garth jennings' SON OF RAMBOW (2008)

what is it about a child's mind that turns the countryside into a rolling symphony of righteous, invisible explosions when viewed through the window of a moving car? that turns a scarecrow at midday into a conniving foe, or a red necktie into a triumphant, bloody sweatband? Son Of Rambow is the rare sort of film about children that manages to mine these details convincingly, and put them to consistent use. because its protagonists lives are at times uncomfortably real, imagination isn't anything so simple as a momentary escape; it colors their behavior, and emboldens them.

soon after we first meet Will Proudfoot (Bill Milner), his teacher dismisses him from class as they prepare to watch a documentary film. a member of the culture-resistant Christian Brethren sect, he is forbidden from watching television, and instead sits in the hall filling a notebook with colorful sketches until a well-thrown tennis ball introduces him to the school's resident ne'er-do-well Lee Carter (Will Poulter). the two tenuously hit it off -- Will enticed by the novelties of secular childhood, Lee fumbling with the prospect of much-needed friendship. later that afternoon, a bootleg of Sylvester Stallone's First Blood becomes Will's first and only taste of popular culture.

the bootleg is Lee's own work (on behalf of his brother/erstwhile guardian), shot with a spanking, bulky new VHS camcorder. (among other things Rambow is, from its music and fashions to its style and sensibility, a graceful re-creation of mid-80s Britain.) but the camera serves another purpose in Lee's life, as he occupies his free time aspiring to a BBC contest for young filmmakers, and soon forces Will to be his star. (such is the dynamic of their friendship, even as it evolves; Will himself is heartbreakingly eager to forsake his upbringing, but Lee's Nelson Muntz complex keeps their relationship straddling a line between earnest affection and instinctive bullying.) and thus the fantasy-laden "Son Of Rambow" is born, first on Will's page and then through Lee Carter's lens. then, as one might expect, things begin to get in the way.

high concept aside, Jennings and filmmaking partner Nick Goldsmith don't seek to do too much more than celebrate the dramatic family comedy, and their smart script gets them most of the way there by itself; it's alternately fanciful and melancholy, both dignified and freewheeling, never acknowledging that these qualities too often stand at odds with each other. but it's also fascinating in the ways it chooses to augment and undermine genre conventions: though it's clear, for instance, that the traditionalist Brethren are obstructing Will's happiness, the film deigns to neither contrived malevolence nor apologism. why? because that's character, not plot. the same goes for Lee's nascent kleptomania, and the bad influence it casts on Will. as they leave a store, ill-gotten wares nearly spilling from their coats, we cringe for the impending reprisal, but none comes; why, after all, bend events for the sake of judgment?

the film's style is impressive in the same subdued way. there are scattered sequences animated to complement Will's wandering imagination, and the bulk of the filmmaking scenes are tinged with gloriously cartoony physical humor. but despite their music video background and their cluttered, well-meant debut The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, Jennings and Goldsmith (together known as Hammer & Tongs) generally imbue the rest of Son Of Rambow with a handsome, patient tone that persists even through a goofy French exchange student subplot and glorious bits of throwaway wit, turning what could have been merely cutesy and indulgent into something far more accomplished.

as for the boys' movie? it's to Hammer & Tongs' further credit that the novelty of their film-within-a-film settles comfortably into the backseat once the story draws us in, and it's in this sense in particular that Rambow tops fellow MTV escapee Michel Gondry's vexing but similarly conceived Be Kind Rewind. both are about friendship, fictions, collaboration and democratized expression, but Rewind was all concept, blindsiding its audience with a careless, inept frame for VHS shenanigans; with Rambow the delicately gangly British boy playing "Rambow" might put people in the seats, but what'll keep them there is one of most charming, worthy family films in recent memory.

woody allen's CASSANDRA'S DREAM (2007)

it’s not easy being a Woody Allen fan. American cinema’s comic laureate has released a film practically every year since his 1969 debut Take The Money And Run, running the gamut between ribald gag-a-minute comedies and philosophically smothering chamber dramas as he carved out a body of work as curiously personal as it is significant. a handful of his films are among the all-time greats, and at least fifteen more aspire closely to greatness. but several others are just okay. and, to be very honest, an increasing number are damned dreadful. such is the curse of productivity.

in 2005, however, Woody’s diminishing batting average was unexpectedly bolstered with the home run that was Match Point, a sharp, wicked tale of luck and murder set across the pond from his beloved New York City. besides being better than anything he’d made in at least half a decade, the film exhibited an encouraging restlessness in Allen’s craft, and at the age of seventy he proved he could still surprise his audience. was it his newest muse, Scarlett Johansson, or perhaps the United Kingdom itself, that so inspired him? his subsequent film, the middling Scoop, suggests not. so perhaps it was the straightfaced, low-key crime drama?

the answer, for better or worse, lies in Cassandra’s Dream, Match Point’s opposing bookend in his British trilogy. the film centers around Ian and Terry Blaine (Ewan McGregor and Colin Farrell), two lower middle class South Londoners with a propensity for living beyond their means: Terry chases spurts of good and bad luck to the dog tracks and high-stakes private poker games, while Ian daydreams of hotel investments and woos a beautiful actress with optimistic lies. as the chasm between means and aspirations expands, their successful Uncle Howard (Tom Wilkinson) blows into town with a dark proposition dressed up in language of generosity and family loyalty: a former associate is preparing to testify regarding unsavory business practices, and must be dealt with. capital D, capital W.

and thus the brothers Blaine are faced with a tough decision, and its consequences reverberate through the rest of the film: one brother tries to cope with guilt and fear, the other with their absence. superficially, Cassandra’s Dream echoes Match Point in its form: Allen again plays the film straight (he stays behind the camera, for one) and pulls off another impressive exercise is style and restraint. in content, however, the film is much closer to 1989’s Crimes & Misdemeanors, an earlier masterpiece dealing with the spiritual implications of murder gone unpunished.

sadly, Cassandra’s Dream lives up to neither. one of the main problems is the characters: as with Match Point, he has little trouble bridging the cultural divide, but here the added problem of social class proves trickier; Allen has his heart set on nuance and realism, but his scripting undoes him, taking little care to disguise what amounts to a poored-down version of his typical milieu. this becomes a serious problem as the film progresses, as the story and its psychology hinge entirely on Ian and Terry’s desperation, but time and time again their plight rings untrue, and so the events in motion around them carry the weight of contrivance.

even worse, the film’s conscious echoes of Crimes & Misdemeanors end up working against it as well, if only because C&M is a much more definitive piece of work; Allen borrows against his own ideas a little too enthusiastically, and though Terry’s plight adds another dimension to the struggle, his weakness seems somehow affected and dramatically insufficient. Ian’s arc does push the story into pulpier territory than C&M dared tread, and the film is engaging throughout, but it’s hard to ignore the soft hum of a coasting filmmaker, especially by the film’s abrupt, unsatisfying finale, a small wonder of boring irony.

ah, but then, I’m only rough on Woody because I love him so. (this isn’t an uncommon affliction among Allen apologists.) Cassandra’s Dream is still in many regards an impressive 38th feature film by a onetime standup comedian, branching out confidently as it does into unfamiliar territory that proves just slightly beyond its grasp. and as much as Match Point has probably spoiled fans into hoping he’s got another ace up his sleeve, for the moment it’ll suffice to be quietly thankful that he’s still making stabs at greatness amidst a slow decline of recycled whimsy. see you next year, Woody.

(from the KNOXVILLE VOICE)