Enlightment Guaranteed

review by

Elias Savada

, 23 February 2001


German
filmmaker Doris Dörrie has had a checkered days beyond recall with American
audiences.

Men (Männer)

clicked with the art legislative body girth when Different Yorker Films released it
back in the mid-'80s, but her English-language

Me
and Him

in 1987 was as flaccid as the talking penis that starred
in it divergent (or under) Griffin Dunne. Unless you've caught her
films at a festival or such, judgement one of her dozen or so titles
at your local or not-so-local cineplex has been a challenging
affair. Directing from her own scripts, her comedies border the evil
side and her latest labour,

Enlightenment
Guaranteed (Erleuchtung Garantuert)

, fits in her quirky mode,
blending popular commentary, midlife crises, thruway movies, and Zen
concepts. Deliberate on of it as a Buddhist

Sullivan's
Travels

featuring a three of German fish in Japanese waters.
It's subtly amusing and an amusingly upbeat exploration of
relationships, in this specimen two brothers with disparate personal
failures in search of spiritual cleansing. All familiar vicinage
start in this filmmaker's cupboard. The method to that peaceful conclusion is
cluttered with misplaced signposts in a city far from home.

Ted
Goldberg's Capitol Diversion, the lone outstanding repertory
distributor in the Washington, D.C., area, has released the film
here (it also handles

Autumn
Sun

, a heartwarming Spanish/Argentinian gem once in a while nearby on VHS
and DVD) in the States, and the hometown bazaar is the first to
commercially feast on his latest pickup. Having screened at Filmfest
DC 2000, the film is in these times in theatrical releasing at the renowned
Visions Cinema/Bistro/Lounge, a welcome oasis in a municipality begging for
independent and unrelated product.

Enlightenment
Guaranteed

is just the stamp of off-the-beaten-path entry that
local audiences should appreciate at that venue.
Shooting
the movie on digital video gives the independently made covering a
desaturated, documentary look. The cast, many veterans associated
with the director on her earlier projects, add their own
professionally realistic touches, helped a certain extent by the decision to
use all their actuality names as their role names. This is also Dörrie's
win initially fiction piece using the unfledged media, which allowed her lowered
costs (a divest $1 million budget) and a innovative challenge. ("
I
would like to make a flick where the crew could all fit into everybody car,
or even better, all sit at a dining table together.") She
pushes the polytechnic envelope right from the start, opening with a
unpunctually eventide, alfresco, frozen system, lit by ghostly golden lanterns
dotting the countryside. We're introduced to Uwe, Petra and their
boys, singing mid the snow drifts. Any illusion of family harmony
is short lived, dissolving with the morning sun as the hyperactive
kids wear down their sleep-deprived, overwrought dad. This
ultra-focused seller of scullery furnishings escapes over the extent of a jog to
rattle his brain back into shape, his unmistakable irrelevance to his
failing family unit noticed only by the crows circling overhead and
a certain look in Petra's eyes. Meanwhile Gustav, a balding Zen
Buddhist immersed as a


feng shui


consultant and
devotee of Eastern disciplines, prepares himself during an extended
withdraw at a Japanese monastery. The two article lines ultimately
blend when it's revealed the men are brothers, and the wretchedly
despondent and drunken Uwe, his apartment ransacked by his wife,
convinces his sibling to quaff him along at the matrix modern rather
than face an empty available.
The frantic stride (and editing) of
Germany relaxes as the men start their bonding sessions upon arrival
in Tokyo, with a compressed stopover in anybody of the city's hotels. But a
puzzling thing happens on the route to the Sojij Friary, with that
omnipresent crow hovering close by, perhaps a secret admirer or a
hidden escutcheon. Uwe realizes his bed's too cut for his large frame,
but he doesn't know that want be the least of his worries. The men
hit the town a-race, using neon billboards as markers to
presumably later retrace their steps back to their temporary digs.
They are quickly type adrift in a real property of foreign tongues, as the
billboards go mysterious and they soak up more than a few beers that dim
their bearings. Quintessential strangers in a strange acquire. One of
them manages to capture most of their disorder with a video camera,
focusing on their increasingly life-threatening nature. They clash with
a Hello Kitty ATM machine, telephone bailiwick to Gustav's spouse, who's too
bustling having a good delay in his want to give a rat's ass about his
pecuniary condition. Briefly taken to homelessness, they find
shelter in cardboard boxes extent the be lodged of the city's dregs, their
pangs of hunger forcing sad dog looks through glassed-in eateries.
They steal, they beg, and done find the kindness of strangers
in a blond Teutonic angel, Anica, who recognizes them as lost
puppies and helps them on their withdraw to the matrix third of the steam
and the no-frills accommodations at that monastery in Monzen. The
harsh life and rigors of meditation, request, mopping, and other
daily rituals takes it toll on Gustav with his bad feet, while it is
surprisingly welcomed by his unbelieving brother. It is a
slow-paced permanence, as the men and for the audience, but broadens
their tolerance to life's hectic swiftness. No reservations they'll find
contentment sweeping leaves for sundry a year to believe in.

Enlightenment
Guaranteed

is a increase-edged title, slicing through extended
families as the two protagonists seek to tape back together their
laboured relationship. You'll be every second as satisfied for savoring
its side-splitting wit, subtle story, and fine cast. In the present circumstances if someone else can
suffer some of us here in America to catch some of Dörrie's earlier,
unheralded creations, I'll be even more reasonable
.

Written and

Directed by:

Doris Dörrie

Starring:

Uwe Ochsenknecht

Gustav Peter WöhlerPetra Zieser

Anica Dobra

Ulrike Kriener

Heiner Lauterbach

Rated:
Not Rated - This

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Reviewer's Rating

  Narcotic addict Rating

Hardly Visiting (2002)

Reviewed by


Simon Wardell

Updated 6 February 2002

Hollywood adaptations of hit French comedies are either mediocre ("Three Men and a Baby") or plain embarrassing ("My Father, the Hero"). So Jean-Marie Gaubert's American remake of his own 1993 time-travelling romp "Les Visiteurs" should be no occasion for dancing in the cinema aisles but, unexpectedly,

it turns out to be almost as entertaining as the original.

Much of the reason comes down to employing the same director and stars.

Jean Reno and Christian Clavier reprise their roles - albeit renamed - as Thibault of Malfete and his squire André le Pate

. They're accidentally whisked from the 12th to the 21st century after Malcolm McDowell's wizard screws up a spell to send them back in time to save the life of the count's betrothed, Princess Rosalind (Applegate).

The crucial change in this bigger-budgeted version is that they pop up in present-day Chicago

, where they meet Thibault's ancestor, museum curator Julia (Applegate again). This accentuates the duo's

fish-out-of-water predicament

, replacing the first film's tendency towards bedroom farce with big city sight-seeing. An expanded role for Clavier, meanwhile, sees the servile André being introduced to the

all-American joys of liberty, democracy, and the pursuit of bad fashion

.

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Both Reno and Clavier fit comfortably back into their characters, Reno underplaying nicely against his Marty Feldman-esque sidekick's capers. And director Gaubert wisely leaves them to it.

Most of the best gags from the original return

, too, including encounters with cars, toilet bowls, and Chanel aftershave, and a kitchen ice-maker provides one of several successful new routines.

For those with vivid memories of "Les Visiteurs", the film may be an underwhelming experience, but for newcomers it should prove

time enjoyably spent

.

Killing tomfoolery on a typically grand ranking, with Moore - trying on 007’s corpse-like jacket as far as something the in the beginning time - matched against a battery of colourful villains (blacks are the baddies this time) and voodoo chiles. Two hours extensive and anti-climactic, but Compact fans won’t be disappointed.

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Reviewed by Dennis Schwartz

Marguerite Duras (”Cesarée”/”India Song”/”Woman of the Ganges”)
in 1959 wrote the screenplay for Hiroshima mon amour. Here she directs
and writes this overlooked gem, an idiosyncratic minamalist to the nth
degree women’s pic done almost without dialogue, long pauses of stillness
and with no discernible storyline. The anti-drama, a precursor to both
Chantal Akerman and Claire Denis, has the comfy feeling of its elliptical,
elusive story being filmed in Duras’s own house outside Paris. 

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An unnamed expressionless woman (Jeanne Moreau) lives with her equally
expressionless friend Isabelle Granger (Lucía Bosé) and her
troubled elementary school-aged daughter Nathalie Granger (Valérie
Mascolo) and younger no problem child. The women are concerned that Nathalie
is reported by her teacher to have behaved exceedingly violent, and the
seemingly well-heeled Isabelle decides to transfer her daughter to the
more progressive school, Datkin, but is upset to learn that they will not
force Nathalie to take piano lessons–even if mommy insists she continue
with her lessons, as the concerned parent seems to think that stopping
the lessons would ruin her daughter’s life. At home, Nathalie appears to
be a docile child who seems content just playing with her frisky cat or
seems serene when playing with her playmate Laurence (Nathalie Bourgeois)
by the nearby pond.

The radio broadcasts there are two brutal juvenile killers nearby
and of a manhunt for them in the Dreux Forest. This gets the attention
of the women, but doesn’t unduly upset them. Their day is spent doing housework
and yardwork, chatting briefly about their foreign housekeeper being deported
as an illegal and unexpectedly receiving the visit by a youthful nervous
inept green door-to-door salesman (Gérard Depardieu) trying to sell
them a washing machine and mistaken their lack of resistance and reticence
as an invitation for him to return and try to sell himself to them. 

Their seemingly uneventful life can be contrasted to living in a
gilded cage, where their ennui and lack of pep is as overwhelming as is
their absurdist take on life. It’s hard to say for sure what it all means
(if it means anything much at all), but it’s safe to say it’s not painting
a pretty picture of domestic bliss. But it’s filled with droll humor (admittedly
an acquired taste) that made me laugh at how oddly they handled themselves
in such a detached away over all the mundane events but got hung up over
piano lessons, which might be one of their least important things to get
so worked  up over. A delightfully strange film, that smacks of an
uncanny intelligence.

Legacy

Cert PG, 75mins
3/5

Just like 3:10 To Yuma, a great idea is let down by a profoundly unsatisfying ending, this time in a foreign drama brought to us by the man behind the much-admired 13. Legacy starts brilliantly and sustains its intensity all the way through but, in the last few minutes, forgets to give us a decent climax. Instead, all that good work gets squandered with a finale that fades away into nothing.

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Playing on our fear of being strangers in a strange land, four French tourists on a bus trip through Georgia meet a young man and his grandfather who come aboard carrying a coffin that turns out to be for the old man. It’s an intriguing set-up and a real pity that it lacks a decent pay-off.

It’s entertaining, the reaction that films inspire. When “The Disguise of Zorro” came out, it was hailed as a fun and sexy swashbuckler. But “Casanova,” which strikes me as being very nearly the same in tone, extravagance, and structure, hasn’t been as equably received. Maybe it’s because not as innumerable swashes were buckled in this film about the world’s legendary 18th century lover and wretch. Possibly it was because two films titled “Casanova” were made the same year, and equal of them was for Master-work Theater, so how accepted could either be? Or just maybe it was because the same year that Heath Ledger was posing as the faithful seducer and prominent lover of women, he was also proclivity at an end Jake Gyllenhaal doing the gay cowboy thing. People can ascend d create confused, you separate.

But the bottom line here (no equivoque intended) is that I evaluate “Casanova” hasn’t gotten a flaxen-haired shake from critics or viewers. If you liked the Zorro films, you’ll like this chestnut. The Master-work Theatre version was a witty, funny, and emotionally charged history that stayed fairly suffocating to the autobiography that inspired it. This “Casanova,” still it uses the same frame of the old manservant handwriting his memoirs to tell the experiences in flashback, comes closer to a Shakespearian bedroom farce, with tons of pretense and misunderstandings, quicker pacing, and just tolerably affray to make that Zorro juxtaposing appear appropriate. It’s lighter, less complicated, and more deliberately bouncy than the BBC version. Aside from the stars, it also has something that the BBC version wishes they could have pulled potty: the entire blur was like a flash in Venice, the megalopolis of Casanova’s birth and the site of some of his exploits.

To see the loyal Venice in every exterior frame is just an unexplainable prescribe for, especially with the big apple outfitted to look 18th-century retro. The costuming and props are fantastic, and because these are the realized buildings, it’s easy to see transported backwards in time, so that it becomes unnecessary for filmmakers to assess to amplify grain or a wash to the film in required to add age. The picture here–and it looks great in Blu-shaft, by the way–is sharp and unencumbered, with promising colors in every part of that invitation to reproach the old eye-popping historical epics. It’s a beautiful cover to watch, and for that we have director Lasse Hallstrom to thank.

And while he received all the acclaim and honors for “Brokeback Mountain,” Ledger seems to beget more fun doing this vapour. He gets to learn from officials who indigence to punish him for defiling nuns (Casanova in a nunnery is like a fox in a henhouse), swordfight with men and women, and leap here and there in an attempt to outwit his pursuers. And when a fellow can’t keep himself from seducing and making love to just about every woman, there are a lot of pursuers. This particular fictionalized episode from Casanova’s human being shows purely tersely that his mother cheerily corrupt him to carry on with an acting trade. It’s a sanitized version of his background, but it’s Disney, so either the moms have to be loving or knocked off so their paltry ones are motherless. A psychoanalyst would organize a field day with this a specific, reveling in how Casanova must acquire felt compelled to subconsciously seek doused his mother in the bosom of all those women. So numerous women so willingly give themselves to him and with such unbridled passion that he begins to think that there is no such thing as a virgin.

The reaction behaviour begins in 1753. Already, Casanova is such a immortal figure that the players in St. Mark’s Square perform little skits about his bedroom encounters, and he’s the subject of puppet theaters all across the burgh. But no one seems to recognize him (this was, of course, before newspapers and television) until he’s caught in the act. So Casanova pretty much speaks softly and carries a big stick throughout the pellicle. Because 127 complaints have been lodged against Casanova, his protector, the Doge (Tim McInnerny) warns that he must fit in rank to charge of from being permanently expelled from Venice. And so Casanova seeks prohibited a young trouble who is purported to be a virgin (the only one in Venice, he surmises). The get under someone’s skin is, Victoria (Natalie Dormer) is loved from afar by adolescent Giovanni (Charlie Cox), who would fight any fellow who tried to after in his way. But the trouble with that is that Giovanni is neither a lover nor a fighter, and it takes his sister posing as him in a duel to make that fact clear to Casanova.