Parky at the Pictures (DVD 5/3/2015)

For generations, mechanic Alexei Serebriakov's family has owned a two-storey, blue wooden house on an outcrop of the Kola Peninsula in north-western Russia. However, crooked mayor Roman Madianov covets the spectacular views of the Berents Sea and issues a requisition order that will force Serebriakov to move out, along with wife Elena Liadova and the teenage son from his first marriage, Sergei Pokhodaev. Determined to fight his corner, Serebriakov contacts Vladimir Vdovitchenkov, his former army commander who is now a successful lawyer in Moscow.

As the facts of the case are read out with breathless efficiency by the clerk of the court, it quickly becomes apparent that the judge is in cahoots with Madianov and Vdovitchenkov advises his friend that, in the long run, he is probably better off conceding defeat. But Serebriakov refuses to buckle and takes up Vdovitchenkov's offer to have a dossier of incriminating evidence against Madianov compiled by some of his influential friends in the capital. Despite knowing that Madianov is a man used to getting his own way and may well exact cruel revenge, Serebriakov ignores the warning that the tactic might backfire and orders Vdovitchenkov to present his findings.

However, Serebriakov makes a discovery of his own, as Vdovitchenkov and Liadova have been sleeping together and the old friends have a furious row (off screen) before, much to Pokhodaev's chagrin, he decides to pardon Liadova and get on with their lives. Despite easing off because he doesn't want to jeopardise his chances in an upcoming election, Madianov proves less forgiving and has Vdovitchenkov beaten up for blackmailing him. Moreover, he feels emboldened because the local Russian Orthodox priest has informed him that all power comes from God. Thus, he makes a second bid to drive Serebriakov from his property.

Aware that the feud isn't over, Serebriakov goes to collect Liadova from the canning factory where she works. However, the boss hasn't seen her all day and Serebriakovt becomes increasingly concerned because she doesn't answer her phone. He searches the town and finds Liadova's dead body on the beach. As he protests to the priest that things consistently go against him, the cleric reminds him of God's warning to Job: `Can you draw out Leviathan with a fishhook or press down his tongue with a cord?'

Seemingly resigned to his fate, Serebriakov allows himself to be arrested by the cops and makes arrangements for Pokhodaev to stay with friends, as he begins a 15-year jail sentence for murder. Unconcerned by the misery he has caused, Madianov gives orders for the house to be demolished and its shattered frame is left to resemble the skeleton of the beached whale where Pokhodaev used to play. However, after attending a church service, he reminds his son to watch what he does in life, as God is always watching.

Although they are very different film-makers, it is always tempting to compare Zvyagintsev with Andrei Tarkovsky. The inclusion of a spiritual dimension makes the superficial connection seem even stronger. But Zvyagintsev is nowhere near as poetic or metaphysical in his approach. Indeed, this comes closer to Hungarian maestro Béla Tarr's brand of acerbic, long-take realism than Tarkovsky's cerebral, stylised allegorising. Moreover, Zvyagintsev is a cautious critic, whose speciality lies in drawing intense performances out of his actors and making telling contrasts between landscapes and interiors. Thus, even though the entire narrative revolves around the venality that has been allowed to fester since the collapse of Communism, Zvyagintsev takes his pops at Putin in oblique ways, such as having Madianov run the town like a private fiefdom from beneath a presidential portrait and then have the drunken huntsmen use pictures of previous leaders for target practice, while leaving Vladimir Vladimirovich on the wall to allow time to pass its judgement on his deeds.

In discussing the film, Zvyagintsev has alluded to the influence of Fedor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment. But the more significant literary source is Thomas Hobbes's 1651 tome, Leviathan, in which the Magdalen Hall-educated philosopher famous stated that only a commonwealth offering all its citizens a stake in its running can prevent their lives from being `solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short'. This may be an oblique denunciation of the current regime, but it packs a punch without letting the socio-political subtext distract from the very human storyline with its universal themes of greed, betrayal, injustice and the futility of resistance when both fate and faith are in conspiratorial conjunction.

The performances are excellent, with Madianov deftly underplaying his villainy, while Vdovitchenkov's self-serving geniality chillingly reveals that those associated with the Muscovite establishment are just as willing to play dirty as coarse provincial thugs. The only suspect part of Zvyagintsev and Oleg Negin's screenplay is its depiction of Serebriakov's family life, which feels a little too formulaic for a work of this artistic stature. The use of extracts from Philip Glass's 1983 opera Akhnaten (the 18th Dynasty pharaoh who is credited with introducing as monotheism) also feels a touch arch. But Andrey Ponkratov's production design is as impeccable as cinematographer Mikhail Krichman's beguiling use of natural light and colour, while Zvyagintsev's subtle shifts of tone and imposingly melancholic Russian sensibility ensure that this leaves as much of an impression as the biblical sea monster.

Fred Cavayé comes from a photographic background. It's not entirely surprising, therefore, that style takes precedence over content in pictures that owe much to the high-concept action thrillers produced by the Hollywood mainstream. Indeed, Cavayé's Anything for Her (2008) was remade by Paul Haggis as The Next Three Days (2010) and it would be no surprise if Point Blank (2010) and his latest offering, Mea Culpa, followed suit. But, while being able to match the likes of Luc Besson and Guillaume Canet in staging action sequences, Cavayé tends not to tell complex stories. Thus, while his work always pack a punch, it doesn't often make much of an impact.

Before he lost his badge for causing a fatal accident while drunk, Vincent Lindon had been Gilles Lellouche's partner. However, since being released from prison, he has struggled to hold his life together and is now separated from wife Nadine Labaki and their nine year-old son, Max Baissette de Malglaive. Lindon has found work as a security guard with an armoured car company, but he is still troubled by memories of the rainy night that sent him on a downward spiral, when he killed a child and one of its parents while returning with Lellouche from a hard night celebrating the cracking of a difficult case.

By contrast, Lellouche has no regrets, as he polices his patch in Marseilles and Toulon with an uncompromising toughness that sometimes spills over into brutality. He is currently investigating a string of murders, but his path crosses Lindon's once more when Baissette de Malglaive witness a hit in the toilets while attending a bullfight with Labaki and her new beau. Ironically, he had left to arena because he didn't want to see the beast being finished off. But, while he manages to escape, the killers spot him and pursue him as he leaves the police station after giving a statement.

Summoned by Labaki, Lindon joins forces with Lellouche to protect the lad after he is chased into a warehouse. They manage to capture one of the palookas, who reveals that he works for ruthless Slavic mobster Velibor Topic. Determined to protect his family, Lindon raids the armoury at work. But Lellouche warns him that they are dealing with a psychotic with powerful friends and reminds him that he cannot allow him to take the law into his own hands. That said, Lellouche is a maverick who views rules as something to be bent to suit his purpose and he realises that he can use Baissette de Malglaive as bait to lure Topic into the open.

They decide to pay a visit to Topic's nightclub, but their presence is unwelcome and a gun battle ends with the boss's brother lying dead. Taking this personally, Topic vows to kill Lindon and his son and has them followed when they try to get out of Toulon on a TGV train. Lellouche realises they are trapped and tries to stop the express to no avail. However, as he speeds alongside the track, Topic orders his men into position. Lindon struggles with Topic, who manages to wound Lellouche before being thrown on to the track.

Cavayé and cinematographer Danny Elsen make expert use of the industrial landscape around the waterfront and those with fond memories of the TV version of The Sweeney will recognise the classic empty warehouse tropes. But Cavayé and co-scenarist Guillaume Lemans struggle to make the scenario much more sophisticated than one of DW Griffith's silent chases. The sequence in which the spirited Baissette de Malglaive out-runs a speeding scooter is little short of ridiculous, as is the grim coincidence that Topic's is the main casualty of the nightclub shootout. Yet the tackiest moment is saved for the ending, as the dying Lellouche owns up about what really happened during the boozy night that changed Lindon's life and his confession allows his pal to be reunited with his family.

Having respectively headlined Cavayé's previous outings, Lindon and Lellouche know exactly what is expected of them and they play their hands with rugged efficiency. Topic does what is required of him, as the leader of a gang of walking clichés, but too few demands are made on Labaki, which entirely wastes the talented director-star of Caramel (2007) and Where Do We Go Now? (2011). The stuntwork is first rate, as is Benjamin Weill's editing. But those who prefer their arthouse to resemble an 80s Hollywood buddy flick will revel in this muscular, if undemanding timewaster. Nevertheless, the addition of a little wisecracking wit would not have gone amiss.

Two decades have passed since Wong Kar-wai tackled a martial arts subject. But, whereas the fight sequences were almost tangential to Ashes of Time (1994), they are crucial to the opening third of The Grandmaster, the latest in a lengthening sequence of films about Ip Man, the master of the Wing Chun style of martial arts that became famous worldwide, thanks to the efforts of his student, Bruce Lee. Thus far, Donnie Yen has taken the role in Wilson Yip's Ip Man (2008) and Ip Man 2 (2010), while Yu-Hang To and Anthony Chau-Sang Wong have respectively played the eponymous hero in the Herman Yau duo, The Legend Is Born: Ip Man (2010) Ip Man: The Final Fight (2013). In fairness, Wong announced his version in 2002, some five years after he first contemplated the subject while making another treatise on exile, Happy Together (1998). But he has clearly struggled to realise his vision, as the rough cut apparently ran for four hours and the print showing in the UK is 22 minutes shorter than the one that played to domestic audiences.

According to Wong, he wanted to ensure that international audiences could understand the political and cultural nuances in the storyline. But, while he acceded the suggestion of US distributor Harvey Weinstein and added some contextualising captions and a voiceover, Wong has disappointed those who have seen the original by tinkering with the structure and showing too little trust in the viewer's intelligence. Of course, it took Wong until 2008 to arrive at the `Redux' version of Ashes of Time and one can only hope that his intended take on The Grandmaster is released in this country on disc. For now, however, it is only possible to assess what is before us.

The action opens in a dark alley on a rainy night in the southern city of Foshan in 1936, as Ip Man (Tony Chiu Wai Leung) deals balletically with the threat posed by a dozen assailants. In his early forties and very much a man secure in his own skin, he serves as a police officer. As a young man, he was tutored in the martial arts by Chen Heshun (Yuen Woo-Ping) and he now has a contented domestic life with his devoted wife, Zhang Yongcheng (Song Hye-kyo). But Ip is ambitious and, when news breaks that northern Wudang Boxing master Gong Yutian (Wang Qingxiang) is going to retire as the head of the Chinese Martial Arts Association, Ip throws his hat into the ring to succeed him.

Having already appointed protégé Ma San (Zhang Jin) as his northern heir, Gong is aware that Ip will protect his legacy in the south. Surviving a severe testing by a trio of rivals, Ip demands a showdown with Gong. However, their joust is dominated by the cut and thrust of a philosophical debate and Gong is happy to pass on his mantle on declaring Ip to be the winner. But Gong's daughter, Er (Zhang Ziyi), is furious that her father's escutcheon has been besmirched and she challenges Ip to a duel. Agreeing that kung fu is about precision rather than power, Ip accepts Er's ruling that if either damages anything in the room during the bout they should disqualify themselves. No quarter is asked or given during the intense duel. It's clear that there is as much attraction as rivalry between the opponents. Thus, when Ip breaks a step, he graciously accepts defeat and jokes that he will one day demand a rematch.

Within a few months, however, the pair are forced apart by the Japanese invasion from Manchuria and Ip is compelled to abandon his plan to relocate his family to the north. Struggling to make a living, he descends into poverty and is unable to prevent his daughters from dying of starvation. Zhang also succumbs to a lingering illness. But things are no easier for Er, as Ma San proves to be a quisling and he murders his mentor. Er demands justice from the elders, but they insist she should devote herself to finding a husband and raising a family rather than seeking vengeance.

By the time Er encounters Ip again, she has become an opium eater in Hong Kong. It is Chinese New Year's Eve in 1950 and Ip has fled the Communist Mainland in the hope of setting up a martial arts school in the British colony. He has had to see off competition from several younger masters and he urges Er to open an institution in her father's name. However, she no longer has the appetite for the ancient art and laments that many styles have died out over the centuries and hers is just another one on the list. But a flashback reveals that she was seriously injured during a confrontation with Ma San at a railway station exactly a decade earlier and, as a result, she declines Ip's request for a rematch.

Two years later, Ip and Er meet again. She admits that she has always loved him, and, in regretting that she has failed to make the most of life, pleads with him not to make the same mistake. Ip reveals in a closing voiceover that she died shortly afterwards, having become addicted to the opium to ease the pain of the wounds incurred in dispatching Ma San. A closing montage shows Ip's school prospering, as the likes of Bruce Lee popularised his variation on Wing Chun. He died in 1972, just a year before his most famous pupil.

Anyone expecting a chop socky movie is going to be bitterly disappointed by this reverential homage. Indeed, even those hoping for a reliable screen biography will feel somewhat short-changed, as Wong and co-scenarists Wu Haofeng and Zou Jingzhi devote as much time to philosophy as fact. Wu has explored the theory of fighting styles in his own directorial outings, The Sword Identity (2011) and Judge Archer (2012). But, while the first third is filled with thrilling choreography by Yuen Woo-Ping (whose credits include the Wachowskis' Matrix trilogy and Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 2000), there is surprisingly little action in the remainder of a film that elects to focus on an unspoken affair of the heart with an entirely fictional character. Wong has ventured into similar territory before and he is clearly more at home here than he is in the more abrasive sequences. Yet, he imposes his own artistic personality on the opening battle, as he uses slow-motion for dramatic and kinetic effect to capture the power of each punch, kick and impact. Moreover, he conspires with cinematographers Philippe Le Sourd and Song Xiaofei and editors William Chang and Hung Poon to eschew the method of flash-cutting shakicam footage that deprives the viewer of spectacle in the specious name of viscerality.

Nathaniel Méchaly and Shigeru Umebayashi's score reinforces the propulsive nature of the initial action. But it becomes increasingly melodramatic as the story shifts to concentrate more on Er than Ip. Zhang Ziyi and Tony Leung (a Wong stalwart who played the blind swordsman in Ashes of Time and teamed with Zhang in Wong's 2004 study of elusive desire, 2046) make a combustible couple, with the fire in the former's eyes often compensating for Leung's more studied melancholy. But the actors are often overshadowed by William Chang and Alfred Yau's production design, with the Golden Pavilion being a particularly magnificent creation that superbly conveys the seedy grandeur of 1930s China. And, therein lies the problem with this beautifully made film that too often catches the eye without engaging the mind or spirit.

At one point, Ip declares: `Kung fu equals two words: horizontal and vertical. The one lying down is out; only the last man standing counts.' Wong deserves credit for going the distance with a project that has taken 16 years to realise. But this won't be remembered as one of his best works.

On 21 November 1811, the Romantic writer Heinrich von Kleist shot Henriette Vogel before taking his own life on the banks of the Kleiner Wannsee in Berlin. He regarded this suicide pact as a supreme act of Reason, in that it eliminated the caprice of fate and gave him complete control over the moment and manner of his demise. Yet, as Jessica Hausner suggests in Amour Fou, this may not have been a grand gesture inspired by uncontrollable passion or intellectual subversion, but a tragedy rooted in drawing room farce. However, by taking so many liberties with the facts, Hausner shifts the emphasis away from the muddle motives of the doomed couple and on to the fatalistic flaws of the Germanic psyche.

While attending a salon in the Prussian capital, Henriette Vogel (Birte Schnoeink) is both shocked and enticed by a recitation given by the poet, playwright and novelist Heinrich von Kleist (Christian Friedel). He is weary of life and tries to convince his cousin Marie (Sandra Hüller) to join him in death. However, she is as uninterested in his proposition as she is in his protestations of undying love and leaves him to mingle with the other guests. Henriette is drawn to Von Kleist and the scandalous reputation of his 1808 novella, The Marquise of O. But she is taken aback when he broaches the subject of suicide, as she leads such a comfortable existence with her husband, Friedrich Louis (Stephan Crossmann), and their daughter, Pauline (Paraschiva Dragus).

Herr Vogel is a civil servant and frequently finds himself having to defend the monarchy's decision to free the serfs and impose taxes upon the aristocracy. His mother-in-law (Barbara Schnitzler) feels particularly betrayed and never misses an opportunity to scold Vogel and curse the French for the revolution that has allowed the lower classes to get ideas above their station. Disliking confrontation, Henriette starts fainting on a regular basis and the local doctor (Holger Handtke) concludes that she is suffering from a nervous condition. When she shows no signs of recovering, however, Vogel consults a mesmerist, who declares that she can only be helped through a lengthy course of treatment. But, when the results come back from a series of medical tests, the doctor announces that Henriette is suffering from an incurable stomach tumour.

Afraid of wasting away and dying in agony, Henriette seeks out Von Kleist and informs him that she is willing to be his partner in death. On discovering the reasons for her decision, however, he is bitterly disappointed and lectures her on the need for purity in her yearning for oblivion. Nevertheless, he accepts her offer and they travel to a country inn with the intention of leaving life while getting back to Nature. But, when they venture out of their room for supper, they are recognised by Adam Müller (Peter Jordan), who engages them in conversation under the impression that they have sought out rural sanctuary for an amorous tryst. Feeling that Müller's presence has cheapened their design, the pair agree to return to the city.

A few days later, Von Kleist bumps into Marie and pleads with her to accept his love and reconsider her decision about ending it all at his side. However, she announces that she has become engaged to a Frenchman and he shares his frustration with his friend, Ernest von Pfuel (Sebastian Hülk). But Von Kleist's situation worsens when his aunt contacts him with the news that she is cancelling the stipend she pays him, as her own finances have been compromised by the death of Queen Luise. Furthermore, his sister tells him that she is also going to stop sending him money, as she doubts his literary talent and believes the time has come for him to earn an honest living.

Several weeks pass without Henriette seeing Von Kleist and she complains to her husband that she considers his behaviour to be boorish and immature. Yet, when they meets again at a soirée, Henriette waltzes with Von Kleist, even though Vogel is clearly hurt by her enjoyment. However, even though he informs her that he would not stand in her way if she wanted to be with another man, Vogel remains devoted to his wife and seeks out a surgeon in Paris who could cure her ailment. But Henriette insists she would be too afraid to travel across Europe in such dangerous times and sends word to Von Kleist that she is ready to fulfil his wishes.

They journey together to the Kleiner Wannsee in the depth of winter and go for a walk in the snowy woods. Unnerved by his gravitas, Henriette steels herself to tell Von Kleist that she has changed her mind. But he shoots her anyway and panics when the pistol twice misfires when placed against his temple. Eventually, he finds another weapon and kills himself (off screen). Much to Vogel's distress, the doctor informs him that Henriette's autopsy reveals no sign of an ulcer or tumour and he deduces that she must have died for love. As the film ends, Pauline is accompanied by a pianist in the song about the mystic beauty of the blue mountains that had been her mother's party piece.

Strictly staged as a series of exquisite tableaux and played with admirable restraint, this darkly droll chamber drama approaches the conventions of the heritage saga in much the same way as Jacques Rivette in his adaptation of Balzac's The Duchess of Langeais (2007). The earnest delivery of the often eccentric dialogue could mislead viewers into believing that Hausner is taking this distressing occurrence at face value. But everything from the philosophical musings about deities and destiny to the political discussions about class and taxes is subjected to mild ridicule, as Hausner contrasts the manners and mores of the Napoleonic era with her own morally bankrupt recessional times. Nothing is safe from her withering disdain, as the pampered wife content to be her husbands property has her head turned by a chauvinist dreamer and his notorious novella about a raped marquise.

Yet, there appears to be nothing romantic, let alone sexual about the arrangement into which Henriette enters with Von Kleist and this makes her actions all the more peculiar. Friedel and Schnoeink excel. But Hausner remains so detached from her characters that it's difficult to fathom what is going on inside their heads, although she evidently finds the dynamic between the vacuous waif and the self-absorbed milquetoast to be as amusing as it is perplexing. She risks alienating the audience by imposing such an air of austere artifice on proceedings, but the measured tone perfectly suits the solemnity of the subject matter and the deceptive savagery of the script's wit.

Katharina Woepermann's production design and Tanja Hausner's costumes are impeccable, but it's Martin Gschlacht's rigorous use of a static digital camera to record the action in meticulously composed deep-focus medium shots and telltale close-ups that most catches the eye. Some may feel that Hausner has merely Haneke-ised Jane Austen and failed to build upon the good impression made with Lovely Rita (2001), Hotel (2004) and Lourdes (2009). But this is a work of satirical courage, technical assurance and narrative ingenuity that is laced with so much sardonic comedy and teasing ambiguity that its insights into self-delusion, illiberality, loneliness and social ignorance will linger long after each viewing.