The Difficulty of Screening Good Intentions

Similar in many ways to Alejandro González Iñárritu's Babel (2006), this is an ambitious attempt to examine both the breakdown of the traditional family and the growing gulf between the world's richest and poorest people. Yet, while Moodysson ably stages scenes in New York, Thailand and the Philippines, he doesn't always succeed in exploring his complex themes with much depth. Consequently, the action ends up drifting into emotive melodrama, whose contrivance is compounded by excessive exposition and platitudinous dialogue.

Online gaming tycoon Gael García Bernal is loathe to leave surgeon wife Michelle Williams and seven year-old daughter Sophie Nyweide to private jet to Bangkok with business partner Tom McCarthy. But there's a lucrative contract to be signed and he knows he is leaving his family in the capable hands of Filipino nanny Marife Necesito. However, Bernal becomes increasingly troubled by the poverty he witnesses in the Thai capital and he escapes to a beachside bolt-hole to do some serious thinking.

Meanwhile, an ER case involving a young boy who has been stabbed by his mother arouses Williams's maternal instinct and she tries to lure the precocious Nyweide away from the nurturing Necesito by purchasing an expensive telescope. However, Nyweide would rather continue her Tagalog lessons and attend services at Necesito's church and Williams slumps into a petulant bout self-pity just as Necesito has to rush home to be at the bedside of 10 year-old son Jan Nicdao, who has been attacked while trying to earn the money he hoped would allow his mother to return permanently to care for his unhappy younger brother, Martin Delos Santos.

Moodysson ably cuts between the storylines and uses cinematographer Marcel Zyskind's slick images to draw telling contrasts between the luxury Soho apartment and the rickety Filipino shanty and between Bernal's five-star hotel room and the seedy bar where he encounters sex worker Run Srinikornchot, with whom he spends an idyllic day after she comes to thank him for giving her cash without requiring her services. However, this episode highlights one of the picture's major problems, as neither Bernal nor Williams is particularly sympathetic and Moodysson overplays the extent to which they exploit Developing World mothers who are making genuine sacrifices in order to give their children the necessities that the millionaire Manhattanites take for granted.

Indeed, even the film's title suffers from this over-emphasis, as it refers to the $3000 fountain pen inlaid with mammoth ivory that McCarthy gives Bernal to celebrate the upcoming deal and which he leaves as a parting gift for Srinikornchot, who only receives a few coppers for it from a hawkish pawnbroker. That said, Moodysson's socio-political points are often better made with ironic visuals than laboured speeches, most notably when Bernal inhales designer oxygen while surveying the smog-hazed city, when Necesito buys Delos Santos a basketball stamped `Made in the Philippines' and when Maria del Carmen takes grandson Nicdao to a vast rubbish tip to show him the kind of humiliating scavenging he has been spared by his mother's efforts abroad.

Clearly, therefore, this is a film with its heart in the right place. But such is its sentimental simplification of the effects of globalisation that any fleeting moments of authenticity are too often swamped by heedless superficiality. By contrast, Moodysson's compatriot, Ruben Östlund, shows how to cinematicise good intentions in his own multi-stranded scenario, Involuntary. Tackling the perils of internet chatrooms, binge drinking and peer pressure, this is a droll ensemble drama that explores declining moral standards in contemporary Sweden.

The opening vignette centres on ageing birthday boy Villmar Bjorkman, who soldiers on gamely after being hit in the face by a firework so as not to spoil the celebration that his family has taken so much trouble to organise. The most disturbing incident, however, involves Gothenburg teenagers Sara Eriksson and Linnea Cart-Lamy, who love to strike provocative poses for their webcam. But it's a wild night partying that ultimately lands them in trouble, as Cart-Lamy is left insensible at the roadside by her so-called friends, while Eriksson accepts a life home from a stranger.

However, Östlund is also keen to point out that grown-ups also face crises of conscience and confidence, with morally upright teacher Cecilia Milocco fighting a losing staffroom battle after accusing a colleague of bullying, twentysomething Olle Lijas feeling the odd man out at a raucous rural reunion and famous actress Maria Lundqvist allowing a small boy to take the blame when bus driver Henrik Vikman refuses to resume a journey until someone owns up to vandalising his onboard washroom.

The latter incident particularly benefits from Östlund's quirky wit and unconventional framing, with Lundqvist's discomfort being emphasised by the vehicle's claustrophobic interior. Yet if this segment smacks of Todd Solondz's patented brand of squirm-inducing voyeurism, the remainder of bears comparison with Michael Haneke's Code Unknown (2000), which examined similarly conflicted lives across the continent with a muscular humanism. But, while Involuntary is occasionally unsettling and frequently bleakly hilarious, Östlund's rigorous detachment sometimes makes it difficult to ascertain precisely where he and co-writer Erik Hemmendorff stand on each dilemma.

Rikki Beadle Blair, the writer, director and star of Fit, leaves viewers in no doubt what statement he wishes to make in this lively adaptation of his anti-homophobia stage hit. His approach may not always be subtle. But this is, nevertheless, an engaging insight into entrenched attitudes to homosexuality in inner-city Britain.

Arriving at a London college to teach drama and dance, the openly gay Beadle Blair quickly discovers that the disaffected underachievers in his class have considerable problems with their sexual identities. Tomboy Lydia Toumazou likes nothing better than playing basketball with her brothers and hanging with glamorous mixed-race friend Sasha Frost. But, while her classmates are convinced that Toumazou is a stereotypical butch dyke, it's Frost who is in love with Jennifer Daley at the youth club she has started attending without telling her unthinkingly prejudiced parents.

Toumazou also finds acceptance within the group and her new-found confidence is matched by that of Duncan MacInnes, the class nerd who relies on football ace Ludvig Bonin to protect him from the terrible trio of Jay Brown, Jack Shalloo and Stephen Hoo, who make his life a misery (even though Hoo has decidedly mixed feelings about the bullying). However, when Katie Borland begins to show an interest in him, both the devoted Bonin and the confused Hoo have to find other outlets for their emotions.

Bullishly played by a willing ensemble, this may not always be the most convincing of dramas. Episodes like Hoo suddenly deciding to trust Beadle Blair's civil partner Michael Warburton with his most closely guarded secret strain credibility, while too many peripheral characters border on caricature. It's also stretching a point to suggest that this gang of misfits and rebels would consider BFI Southbank as their rendezvous of choice, most notably for Frost's misguided straight date with gauche hunk Jason Maza.

However, Beadle Blair keeps the action moving as slickly as the dance routine he teaches to his students and only occasionally misses his step with awkward moments like Toumazou's crash course in LGBT jargon. Moreover, he encourages acceptance of self and others without resort to preaching. Thus, while this never quite escapes its theatrical origins and always feels more like a plea for tolerance than a slice of everyday life, it's still highly entertaining and, hopefully, will also prove effective in changing minds.

Yadi Sugandi's Red & White also seeks to educate. But this shamelessly patriotic account of the resistance mounted by Indonesia's Republican Army to the Van Mook offensive launched by the Dutch in the summer of 1947 feels more like a piece of wartime propaganda than a collected assessment of a 60 year-old conflict. Consequently, while this first entry in a proposed Freedom Trilogy has been solidly made, it's unlikely to find a wide audience.

Having witnessed the murder of his family and the wanton destruction of their home by the same Dutch troops who had so cravenly surrendered to the Nazis seven years earlier, Doni Alamsyah treks from North Sulawesi to the Republican Army's training base in Central Java. He is accepted on the insistence of the tough sergeant major who recognises his pugnacity. However, the Christian country boy quickly comes to blows with Muslim city slicker Darius Sinathrya, who steals his crucifix while he is showering and lands him and fellow cadet T. Rifnu Wikana on a punishment detail.

Sinathrya has joined up with best friend Zumi Zola and they share a billet with Lukman Sardi, a teacher who has left wife Astri Nurdin at home without knowing she is pregnant. Zola is similarly concerned for the safety of sister Rahayu Saraswati and he is relieved to see her at a party thrown to mark the class's graduation. However, a dastardly night attack decimates the barracks and Sardi not only finds himself commanding a rump unit, but he also has to find a way of getting Nurdin and Saraswati out of the battle zone.

Following on from the rather formulaic boot camp montages, the retreat through the jungle is more compelling, especially as Sinathrya is branded a coward after Zola is shot and Sardi has to draw on the memory of a student killed by the Japanese to find the courage necessary to shoulder the burden of responsibility. But the depiction of Dutch war crimes is as clumsy as the ease with which a supply convoy is ambushed on a country bridge by the rookies and a handful of resourceful peasants.

This presentation of the enemy as coarse stereotypes seriously undermines any claim the picture might have to authenticity. The colonial forces evidently committed atrocities. But Chinese director Lu Chuan demonstrated how to balance horror and heroism in City of Life and Death and screenwriters Conor and Rob Allyn should surely have made much more of the impact (alluded to in an opening caption) that five years of German occupation had had on the Dutch military psyche. The torching of villages and the slaughter of civilians is still shocking. But had Sugandi adopted the more nuanced approach used to show the religious tension between Alamsyah and Sinathrya, he might have produced a more considered memoir of a fascinating, but neglected topic.

Rex Bloomstein focuses on another subject deserving of greater attention in This Prison Where I Live. However, this exposé of Burmese tyranny similarly suffers from tonal problems, as what might have been a powerful short is teased out to feature length by the inclusion of footage following in the footsteps of Zarganar, a courageous comedian whose support of the 2007 Saffron Revolution and persistent satirical sniping at the ruling generals earned him a 59-year jail sentence.

Bloomstein had visited the comic prior to his arrest and the interview in Zarganar's apartment reveals much about his achievements as a stand-up, playwright, actor and movie director, as well as his commitment to the cause of democracy. Moreover, a trip to a play rehearsal in Rangoon's YMCA discloses the amount of surveillance to which Zarganar was subjected by the secret police and their battalions of spies. But rather than release this encounter as a tribute to a brave critic of an indefensible regime, Bloomstein decides to involve German comedian Michael Mittermeier, who not only agrees to fund the project, but also to accompany Bloomstein to Burma in order to follow in Zarganar's footsteps and try to find out how he is coping with his incarceration.

There's no denying the courage of Bloomstein, Mittermeier and their crew, as they pose as tourists while attempting to arrange meetings with Zarganar's family and friends. But, as no one was willing to appear on camera, Bloomstein is reduced to filming Mittermeier's reactions to Zarganar's old haunts and while Mittermeier clearly finds the experience emotional, his improvised insights are hardly revelatory or politically trenchant. Indeed, his eulogies to an inspiration he has never met become increasingly unfocused as the unit travels north to Myitkyina to be as close as possible to the prison where Zarganar is being held on his 50th birthday.

With cloak-and-dagger negotiations with shady fixers taking place off screen, the expedition becomes more akin to a reckless stunt than a profile designed to raise consciousness about Burma's appalling human rights record. Indeed, Bloomstein's decision to take a car up to the prison walls that Mittermeier has just filmed at considerable risk from the back of a motorcycle seems perversely foolish and the inclusion of the desperate flight from a snooping informer feels a touch self-aggrandising.

Zarganar is clearly a remarkable character and his crusade is nothing less than heroic. But one fears that this sincere, but deeply flawed documentary is going to do little to promote his cause. Conversely, Out of the Ashes seems set to do wonders for Afghan cricket.

Sport was banned in Afghanistan under the Taliban and even after the restrictions were relaxed following the 2001 invasion, the country lacked a proper cricket pitch until 2008. The fact, therefore, that this rejuvenated nation reached this year's 20/20 World Cup is all the more remarkable. But it's while watching Timothy Albone and Lucy Martens's documentary that the true scale of this achievement becomes apparent.

Against the wishes of his jihadist father, Taj Malik Aleem began playing cricket in the Kacha Gari refugee camp in Pakistan with his brothers Hasti Gul and Karim Sadiq. In 2001, Taj became the coach of the Afghan national cricket team and, despite the poorest facilities, it developed sufficiently to compete in the ICC Division Five tournament in Jersey in the summer of 2008. Travelling with Mr Massoud, a government official who believes that sport encourages better inter-tribal relations, the squad includes Taj's siblings, captain Nawruz Mangal, star player Ahmad `Haji' Shah and body-building debutant Gulbadeen.

They travel by plane to Dubai, where Taj chats to all and sundry in the airport with the same infectious affability that has him giggling at pensioners line-dancing to a live turn in their hotel. But he also means business and morale in the camp slumps after an opening victory against Japan is followed by a resounding defeat by Singapore. All seems lost when they slump to 62-8 chasing Jersey's modest total of 81 in the final game. However, Hasti comes to the rescue with a pugnacious innings and he earns the heartfelt congratulations of Geoffrey Boycott during the award presentation.

Yet within months of arriving home a hero, Taj is replaced by former Pakistani Test player Kabir Khan. Moreover, the willing Gulbadeen is also dropped. But the side progresses from Division Four by beating hosts Tanzania and Hong Kong. It then qualifies for a World Cup showdown against Canada in South Africa by winning the Division Three title after games against Uganda, the Cayman Islands and Argentina. However, with Taj listening on a radio on in his mother's North-West Frontier home, Afghanistan falls agonisingly short. Nevertheless, the team is welcomed home by enthusiastic crowds and Taj is rewarded with an assistant coach's berth, as everyone recognises that none of this would have been possible without him.

After the first version of this compelling underdog saga was seen by cricketing Oscar winner Sam Mendes, it was decided to bring the story up to date, with the International Cricket Council affording Albone and Martens full access to the climactic tournament. However, it's Taj's story that makes this so poignant, whether he is showing off his new national stadium shortly before his sacking, returning to the refugee camp where he defiantly kept the game alive or trying to tune his mother's radio to the BBC after his laptop signal crashes.

Much of the cricket action is rather confusingly presented. But this is not supposed to be a highlights package, but a celebration of the indomitability of the sporting spirit and the courage and vision of an enthusiast who doesn't know the meaning of the word `defeat'.