"Ballast" is a soft spoken gem (4.5/5)

If there is one issue I have with independent filmmaking it would be its weird desire to make films as quirky as possible. This is most notably accomplished through the creation of off-beat characters who have similar traits as every day people, but only their neurotic traits are amplified by 100. Case and point, "Napoleon Dynamite", a film that sucks its characters out of bizarro world. If these particular characters, who are so colorful and brazen, actually existed they would be deemed a social cancer, but since it's a movie, they're hip. I understand that the goal of an independent film is to be acknowledged in a theater when it's surrounded by films funded by major studios, thus creating caricatures is one way for an indie film to garner some kind of audience. Yet, what I find so disappointing about the indie film scene is that there are very few films that revolve around real, god honest people that get the backing and attention they deserve. As you can probably already determine, "Ballast" is one of those films that was buried.

First off, I must admit that "Ballast" is a film that requires your patience. Instead of investing in big moments and a plot that moves at break neck speed, the film slowly, but surely builds its characters into flawed and relatable human beings. The film, which tells the tale of three individuals ( a mother, her son, and a grocery store owner) coming to grips with a suicide, starts off very slow. We don't know much about our characters, but as time unfolds, the film offers us moments that expose our characters in ways we initially could only assume.  Normally at this point I'd offer a more in-depth plot synopsis, but I'll refrain simply because the film isn't entirely concerned with plot anymore than it's concerned with characterization. Not to mention, laying out what happens in the film would only cheapen the experience of watching these characters go from mere sketches to embattled characters wrapped in flesh and bone.

Each character is as real as you and me, and their lives are amplified even more when they're juxtaposed against the back drop of the Mississippi Delta, a poverty torn piece of land that is as run down as the souls that inhabit the infertile land. Director Lance Hammer and cinematographer Lol Crawley use the landscape as a means to cueing us in our characters and their inner turmoil when we know nothing about them in the first half. Yet for as powerful and draining as the landscape can be, much of the film is dependent on the acting of the principal characters, especially when the film features many dead moments, or observational minutes in which the characters think to themselves. Usually for a film like this, a director would want actors who can carry a scene with next to nothing going on, but "Ballast" goes a different route and has inexperienced locals portray the protagonists. Do these newfound actors chew scenery with the likes of Daniel-Day Lewis or Javier Bardem? No, but they're not asked to be the center of the film; they're just asked to provide some gravity for their respective characters and they do just that, as they bring humble and authentic performances to the film.  Here it is, the rare independent film that features real characters, portrayed by real human beings as they grapple with grief, redemption, and the path to a better life. There are certainly some quirks to the film and the vintage abrupt indie ending, but "Ballast" has a quiet power that is as real as it gets.

My Love for the Cinema

"Film as dream, film as music. No art passes our conscience in the way film does, and goes directly to our feelings, deep down into the dark rooms of our souls."

- Ingrid Bergman

Throughout my life I have started reading numerous books, only to put them down days later without even getting halfway through. This is mostly due to the fact that books are a time investment that I'm not really committed to make. Whether it's 300 or 1,000 pages, a book always seems tedious to me.  Of course, I certainly see the benefits for reading as a means for entertainment and the expression of  one's own imagination. Yet, for as open ended reading can be, it's a long and drawn out medium for me. Sometimes with books it takes pages to accurately depict a tone, establish a character or to even adequately set up a given situation. In the case of film, it's the opposite as they can do all of the above within one scene as they can attack the viewer with a plethora of tools ranging from score, acting, mise-en-scene, and the dialogue (text). If anything, I'd say film does something that reading a book can't do, it attacks the senses.

Salvatore Cascio as Toto in "Cinema Paradiso"

Without a doubt, one can immerse themselves in a book, but with a film, you can truly feel it, and this isn't in the sense of 3-D. With a mixture of special effects and sound, you can be found within a hurricane or a world other than our own. Through a handheld camera and gritty acting we can be placed in a place as real, and as authentic as our own backyard, or our own city. No matter how it's done, film can seemingly drop a viewer into any life, any world, and any situation, and convince you that you're there as an active voyeur experiencing what the characters are enduring. You can feel the sweat dripping down the back of a soldier in a desolate land; you can feel the blast of a rocket ship as it moves at the speed of light. It's a magical perception that I can relate back to the film "Cinema Paradiso" which  is more or less a love letter to the art of film. The film follows the life of Toto, a young Italian boy who becomes infatuated with movies via a theater that plays edited Hollywood and Italian films in his small town. Toto seemingly loves every aspect of film, especially the hypnotizing effect films can have on a viewer, but more specifically he loves the way film makes him feel. It can make him laugh, cry, fearful, etc. The most pertinent thing is it makes him grasp a range of emotions that, for lack of a better phrase, enriches his life.

Needless to say, I share a similar sentiment with Toto. I love films simply because they allow me to  experience emotions, ideas, people, and cultures in various ways as I sit in the confines of a darkened theater. Yet, where Toto fell in love with film as a child, I really didn't become enamored with film until my sophomore year in high school. Hell, I can even whittle it down to one film that ignited my interest and it was Paul Thomas Anderson's "Punch Drunk Love".
 

It was with this film that, for the first time in my life, I took in all of the ingredients that make up a film (score, cinematography, etc.) and realized the potential and profound effect they can have when wrapped into one cohesive bundle. This effect was further exacerbated by films like "Amelie", "Lost in Translation", and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind", as they showed me the infinite bounds a film can possess.

Certainly, I liked movies prior to that point, but not to the extent I do now. Films were merely a distraction then, now they're a form of entertainment as well as an extension of life and a hymn to the very breaths we take. Now I actively seek out films from the past, from Fellini to Hitchcock,  as well as those due in the near future from film's latest auteurs. This notion is evident of how I no longer view my interest in film to be just a hobby. Initially I did, but now it's a passion that pumps blood through my veins just as much as my heart. And it is this passion that I hope bleeds through each one of my film reviews and any other film musings I may post. For film is my religion and the likes of Tarantino, Truffaut,  and P.T. Anderson deliver sermons to me daily. And much like the case of Toto, the Cinema will be an integral part of my life until I can no longer breathe. But, until then, it will be one of the biggest proponents for breathing another second longer.

"La Strada" isn't Fellini's best, but it's a fine feature nonetheless (4.25/5)

I don't know too much about the life and times of Federico Fellini, aside from merely typing his name into the always trustworthy Wikipedia. But, after watching two of his most heralded films, '8 1/2 and La Dolce Vita', I've come to see Fellini as the kind of director whose ambition knows no bounds. This is evident in his creation of two films that are seemingly episodic in nature and surreal in feeling. Certainly the films had themes and characters that ran throughout the film, but never did they feel like every moment was moving in a linear fashion. This disjointed aspect obviously added to the surreal images Fellini put on screen, but I had always wondered if Fellini could tell a straight forward story. After watching "La Strada", one of Fellini's earlier films, Fellini proved he is capable of telling a linear story just as much as he is capable of making a film built around dreams.

Released in 1954, "La Strada" is one of the better examples of the Italian Neorealism scene, as it sympathetically recounts life in post World War II Italy. Granted it's not nearly as focused on the battles Italians faced after WWII as a film like  "The Bicycle Thief", but it certainly uses the war torn context as a starting point for the tragic love story it intends to tell. This notion is obviously quite a far cry from Fellini's most recent films (for lack of a better phrase) that cite Fellini's dreamscape more than they do a broken society. Nevertheless, "La Strada" makes for a nice cornerstone in Fellini's filmography. The film itself tells the tale of a woman, Gelsomina (Giulietta Masina), who is sold off to a gypsy named Zampano (Anthony Quinn). Zampano, a staggering figure, is a man who goes town to town, putting on a show for townsfolk where he breaks chains with his chest and performs Chaplin-esque comedy acts. When performing, Zampano is a man with undeniable charm and warmth, as he works the crowd for their already inelastic income. Yet, when the show is over, Zampano is a brute. With Gelsomina becoming Zampano's sidekick, she is often at the forefront of Zampano's rage as he abuses her both physically and mentally.

Yet, aside from the obvious reasons, this is an issue considering that Gelsomina has the uncanny ability to deliver a form of slapstick comedy that makes Zampano's shtick deeper and much more appeasing for crowds. She is Zampano's golden ticket. Despite all of this abuse, Gelsomina hangs on to Zampano not only because his show allows her a venue to have fun, but also because it provides her with the tools of life (shelter, food, etc.) that her previous life no longer promised. From this comes an infatuation and dependence for Zampano that is ultimately rivaled when Zampano and Gelsomina bring their act to a traveling circus. Upon their arrival into the nomadic circus, Gelsomina suddenly becomes enamored with a high wire performer aptly named 'The Fool' (Richard Basehart) who provides her with not only new ways to perform as a clown, but also with a splash of warmth and importance. Unfortunately though, this leads to what becomes a tragic love triangle as Zampano and The Fool battle one another for Gelsomina and clout within the circus.

With a story like this, it's important to have a set of pathos on hand so the viewer can understand why someone like Gelsomina would be enticed by the monstrous Zampano, as well as someone like The Fool. Without much understanding, the viewer will seemingly scoff at the notion that an abused, enslaved woman would feel the way she does. Fortunately, Fellini's screenplay is full of pathos that allows for an easy understanding of Gelsomina and her feelings. In addition to this, Fellini also provides some humane moments for Zampano as means to not characterize Zampano as cold blooded human being. This is most recognizable through subtle moments, but it's really hammered home in what is surely a sobering ending scene, which will have you questioning the level of sympathy you have for Zampano despite what has transpired over the course of 90 minutes. Fellini's ability to draw out some form of sympathy out of even his most meddling of characters is an indictment of how wonderfully he establishes the film's characters.

Clearly Fellini has a film here that is quite serious, but this doesn't mean he doesn't deliver an entertaining film. In actuality Fellini is able to find a balance point between poignancy and entertainment,  as he crafts scenes boiling over with energy just as well as he crafts scenes bubbling with drama. Much can be attested to the screenplay, but the film's and Fellini's balance point hinder on Masina's performance, which needs to be able to jump between a variety of emotions and acts at the drop of a hat. Needless to say, Masina delivers a wonderful performance that channels the physical strength of a Charlie Chaplin, as well as the emotional depth of a Hepburn. I think what is even more astonishing is that Masina accomplishes all of this mostly with her body language and the simple contortions of her face. Hell, at times it just seems all she has to do is blink and her eyes will tell a different story than the moment before. She without a doubt possesses a great range, and the same could be said for the film as a whole. It has a wonderful balance that can switch between slapstick comedy and melancholic moments with great ease. Never do I get the sense it can't do one or the other, nor both at the same time. It's always able to move freely as it pleases. This should be attributed to the performers and Fellini's ability to create complex characters within a simplistic tale. I don't believe this is Fellini's best film, but it's certainly evidence that Fellini can create a rich film without a dissonant narrative.