the traveler's resource guide to festivals & films
a FestivalTravelNetwork.com site
part of Insider Media llc.

Connect with us:
FacebookTwitterYouTubeRSS

Film Festivals

Julie Taymor's "The Tempest" Unveiled

In director Julie Taymor's film adaptation of The Tempest, the role of banished-duke-turned-sorcerer Prospero goes to Helen Mirren – with a twist. Dame Mirren isn’t playing a man. Rather, the lead character in William ShDirector Julie Taymorakespeare’s last play now bends gender, and the result is named Prospera.
 
During a press conference at the 14th Capri Hollywood Film Festival (Dec. 26-Jan. 2, 2010), Taymor explained that no currently working male actor was up to the task. What began as a frustrated quest became an exhilarating commentary on the driving spirit of Shakespeare’s fabled magician -- and how female powers of intellect can settle a struggle such as Prospero’s with the “savage and deformed slave” Caliban.

Come to think of it, as Taymor did, Prospero is Shakespeare’s only character who loses nothing by losing a Y chromosome. Further relieving her casting dilemma was the nod from 16th- and 17th-century history, a time when women practicing the art of alchemy were frequently exiled or worse as witches. By the time Taymor saw pink in Prospero’s soliloquy to the Medea of Ovid’s Metamorphosis, Prospera was granted the artistic green light.   
 
Djimon Hounsou, Russell Brand, Alfred Molina, Ben Wishaw, David Strathairn, Chris Cooper and Tom Conti hold onscreen court with Oscar-laureate Mirren as she rules over the magical Mediterranean island.
Alfred Molina and Djimon Hounsou
In Taymor's interpretation, Prospera is trumped by her brother Antonio (Cooper), and set sailing with her young daughter, Miranda (Felicity Jones). She shipwrecks on an island, where her efforts to protect the now teenaged Miranda thrust her into a power joust with Hounsou’s Caliban.

Shakespeare’s The Tempest has the potboiling pulse of a thriller, the special effects potential of a fantasy and the gossip of a romance. Advancing the action are spirits, monsters, a mournful king, a sage, two scheming brothers and a roiling sea frothed into a fabulous conspiracy that crosses the stars of two unlucky lovers.
 
Taymor’s version freshens up Prospera’s odyssey of vengeance and self-embrace in an era when forgiveness and love are arguably saner strategies than the cycles of violence-eye-for-eyed in our daily headlines.  

For fans of Taymor’s three feature films – an 1999 adaptation of another Shakespeare play, Titus; 2002 biopic, Frida; and 2007 Beatles rock opera, Across the Universe -- her newest production is an ongoing tribute to her eclectic style. At very least, this means a phantasmagorical swirl of theater plays, musicals and operas reinterpreted but not dumbed down for cinema.

Taymor toyed with film only after a couple of decades of live performance, including two stage productions of The Tempest. The Lion King launched her theatrical comet in 1997 and signaled the arrival of a visual innovator with global inspirations to match the gathering zeitgeist. Artistic wanderings had brought the 1952-vintage Bostonian up through French pantomime Jacques Lecoq, experimental stage legend Peter Brook, ensemble director Herbert Blau and the shamanistic traditions of Asian theater using dolls, shadows and masks.
 
For the Miramax release shot in Hawaii (and not, to the chagrin of her Capri Hollywood Film Festival hosts, right there or in another island connected to the Italian setting of Shakespeare’s play), Taymor made some tough concessions to the medium. Reluctant to break the four walls of cinema, she killed Prospera’s epilogue beseeching the audience’s “release…from (her) ban,” and clinching the loss of her magical charms. She opted instead to roll credits over images of drowned books, a visual quote from the earlier Metamorphosis scene referencing sorcery.  
 
Still, if you listen up, you may hear Prospera – and Taymor – close with the appeal, “Let your indulgence set me free.”    

Director Paul Schrader's Controversial Holocaust Film at the Israel Film Fest

For veteran director/screenwriter Paul Schrader, seeing his film Adam Resurrected appear in this year's Israel Film Festivalalt in New York is a little like coming around full circle. Originally released here almost a year ago, his strange surreal little black comedy of a film stars Jeff Goldblum as a concentration camp survivor recovering his sanity in an Israeli psychiatric hospital in 1961. Goldblum's character Adam has tried coping with surviving.

Though the film received mixed reviews and limited exposure, Schrader will not only receive a special presentation of it at the 2009 Israel Film Festival in New York -- which kicks off Saturday evening -- but he will be honored with the IFF's Achievement in Cinema Award during the opening night Awards Gala being held at the SVA Theatre (23rd Street and 8th Avenue) -- where the other screenings take place as well.

Read more: Director Paul Schrader's...

A Visit With Israeli Director Eran Kolirin

Eran Kolirin is the director and writer of The Band's Visit, a fable about the Alexandria Ceremonial Police Orchestra's star-crossed visit to Israel to perform at an Arab Cultural Center.

Kolirin's debut feature swept Israel's Ophir Awards and had its world premiere at the Cannes Film Festival. It was also Israel's official entry for the Best Foreign-Language Oscar—until it wasn't.

Film Festival Traveler catches up with Kolirin and finds out why getting lost can sometimes be a find.
 
Q: What was the inspiration for this story?
 
EK: The inspiration came from an image I had of the commander and also from Journey to Israel, a book by Ali Salem, an Egypt playwright who came to Israel and wrote about his experience.
 
Q: Did such an Egyptian band ever visit Israel?
 
EK: No. The one official cultural exchange was in 1981: the national Egyptian dance group.
 
Q: How does The Band's Visit connect with your early experience of watching Egyptian movies on Israeli TV?
 
EK: For me it's a nostalgic thing, it connects with a personal nostalgia and also with a nostalgia for a more naïve Israel, at least in the eyes of the child that I might have been back then. Egyptian movies were the soap operas of my childhood, like the old Hollywood cinema of big love and big gestures--bigger than life.
 
Q: Common human foibles unite the Arabs and Israelis in your film. Are you saying something about the path to peace?
 
EK: No, I didn't finely tune myself in that way. I didn't think about those mistakes as something that unites Arab and Israelis, just as I didn't write from any starting point that they were different and needed to find a path that connects the two. Small or big human mistakes are the basic things for any human drama; it's not interesting if they don't have those mistakes. It's what instinctively draws me to even architecture or scenery, if there's a mistake in the place.
 
Q: From your opening disclaimer that the band's visit "was not that important," to Dina's remark that there is "no culture" in her town, to the characters' small moments of self restraint, you strike a modest note that lets us envision breakthroughs on a higher level. Talk about how the film aims high by aiming low.
 
EK: I wanted this kind of tension running throughout the movie as something very high and very low. So a character might sit in a shwarma or shiskabab restaurant but would speak about a poem or art, in the same way that there'd be a contradiction between something stupid and reciting an old Sufi poem in the roller disco. The idea was to bring those elements together in every frame so the simple tones of the film would exist and give something which is high. Eitan Green, a screenwriting mentor I had a lot of conversations with, said you should write simple and aim for the complex.
 
Q: The band has long managed on its own, and proud band leader Tewfiq is loathe to call for help. Are there other institutions that you're alluding to here?
 
EK: No, I was writing from my own self. A very simple man that I am I would never ask for directions, and would never be the one to stop the car and admit I'm lost. It's about getting lost and about something that could happen once you're off your formal self and off your road and your usual expectations. This mistake was essential for the flowers to grow.
 
Q: Do I detect a note of fatalism?
 
EK: I wrote this because of hopes and dreams, and part of it is this hoping that you could go wrong and find a better way by choosing the small road and not the big road. But I cannot say that by making a mistake you will find the right path.
 
Q: Language—and an error in interpretation--launches the characters on a path to closer mutual understanding. Is the fussed-over language of diplomacy unequal to the task of peacemaking?
 
EK: I would say that the emotional side of things is also important, when the conversation becomes feelings and not a conversation of commerce, as in: How much do we give, get and put in? It may be that what is very obvious is getting lost from the language of diplomacy and commercial conversation.
A lot of people in Israel are frustrated by the peace process. They want to meet people from the other side, but it's considered a weakness. There's this constant pressure to ask, What can we get for ourselves out of an agreement?  It's more like a divorce agreement than a marriage agreement. The film explores the feeling of wanting to connect with the region to people you don't know and are apart from, of having a yearning for peace and also of being a part of what can make it happen. The question of how and why are important but they don't stand alone. In recent years I have the feeling it's become more about the negotiation. Something is lacking from this conversation. It seems (the emotional) element is forgotten.
 
Q: From Simon's unfinished concerto to singing Summertime around the table to Khaled's us of Chet Baker to flirt, how does music serve as a means of communication in your film?
 
EK: All the characters have a deep emotion deep inside of them they cannot express, something they cannot call in its name. Each could have had another life, but they cannot go back and take another turn in the road. They are all living inside of themselves, but are unable to express this feeling. In the film when they get to this point of being unable to express this feeling, this is where the music comes in for me. Silence also takes it, or hand gestures take it.
 
Q: Itzik advises Simon not to reach for grand themes in his concerto but to stay with realistic nuances, as in the room where his child sleeps. Who else can benefit from this advice?
 
EK: This was about myself. I had trouble finishing this script. For me it was a kind of a self-reflexive thing, and I could only finish it when it wasn't from the perspective of the great concerto. It's about letting go. This also reflects a lot of questions about the concept of finding a final solution, including in the relationship between nations. It's all in the here and now and not necessarily in the grand finale--not trying to solve all the problems in one stable solution.
 
Q: One of the funniest scenes is Ronit Elkabetz's Dina splitting open a blood red watermelon with the aggression of a fighter and independence of a man but with the sultry sex appeal of a self-possessed woman. What are these Egyptians thinking while watching their Israeli hostess rip open this watermelon?
 
EK: How would I know? I just told her to open the watermelon and let them look. These are men observing a woman.
 
Q: Personal storytelling, and not political reporting, is a hallmark of Israeli cinema in recent years. (Instead of discussing politics, your Arab and Israeli characters chat about their personal lives.) Is there such a thing as the Israeli New Wave, and if so, how does The Band's Visit complement the trend?
 
EK: I don't know if I can draw a line and say there's a New Wave in Israeli cinema. You cannot draw a line of aesthetic approach. For me the movie is a political movie, and it's only in the way that it deals with the political question that is different. First and foremost I set out to write characters that have their own lives and personal pains and personal truths and hopes, and these things come before the political agenda. It's also a realistic approach since for me, since what moves me first when I meet someone is the personal and not the political. I feel uncomfortable when I feel expected from the world to treat characters in the films just as a political idea and not as a human being first and foremost. Politics is in the background, but first a character has his mother, his family, his job. Politics is important but it's not the first thing that drives you.
 
Q: Dina's empathy and warmth thaws band leader Tewfiq's rigidities so he is able to accept her hospitality. What compelled you to explore this basic act of kindness?
 
EK: Hospitality, like getting lost, is going to disappear from the face of the earth. With all those GPS devices out there no one will get lost, people will always get to their hotels. This world is changing. In writing this script I was asked how come she takes them in? In a more dramatic script or a more classic Hollywood script, something would prevent her from bringing them in. But it didn't fit for me. I thought she'd take a very simple human decision on the spot. It worked, you believe it, because of the woman she is. Because of her character she was able to make a very simple decision of: Why not? I think there 's a kind of genetics in the very basic idea when you start writing a script, and it doesn't work when you try to force a formula. If you listen to the script enough you see it's her truth. This was in the grain of the script and I couldn't change it even if I wanted to. It's about following what it dictates for you, you cannot dictate to it. In this case it was the more gentle and simple approach. Let's take them in.
 
Q: Khaled's pointers to the shy and romantically inexperienced Papi at the roller disco brought welcome comic relief. Tell us about your use of comedy in this bittersweet drama.
 
EK: I'm not the kind of man who'd only talk with wine in his hand and talk dogma. I would also say something with a smile. It's an instinct for me. I never tried to put a joke inside. I just tried to make a situation accurate according to a certain tone of the movie. Sometimes the situation has something basically funny, with a kind of awkwardness or tension, but I never thought, "This would be funny."
 
Q: Has the film been shown in an Arab country?
 
EK: No, it hasn't. It was invited to the Abu Dabi film festival, but was disinvited at the last moment. Why exactly I don't know. The papers said it was coming from political pressures in the Arab world.
 
Q: Do you believe your film's Oscar yanking was politically motivated?
 
EK: I don't know if it was political. More it was a big establishment that has their own strange rules and they apply these rules without a lot of interpretation but rather cause they're big.
 
Q: Did you ever think to cast Egyptian actors?
 
EK: In the beginning I wanted to cast Egyptian actors, but in the early stages it was clear I could not. Sasson Gabai, the Israeli actor who plays Tewfiq, comes from Iraqi family and knew Iraqi Arabic. We had lots of translators, including a dialogue coach from Alexandria, who worked with the Palestinian and Israeli cast.
 
Q: What can you tell us about Pathways to the Desert, your next film?
 
EK: Nothing yet!

Movies Without Accents: MIAAC Film Festival Director L. Somi Roy

In Today’s Special, a food comedy co-written by Aasif Mandvi, The Daily Show funnyman plays an aspiring chef who gets the American girl by mastering Indian cuisine. He cooked up the right festival. Opening the 9th Mahindra Indo-American Arts Council Film Festival (MIAACFF), Mandvi’s saga joined with other selections from India and the Diaspora that mix East and West.

MIAACFF 09 featured five days of premiere screenings and Q&A, industry panels and networking parties attended by filmmakers, talent and suits. From opening night’s red carpet and gala held on November 11th to closing night’s awards ceremony which took place on the 15th, the media had Mira Nair, Shabana Azmi, Rahul Bose, Sarita Choudhury, Deepti Naval, Madhur Jaffrey, Sharmila Tagore, Shyam Benegal, Kalyan Roy and other Bollywood and independent Indian stars to keep their bulbs constantly flashing. 

As for one of the brightest names on the marquee -- The Mahindra Group -- the $6.3 billion company behind the festival is a leading manufacturer of multi-utility vehicles and IT services, to name two of its market sectors. Also powering New York’s annual Indian film bash is the Indo-American Arts Council, founded by Executive Director Aroon Shivdasani to advance Indian and cross-cultural art forms in North America.

Last year’s festival served up British director Danny Boyle's Slumdog Millionaire, which went on to win eight Oscars and whet Western appetites for South Asian cinema at a time of growing Indian power in Hollywood and beyond. MIAACFF's 2009 run reaped the windfall. Not only did its 44 fiction features, documentaries and shorts premiere to packed New York houses, but its FILMINDIA seminars kept football fans away from the Iowa vs Ohio State competition for the Big Ten championship.



The films that took the 2009 MIAAC Award were:

Best Short Film Award: Good Night by Geetika Narang
Best Documentary Film Award: The Salt Stories by Lalit Vachani
Best Actor Award: Aasif Mandvi for Today’s Special
Best Actress Award: Tannishtha Chatterjee for Bombay Summer
Best Screenplay Award: Two Paise for Sunshine, Four Annas for Rain, by Deepti Naval
Best Director Award: Joseph Mathew-Varghese for Bombay Summer
Best Film Award: Bombay Summer, by Joseph Mathew-Varghese

Distinguished programming encompassed a Kashmir sidebar, MIAAC @ NYU panels ranging from Queer Bollywood to The State of the Indian Screenplay and a student competition presented by Cell Phone Cinema Professor Karl Bardosh.

Film Festival Traveler caught up with MIAAC Festival director L. Somi Roy for a briefing.   

Q: What does this year’s festival say about current trends in Indian filmmaking?

SR: It has no accent. In the past you had a lot of immigrant filmmakers, but now we have an Indian-American cinema that sounds homegrown. The filmmakers in their 20s and early 30s were born here. Their parents came as engineers and doctors, under the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. It was a big brain drain, much to the chagrin of their own parents, who grieved, “Is that why we gave them an education, for them to leave?”

Now the American-born children of those professionals are coming into maturity and occupying important roles in society and culture. They’re starting companies and making movies. And many of them have a sense of their culture and heritage. So was that such a brain drain after all?

Q: So now a generation later they’re coming back to the fold.

SR: Yes, and they’re speaking as Americans, with a new interpretation of what it means to be a global Indian. This is what our festival is ultimately about.

Q: How does that translate onscreen?

SR: There’s a sense of pioneership. For instance, one young filmmaker is coming to the Indian school of filmmaking through Snoop Dogg.

Q: If it’s possible to generalize from a cinema as varied as Hindi, Bengali, Tamil and other regional strands, how would you describe the basic vocabulary of Indian cinema?

SR: It tends to telescope content with a certain poetry and lyricism -- and emotiveness. We have a certain amount of idioms of genre, like the song and dance sequences associated with Bollywood.

Q: Will Indian song and dance cross over like, say salsa?

SR: What makes a billion people plus respond at some visceral level? Now Indian film still seems alien to us, but this will change. Just as Hong Kong martial arts cinema entered the American film language – think The Matrix – so too American film language will be Indianized. But Bollywood is too localized. It’s just one quarter of the Indian film industry, and most years it’s not even the largest segment. What we’ll see more and more is that narrative conventions are going to cross over, and cultural myths are going to be incorporated into the film idiom. We’ve already seen this historically.

Q: What’s an example?

SR: It took an Indian filmmaker to make a song-and-dance sequence a strategic device to advance a plot. The great Tamil Nadu filmmaker S.S. Vasan was the first guy to use song and dance for the purpose of story. Until Chandralkha, which he did in 1948, musicals were just song and dance sequences. What Indian song and dance did was to make the Busby Berkeley sequence serve a narrative function. That was the beginning of the crossover of cinematic language.

Q: What’s the magic formula for Indian productions targeting US distribution?

SR: The short answer is, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows. I put together the FILMINDIA industry panels because I wanted to know, myself. So I rounded up people from different backgrounds: talent agents, tax advisors, media executives, accounting professionals from KMPG and people with legal backgrounds. The whole purpose of doing these panels was that it’s a space we need to provide for. Those were the first panels of their kind.

Q: In wooing American audiences, should Indian films embrace the spectacle and melodrama they’re broadly associated with, or adopt a more Western aesthetic and narrative?

SR: The second panel of the day was called Success Stories and Changing Formulas, but the whole conversation that led to that particular panel was something I was talking about with (William Morris/Endeavor agents) David Taghioff and Suchir Batra for a long time.

When I first started speaking to William Morris, in October 2008, we hadn’t yet premiered Slumdog Millionaire. That happened November 8th [2008]. Flash forward to January, when Warner Bros released Chandni Chowk to China. It was obviously a film that had been produced before the success of Slumdog. It became old formula by the time it hit the screen. What Slumdog proved was the opposite approach.

Sony, Fox and Disney had all opened studios in Bombay, and the basic strategy was to produce films using Indian producers to capture part of the Indian market. They weren’t making films to capture the global market. But by the time Chandni opened you could make a subtitled film with Indian content that could capture a big global market. So now the whole mantra for Indian producers and everyone is, we got to think all this afresh.

Q: What are the caveats?

SR: Just because it’s of a particular genre doesn’t mean it will be good. It’s not enough to plug in a formula.

Q: So you’d agree with New York writer/director Sri Rao, who advised aspiring filmmakers in the FILMINDIA audience to create stories they’re passionate about and not get bogged down in stylistics?

SR: Sri is right. Look at Slumdog Millionaire and The Darjeeling Limited. No one would consider Darjeeling an Indian film in the way that Slumdog is. I was in India in January 2009, and everyone was saying, “How come it took British Danny Boyle to make a great Indian film?”

The emotional placement is with the Indian character. You worry, you’re scared for, you exult with an Indian character. That’s what makes an Indian film, not three spoiled middle class characters rambling though the Indian landscape. Darjeeling took pomo to a new level. No one was sympathetic, just snide and distancing and snarky. People didn’t relate to that. So just having an Indian landscape doesn’t make it identifiably Indian.

Baz
Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge has the conventions of Bollywood written all over it. Or take Finders Keepers, Lovers Weepers, by Russ Meyer. It’s an action-exploitation film with large-breasted women, but it’s Bollywood in spirit in the sense that the melodrama is overstated, very situational and plot driven and less motivational.  

Q: Are you a fan of Bollywood cinema?

SR: Now it’s become a guilty pleasure, an addiction. Even someone like me, a Tibeto-Burman from Manipur on the Burmese border, can follow a Hindi film – or what you would call Hindi film, even though it’s not Hindi, but rather Hindustan, which is a mixture of Hindi and Urdu. The reach has to be as wide as possible. So the plot lines are fairly recognizable, the story is predictable, the music provides the emotional anchoring and the dance provides the joy and visual pleasure of watching a popular Hindi film.

What makes it popular is precisely the fulfillment of expectations. The villain who is twirling his mustache is about to rape the hero’s sister, and at that moment you hear the musical cue and you know the villain is going to come barging through the door. But the catharsis is in the deliverance of that fright, and that fright comes just when you want it. You crawl into each other’s arms, and that’s when you enjoy it. It’s not that different from a slasher movie. The telephone rings; you know that the murderer is behind her. That’s not unique to Indian film, but to popular entertainment.

Q: So is outsized drama, perhaps more than song and dance, the secret to Bollywood’s success with mainstream U.S. viewers?

SR: A friend of mine from Kentucky said he wept uncontrollably with his roommate watching a Bollywood film on television. When I asked him which one, he said, “Oh, I don’t know, we just wept and wept.”

Maybe the future appeal of the popular Indian film might in the three-hanky film, the melodrama. Bollywood will not have the action virtuosity of the Hong Kong film, but in terms of emotional placement – you know, the woman who decides to throw herself in the lake so that she can be reunited with her lover who has been forbidden to her in this life -- we enjoy that moment.

Q: To paraphrase James Carville, “It’s the emotion, stupid.”

SR: I don’t want to make fun of it and simply say that an emotional response is all a popular film is about. We just showed Well Done Abba. (Director) Shyam Benegal uses song and dance conventions, but in his own way, because he’s a film artist and not just a hack. The female character has a fantasy of a boy and a girl flying over her village -- it’s ridiculous! -- and the second song sequence is of a woman in the back of a truck. Both sequences have the familiarity of the genre, but it has been interpreted by an artist. It was wonderfully received.

Q: So the kinetics stay.

SR: One of India's leading film critics, Chidananda Das Gupta, says the importance of song and dance routines is that they give a place for your eyes and ears to rest. So Hindi cinema’s contribution to Western culture may be in its use of song and dance to grab the viewer emotionally, like Alan Jay Lerner put song and dance into My Fair Lady.

Q: Looking ahead to the next three-to-five years, what are your goals for MIAAC?

SR: When I first came to MIAAC last year, I came with a few stated objectives. One of them was to expand beyond a Desi audience to a more mainstream audience. MIAAC speaks to both a New York/U.S. audience and to an Indian audience. I want the festival to represent what the two cultures are going to be three-to-five years from now.

This is where programming comes in. If we are able to frame and present Indian cinema with the kind of characters and conventions we have, we should be able to shape people’s perceptions. But not by putting Bollywood films together with Satyajit Ray. It’s not just about presenting the best of the culture.

The films will reflect their own culture and politics and history and nation. High art by definition can travel across cultures very easily. It’s the culture that has your own clothes that’s more of a challenge.

 



Mahindra Indo-American Arts Council Film Festi
val
Nov. 11th
- 15th, 2009

The Indo-American Arts Council
517 East 87th St, Suite 1B
New York, NY 10128
Phone: 212 594 3685
Email: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
Web: www.iaac.us

Opening Night Screening:
Paris Theatre
4West 58th St., New York 10019

Opening Night Gala Benefit Screening & Dinner
Metropolitan Club
1East 60th Street

General Screenings
The Quad Cinema
34 West 13th Street, between 5th and 6th Avenues

Closing Night
Walter Reade Theatre

Lincoln Center
165 W 65th St.

Newsletter Sign Up

Upcoming Events

No Calendar Events Found or Calendar not set to Public.

Tweets!