Skip to main content

GENOVA. Dir Michael Winterbottom. 2008

Image result for movie images genova


Colin Firth is cast as single dad again, a role he plays convincingly. Recently the slightly harassed father of two small children in ‘Then She Found Me,’ this time his daughters are older, 10 and 16 at a guess, and his concerns are different for each one.

Tragically widowed, he’s offered a change of scene – to leave the US and take up a teaching post at a University in Genova, maybe too early for his stunned daughters. His approach to them both is sensitive and relaxed but each character copes very separately with the sudden loss of wife and mother.

The youngest girl is traumatized by feelings of guilt, an astonishingly natural and convincing performance drawn from Perla Haney-Jardine. Disturbing hallucinations cut her off further from her father and sister and, during occasional nightmares, her distress is searing. The older sister (Willa Holland) detaches herself from her father and sister, sampling the Mediterranean life of sunshine and sex, disguising her fragility by playing the epitome of cool.

Striking cinematography puts the audience firmly in the characters’ various viewpoints; we walk the streets of Genova looking up at the buildings, taking narrow dark alleys, losing our way, and Winterbottom’s direction creates a strong sense of unease, uncertainty, and vulnerability.

This is a film in which not a lot happens but it’s cinema as a sensory experience, visual and atmospheric, using light and shadow, inducing claustrophobia, building tension. The climax is necessary and important, in a scene of chaos and threat, of city traffic and panic, and the very real possibility of a second disaster, awakening the older sister to the central issue facing them all, the family is pulled back together. Very fine, realistic, and sensitive.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Running ‘till your nipples bleed

An email from a friend of mine arrives; she complains that, at work, she is routinely subjected to gruesome accounts of female colleagues’ intimate medical procedures and gynaecological problems. I am all commiseration because I, too, have had years of listening to workplace chats about periods, childbirth and sex lives. Oh please. Later, I wander off for a walk in the early evening sunshine and it is so silent and so beautiful that I flop down on the grass and lay awhile gazing out over the rolling fields, and the mouth of the river, and fall into a reverie. Two men pass by. A few minutes later sounds of women’s talk float nearer and, by the time the two females of the species draw level with me, I have risen up from my deliciously recumbent position in the meadow, alert and tense, something like a meerkat. “I do feel for her. Going down that IVF route is such an emotional roller coaster. I was never prepared for how terrible it was going to be.” I remain frozen in my meerkat position...

Ian McEwan. Amsterdam. London: QPD, 1998

McEwan’s novel about ambition, personal betrayal and revenge features Clive, a modern composer trying to complete a major orchestral work, his friend Vernon, an editor trying to save his ailing newspaper, and Garmony, an unscrupulous right-wing politician on the rise. In common, all three have, in previous years, been lovers of recently dead Molly. They meet at her funeral and the story follows the next few weeks of the men’s lives. Vernon and Clive act as one another’s conscience, each infuriating the other. Which is more important, honesty, friendship and trust or Vernon’s newspaper and Clive’s symphony? The novel presents the difficulties of balancing personal and public morality, the importance of private shame and public reputation, the conflict between taking a moral decision for the greater good, or putting first ones own desires. Not just a simple exposé of a politician with a vulnerable side, Amsterdam is full of double standards and surprises, and takes a long, cynical look a...

Ralph McTell, Truro, 19 April 2007

Ralph's mates from Pentewan have all turned up in a mini bus to hear him sing and play, and he walks onto the stage looking comfortable; he's amongst friends. He's a big man; very charismatic, with a warm smile and a beguiling aura of powerful gentleness. He's relaxed, we're relaxed, and he sits with his guitar, chatting easily between songs, and playing with an easy familiarity with us, and with his material. His guitar playing is intricate and playful; going from ragtime to blues to folk, and his voice is deep and rich. He comments that he's put together quite a serious programme for the two hours he's on stage; it's true that the lyrics are thoughtful and the subjects serious, but there is light material too; a tune about Laurel and Hardy, and one or two covers of old blues numbers. When he sings Streets of London there are happy sighs and the audience sing along very softly; as softly as a whisper. It feels as intimate as if we were just a few people...