Rotterdam Dispatch. 3.

The so-called "Maestros" continue to disappoint. Olivier Assayas's Clean gives the otherwise talented Maggie Cheung little to do as a widowed misfit trying to overcome her addictions.

Meanwhile, Claire Denis's L'Intrus shares an actor (the under-utilized Béatrice Dalle) but lacks the narrative straightforwardness of Assayas's work. Perhaps it requires a second viewing to unravel its labyrinthian plot. The film appears to concern a man, hunted by Russian agents, who escapes to the islands in the South Seas after a heart transplant to reunite with his long-lost son. Maybe. At least its lovely to look at, thanks to regular lenser Agnès Godard.

Writer and director Jia Zhang-ke fails to find a story in The World that lives up to its locale or his reputation. His first film shot with the approval of the Chinese government, it hardly lives up to his previous effort, Unknown Pleasures. Much of the action in the film centers around World Park, an amusement park that features the major cities of the world in miniature. When I briefly lived in Berlin in 1998, the city was said to be the largest concentration of construction sites in the world. The "honor" could likely fall on Beijing these days. Every frame away from World Park seems to be populated by cranes and construction crews - one of which finally proves a turning point in the meandering tale. The most touching moment actually hails from another film; in a chapter entitled "Tokyo Story," Jia presents two parents grieving in silhouette while music from Ozu's film plays in the background. Unfortunately, this is followed by an unexceptional cop-out ending of sophomoric aspirations. He does, at least, continue to invent. How outdated will text-messaging seem in only a few years? Yet, this fad introduces a series of fanciful animated sequences throughout the film.

The finest documentary screened thus far is Alias Kurban Saïd, perhaps the one true highlight of the event. An essentially perfect example of investigative reporting, it could be easily compared to the inferior The Stone Reader, similarly exploring the tale of a mysterious writer of a literary classic (although with more twists and turns than one of Borges's 'fictiones'). Impressively narrated by the great Bruno Ganz, the doc should be required viewing by all lovers of literature and history.

Tropical Malady contains the most inventive use of open-ended narrative structure, promising still greater things from its director, Apichatpong Weerasethakul.

Alexander Sokurov has two shorter enteries in the program, paired together. The first, Empire, takes the tale Sorry, Wrong Number as its inspiration. Despite a strong, Guy Maddin-like start, the whole devolves rather quickly into a maudlin affair. Meanwhile, the considerably more recent Diary of St. Petersburg is essentially a taped performance of Mozart's Requiem as stage-directed by Sokurov. Five cameras - seemingly five entirely different brands of video cameras, each balanced to a different "white" and indifferently focused - ineptly record the singers and the results are randomly intercut with shots of the unimpressed audience. The direction evidently consists of asking the singers to mill about aimlessly. With this one work, Sokurov supports the notion that he is the most inconsistent of contemporary directors.

Unexpectedly, the widely panned 2046 from Wong Kar-wai is the nearest to a great narrative film that the festival has to offer. Exceptional performances, lovely photography and an entirely different storyline than its Cannes version.

Next time, words on the great discovery of the fest - the films of Owen Land - and the finest second film of the festival, Lucile Hadzihalilovic's wonderful Innocence.

Posted by dwhudson at February 2, 2005 5:51 AM