Guest Review: George On The Imposter

James A. George, Eyewear's film critic, weights in on The Imposter

The Imposter is a new documentary from Bart Layton about a young boy found in a phone box in Europe. Soon after, he is returned to his grieving family in Texas that lost him three years prior. A miracle, or too good to be true? The less known about this documentary the better, that is all you should know.

Even writing the words documentary to describe this film is a weird sensation. At points it is easy to forget you are watching a documentary at all, not only due to the shocking jolts and turns in the story that seem so unlikely you could be mistaken for thinking you were watching a hastily scribbled action movie. But due also to the creative cinematography. Far from recreating scenes the strange history in a crimewatch style, the scenes are dramatised with actors and shot to show the multiple point of views of the events as they unfold; be it the police, the family or the imposter. Bart Layton and his action-movie editor toy with the idea of subjectivity through shifts in point of view visually and narratively. Many documentaries are simply voice over with archive footage and result in an ultimately informative yet not particularly filmic and rather lecturing, whereas the methods described before result in gripping cinema entertainment as well as a revelatory factual documentary.

The themes of manipulation, belief, truths and trust are not only embedded in the story and plot. Layton’s almost absent authorisation of the film, yet expert storytelling, manipulates the viewer and makes them question everyone presented to them as well as the viewers own thoughts. Information is trickled out craftily and different interviews juxtapose one another’s stories. By the time local Texan private detective gets involved, the whole thing becomes so wild, unpredictable and deceptive that it is as darkly funny as it is enjoyable.

In the tiny cinema I saw this in there was a mixture of dropped jaws, withheld sniggering and outright shrieking with words like “liar” or “nutcase” lingering around. It is without doubt one of the best films of the year and deserves all the worldwide praise it has been getting. While this review may seem rather vague (which it is vital to the true enjoyment of this film) I cannot make clear enough how fascinating, fulfilling and shocking this documentary is. See it in the cinema if you can, the visual construction definitely warrants it, as do the voices of others in the cinema. You may think you know what is coming, but you certainly do not.

IQ AND THE POETS - ARE YOU SMART?

When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart? A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional. Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were. For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ? Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets. But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ? How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular. John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se....

Poetry vs. Literature

Poetry is, of course, a part of literature. But, increasingly, over the 20th century, it has become marginalised - and, famously, has less of an audience than "before". I think that, when one considers the sort of criticism levelled against Seamus Heaney and "mainstream poetry", by poet-critics like Jeffrey Side , one ought to see the wider context for poetry in the "Anglo-Saxon" world. This phrase was used by one of the UK's leading literary cultural figures, in a private conversation recently, when they spoke eloquently about the supremacy of "Anglo-Saxon novels" and their impressive command of narrative. My heart sank as I listened, for what became clear to me, in a flash, is that nothing has changed since Victorian England (for some in the literary establishment). Britain (now allied to America) and the English language with its marvellous fiction machine, still rule the waves. I personally find this an uncomfortable position - but when ...

"I have crossed oceans of time to find you..."

In terms of great films about, and of, love, we have Vertigo, In The Mood for Love , and Casablanca , Doctor Zhivago , An Officer and a Gentleman , at the apex; as well as odder, more troubling versions, such as Sophie's Choice and Silence of the Lambs . I think my favourite remains Bram Stoker's Dracula , with the great immortal line "I have crossed oceans of time to find you...".

E Y E W E A R, THE BLOG - FREEDOM MEANS BEING UNAFRAID TO WRITE WHAT YOU THINK

Search This Blog