Wednesday, March 23, 2011

#499: I Come With The Rain (Tran Anh Hung, 2009)

I think this is a bad film to start off from someone who has yet to see Scent of Green Papaya. I Come With The Rain was partly shot in Diwalwal, Compostela Valley province in Mindanao, Philippines – roughly around 4-5 hours (with the terrain in Diwalwal) from the city where I live. Everyone I know was excited to see this when news exploded that Josh Hartnett was flying here on to Diwalwal - a gold mine area - to shoot. But so far the film has ended in bootleg havens of the city, with the mass of Josh fanatics even unaware of its existence.

It was painful to sit through it. I think it was trying to be too serious with its battered protagonist and this psychological thriller that the entire mood can’t even get close too. Josh Hartnett trots across Asia (also visits Hong Kong) to track down a millionaire’s son only to find he is some sort of “messiah” or something to that extent, while he gets over his personal demons (and such creepy demonic recollections). There are some visual highlights but the pseudo-Christian symbolisms smacks right at you in the face I’m actually considering taking off that pseudo prefix. It does refer to Christian symbolisms clumsily. Hartnett, in exploring this character, reaches for something there, but I think it’s really a mess, that he ends up groping in the dark.

1 comment:

Visual Velocity said...

Haven't seen this one yet, but I've seen Green Papaya. I didn't hate it; I didn't like it either. That goes without saying I don't even remember what the film is about. lol

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting