Diplomacy

Opens Fri., Nov. 7 at Varsity. 
Not rated. 85 minutes.

Paris was not destroyed by the retreating Germans during World War II, so the outcome of Diplomacy is not in question. That is, unless some Inglourious Basterds–style historical embroidery were to break out. But director Volker Schlondorff is no Quentin Tarantino, and Diplomacy plays as a minimalist dialogue on the nature of ethics and responsibility. Most of it takes place in a room at the Hotel Meurice in August 1944, the headquarters of General Dietrich von Choltitz (Niels Arestrup). Von Choltitz has been military governor here for less than a month; with the Allies already pounding at the outskirts of town, he’s doomed to eventually surrender the city. But Hitler has charged him with destroying the riches of Paris—bridges, Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower—before capitulation.

The film, adapted from Cyril Gely’s popular recent play, pits von Choltitz in a long tete-a-tete with Swedish diplomat Raoul Nordling (Andre Dussollier). Nordling, a staunch Parisian, is there to argue against detonating the already-rigged explosives. As a by-the-rules military man, von Choltitz already has plenty of blood on his hands, including the liquidation of Jews in Russia. And there’s another reason he might hesitate to disobey the Fuhrer’s orders, which Gely’s script withholds until late in the discussion.

This encounter is fictionalized, and historians still dispute the details of how Paris was saved. Nordling was only one of a number of voices imploring von Choltitz to refuse the order, and the Resistance had something to do with it, too. (The mid-’60s novel and movie Is Paris Burning? previously explored the question, and also gave the world a melodic Maurice Jarre anthem nearly as stirring as the “Marseillaise.”) Diplomacy might not be solid history, but Schlondorff—the veteran German filmmaker still best known for The Tin Drum—understands the theatrical possibilities here. This is a chance to bat around lofty ideas, spoken by two articulate adversaries who embody the “But for this foolish war we might have been comrades” school of drama.

In that sense, Diplomacy has its roots in the civilized enemies of Jean Renoir’s classic The Grand Illusion. The two actors are key to making that work: Old pro Dussollier carries an aristocratic twinkle, while Arestrup (the prison godfather in A Prophet) moves like a battered former boxer, worn down by battle but still lethal in the clinches. Their full-to-bursting presence is enough to give weight to this conversational chamber drama. 
Robert Horton



PEvolution of a Criminal

Runs Fri., Nov. 7–Thurs., Nov. 13 at 
Grand Illusion. Not rated. 81 minutes.

Plenty of Hollywood filmmakers have fallen into crime—DUIs, drugs, and underage sex cases. But how many felons have reversed that career trajectory? In his documentary reconstruction of a mid-’90s armed robbery, which he instigated as a teenager to help his struggling family, Darius Clark Monroe manages that unlikely feat. There are gaps in his story, narrow in scope, but this is a fairly remarkable tale of redemption.

Raised poor in Houston, Monroe matter-of-factly describes the hardships and privations that had him stealing from a big-box store where he clerked as a teen. His own home had been burglarized during boyhood, which he cites as a traumatic trigger—taking with it any sense of justice. (Losing the VCR, that font of family entertainment, was a particular blow—and perhaps the harbinger of his future vocation.) In his present-day narration, Monroe recalls an attitude that “I was doing something honorable.” So he recruited two high-school pals, gathered some masks and an empty shotgun, and robbed a branch bank of $140,000. (Monroe uses actors to re-create these scenes.) Teenagers being teenagers, their secret soon spilled, and the trio were arrested within weeks. How long Monroe spent in prison, where he earned a GED, is part of a chronology that ought to be more detailed here.

Monroe has seen enough movies to understand the proven story arc of sin, repentance, and forgiveness. As he goes back years later to apologize to customers he terrified at the bank, we also learn where he got his filmmaking education (NYU, impressively) and see how his family didn’t exactly provide a shining moral example during his youth. Monroe’s interviews further extend to his robbery crew and the prosecutor who put them away. This is documentary-as-memoir, intimate and confessional, though shying away from any larger social context (e.g., the national incarceration rate for African-Americans). And the racial divide is stark: Black bank customers at the robbery seem more forgiving of the grown Monroe than their white counterparts do. The white prosecutor, stepped out of a Rick Perry campaign ad, tells Monroe she’s suspicious of his film project: “I’m afraid of being scammed.”

To this viewer, at least, Monroe’s contrition seems quite sincere. And like last year’s Fruitvale Station, also grounded in fact, Evolution of a Criminal sadly demonstrates how a broken social contract can doom individuals to a tragic path. Yet Monroe fully admits to his misdeeds. Instead of the usual tough-on-crime rhetoric, here is a criminal who’s tough on himself. BRIAN Miller

On Any Sunday: 
The Next Chapter

Opens Fri., Nov. 7 at Meridian and 
Lincoln Square. Rated PG. 90 minutes.

“You have to be crazy to do this,” according to—oh, let’s face it, this could have been said by anybody in this movie. On Any Sunday: The Next Chapter is crammed with people who ride motorcycles too fast: These vehicles travel across flat tracks, dirt roads, and sometimes the air, with alarming amounts of space between bike and ground. The documentary world is full of thrilling sports videos, but few have the authentic life-and-death stakes of high speed on two wheels.

The movie’s distinguished pedigree sets it apart, too. Its title reminds us of the hit 1971 doc On Any Sunday, a classic from The Endless Summer director Bruce Brown. His son Dana, who also specializes in surf-’n’-dirt movies (Step Into Liquid among the former), directs and narrates this one. The ’71 picture had the advantage of featuring Steve McQueen—a biking devotee—in the action; and while The Next Chapter has no equivalent star power, it does present some genuine maniacs along the way. Brown leads off with Robbie Maddison, who follows closely in the treadmarks of daredevil/bone-breaker Evel Knievel. Maddison’s stunts, which include jumping his bike from the top of the Arc de Triomphe and soaring off an Austrian ski jump, will likely have you shouting things out loud to the screen—at least that’s the effect they had on me. Brown looks in on an international MotoGP racing circuit, paying special attention to two Spanish riders, Marc Marquez and Dani Pedrosa, as they battle for position over the course of a season.

But the movie’s not chained to competition, and Brown makes time for quirky individuals and beautiful locations. The latter include British Columbia and a loopy competition in the snow of Alberta; there’s also a trip to the Bonneville Salt Flats, where gearheads are still trying to set new speed records. The narration is not as jokey as in his father’s films, but Dana Brown hits the right cheerful-cornball tone throughout, and he even keeps an open mind about electric bikes (oh, what a relief they would be). There are lots of crashes, of course, because Brown understands how these movies work, but mostly the footage conveys flat-out, incredible speed. With tiny cameras that can fit anywhere, and the razor-sharp 4K digital pictures that result, a clever filmmaker can create eye-popping images. It’s much better than actually doing this stuff, unless you’re crazy. Robert Horton


PThe Way He Looks

Opens Fri., Nov. 7 at Sundance Cinemas. Not rated. 95 minutes.

Leo, from Sao Paulo, is 15-ish, and has the usual 15-ish worries to deal with. In ascending order of frustration: social drinking, bullying classmates, finding his first kiss, and craving more independence from his overprotective parents, even to the point of looking into exchange-student programs. He’s blind, which complicates things, but not half as much as the arrival of new student Gabriel, a curly-haired, Belle-and-Sebastian-loving DJ who inspires crushes right and left and even gets between Leo and his BFF Giovana.

The drama in The Way He Looks is all about Who Likes Who; the momentousness of the shifting hints, misunderstandings, revelations, and traumas are written (by director Daniel Ribeiro) and played in a way that feels true to (what I recall of) 15-itude. Also perfectly plausible is the gradual development of Leo and Gabriel’s relationship; unlike a lot of gay coming-of-age dramas, it doesn’t at all read like a kind of wish-fulfillment retro-fantasy of how the filmmaker wanted his own coming-out romance to have played out. Actor Ghilherme Lobo is apparently not blind, but thoroughly convinced me; he plays Leo without an atom of camp, nor does Fabio Audi as Gabriel.

Most fun of all in this charmer, Brazil’s nominee for the 2014 Foreign-Language Oscar: The soundtrack, from Bowie’s “Modern Love” to Arvo Part’s Spiegel im spiegel, is delicious. I have no idea how Ribeiro got ahold of my iPod. Gavin Borchert

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