March Oscar Contenders

March also saw the last of the Oscar nominees trickle into theatres here. But I'm glad to say that they may be last, but certainly not least, clichéd as that statement may be.

First, Clint Eastwood presents the mirror piece to Flags of Our Fathers, the told-from-the- enemy's-POV Letters from Iwo Jima. I don't know if it's the traditional Asian reserve rubbing off, or the sensibilities of the Asian-American screenwriter, but this is far more subtle, noble and as a result, more moving than the former.

You might be familiar with the school of thought that claims that the more specific a story is, the more universal its truths are. And there are few situations more specific than that of a group of reluctant Japanese soldiers fighting a battle that's doomed to failure in a war that looks increasingly like a lost cause. But in this specificity lies the inhumanity and senselessness of war, the class differences that remain even at the front lines, the delusion of those who lead, the honor of those who soldier on, and the wish of every single soldier on every battlefield since the dawn of time - to be back home once again.

The performances are simply perfect, from the intelligent nobility of Ken Watanabe's commander to the boyband member Kazunari Ninomiya who plays a baker who's a nobody in the army. I can't even begin to pick favorite scenes; there are so many excellent ones, but particularly noteworthy are a scene in which a letter from an American soldier is translated and read out to the Japanese troops, and a gut-wrenchingly violent sequence that culminates in the gory suicides of an entire section save one. Additionally, the spare yet haunting score contributes significantly to the mood and tone without getting in the way or in-your-face (are you listening, Philip Glass?).

The color palette has been bleached until it is almost a stark monochrome, which makes the film more True, if that makes any sense at all. And with these Truths, Eastwood has made a graceful, heartbreaking masterpiece that works in tandem with its predecessor to be, quite possibly, the best war movie(s) of our time.

I still remember the first time I saw an image from Pedro Almodóvar's Volver. I was in Johor Bahru, in a bootleg DVD store, of all places, and for some strange reason they had it playing on the little TV inside. I was with a bunch of colleagues, and the scene we saw sucked us in immediately. Penélope Cruz is trying to clean up the blood seeping from a dead body. She places a paper towel on the pool of blood, and in a gorgeous close-up, the blood seeps through the paper like red flowers blooming on a snowy landscape. The sheer beauty and evocativeness of the image left us breathless, and I refused to look at the TV anymore, for I wanted to see it so badly on the big screen and have the effect be undiluted.

And I wasn't disappointed. Here Almodóvar has assembled a fantastic cast in a delicious, celebratory film - it celebrates feminity, the ties between women, and even life itself through death. The melodramatic elements, always a prominent feature in his films, have been toned down in favor of the rich interaction between the characters, as well as some wonderfully played farcical moments. It's no accident that the most prominent male character is a deadbeat husband who gets killed after he tries to rape his step-daughter. Females are front and centre in this film - well, in most of Almodóvar's films, actually, but never more so than here - and they are portrayed with zest, vibrancy and dignity. These qualities extend to the look and feel of the film itself, with its rich palette and use of location.

Among the cast, Penélope Cruz stands out as the main character, proving that she's a much better actor in her native Spanish than in any silly Hollywood flick that casts her just because she's hot. With this film, Almodóvar has another feather in his cap, and he deserves a standing ovation.

As much as Volver is warmth and heart, Das Leben der Anderen (The Lives of Others) is cold and clinical, which is apt as its main character is a cold, clinical Stasi officer whose job it is to place suspected subversives under surveillance. But when he starts spying on a playwright and his lover, he starts to melt, as it were, and yearn to actually live a life apart from the bleak existence he's had so far, and slowly finds the humanity in his heart in the process. There's a beautiful scene where the stoic officer sits alone in his barren hideaway, listening to his target play the piano, and the music moves him to tears.

Ulrich Mühe does great, restrained work as the officer, keeping us interested even though the film is a tad overlong. It's also impossible not to see the present mirrored in the past - to what lengths are the powers-that-be willing to go to in order to preserve the "security" of the state, and to what extent are the people willing to accept this? This is especially relevant, given the current climate we live in. I for one, would not want to live in the grey bleakness of its world for anything.