasar su acceso al sacerdocio durante un año. Mientras, Salvador dará clases en el colegio donde estudia Lorenzo, el hijo de Elena, a quien Salvador cree viuda. El diácono se obsesiona con ella y la acosa. La frágil realidad de la familia se tambalea.
Heridos y zarandeados por las circunstancias, se golpean contra un muro de represión, amores imposibles y derrotas emocionales, mientras buscan un resquicio para volver a la vida.

El Patio De Mi Carcel

A story about women, about female inmates, excluded from life. It is the story of Isa, a caustic yet generous thief unable to adapt to life outside prison, and her friends. Dolores, a blonde gypsy who killed her husband; Rosa, a tender fragile prostitute; Ajo, in love with Pilar, who lives her love to unbearable limits; Luisa, a naive Colombian surprised by an environment she doesn’t understand... The arrival of Mar, a prison worker who doesn’t adjust to the rules of the institution, embarks the women on a journey towards freedom. With the help of Adela, the prison director, they create Módulo 4, the theatre group that will provide them with the energy they need to cope with life’s hard knocks.

Burn After Reading

Burn After Reading is a 2008 dark comedy[1] film written, produced and directed by Joel and Ethan Coen. The film stars John Malkovich, George Clooney, Tilda Swinton, Frances McDormand and Brad Pitt. It was released in the USA on September 12, 2008 and will be released on October 17, 2008 in the UK. The R-rated film had its premiere on August 27, 2008 when it opened the 2008 Venice Film Festival.[2] The film is the brothers' first to follow their Academy Award winning Best Picture, No Country for Old Men.





Osbourne Cox (John Malkovich) is a CIA analyst who quits his job at the agency after being demoted ostensibly because of his drinking problem. He then decides to write a memoir about his life in the CIA. His wife, pediatrician Katie Cox (Tilda Swinton), wants to divorce Osbourne and, at the counsel of her divorce lawyer, she copies many of his personal and financial files off his computer and onto an optical disc. Katie's divorce lawyer's receptionist accidentally leaves the disc at Hardbodies, a workout gym. An employee of the gym, Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt) obtains the disc from the gym's custodian and ascertains that it contains classified government information. Along with his fellow employee Linda Litzke (Frances McDormand), he intends to use the disk to blackmail Osbourne; Linda wants the money to pay for cosmetic surgery. They call up Cox in the middle of the night, but he is not receptive. When blackmailing him fails, Linda decides to take the information to the Russian embassy. At the embassy, she hands the disk over to the Russians, promising that she will give more information afterwards. Because Linda and Chad don't have any more information, they decide to break into Cox's house.

Katie's lover is Treasury agent Harry Pfarrer (George Clooney), who by chance meets Linda online and begins dating her as well. Chad stakes out the Coxes' house and breaks in when Harry and Katie leave. Harry, however, comes back, finds Chad, and accidentally shoots him in the face. Harry, thinking that Chad was a spy due to his lack of documentation, disposes of the body. Days later, his paranoia increasing after murdering Chad, Harry leaves the Cox residence after a fight with Katie. On his way to leave he manages to tackle a man who has been trailing him for some time, thinking he was working for the CIA or some other government agency. After tackling him, Harry finds out that the man is working for a divorce firm hired by his wife who, it is later revealed, has been cheating on him as well. Harry is devastated and goes to see an agitated Linda who confides in Harry that her friend Chad is missing; he agrees to try to help. The next morning, Harry and Linda meet in a park and she provides him with more information about Chad's disappearance. When he realizes that Chad is the man he killed, he becomes paranoid and flees in terror, assuming that Linda is also a spy.

Osbourne had previously returned to his home only to find that Katie changed the locks as part of her preparations for divorce proceedings. He sleeps overnight in his boat, and the next day breaks into his own house with a hatchet. There he finds Ted Treffon (Richard Jenkins), the manager of Hardbodies, rifling through his computer looking for personal information. Due to his feelings for Linda, Ted decided to look for more information to give to the Russians, believing that the Russians had kidnapped Chad. Osbourne shoots Ted, who survives and runs out of the house. Osbourne grabs the hatchet and kills Ted in broad daylight.

The movie ends by returning to the CIA's headquarters, where an official (David Rasche) and his director (J.K. Simmons) are trying to sort out what happened: Chad is dead, Ted is dead, Osbourne is in a vegetative state and dying after being shot by an agent while attacking Ted, Harry has been arrested trying to board a flight to Venezuela (but the CIA wants to let him leave anyway so he's out of their hair), and Linda has agreed to cooperate in exchange for the CIA financing her plastic surgery. The baffled CIA agents then decide that they have learned their lesson: to never repeat whatever it is that they did in this case; though they are still not clear what it is they did.

Se había generado una lógica expectación por ver el nuevo trabajo de los hermanos por antonomasia del cine norteamericano –quizá del mundial; a fin de cuentas, ¿quién se acuerda a estas alturas de los Lumière?–, algo comprensible dado el éxito de la anterior (y magnífica) No es país para viejos (2007). Pues bien; Quemar después de leer es nada más (y nada menos) que una descacharrante parodia a mayor gloria de la estupidez supina donde la ligereza se combina ejemplarmente con la mala leche y el proverbial humor negro.


Algo no precisamente novedoso, por otra parte. No hay más que echar un vistazo a la compacta filmografía de los Coen para observar que la alternancia entre noir y comedia ha devenido en una constante, ya desde los seminales tiempos de Sangre fácil (1985) y Arizona baby (1987), si bien su evolución como cineastas les ha llevado a incorporar elementos de ambos géneros, primorosamente mezclados, en Fargo (1995) o El Gran Lebowski (1998). De hecho, el carácter ciertamente marciano de está última está presente en su nueva película, que huye de las coartadas referenciales que constituían la principal razón de ser de Crueldad intolerable (2003) o The Ladykillers (2004) para centrarse en el inmisericorde retrato de un grupo de tarados cuya inteligencia, más que “relativa”, es inexistente.

De hecho, si algo resulta evidente es que los diferentes personajes que articulan la trama han sido escritos, como aclaran los propios Joel y Ethan en el pressbook del filme, pensando en los actores y actrices que finalmente los han interpretado. De esta manera la tibieza del mcguffin argumental, que se apoya en un escurridizo CD con información relativa al funcionamiento de la CIA que todos esperan poseer por motivos bien diferentes, da pie a una auténtica exhibición de registros cómicos más o menos histriónicos, de los white trash encarnados con acierto por Frances McDormand, Richard Jenkins y un sorprendente Brad Pitt (pasadísimo de revoluciones) a los más acomodados –pero no por ello menos estupidos– personajes de George Clooney (en las antipodas de sus anteriores colaboraciones con los Coen), Tilda Swinton y John Malkovich.


Que la película comience con un prolongado zoom desde la superficie planetaria a las interioridades de la sede de la CIA ya nos está indicando claramente lo que va a venir a continuación. Partiendo de la fatuidad de Osborn (Malkovich) y del insondable funcionamiento de los servicios ¿secretos? se van a ir encadenando una serie de situaciones que tienen en común la total estulticia con que se plantean hoy en día las relaciones humanas –de pareja, amistad o trabajo–, ya sea por pura insatisfacción o por un exceso de narcisismo mal entendido. No es casual que los protagonistas tengan cuanto menos los 40 años cumplidos, y que la sensación de no encajar en unos modelos físicos (McDormand) o sociales (Clooney) les lleve a actuar de manera insensata, sin duda por no asumirse tal cual son en realidad. De esta manera, y más allá de los excesos de todo tipo a que se ven abocados, a un servidor le generaron más lástima que otra cosa esta panda de losers descerebrados, sobretodo desde el momento en que, mediado el metraje, los hermanísimos tiran de su característico humor negro, mostrándonos las consecuencias de sus temerarios actos.

Es posible que tras las mieles de No es país para viejos (2007) muchos esperaran más de lo mismo, y que se vean decepcionados por una comedia ligera y (en apariencia) intrascendente. Allá cada cual; lo mejor que se puede decir de Quemar después de leer es que no puede ser más coherente con el ideario fílmico de los Hermanos Coen, tiene bastante más miga de lo que parece y, lo más importante, apela a la “inteligencia” de su potencial espectador. Un motivo más que sobrado para paladearla lentamente.


FICHA TÉCNICA: Burn after Reading. USA. 2008. 100 minutos. Dirección: Joel Coen y Ethan Coen. Guionistas: Joel Coen y Ethan Coen. Productores: Joel Coen y Ethan Coen. Productores ejecutivos: Tim Bevan, Eric Fellner, Robert Graf. Director de fotografía: Emmanuel Lubezki, ASC, AMC. Diseño de producción: Jess Gonchor. Montaje: Roderick Jaynes. Música: Carter Burwell. Con: George Clooney (Harry Pfarrer), Frances McDormand (Linda Lizke), John Malkovich (Osborn Cox), Tilda Swinton (Katie Cox), Richard Jenkins (Ted Treffon), Brad Pitt (Chad Feldheimer).

SINOPSIS: El analista Osborn Cox llega al cuartel general de la Agencia Central de
Inteligencia (CIA) en Arlington, Virginia, para una reunión ultrasecreta. Por desgracia para él, el secreto no tarda en salir a la luz: le han despedido. Cox no encaja muy bien la noticia y regresa a su casa de Georgetown, Washington DC, para entregarse a la redacción de sus memorias y a la bebida –el orden no altera el producto–. Su esposa Katie está consternada, aunque no parece muy sorprendida. ya hace tiempo que tiene una aventura con Harry Pfarrer, un agente federal casado, y empieza a hacer planes para dejar a Cox por Harry.

En un barrio a las afueras de la capital, en un mundo totalmente diferente, Linda Litke, empleada de Hardbodies Fitness Center, tiene dificultad para concentrarse en su trabajo. Sólo piensa en hacerse la cirugía plástica total y decide confiar su plan a su compañero Chad. Linda no se da cuenta de que Ted Treffon, el director del centro, está loco por ella y se cita con otros hombred a través de Internet.

La Sconoscuita

The Italian director Giuseppe Tornatore is best known for sweet, touching art house-friendly movies that send people away feeling gooey and cuddly. It's awfully tough to be a human being and resist his delightful Oscar-winning hit Cinema Paradiso (released in 1990). His film Malena (2000) had more detractors, but I found its images of a beautiful woman walking through the streets (with every eye following her every move) quite powerful and affecting. He once even made a movie with the life-affirming title Everybody's Fine. So when I sat down to Tornatore's new film, The Unknown Woman (his first since Malena), I was ready to be charmed. Instead, the film that actually unfurled was a restless, panicked, devastating emotional roller coaster, meticulously planned and executed like a razor.







Thinking back, I realized that there was more to Tornatore than his reputation suggests. In 2002, Miramax released the much longer director's cut of Cinema Paradiso with its rating tellingly changed from a PG to an R. A few years ago I tracked down an imported DVD of the director's cut of Malena, which was also considerably darker and more pointed; the Weinsteins were really the ones responsible for the softness of those films. I also remembered a movie called A Pure Formality (1994) about a police investigator (Roman Polanski) questioning a mystery man (Gerard Depardieu) found stumbling along the road; most of the film takes place in a damp, sinister police station with flashbacks to what might have happened previously. That tone gets closer to what's going on in The Unknown Woman, which starts with a knockout centerpiece performance by Kseniya Rappoport.





She plays a woman called Irena, who comes to Italy from the Ukraine looking for work. By paying a concierge part of her salary, she gets a job cleaning an affluent apartment building. She befriends Gina (Piera Degli Esposti), a nanny for an upper-crust couple, Valeria (Claudia Gerini) and Donato Adacher (Pierfrancesco Favino), and their daughter Thea (Clara Dossena). Irena deliberately trips Gina on the long stairwell and takes over Gina's job. She tries to win over Thea while casing the apartment, looking for access to the family safe. Very often, Irena suffers uncomfortable flashbacks to her terrible past, serving a pimp-like thug called "Mold" (Michele Placido) and attempting to break away from him when she falls in love with one of her johns. Tornatore reveals more and more details as the film goes on. In one flashback Irena digs through the filth in a city dump. What's she looking for? I had a guess, but I was wrong.

Tornatore begins his film with what looks like an outtake from Eyes Wide Shut, with masked, naked women posing for some unseen voyeur. After several candidates are surveyed, Irena is chosen, which is presumably the beginning of all her trouble. Critics who saw only the Miramax-ed Malena accused Tornatore of ogling beautiful women with no other purpose in mind, and this opening shot may bring up the same accusations again. But here, as with Malena, the focus remains on the women, not on the voyeurs. We follow the masked Irena out of the scene and watch her as she removes her mask, her eyes defiant and determined. In the flashbacks, she is a dirty blonde, very often victimized, pleading, submitted to rape and other forms of torture. The new Irena, 32, with a mound of tightly curled black hair, is not so easy to catch off guard. She was once beautiful, but her face has now weathered through pain and hard-earned wisdom.

The Italy we see here is covered with graffiti and no place appears to be safe or comfortable. Irena's apartment is ransacked (someone is looking for money) and left in a complete shambles throughout the film. Tornatore shoots low so that we can see the ceiling boards torn asunder. In another scene, a driving lesson occurs at night, with large numbers of pedestrians walking around the car in the half-light, while poor Irena suffers jarring flashbacks while trying to keep her eyes on the road. Tornatore's camera is constantly pacing and roaming, as if filled with pent-up energy and finding no place to spend it. Miraculously, he avoids the typical hand-held, shaky approach, which, these days, is used to signify chaos. Editor Massimo Quaglia keeps up with this restlessness perfectly, never disrupting it or breaking the flow, and legendary composer Ennio Morricone provides another effective, unobtrusive score.

Even Irena's relationship with little Thea is fraught with disaster. Thea suffers from a condition that prevents her from protecting herself when she falls; the natural reflex to put out her hands is missing. So Thea's every move comes with a dreadful anticipation and more than once she turns up bloodied and crying. Irena tries to train her by binding her hands, pushing her down on pillows and forcing her to get up again. How this was supposed to work I have no idea, and indeed, there is more than one logic-challenged scene in the movie, but like the violent crime ("giallo") films of his countrymen Dario Argento and Mario Bava, Tornatore's The Unknown Woman gets by on sheer guts and style.

Deux Jours A Tuer

Asusta echar la cuenta de todas las películas que insisten cada temporada en que redecoremos nuestra vida, superemos nuestras inhibiciones y aprendamos a soñar despiertos, bailemos bajo la lluvia y caminemos descalzos por el parque. ¿Tan mal están las cosas en la realidad? ¿Tanto oprime lo mejor de nosotros mismos cuanto nos rodea? ¿Por qué, entonces, el noventa por ciento de esas ficciones catárticas son finalmente sólo analgésicas, productos que amagan cuestionar el orden establecido de las cosas para luego llenarnos los ojos de miel y dejarnos más ciegos y edulcorados que cuando entramos en la sala?

¿Por qué películas como Mi Vida es mi Vida, Happiness, El Club de la Lucha o La Edad de la Ignorancia son desconocidas, cuando no repudiadas, por el gran público, siendo con los defectos que se quiera propuestas que aventuran una ruptura verdadera con las convenciones a las que achacamos nuestros males? ¿Por qué en cambio tienen tanto predicamento imbecilidades absolutas que revelan en cada uno de sus rasgos ser parte del problema que pretenden denunciar? Cavila uno por qué nunca deja de estar vigente esa mentalidad bonancible que elude combatir la realidad a favor de la posición autoexculpatoria de víctima, de cervatillo incapaz de hacer otra cosa que ocultarse en el País de las Piruletas, El Señor de los Anillos o la Constitución Española incluso cuando está siendo enculado salvajemente por este valle de lágrimas… sin percibir o soslayando que su actitud es ideal como vaselina. ¿O será que la servidumbre compensa, que se ha aprendido a sacar tajada de ella?





Bien es cierto que sin ninguna sutileza, lo cual por otra parte es lógico teniendo en cuenta que para derribar murallas se precisa artillería pesada, durante sus primeros minutos Dejad de quererme funciona muy bien como requisitoria contra las imposturas de lo cotidiano. Antoine (un más que correcto Albert Dupontel) se cansa un día de perder tiempo y energías con gente que no merece ni una cosa ni otra: deja su trabajo como publicitario, asqueado por las mentiras que vendía y compraba diariamente; corta las alas a su insoportable suegra, trata a sus dos hijos como adultos, pone en tela de juicio la aséptica perfección de su matrimonio, devuelve un bofetón a una calientabraguetas, y se libra de sus amigos con una táctica tan sencilla como es la de señalarles sus incoherencias y rememorar cuántos actos han definido la calidad de la correspondiente relación (impecable al respecto la secuencia de la cena). “¿Qué te pasa, Antoine?”, claman su mujer y sus conocidos, “¿Te has vuelto loco? Todos te queremos bien”. Y Antoine podría responder lo que el inteligente título español de la película —el original, Deux jours à tuer, menos sutil, sería traducible como Dos días que matar—: “Dejad de quererme. No me chantajeéis con eso que llamáis amor y no es más que intercambio de miedos y complicidades”.




Pero el guionista y director de Dejad de quererme no es Todd Solondz. Ni siquiera Denys Arcand, por mucho que la actriz Marie-Josée Croze (Cécile, la mujer de Antoine) apareciese también en Las Invasiones Bárbaras. Sino Jean Becker, un tipo dotado de una “humanidad deliciosa […] cuyas películas tienen en común una gran sensualidad”. También, ya es coincidencia, una descarada comercialidad, basada, en el caso sin ir más lejos de su anterior cinta, Conversaciones con mi jardinero (2007), en una desvergonzada afectación ideológica y emocional. La misma que se desata a partir de cierto momento en Dejad de quererme, devolviendo la ficción al redil. La actitud de Antoine estaba motivada por razones nobles, además sufrió mucho de pequeño… el espectador asiste atónito a la conversión de la historia en un melodrama insultantemente burgués y repleto de “buenas intenciones”, que ya sabemos adonde conducen: a un infierno de melaza, que sólo podríamos quitarnos de encima devorándola hasta asimilarla o eliminándola con ácido; desgraciadamente, el nuevo proyecto de Solondz continúa sin encontrar financiación suficiente como para concretarse. Así que es de suponer que habremos de tragar durante la espera unas cuantas toneladas más de azúcar. Aunque a nadie le amarga un dulce, lo que no es de recibo es tener que resignarse a acabar con el cerebro tumorado por las caries. Pese a que muchos lo consideren el estado ideal para transitar por la vida.

FICHA TÉCNICA: Deux jours à tuer. Francia, 2008. 85 minutos. Dirección: Jean Becker. Guión: Jean Becker, Jérôme Beaujour, Eric Assous y François D’Epenoux, basado en la novela de François D’Epenoux. Producción: Louis Becker (ICE3, KJB Production, Studio Canal y France 2 Cinéma). Montaje: Jacques Witta. Fotografía: Arthur Cloquet (c). Música: Patrick & Alain Goraguer. Dirección artística: Thérèse Ripaud. Diseño de vestuario: Annie Périer. Con: Albert Dupontel (Antoine), Marie-Josée Croze (Cécile), Pierre Vaneck (padre de Antoine), Alessandra Martines (Marion), Cristiana Réali (Virginie), Mathias Mlekuz (Eric), Claire Nebout (Clara), François Marthouret (Paul), Anne Loiret (Anne-Laure). Distribución: Golem.

SINOPSIS: Antoine ha llegado a los cuarenta y dos años con buena salud, ejerce como publicista con gran éxito, está casado y es padre de dos hijos, tiene una amante, vive en una bonita casa a las afueras de París y sus vecinos albergan una excelente opinión sobre él. Sin embargo, un día las cosas cambian: Antoine empieza a destruir sistemáticamente lo que ha construido durante años. Basta un fin de semana para que un hombre aparentemente sin problemas eche por la borda trabajo y relaciones afectivas. ¿La crisis de la andropausia? ¿Un ataque de locura?

I've Loved You So Long

I've Loved You So Long (Il y a longtemps que je t'aime) is a 2008 film directed and written by Philippe Claudel, and starring Kristin Scott Thomas and Elsa Zylberstein.

Juliette and the younger Léa are sisters. Juliette has served a long prison sentence, during which Léa never visited her. After being released she starts living with Léa's family, including her husband, his mute father, and their two adopted Vietnamese daughters.




Cual Medea reinsertada en una sociedad a la que no ha dirigido la palabra durante quince años, el personaje de Juliette que interpreta con la cara lavada Kristin Scott Thomas se erige en reclamo cardinal de la francesa Hace mucho que te quiero, primera película dirigida por Philippe Claudel (también novelista de cierto prestigio en el país galo). El encuentro con su hermana menor Léa (Elsa Zylbersetein) y la acogida en su seno familiar —marido, padre del marido y dos hijas adoptivas— marcarán la reconstrucción de Juliette como ser humano obligado a adaptarse a una forzosa convivencia que tenía relegada por su encierro carcelario. Tal transformación marcará el interés de una propuesta que, a pesar de sus notables imperfecciones, mantendrá al espectador inquieto antes de que Claudel lo estropee definitivamente con un aciago desenlace.

Los aspectos más loables de Hace mucho que te quiero son los que permanecen sotto voce: el tabú que depositan las palabras cuyo interior encierran secretos inconfensables, el doloroso recuerdo que transmite el pasado y el miedo al rechazo y la incomprensión gravitan con sigilo en su interior. Pero Claudel no es capaz de evitar tramposas argucias melodramáticas y temerarias salidas de tono a la hora de mostrar la reconversión de la protagonista en un entorno a priori hostil, incluido un final que desbarata el suspense manejado desde el principio y que menosprecia el juicio que el espectador se haya podido formar sobre Juliette, socavado cuando se desvelan las intenciones reales que provocaron la tragedia. No es el hecho en sí el que molesta, sino el modo en que se nos descubre. Tampoco ayuda el retrato simpático y bonachón del policía con el que la protagonista coincide cada quince días en la comisaría, y todavía menos las escenas campestres con los amigos de Léa y su marido en una casa en las afueras, casi de vergüenza ajena en un retrato mayoritariamente hosco y austero, este sí en sintonía con el carácter retraído y ausente de Juliette enunciado desde el primer fotograma. Aceptamos que la esperanza vuelva a tener sentido en su vida, pero no es admisible cómo guionista y director nos la hace vislumbrar.

Al escribir esta reseña me vino a la memoria un trabajo del mexicano Arturo Ripstein que pasó bastante desapercibido en su momento, Así es la vida (2000), el cual sí conseguía mostrar de frente la desesperación humana sin medias tintas. Hace mucho que te quiero nada tiene que ver con este en cuestión de estilo, aunque si hiciéramos un esfuerzo podríamos argumentar como nada franceses esos acordes de guitarra “a lo Gustavo Santaolalla” diseminados por el metraje que sí aportan cierta calidez a la frialdad tonal que caracteriza el film de Claudel. Quedémonos entonces con la mirada amarga, postura silenciosa y rostro sin maquillaje de una convincente Kristin Scott Thomas, verdadero reclamo de una historia que hubiera merecido una mayor introspección psicológica y un menor costumbrismo de salón. Algo así como el cine de Eric Rohmer.


FICHA TÉCNICA: Il y a longtemps que je t’aime. Francia. 2008. 115 minutos. Dirección y guión: Philippe Claudel. Producción: Yves Marmion. Fotografía: Jérôme Alméras (c). Dirección artística: Samuel Deshors. Montaje: Virginie Bruant. Música original: Jean-Louis Aubert. Con: Kristin Scott Thomas (Juliette Fontaine), Elsa Zylberstein (Léa), Serge Hazanavicius (Luc), Laurent Grévill (Michel), Frédéric Pierrot (Capitán Fauré). Distribución: Golem.

Sinopsis: Juliette sale en libertad después de pasar quince años en la cárcel. Durante esos quince años no ha tenido ningún contacto con su familia, que la rechazó. Léa, su hermana menor, la acoge en su casa de Nancy, donde vive con su marido Luc y dos hijas adoptivas. Debido al largo encarcelamiento de Juliette y a su diferencia de edad, las dos mujeres se sienten como dos extrañas.

The Argentine

The Argentine is a 2008 biographical film about Marxist revolutionary Ernesto "Che" Guevara directed by Steven Soderbergh and starring Benicio del Toro as Che. Soderbergh plans to make two films about Che with the other called Guerrilla. The Argentine will focus on the Cuban revolution, from the moment Fidel Castro, Guevara and other revolutionaries landed on the Caribbean island, until they toppled the dictatorship of Fulgencio Batista two years later. Guerrilla will focus on the years following the Cuban revolution. It will begin with Che's trip to the United Nations headquarters in New York City in 1964, until his death in the Bolivian mountains in 1967.

While researching for both films, Soderbergh made a documentary with interviews with many who fought alongside Che in Cuba and Bolivia.[3] Originally, there was one screenplay but the director realized that it needed to be broken up into two films. The original source material for these scripts was Che's diary from the Cuban Revolution and from his time in Bolivia. From there, he drew on interviews with people who knew Che from both of those time periods and read every book available that pertained to both Cuba and Bolivia.

Both films were financed without any American money or distribution deal and Soderbergh remarked, "It was very frustrating to know that this is a zeitgeist movie and that some of the very people who told me how much they now regret passing on Traffic passed on this one too". Wild Bunch, a French production, distribution and foreign sales company put up 75% of the $61.5 million budget for the two films, tapping into a production and acquisition fund from financing and investment company Continental Entertainment Capitol, a subsidiary of the U.S.-based Citigroup. Spain's Telecinco/Moreno Films suppling the rest of the budget.



Soderbergh shot both films back to back over a 90-day period beginning in May 2007 with most of the dialogue in Spanish. According to an interview in Sight and Sound magazine, the original intention was that the first film "will be shot in 16mm anamorphic" because, "it needs a bit of Bruckheimer but scruffier". Soderbergh ultimately opted to shoot both films on early models of the RED One rather than 16mm film, but otherwise kept to his plan of shooting the first film anamorphic, and the second with spherical lenses. The film was shot in Puerto Rico and, according to actor Edgar Ramirez who portrays Ciro Redondo, the cast "were improvising a lot" and describes the project as a "very contemplative movie", shot chronologically.