We Were Children

We Were Children (or Eravamo Bambini) is a Calabrian-set drama/thriller about childhood trauma and regrets. A group of thirty-somethings return to the small seaside town of their youth to confront a situation that has affected their lives since the moment it happened twenty years before. The film begins with a police patrol coming across a suspicious bloke in the bushes beside a villa one night. He threatens them with a huge hunting knife and is summarily arrested and taken in for questioning. The story unfurls from here, with detained postie Antonio (Francesco Russo) giving the police some details, and flashbacks helping us with others.

These past scenes show a group of friends going through regular teenage issues. Margherita and Gianluca are a sweetly fumbling couple, though Walter might be a spoke in their wheel. Andrea is Margherita's irritating younger brother, and Peppino is the local senator's boy. The sun-tinged Calabrian past is juxtaposed with the more aggressively embittered present, as Gianluca (Alessio Lapice), dealing with anger issues and disciplinary procedures, texts his friends to say he's going back to settle things. Margherita (Lucrezia Guidone) is aimlessly flitting from one deadening sexual encounter to another, and Walter (Lorenzo Richelmy), AKA rapper Inferno, takes out his frustrations on stage. It would seem all of them have unfinished business in San Severino.

The build-up is clever in that it winkles out some threads but doesn't actually give us much until around the start of the third act. The preceding acts flesh out the characters and hint at what might have occurred all those years ago. Peripheral players include grown-up Andrea (Romano Reggiani), as fucked up as his older mates, if not more, and adult Peppino (Giancarlo Commare), the put-upon son of big-wig, Senator Rizzo (Massimo Popolizio). 

I'm keeping things fairly vague, as I feel going into this with little knowledge of the story helps the satisfaction levels. Suffice to say, director and co-writer, Marco Martani keeps a tight rein on proceedings and isn't afraid to go bleak with the story. And when Italian films decide to go nasty, they don't pull many punches. But it's not all gloom, in fact there's one virtuoso monologue near the end that brough a tear to this cynically encrusted eye. The hope amongst the villainy, the chink of light in all the misery.

We Were Children is a cracking drama, full of top level performances and super-smart story structuring. A surprise gem that's still showing in Perth (until Oct 23) and Adelaide (until Oct 22) at the St. Ali Italian Film Festival (in Perth, at the Palace and Luna cinemas). 

See also:

There are hints of Matteo Garrone's fantastic Gomorra (2008) and the cross-cutting timelines reminded me of the underrated Aussie film Wish You Were Here (2012), directed by Kieran Darcy-Smith.

He Ain't Heavy

He Ain't Heavy is the debut feature from Perth writer/director, David Vincent Smith. It's a very prosaic look at addiction and what it can do to the family unit. In this case, the addicted person is Max, played by Sam Corlett. His mum, Bev, is played by Aussie/Italian/British (in that order) screen legend, Greta Scacchi. But the lead, and heart of the film, is Jade, a fantastic Leila George. She's the strung-out, desperate sister of Max, who hits upon a slightly controversial way of trying to get her brother clean.

The confronting opening scene sets up the rest of the film - Jade arrives at a house where a ruckus is occurring, namely Max trying to violently force his way into his mum's house. Eventually, he succeeds and buggers off in Bev's car, only to smash it a few metres down the road. Max scarpers quick smart, mum collapses and is briefly taken to hospital. Jade is at the end of her tether and the chance to clear out her recently passed away Grandma's house gives her and recovering Bev something to do. But this house on the outskirts of the city offers another opportunity.

This is pretty harrowing at times but it's underscored by a warmth, a familial closeness - to begin with between Jade and Bev, but later between all three of the main players. It helps that Scacchi is George's mum in real life (my actual comment to Roly after the film, "They've nailed the casting, George really looks like she could be Scacchi's daughter." Idiot, me). The whole cast is great, though the only other character with more than a few lines is Jade's mate, Tegan (Alexandra Nell), ostensibly making the film a three-hander.

From a Perth perspective, it's interesting to see familiar streets and buildings, but it doesn't have any truck with 'tourism' cinematography - it probably could have been any city in Australia. To Smith's credit, he avoids the provincial look of many Aussie first features, presumably on a tiny budget as well. One minor issue I had was the title. Sure, a certain vintage of folk will understand the reference, but probably not the majority of viewers, and aside from the obvious lyrical connection, it doesn't have much to do with a song from the 70s (or the earlier religious background of the phrase).

While not a particularly original premise, this is a confident, assured film, lifted immeasurably by the performances of George, Corlett and Scacchi. A tight piece of urban Aussie cinema.

He Ain't Heavy opens at the Luna cinema on Oct 16th.

See also:

Another Perth writer/director, Ben Young made his feature debut with the excellent Hounds of Love (2016). Scacchi was in Robert Altman's The Player (1992), with George's father, Vincent D'Onofrio.

Megalopolis

Woof, it was hard work getting through this one. Francis Ford Coppola, paterfamilias of a filmmaking dynasty (many of whom are a part of this mess), has been sitting on this idea for decades. The kernel comes from the Catilinarian conspiracy of 63 BCE (thanks again Wikipedia) where a Roman politician, Catalina attempted to overthrow Cicero. By transposing this story over the crumbling American Empire, Coppola is biting off a lot. You'd think if anyone can chew all this, it'd be this guy, who not only gave us the Godfather films, The Conversation and Apocalypse Now, but also paved the way for the new wave of young tearaways of US cinema in the 1970s and 80s. George Lucas, Brian De Palma, Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg, among others, all owe some debt to the ground-laying of Coppola.

So what happened with Megalopolis? There's a film in here but you have to clear away the extraneous clumps of dirt hanging onto the edges of it. For argument's sake, let's say the central premise of tearing down the bloated, corrupt old world and offering a new improved society for the huddled masses has potential. And let's give some props to the lead pairing of Cesar Catilina (Adam Driver) and Julia Cicero (Nathalie Emmanuel) as they have some chemistry going on. But the clumps of dirt will take a wire brush to remove. The dialogue needs fumigating, the pacing is inconsistent and the tone is all over the shop. Some of the esteemed cast play it like they're at the Old Vic; others like they're at Pinewood studios for a Carry On film.

On that cast - Driver seems to have bought into Coppola's 'vision', for better or for worse; Emmanuel tries very hard, and is generally compelling, though she disappears from the screen for lengthy stretches; Aubrey Plaza, as Wow Platinum, and Shia LeBeouf, as Clodio Pulcher, are having a right old lark; Dustin Hoffman, as Nush Berman, is collecting the pay cheque and probably doing a favour for Francis; Jon Voight, as Crassus, is enjoying the ham banquet; the list goes on - Giancarlo Esposito, Talia Shire, Jason Schwartzman, Laurence Fishburne, it certainly shows what pulling power Coppola still has (though sister Shire and nephew Schwartzman probably had little choice). 

But where's the quality writing, like in his earlier work? Because this script is awful - it's all Shakespearean speeches and stagy ruminations on the future of society. As soon as Driver started the 'To be or not to be' soliloquy, I knew where this was headed. To be fair, the direction is slightly better than the writing but it all still seems like it was based on the rambling notes of a stoned uni student who's just come out of a double screening of Metropolis and Things to Come. 

The pseudo-futuristic guff is also strangely reminiscent of that odd Disney (Parks) film with Clooney, Tomorrowland. Unsurprisingly though, I could have done with more of the sci-fi and less of the supercilious proselytising. Maybe this stuff flew in the late 70s when he first conceived of it but I reckon audiences these days might not appreciate all the bloviating.

Look, fair play to the geezer for spunking his own money on this vanity project - honestly, he can do what he wants. I just hope he doesn't expect people to like it. Oh, and it's not the worst film I've seen this week, either.

See also:

ANY of the above-mentioned Coppola films, to remind ourselves of his past greatness. Failing that, I'd recommend seeing nothing for a week or so. Maybe try a factory reset.

Joker: Folie à Deux

Trepidation was the key feeling going into this screening of Todd Phillips' sequel to his 2019 hit Joker.  After a kooky animated opening (made by French animator, Sylvain Chomet), the film begins with Arthur Fleck in Arkham Asylum, waiting for a decision on whether he's fit for trial or not. The events of the first film aren't too far back and a lot of this edition covers the court case - a neat way to bring us up to speed, but also a huge part of this film's issues. You see, I think this whole film is a 'mea culpa' for the first Joker. The court scenes build up to an expected crescendo of action, or at the very least some sort of vindication for Arthur/Joker. But the actual climax is a damp squib, followed by a dramatically undeserved denouement. The whole final third felt like a cop-out. Did Phillips take note of some of the criticism of Joker and plan a filmic apology for all the 'nihilism'? Or had he always planned this kind of absolution? I guess only he knows.

It isn't all bad news, though. The early set-up with Brendan Gleeson's prison guard, Jackie, and Lady Gaga's Lee Quinzel (Harlequin) are tightly edited and well acted. Joaquin Phoenix is great, as always and his wandering mind sequences are reintroduced early on, so there are no sneaky rug-pulls for later. Catherine Keener brings some calm to the show as Arthur's lawyer, Maryanne, and Steve Coogan even gets a run out as sleazy TV journo, Paddy. There's nowt wrong with any of the cast, except that Gotham DA, Harvey Dent is played by a dude who sounds like a young Kevin Spacey, and has a very slappable mug.

Now, my pre-film concerns had a lot to do with the fact that this was being sold as some kind of musical, and how they were going to attempt this had the makings of a multi-car pile-up. In fairness, they just about pulled off that aspect of the movie. Most of the singing and dancing was done within the fantasy bubbles of Arthur's mind and some of the songs were fine - The Carpenters Close to You, Bee Gees To Love Somebody, That's Entertainment from The Bandwagon. Only, it seems that because they scored Gaga, the filmmakers decided to go for broke and pepper the film with musical numbers. By the end, Arthur tells Lee he doesn't want to sing any more. Well, it's a bit fucking late for that, matey.

The bigger problem is that it's a two hour plus film that builds to nothing more than a realisation on Arthur's part that he has done wrong. As his acolytes abandon him, we're left with an oddly empty finale with no real resolution and a wasted character in Lee - are we to believe that she's really so fickle, after all her actions pointed to the contrary? It's a shame Gaga is given such short shrift towards the end, as she's great in this, her charisma shines throughout. 

Unlike the first film, there's precious little evidence of society's downtrodden masses (apart from in Arkham Asylum itself). You could buy the fact that the Joker was seen as some sort of punk saviour from all of Gotham City's filthy rich bigwigs and their corruption. Here, he's just a bit of a loser, his celebrity peaking at the end of the first film and steadily sliding ever since. All the time he's copping shit from the guards, being patronised by lawyers, officials and journalists, even taking a backseat to Lee's forceful antics, we're wondering what he's got up his metaphorical sleeve. Well, aside from his sometimes violent, sometimes debonair flights of fancy, the answer is, in the real world....fuck all. Overall, a sadly missed opportunity and, more egregiously, a waste of a great cast.

Joker: Folie à Deux opens Oct 3rd around Australia.

See also:

Phoenix performs one of the best split-second reactions I've ever seen in Paul Thomas Anderson's uneven Inherent Vice (2014). I also just rewatched Martin McDonagh's brilliant The Banshees of Inisherin (2022), which stars Brendan Gleeson.

(Film stills and trailer ©Warner Bros, 2024)

The Critic

There is an awful lot happening in The Critic, on screen and off. Ian McKellen is the central pivot as snobby theatre critic, Jimmy Erskine, his venomous pen the scourge of many playwrights and actors in 1934 London. The film is based on an Anthony Quinn (not that one) novel called Curtain Call, with apparently one whole plotline (about a serial killer) removed. Patrick Marber (screenwriter of Closer and Notes on a Scandal, as well as many other stage and TV credits) clearly decided to jettison that particular thread in favour of focussing on Erskine and the other players, including Gemma Arterton's actress Nina Land and Mark Strong's Viscount David Brooke, who has just taken proprietorship of the newspaper Jimmy writes for, The Chronicle.

Brooke doesn't really approve of Erskine's writing style, or lifestyle (he's a vaguely closeted gay man who likes a bit of 'rough trade'), so he's under pressure to keep his nose clean. But a scathing, nasty review of Land in her new play brings the first warning, swiftly followed by an arrest for outraging public decency. Erskine is dismissed. Of course, he takes umbrage and plots a honey trap of Brooke using Land as the flower. Betrayals, deceit, and the inevitable death complete the story. It's a surprisingly uneven script from Marber, especially the dialogue - there are some absolute crackers, mixed in with some really clunky stuff. Anand Tucker's direction cleverly lets the performers get on with it and the set design of 1920s London looks suitably austere (and not vast enough to stretch the presumably small budget - after the cast had all been paid, obviously).

Accordingly, the strength of The Critic is in its cast. McKellen's face is so haggard now that it almost operates in different time zones. His facial geography is unaligned, each quadrant doing its own thing at any given moment. Fascinating work. In one scene, Jimmy tells Nina how to act in certain situations and it reminded me of McKellen's great little 'Sir Ian, sir Ian, sir Ian...' bit in Extras. Arterton is also on top form. It must be hard for actors to play 'bad', as she had to do in the first couple of plays, but not ham it up too much. Still waiting for a role where she can show her full range - she's better than most of the stuff she's in. And Strong is probably best on the pitch. He always brings class but here it's gravitas that he leads with, and he's fantastic, in a very unflashy way.

There are some excellent actors that flesh out the film - Romola Garai, Lesley Manville, Alfred Enoch and Ron Cook amongst them -  and David Higgs' cinematography is full of style. The whole film comes off as a bit melodramatic, though, and it teetered on the brink of farce throughout. It felt tonally askew for the most part, but the performances hold the attention when you're wondering if it's going to stay on the rails or not.

A couple of side notes: this was produced by (and dedicated to) ex-Everton FC chairman, Bill Kenwright, who passed away in October 2023. And could this be the last film I see at the beautiful old Windsor Cinema in Nedlands? There's some talk that the owners (not Luna Palace Cinemas, who lease the building) are looking to offload it, marketing the land as having "high density large density future redevelopment options". Hopefully, a campaign to have it heritage listed works out, otherwise it could be the end of this iconic building.

The Critic opens on Oct 3rd at Luna and Palace cinemas.

See also:

You'll find some similarities in Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989), and more still in François Ozon's The Crime is Mine (2023).

Does Sound Heal

This documentary has been in the works for a few years, with Covid proving a hefty stumbling block. It focusses on the work of Tenille Bentley, a musician trying to get to the bottom of the healing qualities of sound and music, specifically in the frequency range. Most music these days is tuned to 440 hertz but Bentley and her En Coda Orchestra play at 432. If this sounds a bit vague, it's purely because I'm a tone-deaf numpty and all this musical jargon is beyond me.

The split between science and the arts is mentioned and the film aims to integrate these fields. There's a satisfying balance between the scientists and professors, talking about brain waves and neuroscience, and the musicians coming at it from a more experiential, more emotional angle. This is one of the doco's strengths - it doesn't actually preach anything to the audience, it's more about informing and recording research.

Another strength is the tightness of the film. Director Dom Giorgi, of Side-B Films, has bags of experience, especially in music docos, and he knows what to leave on the hard drive. It's a very accomplished piece of work that looks and sounds great on the big screen.

The list of interviewees includes; the subject, Tenille Bentley, who has a fantastic voice; Daniel Lane from the Perth Brain Centre; Music Director Mark Coughlan; Neuroscientist Dr. Alan Harvey; Nyungar elder Dr. Richard Walley; Orchestra composer Dr. Stuart James; Music Cognition lecturer Dr. Jon Prince; and En Coda members, January Kultura and Julian Silburn.

The film leads us to the final concert, where a small group of people are wired up and analysed to find how their minds and bodies react to the music, covering several metrics. The surface-scratching of the research hints at more to come from this endeavour and could easily lend itself to a series.

 As Daniel Lane says, 

"We're starting to understand how sound and music affect the brain. If we can learn how certain sounds and music influence people's brains, we could gather information that might help others. That would be a wonderful achievement." 

This seems like just the beginning of a blending of music and science that could uncover some pretty interesting things in the future. 

Does Sound Heal is screening at Melbourne's Cinema Nova on Sep 20th, Sydney's Dendy Newtown on Sep 21st, and Adelaide's Piccadilly Cinema on Sep 22nd.

The Substance

Well, that was some kind of experience. I can't say I loved it, but it certainly left an impression. This second feature from French writer/director, Coralie Fargeat, is a sci-fi, slash satirical black comedy, slash body-horror, and it's quite heavy on the slash. I'm usually not squeamish but part way through, I realised I'd probably had one too many peanut M&Ms. I'd say it was the most uncomfortable viewing experience since.....hmm, You Won't Be Alone or....Triangle of Sadness maybe (for the orgy of vomit)....and I'll throw in Ichi the Killer as well. These were the reactions of the people I saw The Substance with: Tap - Fantastic; Merv - Fucking boring; Yoshi - won't recommend it to others. And the funny thing is, all of them have a point.

Demi Moore plays Elizabeth Sparkle, a faded Hollywood star who has had to resort to doing an 80s style exercise TV show, run by the cartoonish misogynist Harvey (Dennis Quaid). After getting the arse from the show due to her age, she decides to take a chance on a process called The Substance. This formula promises a younger version of you, but there's a catch - you have to timeshare yourself, one week on, one week off, like a bipolar FIFO worker. 

The scene of Elizabeth's initial....metamorphosis is horrific but electric, and the introduction of Margaret Qualley's Sue here is one of the great modern film entrances. At this point in proceedings, the voyeurism is off the charts but I guess that's Fargeat's intention - to revert the male gaze by seeing 'fresh' Sue through the eyes of 'stale' Elizabeth, as an ideal, a better her. Not for a man's sake, but for herself. And who wouldn't want to go back to their younger physical form?

The expected issue arise soon enough - Sue auditions for, and gets the position left vacant by Elizabeth (but can only work every second week, of course). When Elizabeth is conscious, she impatiently sits around the apartment, pigging out and watching TV. Then she 'resurrects' Sue, who goes to work establishing herself as the TV station's bright young thing. And so on, until Sue decides she needs more time than one week on. A little prohibited extension causes some...er...side effects in Elizabeth, who is repeatedly told to be responsible when she calls the dodgy Substance provider. Remember You Are One. Needless to say, things begin to get messier and messier.

So there are lots of influences scattered through the film. It begins with some Kubrick sets (long carpeted corridors from the 70s), borrows a bit from master Cronenberg, and finally goes all Lovecraftian, particularly Nic Cage's odd Color Out of Space. It's a psychological minefield, especially with the 'one person, two iterations' conceit - see the double yolk at the start. The two women (one woman?) are constantly having showers, perhaps trying to cleanse themselves of their constant mistakes. And I'm not really even sure if Sue is a clone, or if she shares Elizabeth's memories, or even if she's more like a child fully grown. 

As far as performances go, Demi Moore is getting a lot of good press for this role, and admittedly, she's taken a risk but I'm not convinced of her talent, never really have been. She come across as vulnerable in the first act but increasingly overcooks it as the film goes on. Margaret Qualley is great though, her CV is becoming really impressive. In short, I thought The Substance started well, but drifted madly to its extreme conclusion. Admittedly, I'd had enough when Sue started getting violent, and I'd say it was around this point that Fargeat began to clutch at a focussed climax. Sadly, I don't think it came together, but other opinions are available. 

The Substance opens at the Luna and Palace cinemas from Sep 19th.

See also:

David Cronenberg's Existenz (1999) is similarly visceral and Stanley Kubrick's The Shining (1980) shares design and the 'double' theme with this film.

SPOILERS IN POD!!

Speak No Evil

Speak No Evil is a remake of a Danish psychological thriller of the same name (or Gæsterne in Danish) from 2022. James Watkins directed and adapted the script from Christian and Mads Tafdrup's earlier film and tweaked just enough to plop it in the same bucket as The Vanishing (U.S. remake). Seeing this version on its own merits is fine but I'm guessing if you've seen the original (I haven't), you may feel slightly deflated or energised, depending on your sensibilities. For the record, I had a blast with this. It's a clever genre film that satirises societal norms and avoidance of conflict and all participants are bang on it.

The story runs that a regular American couple with a young daughter meet an English couple with a son on holiday in Italy. They get on well and promise to catch up when they get back to England. The Americans are having some domestic problems and see an invitation to Devon to visit the holiday couple as a good chance to recharge. Mackenzie Davis and Scoot McNairy play the circumspect Louise and Ben, James McAvoy and Aisling Franciosi are more 'loose' as Paddy and Ciara. The kids Agnes and Ant (Alix West Lefler and Dan Hough) hold their own in this stellar company. 

The script is tight and very funny too. McAvoy is superb as the unhinged Paddy, all bristling machismo but uber friendly, like that pisshead who won't let anyone else buy drinks at the bar. The passive-aggressive parenting disagreements are uncomfortably fantastic and he does great face-work - the multiple characters he played in Split and Glass come in handy here. Davis is equally fine, her uncomprehending eyes say a lot - she mirrors our incredulity at the creeping dread throughout. Franciosi is unsettling (which way will she go when the chips are down?) and McNairy swings between wishy and washy until the climax.

Some of the lines pay off later - for example, at a drunken dinner, Ciara says her and Paddy have been together for 17 years and Louise wonders how old Ciara must have been when they met. The subsequent realisation is truly awful. Incidentally, this weird restaurant scene seems pivotal now to the whole plot - it's here we meet the only other character since the Italian holiday, Mike (Kris Hitchen), and Paddy delivers the Philip Larkin poem, This Be the Verse. It's spine-tingling. There's also a very eye-opening role play that threatens to go too far, and a throw-away moment of comedy as they settle the bill. An excellent sequence.

Look, there are things in this that make absolutely no sense: Did he not notice the keys were gone? Did they have to go back for the bunny? Do Teslas have bulletproof windshields? and more, but the positives vastly outweigh the negatives, even the ending was kind of right for this iteration.

Any film that can boast a Larkin poem AND McAvoy singing Eternal Flame in the most awkwardly sincere way possible gets pretty high marks in my book. Speak No Evil is always tense, often implausible, but never dull.

It opens around the country on Sep 12th - in Perth at the multiplexes, as well as Luna and Palace cinemas.

See also:

This is another Blumhouse production and their most profitable so far is Jordan Peele's Get Out (2017). Another from that stable is Damien Chazelle's Whiplash (2014). Both are brilliant.

(Film stills and trailer ©Universal, 2024)

Daaaaaalí!

This surreal film about the Surrealist painter Salvador Dali is another oddity from the abstruse Quentin Dupieux. He's never short of a batty idea but the strange thing about this film is that it might be his most straightforward work, at least in the subject matter. A print journalist, Judith (Anaïs Demoustier) is chasing an interview with the legendary artist but has trouble tying him down, particularly if she can't provide a film crew. Dali needs to be seen, not just written about.

The story flirts with mortality and fame and is multi-layered in its structure. Dali is played, at different times, by Edouard Baer, Jonathan Cohen, Gilles Lellouche, Pio Marmaï and Didier Flammand, and if there is any method to the madness of who plays him when, it was lost on me. It reminded me of the Dylan film by Todd Haynes, I'm Not There, in this respect, though that was more measured and didn't jump back and forth, if memory serves. There's also the little matter of the unreliable narrator. Annoyingly, the audience is basically urged to mistrust the story, after one too many rug-pulls. But look, that's probably Dupieux's intention.

He's actually starting to assemble solid casts for his little peccadilloes - aside from Demoustier and Lellouche, Romain Duris appears as a film producer. His next film, The Second Act, will have Léa Seydoux, Vincent Lindon and Louis Garrel. I really hope the script does them justice.

After the high water mark of Deerskin and the diverting Mandibles this was a disappointment for me (even the roughly made Rubber had its moments). A few of the performances are well judged - Demoustier and Lellouche in particular looked to be enjoying themselves - but ultimately, Daaaaaalí! is a bit too smug and if it were any longer, I might have fallen asleep. 

Daaaaaalí! is screening as part of the Sydney Underground Film Festival from Sep 12-15 at the Dendy Newtown.

See also:

Dupieux's best work of the ones I've seen has to be Deerskin (2019). And any time I see Lellouche on screen, it gives me the opportunity to recommend Fred Cavayé's fantastic Point Blank (À bout portant) (2010).

Michel Gondry: Do It Yourself

This is an engaging, relatively fluffy documentary about French filmmaker, Michel Gondry, directed by his regular assistant, François Nemeta. As such, it comes across as a bit of a fawning love letter to a genius. This may sound like damning with faint praise but it's a pretty infectious watch, mainly due to Gondry's sheer likeability. I can't imagine this bloke angry, and it's almost a twist when he marginally raises his voice in one section where he's directing a scene from Mood Indigo.

Gondry started his arts career as a drummer in the band Oui Oui, where he made the music videos to accompany their songs. Soon enough, his talent for filmmaking outshone his drumming and he moved on to create clips for other musicians, including Thomas Dolby, Inspiral Carpets, Lenny Kravitz and Terence Trent D'Arby. But it was his association with Björk that propelled him towards stardom, making eight music vids with her, notably Army of Me and Human Behaviour. He was much sought after and moved on to collaborations with the likes of The Chemical Brothers, Massive Attack, Beck, Radiohead, Kylie Minogue, The White Stripes and, famously, Daft Punk, for their Around the World clip in 1997.

He might have kept making only these quirkily brilliant short musical films, if it weren't for a clip of Björk's that was screened in a cinema in London. This (and maybe his friendly rivalry with fellow film clip maker turned feature director, Spike Jonze) gave him the idea to try his hand at making features. An odd debut, Human Nature in 2001, was followed by more music videos, and then his feature masterpiece thus far, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004). 

Gondry seems to do about eight music vids for every one feature and he also found time to open his Amateur Film Factories, a kind of hands-on film course for anyone, around the world. Near the end of the film we see him and Nemata visit the Michel Gondry College, just south of Paris, which he false-brags to Jonze about in an earlier interview. 

The interviews are short and sweet for the most part - notable folk include Minogue, Jack Black, Jack White, Tom Rowlands (of The Chemical Brothers), plus old footage of Kate Winslet and Jim Carrey, as well as more personal chats with Gondry's brothers, François and Olivier. These are interspersed with behind-the-scenes clips of Gondry at work and lots of his imaginative output, especially from his music videos, where I reckon he excels.

Michel Gondry: Do It Yourself is a gentle essay on the workings of a modern day Méliès. It's screening as part of the Sydney Underground Film Festival from Sep 12-15 at the Dendy Newtown.

See also:

Gondry's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) is a near perfect romantic drama. My pick of his clips would have to be: The Chemical Brothers' Let Forever Be (1999), Massive Attack's Protection (1995), Kylie Minogue's Come Into My World (2002), Daft Punk's Around the World (1997) and Björk's Army of Me (1995). Oh, and he also did an episode of Flight of the Conchords. Present.