Chloe, (A Lady) in the Night

Cold. Julianne Moore is cold. Not just in the physical sense - I mean, it is pretty chilly in Toronto, but she's also cold in the more figurative sense. She's cold like the smooth white surfaces of her doctor's office, like the spotless glass walls of her house, like the frosty, uncommunicative marriage she's in. A-ha! The crux of the matter. Catherine doesn't trust her husband David (Liam Neeson), what with him being the tall, handsome, smooth-talking lecturer he is, so she hires a glamourous prostitute she's noticed to test his fidelity for good. But Chloe (Amanda Seyfried) gives Catherine more than she'd planned to pay for.

A vague plot synopsis, like the one found in the film festival's literature, makes Chloe's icy erotica seem coyly alluring. A full plot synopsis might reveal the more tawdry aspects of the film, but what delight there is within Atom Egoyan's latest may well remain within the unfolding, so I'll keep as mum as I can manage. But something doesn't feel right from the start. You can film a cold place but it takes something more to make the film cold itself - and Chloe is too heavily photographed, too close to really appropriate that at all. There's no law that says a film set in Canadian winter has to send chills down the back of your spine, but what Chloe's atmosphere is instead is just a bit vulgar and melodramatic. The music is all swelling piano dramatics, the generic atmosphere a stilted, canned laughter type of place... it's a good thing we've got some nudity to spice things up, really.

No, but Moore and Seyfried aren't bad, exactly - a shame in a way, since this has the elements to make it a fantastically bad picture, but it settles for being merely 'not very good' - and the way events play out between them is certainly the most intriguing and interesting aspect of the film. Moore has never been afraid of exploring aspects of a woman's sexuality - despite continually swearing she'll never do it again, she insisted at the press conference - and here she nicely plays the arc of a woman fighting growing older and rediscovering the sensuality that had been buried beneath routine and disconnection. Seyfried is the bigger revelation, though, with a performance that, before the film takes a strong turn for the brainless, is intriguingly coy about who this woman is and what she wants, and more than anything proves that this is a young woman with incredible charisma. The film is, in as much as its psychological aspects end up making any sense at all, about figurative visibility - Catherine feels like she's faded with age, her husband 'doesn't see her'. More interesting is Chloe - does her profession give people licence to view her as a sexual object, or a purchase?

It's a great shame that Chloe, while certainly no masterpiece before it slides into tawdry thriller territory (an aspect not present in the French film, Nathalie..., on which the film is based, and apparently something we can blame producer Ivan Reitman for), throws these promises of psychological insight down the drain. Perhaps it was inevitable - it is, potentially, Chloe's 'performance' that keeps us intrigued, wandering as she does between frankly sexual and coyly childlike, and the stripping back of all this leads to some ludicrous overdrama. Atom Egoyan can wax for as long as he wants about how this is an adult, complex psychological drama about 'human interaction' and 'mature relationships', but the truth will out - it's an erotic thriller with remnants of French intrigue that can't help overloading on inexplicable obsessive madness, blowing all subtle humanity to the wind. Or out the window. C-

Give Me Moore

Ho ho ho and all that jazz, what a brilliant punster I am.

But seriously. It's Julianne Moore's birthday today (48?! Wow.) and I simply can't let this day pass without comment. The woman's been on my mind a lot lately. What with the Blindness trailer forcing us all to think that the film we've come to see is actually starting just because the trailer MUST be seen in all its digital glory, and those Todd Haynes' films that have been haunting my dreams because I just wrote an essay on them (it's over now). I even had a dream last night- this is now very vague- that she was in the credits of Titanic (oh what crazy dreams I have), and the dream-me didn't seem to question the fact of her being in it. Oh, and there's also me finally seeing Savage Grace (um, whoa) thanks to my university course- good taste prevails! (Unfortunately "we"- that is, not me- chose Pan's Labyrinth to do next term, so that didn't last long.) Does Moore's one-two-three hit of I'm Not There., Savage Grace and Blindness mean she's finally back to being the glorious independent muse of the mid-'90s? You don't need money, Julianne. Our respect is more important.

Oh, how I ramble. Anyway. In the vein of My New Plaid Pants, I'm going to celebrate Julianne's special day by informing you of my five favourite performances from the red-headed goddess. (And no, it's not too soon to include Savage Grace. Oops, spoiled that one.)

Amber Waves in Boogie Nights
"That is a giant cock."

Barbara Baekeland in Savage Grace"Will you still love me when my hair is grey and my tits are sagging?"

Carol White in {Safe}"Where am I?"

Cathy Whitaker in Far From Heaven"We ladies are never what we appear, and every girl has her secrets."

Laura Brown in The Hours"We're baking the cake to show him that we love him."

Those are seriously some brilliant performances. In many cases the best of their respective years. (I wish I'd seen Vanya on 42nd Street, but, alas, it is not to be.) Isn't it just marvellous how she moved from supporting player in rubbish like Body of Evidence (shudder) to being one of the best actresses of her generation- and of all time? She is truly marvellous. And beautiful. I could stare at her freckles all day.

Welcome to Sarajevo, Far From Heaven and Barry Lyndon

Some more thoughts on recent viewings.

[Welcome to Sarajevo (Michael Winterbottom, 1997): Sarajevo was a war that, unusually for Hollywood, was overlooked for exploration, perhaps because, as we see here, it was so inhuman and shocking. The raw recreation of bomb sights, with vivid shots of feet hanging by their veins and holes in victims' heads is unnerving, and perhaps a bit exploitative, but Winterbottom is clearly aiming to impact the viewer, and this he certainly achieves. The first half of this rather slow drama is the best: Winterbottom and his cast explore the media's coverage of the event, examining the differing approachs of American reporter Woody Harrelson and British one Stephen Dillane; however, the change to a more personal drama, as Dillane becomes emotionally involved with a young orphan (Emira Nusevic), doesn't work, either because of Dillane's stiff performance or simply because it seems too familiar. Threads like Marisa Tomei's aid worker and Goran Visnjic's (a stellar turn) native driver are more interesting, but ultimately disappointing because Winterbottom keeps focus on Dillane. Ultimately, an occasionally powerful drama, but it feels unfulfilled. Grade: B-]

[Far From Heaven (Todd Haynes, 2002): Haynes' takes his cue from Douglas Sirk's famously lush melodramas of the 1950s and adds a slightly more contemporary angle: he, unlike Sirk, can tackle issues like homosexuality and race head-on, instead of leaving them in the subtext. Julianne Moore is transfixing as the housewife whose perfect life crumbles when she discovers her husband Dennis Quaid with another man, and, in her turmoil, rather unwisely turns to her black gardener Dennis Haysbert for support. Haynes perfectly recreates the 1950s setting, and, with cinematographer Edward Lachman and Elmer Bernstein's melodramatically flowing score exquisitely echoing the period, he explores the vicious underbelly of 1950s with precision. Moore, Quaid and Haysbert, as well as Patricia Clarkson as Moore's "best friend" and Viola Davis as her maid, are all exceptional, convincingly of the period but also relevant to today's as well. Perhaps a little more could have been made of Quaid's side of the story, and ultimately the emotional impact isn't as great as one would hope, but all in all, a gripping, sad little story. Grade: B+]

[Barry Lyndon (Stanley Kubrick, 1975): As is usually the case with Kubrick, I think that Barry Lyndon needs to be seen on the big screen to be fully appreciated, because it seems that it's productional qualities far out-weigh it's narrative ones. Ryan O'Neal wobbles as the titular character, progressing from an Irish lad in love with his cousin to eventually marrying the widow of a lord and ruining his own life. The first half of Barry's story, as he ventures across countries as a deserter from the British and then Prussian armies, is quite compelling, as he encounters various characters (an interlude with Diana Koerner's abandoned wife is quite impressively melancholic), but when it settles into Barry's life with Lady Lyndon (a wasted Marisa Berenson) and his troubles with her son Lord Bullingdon (Leon Vitali) it starts to lose focus and indeed the audience's attention. Famous production designer Ken Adam's work is quite ravishing, but on a small screen it has little impact, and the attraction really remains a mystery. A fascinating oddity, nonetheless, with the highlight perhaps being Michael Hordern's sardonic narration. Grade: B-]