Having named its prizewinners yesterday, the Berlinale officially wraps today. I meant to file my last post on the festival once I arrived home on Friday night, but assorted tasks and distractions kept it on the back burner. Too many things, too many things, as Amber Waves would say.
My last day in Berlin served up one of the films I’d most been looking forward to, tireless British filmmaker Michael Winterbottom’s Jim Thompson adaptation “The Killer Inside Me.” Winterbottom’s baldly violent noir arrived in town with the embers of its Sundance controversy still glowing, hoping to liven up a staid Competition. Werner Herzog’s jury might not have taken the bait, but many audience members at the press screening I attended did.
“Fuck you!” yelled one German journo, rather lamely, at the screen once Casey Affleck’s Texan sheriff (and moonlighting serial killer) had finished pummelling Jessica Alba’s lovely face to the texture of steak tartare. After that, obediently outraged grumbles greeted assorted scenes of sex and sadism, while a chorus of boos accompanied the end credits.