LFF 2011: Uncle Kent, Silver Bullets, and A Dangerous Method

Uncle Kent and Silver Bullets
So a double-bill of the most recent works from twenty-something/thirty-something mumblecore god Joe Swanberg greeted me on the penultimate day of my stint at the LFF – and what a waste of mine and Dunkini’s time and money.

At the end, we were actually speechless – we barely uttered a word for half an hour as we struggled to comprehend how these ‘films’ (are they films as anyone would define that term?) got programmed at the festival.

The less said about these low-fi ruminations on relationships and movie-making, the better…
Score: 1/10 and 2/10 respectively

A Dangerous Method
After three failures (the two Swanbergs and the previous night’s surprise film), we were desperate for a cracker, and while David Cronenberg’s latest is not an absolute cracker, it nevertheless generated plenty of debate in the aftermath.

On the face of it this story of the tensions between Carl Jung, his patient Sabina Spielrein, and his mentor/rival Sigmund Freud seems to fit perfectly within Cronenberg’s psycho-sexual oeuvre, but the great director approaches it with uncharacteristic restraint.

While nominally a three-hander, Viggo Mortensen’s Freud is a supporting role (and just as well as he seems ill at ease with the part): it is Michael Fassbender’s Jung and Keira Knightley’s Sabina who are front and centre. Fassbender is predictably brilliant, adding further evidence for my claim that he is the best actor in the world right now, as he struggles with admiration and then disgust for Freud, and his desire for Sabina.

Reaction to Knightley’s performance could go either way among professional critics: for the record, I can’t help but feel that Naomi Watts would have been better at the role (certainly its darker sexual aspects), but there’s no doubt that Knightley leaves nothing on the table – she’s convincingly mad, emotionally, physically and psychologically crippled by the social mores of the day, but – and it is a significant but – whether through her choice or Cronenberg’s direction, there is no blood and thunder when she is finally able to give herself over to her darkest desires. I was convinced that if anyone could uncover a dark sexuality within Knightley, then Cronenberg would be the man to do it, but unfortunately this is not the case.

The film looks great, with nice period detail and locations, but I can’t help but feel it needs some of the psycho-sexual fairy dust that Patrick Marber sprinkled on his adaptation of Strindberg’s Miss Julie in order to achieve greatness.
Score: 7/10 (subject to confirmation from second viewing)