Tragically unknown here in the States, Ferzen Ozpetek’s work has been consistently strong and, at times, outstanding (Le Fate Ignoranti).  Much like the popular Pedro Almodóvar, Ozpetek—who was born in Turkey but makes his films in Italy—has a rare ability to capture human emotion, especially that of women.  He also has much of Almodóvar’s buoyant spirit and penchant for colorful cinematography, and both directors know when to tone it down.  A Perfect Day is much darker than the majority of Ozpetek’s earlier films, and accordingly, the visuals reflect that; washed-out color schemes create a grim atmosphere that lingers throughout the heavy storyline, and Ozpetek’s constant use of close-ups allows the viewer an intimate connection with the protagonists and supporting characters alike.

A Perfect Day opens with a long, graceful tracking shot through a dark apartment, rain hammering the rooftop and windows.  The shot concludes with cops pounding on the door, responding to a report of gunshots next door, where policeman/bodyguard Antonio (Valerio Mastandrea) now lives alone after his wife Emma (Isabella Ferrari) left him fairly recently, taking their two children Kevin and Valentina with her.  Ozpetek then flashes back 24 hours, and the mystery begins to unfold itself.  From the beginning, it’s clear that Antonio is still obsessed with his wife (they’ve yet to divorce).  He frequently stands outside her mother’s apartment where Emma is currently staying, gazing blankly up at the window, and defiantly wears his wedding band.  But as the pieces begin to fall into place, we learn that this isn’t a case of a husband making a small mistake, then fervently fighting to regain his wife’s trust.  Antonio hasn’t made any effort to see his children in a year—something that bewilders them to no end—and he’s prone to moodiness.  Emma, meanwhile, is at a crossroads in her life, uncertain of what to do with herself career-wise and struggling to pay the bills, but certain that, much as she could use Antonio’s financial assistance, has done the right thing moving on.  She creates a façade of self-content, piling on makeup and sporting skimpy outfits that would raise eyebrows on women ten years younger.  It screams weakness, and Antonio pounces on this, showing up unannounced at Emma’s job (just as, unbeknownst to him, she was laid off) and seducing her into his car.  A taut encounter ensues (I’ll withold the details to avoid spoilers), but it becomes evident that Antonio is dangerously unhinged.

Armed with a sharp and fluid script, Ozpetek deftly merges the primary storyline (Emma/Antonio) with a supporting-but-connected subplot: the grand ambitions of the power-hungry Elio Fioravanti (Valerio Binasco), a single-minded 60-something politician who lost his invalid first wife to suicide.  To ease the pain, he picks up the stunning Silvana (Angela Finnochiaro) to be his partner, political posturing clearly guiding his choice.  His artsy-and-handsome son Aris (Federico Costantini), sickened by his father’s calculating ways, rebels, going so far as to put the moves on the bored Silvana.  Antonio serves as Fioravanti’s bodyguard, and their children are schoolmates, allowing for an interweaving of emotional discovery as A Perfect Day hurtles towards its emotional closing. The children serve as counterbalances to each person we meet, directly and indirectly shaping every important decision in A Perfect Day, and the tinge of regret and mistakes linger long after the credits roll.  So many actions can be second-guessed, so many paths can be questioned.  While one incident near the end stretches believability and impacts the final moments, A Perfect Day is too strongly made to severely punish it for a single error.  The acting, cinematic technique, and direction are outstanding, and the end product is as well.

73/100

With exquisite tenderness and delicacy, Old Joy fluidly captures the all-too-frequent occurrence of friends drifting apart as their lives branch off in different directions.  Set just outside Portland in Oregon, Old Joy follows soon-to-be father Mark (Daniel London) and the scraggly, red-bearded Kurt (Will Oldham), long-time friends who at Kurt’s suggestion decide to embark on a spur-of-the-moment weekend road trip to a quiet hot springs.  There’s clearly a rich history between the two men—the precise details of their past is never discussed—but it quickly becomes obvious that things have changed.  Conversations gradually fade away, leaving only awkward silences in their wake.  It’s evident that Mark’s new familial responsibilities have drastically tamed him, and the ‘new’ Mark doesn’t jibe with the image Kurt has in his head.  Kurt tries to tug Mark away from his domestic existence, at least for a few days, with drugs and alcohol, but as much as Mark tries to please his buddy, it’s no use—only Kurt actually smokes pot onscreen, and Mark barely finishes one beer while finding himself psychologically unable to ignore phone calls from his pregnant wife.

Even before they reach the springs, Kurt has a revelation—undoubtedly marijuana-inspired—that their friendship will never be the same, and briefly breaks down over a campfire, much to Mark’s bewilderment.  It’s Old Joy‘s epitomizing sequence, where emotions overpower one while completely eluding the other.  The beautiful woodsy backdrop, accompanied by crackling flames, can’t mask the pervading sadness of the moment, and the following morning’s packing up of camp is a perfect, wistful follow-up sequence.

Director Kelly Reichardt earned well-deserved kudos for Old Joy. With long shots and unobtrusive editing, she directs like a blend of Gus Van Sant and David Gordon Green, if slightly less existential than both. She expertly manages the camera, and it’s never more poignant than during Kurt’s final release of his love for Mark, a love that Kurt discovers is deeper than he’d previously realized. As the two men bathe in the springs, Kurt pops out of the water, darts over to Mark’s pool, and begins massaging his shoulders.  After a surprised initial protest, Mark realizes that Kurt needs this intimacy to move on—otherwise, their relationship will be stuck in an era that doesn’t exist anymore and never will again.  Mark’s subsequent relaxation and silent comprehension of the moment’s importance are perfectly executed, both in London’s performance and Reichardt’s directorial tempo.  This isn’t about repressed homosexual lust, but an old-fashioned, deep brotherly affection that, sadly, has mostly vanished in hyper-sensitive 21st century America where expressing feelings for another man raises eyebrows.  If her future work is as elegant as Old Joy, Reichardt is going to have a very, very successful career.

79/100

A triumvirate of short movies about Japan’s great capital, Tokyo! is most notable for how little its title really means.  While all three pictures take place in Tokyo, they could have just as easily been set in Stockholm or Beijing, given the generic material—only Bong Joon-ho’s Shaking Tokyo, the final act, really taps into the Japanese heart.  Indeed, Tokyo! is a prime example of strong concept, lackluster execution.  There’s no thematic flow between the films, making one fade in resonance as the next begin and leaving the viewer to essentially analyze them on their own merit.  As such, Tokyo! fails as its meant to be seen, though the individual movies have varying degrees of strong points when viewed through that lens, and keep things from being much worse than slightly below average.

The most disappointing of the three is Michel Gondry’s Interior Design, which is shockingly generic until a forced closing burst of surrealism.  Gondry loves tackling subjects who feel walled in despite extraordinary talent & imagination, and that’s on display here with Akira, a sharp young lady who sacrifices her ambitions to support her boyfriend’s longshot directorial ambitions.  But there’s nothing particularly creative in the approach, a surprise from the director of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and The Science of Sleep.  The strange whimsy that suddenly rears its head at the conclusion seems out of place and awkward, and while Interior Design is sweet without being sticky, it’s most remarkable trait is its lack of remarkability.  For Gondry, we should expect better.

Léos Carax’s Merde (or “Shit”) refers to its title character, a slovenly subterranean beast who periodically emerges from the Tokyo sewers to cause mischief in the streets; the mischief that quickly turns to horror after the creature discovers a stash of grenades underground, and proceeds to gleefully hurl them to and fro, causing multiple injuries and deaths.  What follows is a bizarre mix of the justice system and monster movie clichès, including a renowned French attorney who speaks the creature’s garbled language and winds up defending him in court, and an ending right out of traditional monster movie hokum.  Carax would have done better to further emphasize the media’s reaction, which was Merde‘s most interesting subplot.  And aside from a fleeting resemblance to Godzilla, there’s nothing inherently Japanese about this one either.

Finally, there’s Shaking Tokyo, which focuses on a nameless Japanese hermit (or hikikimori) who hasn’t left his apartment in ten years.  Compulsive about stacking his hundreds of empty pizza boxes in his small apartment, he’s entirely content with his banal existence until one day, an earthquake causes an attractive delivery woman to pass out on his floor.  Forced to interact for the first time in a decade, he begins to question his solitude, an emotion that heightens when another delivery person informs him that his previous ‘guest’ has become quite the loner herself.  Emboldened, he daringly-but-gingerly leaves his home to seek out his soulmate.  Shaking Tokyo is easily Tokyo!‘s strongest segment—though the symbolism is somewhat heavy-handed (the multiple earthquakes represent the cataclysmic events required to coax someone set in his ways to change; the buttons on the beautiful stranger’s arm that epitomize the choices our hero has in choosing his fate), it’s smoothly directed and convincingly edited.  Most importantly, the characters’ obsession with order and value of tradition make Shaking Tokyo seem, well, Japanese.  If only the other two had followed its example, Tokyo! could have been much more memorable.  As is, it’s a series of flawed pieces with enough bright spots—most in Shaking Tokyo—to make it palatable, if ultimately forgettable.

44/100