Dry Leaf review – three-hour amble around the football pitches of Georgia in search of a daughter

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Despite its interesting low-res look, Alexandre Koberidze’s mystifying film is needlessly contrived Georgian film-maker Alexandre Koberidze appeared to revive the spirit of the French New Wave with his previous film What Do We See When We Look at the Sky? – an unhurried, meandering and garrulous movie with its own cheeky sort of low-tech magic realism as it followed its nose around the city of Kutaisi. His new film is a mystifying three-hour road movie, shot (as was his debut film Let the Summer Never Come Again) on low-res video, like that of an obsolete cameraphone. It is even more challenging and I have to admit it defeated me, despite some intriguing qualities, including a dry touch of comedy. A middle-aged man called Irakli (David Koberidze) receives a letter addressed to him and his wife, Nino (Irina Chelidze), from their twentysomething photographer daughter Lisa, announcing that she wishes to disappear from their lives. A police officer tells them that Lisa is an adult who can...
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American Graffiti at 50: a classic hangout comedy with a surprising melancholy

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George Lucas’s 60s-set tale of California teens offers some freewheeling fun but also a lingering sadness

Ninety-nine times out of 100, the postscripts that get tucked in before the closing credits, telling us where the characters’ lives have gone from there, are totally unnecessary, especially in a fictional story where their fates are better left to the viewer’s imagination. But in George Lucas’s American Graffiti, which turns 50 this week, they are the most important part of the film, not least because two of the four characters don’t have much longer to live. We can feel that darkness lingering around the edges of Lucas’ dusk-till-dawn nostalgia piece about the last night of summer vacation in 1962 Modesto, California, even while its teenagers are getting into mostly light-hearted forms of trouble. This night has to end, and when the sun comes up, their entire world turns back into a pumpkin.

From the opening shot of Mel’s Drive-In, set to Bill Haley and His Comets’ Rock Around the Clock, American Graffiti seems to unfold inside a snow globe, an idealized past with invisible borders that separate it not only from the outside world, but from the future itself. It’s one of those films, like its spiritual successor Dazed and Confused, that has the quality of a hangout comedy, loose-limbed and goofily episodic, but laced with an air of melancholy that’s so subtle you miss it entirely. (That’s why the postscript is such a slap in the face.) It aches for a scene that had passed just a decade earlier, before the tumult of the Vietnam war and counter-culture, but must have seemed, even then, like ancient history.

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