Karry Best movie of this year hands down!

Colibel Terrible acting, screenplay and direction.

Beanbioca As Good As It Gets

StyleSk8r At first rather annoying in its heavy emphasis on reenactments, this movie ultimately proves fascinating, simply because the complicated, highly dramatic tale it tells still almost defies belief.

Tim Kidner There is no doubt that the measured beauty, both savage and majestic, is superbly and evotically captured by the cinematography of Mikhail Krichman, from start, to finish, both nodding to and taking hats off to, undoubtedly, Tarkovsky.However, what started out as the short story 'Laughing Matter' by American writer William Saroyan, unfortunately gets swamped by the visual bravado and a two and a half hour run-time. It gets to being on the cusp of something big, or something profound that might explain what's going on - but that may be the trick that The Return director Andrey Zvyagintsev wants.With its gorgeously slow tracking shots and weaving camera angles, that follow this troubled family who now are in hiding in one those idyllic Russian country houses on a windswept plain and with their own walnut grove, there lies an intensity that is palpable, brewing away quietly. This is helped by a sparse score, notably a slightly electronically treated 'monk' sounding choral piece that rises like a sullen mist.Lead actor, the Father of the family, Konstantin Lavronenko, picked up Best Actor at Cannes. His wife, Eva, announces one day that she is pregnant and through studies in male supposition and pride, family bonds and shady past dealing contacts are tried - and tested. What unravels, slowly, are the various connotations resulting from these and their actions, on both them and their existing children.My four stars are really for the sense of unfulfillment - it's neither oblique and enigmatic enough that a Tarkovsky would be but it's obvious there's a story bursting to get out and I for one would be rather happier if it weren't shrouded in quite so much masked mystery - however beautiful that mask might be. There is little dialogue, very little violence and I don't recall any strong swearing, but through some strong visuals, possibly of body injury, it's a certificate 12.For followers of Russian cinema, old and new, then The Banishment is certainly worth watching and for those like me who enjoyed Zvyagintsev's The Return, it's almost a must. The critics were largely underwhelmed and I so wish I could say that this is a masterpiece, but sadly, it's not quite.

johnnyboyz Andrei Zvyagintsev's gripping drama The Banishment plays out like Eastern Promises meets Carlos Reygadas' 2007 feature Silent Light; a combination of rather embittered Russian criminals operating and uncovering certain revelations around innocents whom later become caught up in the crossfire, with this weighty, steady visual aesthetic of rural land captured by way of long takes and eerie, heavenly music juxtaposing the on screen non-paradise we witness. Zvyagintsev's film is a minor-masterpiece, a film combining the essence of each of the above films with various cues from that of something like Coppola's Godfather films; the studious deconstruction of a family unit, not all of them necessarily criminally minded, slowly; painfully; deathfully falling apart at the seams as those of varying genders, ages and backgrounds fall away from one another because of a troupé of men's actions. It is a rigorously immersive film, a fine effort from a man firing on mostly all the cylinders he decides to shoot from; the end product formulating into a morbidly fascinating procession of drama and character.The film will begin with a car being driven by a wounded man through rural fields split by the tarmac road his car occupies, the trees and birdsong unpleasantly disturbed by the roar of the car as it hares by. After another instance of countryside peace being disturbed, an unperturbed cut will see the car enter a more urbanised locale full of bricked up walls and factory chimneys churning out reams of smoke. The driver is a certain Mark (Baluev), a criminally orientated brother to that of Alex (Lavronenko) who lives in the city; the charging of his car past the calm, peaceful rural world during the opening shots a precursor to the sorts of later shattering of the tranquillity he and the family with whom he shares ties to. The aforementioned jolting cut between peace and countryside to city life additionally highlights a sudden change in surroundings, an example of shifting surroundings for the worse which will additionally go on to encapsulate the framework of the film and the general well-being of a family congregation. Mark is injured, but trusty brother Alex patches him up in the dead of night - his dealing with a bloody, scuzzy; grotty situation highlighting skill of a physical nature in his ability to deal with such a scenario of such a delicate, precise nature; before the film places him into a similar predicament, only of immense psychological and spiritual sorts.With Alex lives his wife Vera (Bonnevie), whom puts up with people of Mark's ilk arriving at her home whilst she sleeps at ungodly hours; when Alex goes to lie next to her, the film providing us with the first of many eerie shots that peer straight down at the couple lying in bed facing upwards at us: very little in the way of contact nor communication and grossly varying positions as they lie situated there, as if not of a similar ilk. Following on from the opening, Alex; Vera and their son Kir with their daughter Eva journey by way of localised train network and by foot through the forests and fields to a farm house. The journey by train is, again, muted; the unit of four sharing varying poses and stances as they sit in the train's compartment avoiding eye contact; the insinuation is disenchantment or a unit not hooked up to one another.The house they arrive at is one Alex appears highly attuned to, later reveals are that he spent time there as a boy with brother Mark; the faces of elderly and long since deceased family members peering through the exterior glass window of their photographic frames as their image hang there, looming over proceedings as they watch on from the walls. The house, of which is seemingly only accessible from the front by way of a narrow wooden bridge over a kind of moat thus inflecting it being cut off from a distinct 'other side', is a peaceful haven set isolated from civilisation amidst the scorched fields and constant sun. The family are not infallible, uncomfortable scenes such as the one that sees Vera argue with her young daughter unravel, whilst the visiting to Alex's family by neighbouring relative Viktor (Sergeev) and his family demonstrate a seemingly perfect, working unit of this nature in full flow as the distinction between his and Alex's appear even greater.The bombshell which ruptures this existing arrives in the form of the announcement of Vera's pregnancy, a pregnancy which Alex is informed wasn't instigated by him. What follows is a slow burning sensation of dread and affliction, perpetrated out of human nature's ill-advised methods in dealing with such situations; a late night seeing off of Vikto and co. whom were visiting seeing Alex occupy a part of the porch to the left side of the screen as a distinct wooden foreground beam splits the frame down the middle, distinctly placing Vera on the other side; the film seeing it now necessary to place a physical object so as to highlight the 'split' from one another the two characters share. Zvyagintsev's film is a fine effort, instilled with an agonising and morbidly captivating air about it as we witness these people and their lives disintegrate out of a man too of-his-ilk to be making decisions whilst influencing another man whom ought to be strong enough to see sense. The contemporary cinematic antithesis to Bekmambetov's Americanised Night Watch, or indeed Bondarchuk's Hollywood war movie simulacrum 9th Company, The Banishment banishes most doubts over the Russian cinema industry's strengths and motifs.

Paul Martin I have only just learnt that Zvyagintev's The Return was his feature film debut. It really impressed me with it's sparse and elusive narrative, filled with mystery and ambiguity. It is visually spectacular, with a strong Eastern European aesthetic that one can't look away from. The Banishment is no less a film.This is a much more ambitious effort than Zvyagintev's debut. Again he has crafted a story that is highly enigmatic. It stars Konstantin Lavronenko, who played the role of the absent father returned in The Return. Alex is a man with a shady past and his brother Mark (Aleksandr Baluyev) is of the same ilk. When Alex's wife, Vera (Maria Bonnevie), reveals she is pregnant and that he is not the father, a sequence of events unfolds that will have you on the edge of your seat. "If you want to kill, kill. If you want to forgive, forgive", says Mark.The tension is palpable, magnified by the sparse dialogue. In one sense, words are not needed as the body language says it all. Yet in another, the inability of the protagonists to bring out into the open what needs to be said leads to unforeseen consequences. This is both thematically similar to Nuri Bilge Ceylan's similarly excellent Three Monkeys and stylistically they also share much in common. As in Ceylan's films, Zvyagintev shows great confidence in telling a story, taking his time to create a palpable ambiance. At 157 minutes, the film is quite long, but always engaging.The cinematography is stunning throughout, with excellent use of the widescreen. There is one tracking shot in particular that left me breathless as the camera seemingly floated through space. I can recall only twice where the camera movement impressed me so: the caravan sequence in Noise and the various tracking shots in Soy Cuba. The use of darkness, light and shade are used to great effect. The music is haunting, reminding me of the Gothic sounds of the music of Enigma. It renders the film with a sense of tragedy of biblical proportions.Zvyagintev is a magnificent talent that just can't be ignored. If you see only one Russian film this year, make it The Banishment.

Satish Naidu There is a vast difference between being emotionally inert and being emotionally hollow. As much as Vozvrashcheniye (The Return, 2003) was intense, Andrei Zvyagintsev sophomore feature Izgnanie (The Banishment) is hollow. An emotional hollowness that engulfs us, holding us captive along with these tragic characters. I say captive because I so desperately wanted them to make things up, but our nature and the choices it sometimes leads us to make often renders the tragedy inevitable. There is a great deal of silence in the film; most of these moments between the husband Alexander (Konstantin Lavronenko) and the wife Vera (Maria Bonnevie). As long as a relationship is having constant arguments of any kind, I believe, it is still far from the rocky paths. But once silence creeps in it usually will signal the point of no return. Izgnanie starts off with a great shot of a car running along a picturesque landscape of the Russian country. Mark (Aleksandr Baluyev) drives to his brother Alexander's home in the middle of the night where he has his upper-arm suffering from a gun shot wound fixed, and the bullet taken out. The very next day, Alex and his family, relocate to their countryside home amidst the breathtaking serenity of the scenery. Yet, these people are banished from country (Garden of Eden) for there's no peace in their lives. Silence yes, and a hell of a lot of it. But peace none at all. The urban world and its rush might conceal that silence, but the country has its own to offer. Vera reveals to Alex that she's pregnant, and the child is not his. Perhaps the external silence is too much for her to bear. Alexander is a great character and it is a great performance from Lavronenko. A classic case who has been influenced during his growing days and now is himself influential. Perhaps we all are, in varying degrees. In a lesser film he would have been a stoic binary individual, one of those standard-etched characters that respond in only two ways. But what Alex achieves here is to capture an individual who has added layers and layers to conceal himself, to conceal his vulnerability. As against popular conception, the layer addition is somewhat of an involuntary task. The wife has so desperately tried to penetrate those layers and to truly know her husband all her married life. And now the vacuum is too much for her to bear. Not because she is feeling lonely, but she can foresee where her son is being led to. Where her children are being led to. This is an extremely complex portrayal of parenting. Most films that intend to showcase negative parenting are loud and usually exaggerate the effects compressing them into a rather small time frame. This understands what happens and how the nature of a parent, good or bad, is gradually impressed upon the child. An impression that is infinitely complex than being just plain good or bad. Taare Zameen Par is juvenile in its portrayal of the parent; just as no boy is bad I bet there're few parents who are bad. A father is a child's hero, always. I can never overestimate the profound influence my father's persona has had on me. Vera discloses the secret herself in hope of a final attempt at breaking that shell. But it is impenetrable, that shell. It is transparent, but it is impenetrable. Then there's the other silence. The one that exist between the two brothers – Mark and Alexander. It is the silence that prospers between two individuals who're essentially one, the kind who understand the other's every little action every little word and every little moment. These are two individuals who've been together and stayed together every step of the rocky road. And when one experiences a tragedy, it is the other that suffers. It is a great study, the bond between the brothers. As much as I felt captive within the vacuum of the marriage, I would want to be company to these two brothers as they grew up. I would want to know if they share the same secret of brotherly love-respect-hate. Outside of Tarkovsky's cinema, I have never experienced such a great blend of serenity and silence. Zvyagintsev is a master, who pulls of every trick of his with mathematical precision. He's ably accompanied by the cinematography of Mikhail Krichman, his comrade from his debut film, and they create a profound location out of the otherwise ordinary countryside. This is the Garden of Eden, and with a budget that I suspect is as low as the first one (it was under $500,000). But what the results they achieve is worth billions, the landscape here is a character on its own. The camera is essentially still, and even during the occasional instances when it moves, the results are essentially still. This is an extremely beautiful film to look at, and that it is about such painful characters inhabiting a tragic family is all the more ironic. The secret of the breathtaking prowess of the film's effectiveness, and its screenplay is that it doesn't go for plot markers. It takes its time, and makes us privy to the drama as it unfolds, almost in real time. Love is God, it is said. And God is love. And yet, these people who are incapable of overcoming their shortcomings to achieve love for one another is horrifying, to a certain degree. For if God is love, why doesn't he himself overcome his shortcomings and help these people out of their vacuum. One of the great films of this year.