"Tsotsi" (2005)

When you discover that this is the same director who gave us "X-men Origins: Wolverine", a little over a year ago, you may let out an extended "What?". Though you must give it to caucasian South African native Gavin Hood; he made it to Hollywood. Hollywood is where the money's at, and money is good, no matter what pretentious, self-righteous fledgling independent film artiste will tell you. Adapting the screenplay from the Athol Fugard novel of the same title, Hood's "Tsotsi" (translating to "thug" in African street) follows the titular South African character on his inadvertent adventure of reconciliation. It's not an original story, nor is it a particularly engaging one; it is merely a film that, depending on how deep you want to look into things, could have you rooting for the young man's subtle and gradual self-redemption.

Tsotsi (Presley Chweneyagae) is just one nasty son of a bitch. My assumption prior to the film was that we would be following the archetypal poverty-stricken young African male meandering around South African shantytowns trying to better his life in an ultimate means of cinematically highlighting the disparity between the rich and the poor. So surprised I was when the protagonist sinks a knife into the belly of a portly subway rider, flanked by his fellow thug chums. For some pocket money, this mother jumper shanks some random dude. I knew I wasn't in for a good time, as I tend to not do well with films in which the main character is one that I simply dislike or cannot connect with or both. We don't know anything about this "Tsotsi" except that he seems to live alone (initially using a giant pipe stack as a home), has this perpetual icy stare and a frown that never goes upside down, and lives a conscious-less life of petty crime. Sounds like the guy to bring home to mom and dad. Oh and it gets better when he caps an innocent mother of a young child.

Shortly after the subway stabbing, one of Tsotsi's buddies questions and lectures the 19 year old hoodlum, telling him he has no sense of morality or decency, which results in Tsotsi pouncing the lad and giving him a wicked beating. His friend's words may have hit close to home, striking a chord of some sort, and we know we are inexorably in for some suppressed sentiment and nature vs nurture character development. Tsotsi ventures outside of the ghetto for his next spontaneous no gooding, brazenly hitting some grand, rich abode, but his robbery is a botched one and results in him coldly shooting a woman point blank before taking off in her car. And in this car is the plot device that will serve as the catalyst for the film's gradual excursion into his inevitable redemption; an infant. The hardened bastard inexplicably decides to hold on to the baby, but how can he take care of it? The solution comes in the form of shapely widowed woman Miriam (in a similar, understated performance by Terry Pheto) who harbors a little one of her own. Tsotsi breaks into her house and forces her at gunpoint to breastfeed his illegitimate child. And so we awkwardly watch the poor woman proceed to do so, as Tsotsi just stands there, watching her.

Lots of questions at this point. Why does Tsotsi decide to keep the baby? What makes him think he can be, or wants to be a father, especially when he is so unfit to be and do so? Will he return the child to its rightful, biological parents? I was sure rooting for latter, particularly the mother of the child, who, unfortunately, became paraplegic as a result of Tsotsi's shooting. The police are now on the look out for the lowly thug, who curiously continues to return to Miriam, we suspect, not just to feed the baby. This child, perhaps, instills something in Tsotsi, stirring up some repressed memories (requisite character development time anyone?), and we get a flashback, a brief glimpse into a destitute home life, with a sick mother and a belligerent, drunken bastard of a father who winds up crippling the family dog during an angry rant against Tsotsi (who's real name is revealed to be David), setting the boy off to run away from home forever.

I've picked up a subtle, understated love story going on here between Tsotsi and Miriam as well, as Tsotsi seems to become increasingly drawn to her once she discloses to him things about her past relationships. Miriam convinces Tsotsi to have her look after the child (as it would obviously be in better hands growing up with an experienced mother who does not live a life of crime), with Totsi accepting on the condition that he can come see it whenever he wants, coldly reminding her that it's his. Now, does he want to come back to see her, or the baby? Or perhaps both? In a later scene, in which the two are alone in Miriam's house together, Miriam, after refusing cash from Tsotsi, lets him know that she knows who the child belongs to, and strongly suggests that he return the baby. "You won't be able to give her back her legs, but you must give her back her son." she says to him plaintively. Tsotsi sits on this, and at this moment we know what he is going to do. This will be his right of passage to the themes of the film; morality and decency, in his returning of the child. As Miriam watches him leave from her doorway, the increasingly humanized Tsotsi turns to ask her if he could come back even though the baby is gone. The subtle, shared smile then held between the two undoubtedly suggests feelings of affection for one another, and the possibility of a true relationship, something that would surely rehabilitate and ultimately save the troubled young man.

Tsotsi's return to the mansion of the mother and father of the child is the film's major pivotal point. We have watched this heartless thug gradually go through some sort of metamorphosis up until this moment; in his efforts to take care of another human being, we get a sense that perhaps Tsotsi's heart isn't completely stone cold, in that perhaps he would like to be the father to a child that he wished he had had. To be able to compensate for his terrible upbringing in being a good father for this baby, is what I gathered from his inexplicable attempts to raise this child. "I'll leave it here", mutters Tsotsi into the mansion's gate intercom, and we are soon into a tense standoff between the mother and father, Tsotsi, and the police. The baby cradled in his arms, he just stands there like a deer in headlights, staring back at the anxious parents on the opposite side of the gate, who are eagerly awaiting the handing over of their child. After a drawn out exchange of nothing more than what I had just described, the gates open and he finally hands over the little one. Now what? Prison, pretty much. Hands slowly raised up into the night sky, with tears welled up in his eyes, Tsotsi, amidst a spiritual reformation of sorts, is one step closer to achieving salvation, and then the credits roll.

A word of warning to anyone watching at home: The film is dark! So do anything you can to diminish glare; put down the blinds, up the screen brightness. The cinematography in "Tsotsi" is rich, deep, and underexposed, with a consistency in subtle shades of blues and tannish/browns. It's not particularly a pleasant film to look at, and I'm sure that's what the director intended, most likely to mirror the dark aspects of our antihero and the harsh despondency of the South African ghetto. I can appreciate the film's high production values, and the acting quality of the main actors in all of their subtly intense, nuanced emotion. As far as this Tsotsi character goes though, I couldn't care less for him and his "redemption" at the end. A harsh upbringing is no excuse to murder and steal. So he returns the baby to the woman that he shot earlier which in turn rendered her crippled. Wow, let's all just shed tears of joy over this valiant, selfless act. Please. At the end I still thought Tsotsi was an asshole and that prison is where he should have been from the very beginning. These types of films always seem to play to the whole poor country deal where we are forced to feel that we have to feel for less fortunate minorities, and that the bad that they do is simply because they are all victims of social injustices and whatnot. As a straight white caucasian male, I'm frankly getting tired of being blamed for things and being made to feel guilty all the time. I don't think that "Tsotsi" is in any way a bad film, I just could not root for nor feel for its protagonist, and that for me, just automatically takes me away from a picture.

"Children of Heaven" (1997)

First off, you gotta love the name of the director who helmed this little slice-of-life drama: Majid Majidi. Apparently, this feather weight gem of modern Iranian cinema pulled some serious clout overseas, getting the attention of the elitist Academy and their steadying inclination to reward smaller, more socially conscious, indie-style films (or what I call, "coffee table flicks"), over your more classic Hollywood fare. "Children of Heaven" became the first Iranian film to receive an Oscar nomination for best foreign language film. Based on what I saw, there must not have been much else going on in '98 in the foreign film world.

With "Children" in its title, its no surprise that a brother and sister in the single digit age are our two main characters. We start out with poor (literally) little nine year old Ali, in a dramatically affected performance by Mir Farrokh Hashemian, running an errand in the market to repair the shoes of his adorable little sister Zahra (Bahare Seddigi). Unfortunately, his endeavor goes awry when he sets off to pick up some fruit for his family. The bag of shoes accidentally gets swiped by a blind man as Ali sifts through some cartons. This dilemma is the basis for the entire story, and the plot from here on in simply centers around getting another pair. So you lose a pair of shoes, no big deal, right? Well, when it comes to Ali's family and their meager existence, living in a single room apartment in poverty-stricken Tehran, Iran (where Majidi grew up) with barely any creature comforts, that statement couldn't be more wrong. They are in debt, with the mother sick and the father overworked and massively underpaid. And what's equally sad is the two sibling's consciousness of this fact. This is why Ali's confession to his sister is like the end of the universe. He knows his family can't afford new shoes, and that his sister cannot attend school without them. Little Zahra is aware of this and is pretty devastated herself. Ali can't possibly tell mom and dad, knowing that they are in such dire straits, so, now facing this huge dilemma, the two siblings surreptitiously scribble notes back and forth to each other in the company of their parents, trying to devise a plan. Thankfully, they come to a solution. They can swap shoes, because they conveniently happen to have school at different times; Zahra has morning school, Ali afternoon. This seemed peculiar and all too accommodating a plot device to me at first, but then I thought about it; it is an entirely different and extremely poor country (at least in this part of it), with the schools sexually segregated, so it could and would be plausible that there would be different school times. So with their plan set, we watch the cherubic Zahra scramble out of school, darting through town and alleyways to rendezvous with her anxious brother to do the big switch. In the simple and large world in the eyes, heart, and soul of a child, this is a dramatic and tense affair. Ali throws the shoes on, home does lil' sis go and off to school does Ali make his hasty beeline. The only problem is, timing. There is no way Zahra can get to him early enough once she gets out, and so Ali winds up being late for class after every subsequent shoe swap. And the poor kid keeps running into the principal as he's sneaking through the empty halls to get to his class, and just look at the kid's face each time he's caught and being scolded; those emotional close ups are just too much. The kid sure does cry a lot, but he sure as hell tugs at your heart strings and make you feel for his plight. It's interesting how he diminutively holds up a finger when addressing elders or figures of authority. There seems to be a level of respect instilled in these children that seems to be becoming more and more lost in today's american youth.

Ali and Zahra's little system obviously can't continue for much longer. This is when Ali happens upon a foot race contest in which the prize for coming in third is a brand new pair of sneakers. Determined to enter the competition, Ali pleads with the gym coach when he's told he missed the deadline for the tryouts. It's heartbreaking to see desperate Ali beg from the pit of his tortured soul over simply obtaining a pair of shoes for his beloved sister. Tears in his eyes (for the upteenth time), he sways the teacher, gets his tryout and and passes with flying colors. So there it is, he's entered for the big race, and he breaks the news to his grateful yet skeptical sister. How can he be sure to come in at specifically third place? He promises her he will, and so we watch an epic, surprisingly nail-biting (if not a little drawn out) race of what looks like hundreds of boys. Ali holds his own up front with the fastest boys, one of whom cheats and pushes him to the ground. Undeterred, Ali is back up on his feet and doggedly pushes forth. We are subject to an overlong slow motion climax in which Ali inadvertently breaks the finish line in first place, and we're thinking, "oh no." First place, what a drag. Ali hangs his head in shame as the photographer snaps off some victory shots. The poor kid just wants a damn pair of sneakers. He returns home, and Zahra sees failure and shame written all over her brother's puppy dog countenance, and so sad is she as well. This is set up for one mighty downer of an ending. However, we do get some evidence of a happy one; Majidi inserts a short scene where Ali's father is out in town doing some shopping, and what we get a glimpse of in his box of purchases is two pairs of brand new shoes! So as the downtrodden Ali removes his dilapidated sneakers and soaks his blistered bare feet in shame, we know, that even when the ending credits abruptly show up, everything is going to be okay.

Under the strains of poverty, the extremes these two loving siblings go to in order to not create any more hardships for their struggling parents is testament to the grand content of their character. These second nature ideals of courtesy, love, and respect were once so commonplace in the youth of America, in simpler times when religion was not scoffed at and morals and values were high and held steadfast. It's sad that these things are consistently degrading in modern american youth. More than anything though, Majidi's film is great display of the appreciation of the little things, something else we all seem to be losing. These kids have next to nothing, but they make due with what they have, even when it's taken away from them. The difference between say, this film, which centers around children, and an American film, is that in the American film, it would be content to superficially exploit the precious charms of its young star(s), having him or her spew charming lines of dialogue. Here, we are getting a real performance from a child, where we see a soul in turmoil. Turmoil over something so simple, over things we all take for granted. How many American kids would think twice about asking daddy for another pair of shoes if they absolutely needed it, even if they know he couldn't afford it? Not many. When Majidi goes for those close ups, it's not for the sake of a gratuitous "cute shot", but to see a child who is genuinely suffering. Ali and Zahra are good kids, something we need much more of these days. Watching this film makes you realize just how badly the youth of America needs an enema.

"Children of Heaven", is a charming little film that says a lot about the positives of humanity amidst the confinement of poverty, the power of love and family and yada yada yada. These simple, "slice of life" films generally are not my cup of tea, and if it weren't for the two main child actors and those intermittent moments of pure, unadulterated cuteness, I'd have not sat through the film. At the same time, I'm surprised and not surprised that the Academy nominated the picture for best foreign film. Surprised because of how small and slight and delicate it is (and I mean that in a negative way), and not surprised because the Academy as of late has been getting hard ons for these types of films. On the other end of the spectrum, however, I've actually been quite jaded by the over slick, over edited, glossy Hollywood blockbusters of, say, the past six or seven years. And the pretentious indie flicks that can get easy Oscar buzz by simply throwing in left-wing fodder such as homosexuality and social/political issues, usually don't satisfy me either. It's just rare today when the happy medium comes along. I have nothing against "Children of Heaven", it's just that I feel it's a little too lightweight to have received a foreign best picture nomination and amount of general acclaim it had acquired at the time.

"Amores Perros" (2000)

A more than impressive feature film debut from Mexican director Alejandro Gonzales Inarritu, the gritty, violent and much controversial Mexican film can be said to be a catalyst in the resurgence of the country's film industry in the early 2000's, with the popular "Y Tu Mama Tambien" hot on its heals. "Amores Perros" (literally translated as "love of dogs", it's known in America as "Love's a Bitch") had garnered much critical acclaim by early 2001, winning festivals around the globe and making its way to American soil. The film had unsurprisingly garnered a fair amount of controversy amidst its international acclaim, due to its graphic portrayals of dog fighting, burning many a disturbing image of bloody, disfigured and deceased K-9's into audience's heads.

"Perros" Screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga was no doubt inspired by Quentin Tarantino, and his Hollywood reshaping use of the disjointed, non linear narrative. The titles used (another Tarantino staple) to introduce the three seemingly disparate yet interwoven characters and their stories, definitely elicit similarities to "Pulp Fiction". We are thrown right into and hit with a cinematic haymaker with the film's kinetic and portentious opening, where the first character of Octavio (played by the very talented Spanish actor Gael Garcia Bernal from "Y Tu Mama Tambien") is in the heat of a nerve-wracking car chase. The camera work here, could be said to be the catalyst for the edgy, anti-tripod flicks that have subsequently popped up everywhere by the early 2000's. And now this floaty, handheld trend seems to be standard procedure in contemporary film industry. This frantic chase (reminiscent of the opening of "Reservoir Dogs") and it's abrupt, disastrous end, is the tying event that connects each of the film's three characters and their stories, and one that the film often returns to, showing us something new and different each time. While not a wholly original concept, Inarritu definitely makes it work, and none of it feels ostentatious or forced, which it could have easily been in the hands of a lesser director.

The first chapter, "Octavio and Susana" follows the young and brash owner of a black Rottweiler named Cofi, who is in a situation replete with tension and drama; he is in love with his sister-in-law Susanna, who's spouse is his older brother Ramiro (Marco Perez), a real son of a bitch. A physically and verbally abusive hothead machismo bastard of a husband, Ramiro works a supermarket by day and robs drug stores by night. He also has Susana not only with a newborn child that they can barely take care of, but knocked up with another. Octavio's relaying to Susanna his plan to take off with her (baggage included) is met with incredulity and resistance, with an obvious obstacle in the way: money. It is after we follow a group of thugs involved in the town's brutal, underground dogfighting ring, who sick their own mut on a wandering Cofi in the streets, that Octavio discovers a new and unorthodox way of financing their escape. Cofi draws an upset victory, slaying the prize-winning dog, and when Octavio is dealt the news from some very angry dogfighters, that's when things start to get ugly. And ugly it is, as the film portrays, with frightening realism, the bloody aftermath of these bouts. After a string of victories from his lucky charm killer pooch, things seem to be going well. Now he's bringing home stashes of cash to his love, who remains skeptical, assuming he has been simply stealing like her rotten husband. What sets the stage for the pivotal car crash, is a bribe for one final fight by a dog fighting organizer, which Octavio of course accepts, and which is also of course, a huge mistake. Because shortly after the bout gives way, and while Cofi seems to be getting the upper hand, the thug pulls out a pistol and fires a shot into the dog. Forced to simply swallow it and leave, Octavio takes off with his friend, but in his blind rage, unsheathes his knife, about faces, and stomps back into the warehouse to sink it into the cheating thug's gut. Back into the car they go, with the bloody and dying Cofi in the back seat, and so the chase begins.

The film now takes a detour to follow a new melodrama, this time involving wealthy magazine editor Daniel (Alvaro Guerrero), who is not much of a faithful husband. We watch him settle down with his new mistress Valeria (Goya Toledo), a leggy supermodel with a vain and narcissistic buzz (Daniel gives Valeria's new apartment a great view of her giant billboard advertisement from across the street). However, their steamy affair is thrown into crisis once Valeria is the unfortunate driver that Octavio and friend slam into at 80 miles an hour. And as a result of the violent crash (which is shot shockingly well), Valeria's legs are severely fractured and she is confined to a wheelchair, putting her career in jeopardy and the two in an unstable frame of mind. All of this comes to a head when, interestingly enough, their own dog, Richie, winds up getting lost beneath their pad's floorboards via a large hole, and the remainder of their story is centered around getting the poor thing out of there, especially once Valeria suspects that there are hundreds of big, nasty rats scampering about down there. Tensions rise and tempers flare, and we soon see this is far from the same blissful affair. The melodrama culminates with Daniel receiving some alarming news while at work; Valeria is in the hospital. The doctor there must disclose some grave news: something went wrong in one of Valeria's legs, resulting in the spread of Gangrene, and they had no choice but to amputate it. Daniel, returning home in despair and desparation, with still no luck with Richie, starts taking it mightily to the floor boards, finally targeting the pooche's pained whines and bashing in a hole large enough to get him out. So he left his family for, this? We see a broken man doomed to contend now with his decisions in life.

Speaking of life decisions, we now move on to the mysterious, long haired, bearded old man that we saw assassinating the businessman earlier. The third and final story, "El Chivo and Maru", focuses on this seemingly homeless man who has a thing for dogs, as he's got lots of 'em around. But we now discover he dabbles in hired killings to support himself, and was once an educated, competent man who abandoned his family for a cause that only resulted in his incarceration. So now he tries in vain to reconnect with his estranged daughter, who views El Chivo as being simply dead to her. El Chivo's current means of obtaining dough, via deadly jobs for a crooked official, begins to take a turn once we discover his connection with the Octavio car crash. As the bloody and broken Octavio and friend are dragged from the wreckage, El Chivo takes it upon himself to rescue the dying pooch and nurse him back to health. And soon enough, another contract killing falls into his lap, which he accepts with much reluctance, but this is his time for some revelatory self-discovery, as he chooses not to kill his victim, instead pitting him and his hired killer against each other, left alone with El Chivo's gun, to their own devices. It is one of those, anti-hero, turning over a new leaf sort of things.

Like a day time soap opera merged with Tarantino, and condensed into a nearly three hour time frame, Gonzalez Inarritu gives us dark, complex dimensions of the human condition and love and suffering. We see a juxtaposition of lower class, inner city youth and the harm that love and lust could cause, just the same as it can with the rich and privileged. The overall theme and vibe of the film is nihilistic, grim and depressing. He takes these characters and stomps all over their lives, as well as their means to improve it. Also, Inarritu's use of dogs in the film, almost as a means of paralleling their owners, is quite clever. What kind of dog do they have, how do they treat them, and what does that say about themselves, as a human being? Also, what I've noticed is, through the use of the thematically prevalent dogs, Inarritu toys with the predictable, feeble minds of the audience, particularly through his implementation of the dog fighting. A student in my class objected to the film due to its bloodily realistic K-9 violence. This is to be expected, but did anyone object to any of the human violence? Of course not; we are greatly desensitized and indifferent to it. Juxtapose a scene in which a man is tortured and finally murdered, and one where a pooch yelps in pain from, say, a stab wound. You'll get nothing from the first scene, and a bunch of angry gasps and "awww's" from the second. Why is this? Because dogs are innocent animals who do not know any better, correct? But these dogs kill in the film, don't they? Oh, but that's just what they do and therefore don't know any better, so that makes it okay. Well, we can say the same about certain people who kill. There are some out there, who simply just, don't know any better. So take one of these human killers and have him killed; the audience hoots and cheers. A doggie killer is executed, and it's, "Aww, but he just didn't know any better." That's the problem I often have with us, as we seem to be losing touch with what it is like to feel compassion for our fellow man. I feel, that the more conscious, the more aware, the more intelligent the being, the greater the possibility of its suffering, because there is the mental aspect that everyone takes for granted. The more aware you are of the pain (why it's being done, how it's being done, countless combinations of factors), the greater it is. So in the film, and on this basis, with all the abuse, both mental and physical, that these human characters inflict on each other, the fact that most of the audience will only be gasping at the mere sight of a dead pooch, just seems a tad backwards. But that's just me. At any rate, if you're an uptight animal activist, avoid this film at all costs. But if you're not, and you want to delve into an overlong, overwrought Mexican-Tarantino soap opera with arguably the most realistic looking animal violence to ever be captured on celluloid, look no further than "Amores Perros".