REVIEW: "The Farewell" (Despite Much Fibbing) Makes A Genuine Cultural and Generational Connection

The impending death of a family member is a sad and melancholy subject. It can also be a tiring and cliched plotline for a film, as we've learned from countless films before. What's unique about writer-director Lulu Wang's Sundance-favorite feature, The Farewell, is that it's "based on an actual lie."

The story follows a Chinese family who hides the truth from the matriarch that she has terminal cancer. "It's not the cancer that kills them," claims one family member, "It's the fear." As an excuse, they arrange a wedding to gather extended family and friends to see her one last time. One family member, struggling artist Billi, has a special relationship with her "nai nai" (Chinese for "grandmother"), even as she struggles to hide her real emotions and wrestles with Eastern family complexities and dramas (i.e., a sense of pride and honor, dependence vs. independence) very different from the Western world she grew up in. 

Despite all the fibbing involved, Wang nevertheless paints a portrait of cultural relevance and reverence rarely seen on screen. One could argue that this film even exists as a bridge between said cultures and generations, including a past that has long gone by and a contemplative present and future. It speaks to the universal theme of remembering who we are, where we came from, what we stand for, and what lies ahead.

Yes, the film is melancholy at times, but it's never sappy or mediocre. One scene in a hospital, for instance, remarkably goes from serious to subtly humorous. And that subtle shift from melancholy to comedic is peppered throughout the film as well.

Speaking of humor, comedian-rapper-actress Awkwafina (who broke out last year in Oceans 8 and Crazy Rich Asians) gives an incredible dramatic turn as Billi, whose relationship with her grandmother is loving and genuine, sincere and humorous, even as Billi struggles with her own feelings of rejection, loneliness, and an uncertain future. Meanwhile, Nai Nai (played by Shuzhen Zhao, in one of the year's best performances), despite not knowing what's really going on, is clearly a very spirited woman, exemplifying familial love that endures. Like Nai Nai, The Farewell is an incredible, beautiful film. One of the year's best. 

(Left to right) Awkwafina and Shuzhen Zhao in The Farewell 

REVIEW: "The Last Black Man In San Francisco"

In the category of "Most Striking Film Image" of 2019, here it is: two young African-American men (who've been best friends since childhood) skateboard through the streets of San Francisco, as various citizens go about their lives. The pace is in slow-motion, but everything we need to know about the social, economical, and ethical situations is summed up in these characters, especially since they look directly at the camera as these men pass them by.

A favorite at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival, The Last Black Man in San Francisco centers on these two friends (caretaker Jimmy and writer/artist Montgomery), the communities they grew up in (most of which are going through economical and social hardships), and particularly the home Jimmy's grandfather used to live in.

Jimmy states that his grandfather was "the first black man in San Francisco," and that he (Jimmy) is the "last" (hence the reason Jimmy is the film's main character, and the reason for the title). He spends a lot of time trying to fix up the house, even though it technically belongs to another couple on the brink of divorce, and despite the objections of other friends or family, including an old friend who lives in his car, and gang members who hang out on the street corner by Montgomery's place, hurling profane and racist insults at each other. (One man named Kofi seems to start making a change of character, however.)

The trailers suggest this film is lighthearted and sentimental to a fault. The final result is far from it. (Well, mostly, despite one possible cheesy moment.) First-time director Joe Talbot (who co-wrote the screenplay with Rob Richert and lead actor Jimmie Fails) made the smart choice in using orchestral, and sometimes ethereal, music in the score by Emile Mosseri (possibly a reflection of the current influence of filmmaker Barry Jenkins). There's even an amazing rendition of "If You're Going to San Francisco," which give the story a more universal appeal.

The theme of remembering (or confusing) where we come from and keeping the past alive is profound, on one hand. On the other hand, it shows how much Jimmy has allowed his identity to be based on the house, and how he seems to be living in an ideal fantasy, determining what he chooses to love or hate and what is true and not true. Monty expresses many of these experiences through his art, including playwriting. The result, like that aforementioned striking image, is powerful and compelling. 

(Left to right): Jonathan Majors and Jimmie Fails
in The Last Black Man In San Francisco

RETROSPECT: "The Man With A Movie Camera": A Symphony of Moving Pictures and True Cinematic Expression

Of all of our inventions for mass communication, 

pictures still speak the most universally understood language. 

~Walt Disney

In the history of cinema, particularly since the end of the silent film era, there have arguably been only a few films largely (if not entirely) made with reliance on the use of imagery and sound/music alone. These include Walt Disney's Fantasia (1940), Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), and Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life (2011), to name just a few.

Back in the 1920s, a group of Soviet filmmakers, known as "Kinoks," broke every preconceived rule of film, even in its relative infancy then, and invented (perhaps pioneered) a lot of the techniques that have become commonplace for several filmmakers over the last 90 years. One of these filmmakers, David Kaufman (who went by the name Dziga Vertov, meaning "spinning top"), made a series of features using many of these techniques to examine the status and progress of the Soviet Union throughout the decade, following the Russian Revolution of the early 1900s. He also used these techniques to challenge the status quo of "staged" cinema. These features included 1931's Enthusiasm: Symphony of the Donbass, 1924's Kino-Eye, and 1929's now-highly-revered The Man With A Movie Camera.

Of the many films I recall studying and discussing in the two film courses I took in college years ago, this latter, highly-experimental feature is one of the few that stuck with me the most. At 67 minutes in length and presented in six reels, this collective work of truly-ahead-of-its-time techniques makes the case in presenting cinema as its own unique language and form of communication and expression, in ways that theater and literature cannot express. (I highly recommend this short but fascinating video essay for more insight.)

In fact, there's no specific plot or scenario, nor are there inter-titles or professional actors. Just a day in the life of a city of regular, ordinary, working-class people (shot over the course of three years) in the wake of the Russian Revolution, all "from the excerpt of the diary of a cameraman." Some of these citizens include factory workers, machinists, cobblers, barbers, doctors, nurses, married couples, divorcing couples, children, musicians, and athletes. Themes range from economics to class, illness, injury, death, birth (briefly shown, ditto some images of nudity, but not sexual or gratuitous), life, and even the mundane.

This may be documentary footage, but what's revolutionary (and ultimately universal) here is the way it is edited together and shown for the audience. The camera, by its very nature, is a device that acts not only for the cameraman (perhaps the one central figure here), but also for the audience, in witnessing objective imagery, no matter which angle or area it's shot from. The way that that footage is put together, on the other hand, is what makes it subjective, and therefore, cinematic. Many of the aforementioned techniques used here include slow-motion, fast-motion, reverse-motion, dissolves, quick jump cuts (late film critic Roger Ebert calculated the average shot length at 2.3 seconds), split-screen, stop-motion, and even a sense of fourth wall breaking.

I find it fascinating and amusing that one segment in the film shows the role of the editor, reviewing and reassembling film strips, and even freeze-framing certain shots of some of the aforementioned citizens. Even more fascinating is how this fourth wall notion plays at the feature's prologue. We're shown the inside of a movie theater. The projectionist gets ready, as does the orchestra (silent films had accompanied music playing in the movie houses they were shown in back in the day). The audience comes in. The house lights go out. The feature begins. The audience represents us, viewing something new. The screen (and therefore the camera eye and cameraman) represents what we see (hence, the "kino-eye," as pictures above), and the film itself represents the subjective experience.

This is truly one of the most influential films I have ever seen, and most certainly remains a benchmark in the history of motion pictures. All of the above elements combined have made it an enduring and universal standout of the silent film era and the post-silent era, even after 90 years. It's bold, original, dynamic, rhythmic, and incredibly daring. It's no wonder then that Sight and Sound named it the greatest documentary feature of all time, as well as the eighth greatest film of all time. The Man With A Movie Camera is a symphony of moving pictures and true cinematic expression.