in which I can't stop complaining about Tim Roth

Saw Mongolian Ping Pong at the Varsity. Two other people in the audience. (In yesterday's catching-up post, I neglected to mention that there were only three other people at the Wassup Rockers screening, all women, which is very rare; and only four other people at the Shipwrecked screening, all men, which is not rare.) This was a much better film than I'd anticipated, as too many reviewers had felt the need to compare it with The Gods Must Be Crazy, so I'd expected a slightly condescending tone. Instead, it's respectful and stunningly beautiful. It has a languid pace, with many scenes in long shot with figures lost in a landscape, or multiple actions occuring across the screen. Many scenes are sharply truncated, with the expected resolution of the scene being recounted in the following scene--a wonderful way to keep a viewer focused. I love the three younger boys who periodically appear, carefully watching the three older boys (in admiration? with disdain? They don't give up their secrets). I loved the carnival scene where the boys attack the master of the Game of Chance for not allowing them to claim their prize, and the futile attempt to have him arrested. And there's a single shot of the central character and his grandmother, in a vivid red jacket, walking back to their yurt as a storm approaches--one of the greatest compositions I've seen all year. I'm very sad no one is going to this movie, because I can't think of anyone who wouldn't love it.
Final shot: close-up, epiphany, and an especially impressive one.

At home I watched the documentary Alan Clarke, Director, included in the DVD box set. Brief, and it whet my appetite for more of his work. I'd forgotten that Rita, Sue, and Bob, Too was his. That was great, as I remember. I'm afraid that all the stuff they could reasonably expect Americans to buy is in this box, which is too bad, as I'd love to see Penda's Fen, Psy-Warriors, Contact, Billy the Kid and the Green Baize Vampire, his theatrical adaptations Danton's Death and Baal (starring Bowie--I hadn't known that was Clarke's! I have the soundtrack), and most especially Christine, which I think is the only thing he wrote himself. The latter sounds like it could be as great as Elephant--it's just about the simple drudgery of a junkie's life, without the downward spiral motif so common to these things, particularly made-for-tv work. This documentary had far too little about how he worked--it spent more time on recounting scenes from the movies, and providing testimonials. Maybe there's more on the commentary tracks, but I don't feel like listening to them. Lots of people talking about how great Tim Roth is in Made in Britain. I just don't buy it. I don't see the intelligence in this skinhead they all keep talking about; or, I do see intelligence, but I see the intelligence of a bright young actor playing the role of his short, sheltered lifetime. It has none of the complexity of Ray Winstone in the two Scums or dear Gary in The Firm. Or even the much dimmer Russell Crowe in Romper Stomper. It's simply acting school stuff, and it sounds like Clarke is largely to blame--I think he was more focused on experimenting with the Steadicam than keeping the boy on track. That said, anyone who finds the young, bare-chested Tim Roth extremely hot will probably not understand what my problem is.