Passion for Movies

Chinese film-maker Li Yang’s“Blind Mountain” aka “Mang shan” (2007) is a horror movie. Of course, not that kind of horror, where ghosts and monsters walk through the dark to give us few jump scares. Li Yang simply tries to direct a glaring light into the darker and horrific hidden aspects of modern Chinese society. Li’s made his feature film debut at the age of 43 with “Blind Shaft” (2003), which was set on the grueling atmosphere of Chinese coal mine industry. The film was focused on two migrant miners, who conceive an elaborate, criminal plan to murder coal miners and then extort insurance money from mine operators. The implicit message in“Blind Shaft” was about China’s moral decline as it rapidly thrusts toward materialism and globalization. If there is one respectable thing about the two mining protagonists in “Blind Shaft”, it is way they are bound to their family. Family seems to be the only thing that hints at their troubled conscience. But, Li’s “Blind Mountain” takes on some of the most twisted & terrible familial ideals, present among a rural Chinese community.

Considering the unflinching and scathing portrayal of the idyllic Chinese village, the film ran into series of troubles with the Chinese censors, although it garnered considerable praise and victorious run in the international film festivals (screened at Cannes in the ‘Un Certain Regard’ category).“Blind Mountain” (set in the early 1990’s on Northern China) starts with 22 year old college graduate Bai Xuemei (Huang Lu) traveling with an acquaintance and a middle-aged manager to buy herbal medicines from villagers, which their company would sell at retail shops. Bai has taken on this job to pay back her parents for their investment in her education. The trio travel by truck to idyllic hillock, where the locals give them a warm welcome. We see a elderly village man giving some money to the ‘manager’, who then asks Bai to guard their things, while he goes in search of ‘medicine’. A little later, Bai wakes up on a bed, realizing that she has been drugged. Her ID card and money are stolen, adding to the fact that the colleagues have left.

The elderly village man says she has been bought as a wife for his son Degui (Yang Youan). Then Bai is confined to a small room, while the villagers bestow wishes on Degui for finding a wife. In fact, this isn’t the first time, the villagers have ‘bought’ (or abducted) their wife. Bai gradually learns that there are many young girls (with children), who had been abducted in the similar fashion. The villagers are keen on whether De Gui has consummated his marriage or not. One of their advises is to give her some beating. But, Bai is a strong girl and so while his father and mother restrain her, Degui rapes her. The physical & sexual assault continue as Bai repeatedly tries to escape. Few of the abducted women say there is no way they could escape the village and that it’s best to accept their fate. Bai seeks the help of the village head, a tax-collecting government official, but they all brush it off their shoulders stating that it’s just a family dispute. The reluctant Bai, however, vows to escape from the mountain. She takes in the beatings and works like a mule to find some respite from this hell.

Director Li Yang repeatedly inundates the frames with the pastoral landscapes as if commenting on how wrong our versions of hell are. Li for the most part confines his camera to eye-level to imbue docu-drama framework. Li has also extracted naturalistic performances from his actors, with Huang Lu (who turns in a brave performance as Bai) being the only professional actor in the cast. As in “Blind Shaft”, Li Yang tries to focus on the complicated situation faced by Chinese migrants. The morally ‘blind’ migrant miners in “Blind Shaft” wreak havoc as they find a way to exploit their inhumane society. Here, Bai the migrant worker struggles against the moral blindness of a rotten community. The film also tries to portray how male and female migrants are treated, both economically and sexually, in the transitioning markets. It seems to be a matter of survival for the residents of un-named village, who are challenged by modernity. Their forced family environment and impulse to have off-springs reflects on how this traditional culture has also found ways of exploitation to thrust forward with a warped ideology.

Spoilers Ahead

Li Yang persistently showcases shots of men gathering around for a smoke or drink to emphasize the fact of how women are largely isolated from their male family members. These gathered men offer insights on how to subjugate women or else talk about their money problems. Earning money and producing off-springs might be the basic things to for forming family chain. But, the film shows how empty and terrifying our familial ideals would be if money and producing off-springs are the only forefront of our culture. All of the male characters (including that of the teacher) are portrayed as chauvinist or ignorant. The chief flaw of “Blind Mountain” is this type of characterization, where all these men after a point become a caricature. They seem to be things that are purely there to be just hated. The village women’s characterizations were also not as deep as we expect to be. De Gui’s mother, who works as both as a snoop and negotiator, fascinates us (especially in the last scene), but we never get any little insights into her character or to know what urges her to justify such despicable things (definitely it isn’t for love).

The middle part, with Bai’s romantic allusions over the teacher and her attempt to persuade the grocery-store owner to lend money, seems to travel in an overly dramatic fashion. But, the narrative gets better as it ends with a splendid and haunting ending. American anthropologist and Activist David Graeber in his book “Debt: The First 5,000 years” explains (with examples) on how our sense of morality and justice is often reduced to the language of business deal, i.e., money and debt. Graeber argues how even moral obligations & our humanity could be downplayed in relation with money. This observation could be perfectly witnessed in the narrative of “Blind Mountain”. De Gui and his family doesn’t have a guilt over Bai’s fate because she has been bought; when Bai’s alleged husband discovers her affair with the teacher, it all boils down to the teacher discounting the debt De Gui owes; In the gruesome final scene, Bai’s father begs to the police: “It wasn’t easy to finding the money needed. If we fail, I won’t have the money to try again (to rescue Bai)”. Although the twisted bureaucracy and societal values play a blistering role to seal Bai’s fate, the money & debt seems to be the primary source for all the warped nature. The portrayal of women in the strictly patriarchal society plus the angle of ‘money’ is what in a way makes “Blind Mountain” a more universal tale rather than a two-dimension scrutiny of contemporary Chinese society.

“Blind Mountain” (98 minutes) is one of the expertly crafted and painful to watch social conscious movie in the recent years. Despite few haranguing plot points, the movie depicts how moral vacuum and victimization of women thrives in a hypocritical, discrepant society.

Trailer

Blind Mountain aka Mang shan -- IMDb

French-Canadian film-maker Stephane Leflaeur in an interview to ‘Twitch’ magazine says “I’ve always been a filmmaker with small ideas. I like this small territory I occupy. So I think I will keep doing this”. By small territory the film-maker means the way he impeccably captures the aimless & loneliness of young educated people, hailing from an upper middle-class with all kinds of sophisticated electronic equipment. Leflaeur, with his third feature film “You’re Sleeping, Nicole” aka “Tu dors Nicole” (2014) once again returns to post-modern alienation, where a idiosyncratic 22 year old girl is trying to figure out what to do with her life. If Leflaeur first two films “Continental, a Film Without Guns” (2007) and “Familiar Grounds” (2011) imbued a deadpan, nervous tone of Aki Kaurismaki’s oeuvre, “Nicole” very much looks like a younger & more meditative cousin to Noah Baumbach’s bittersweet “Frances Ha” (2012).

In “Nicole”, Lafleur maintains the offhanded surrealism & absurdist tone of his previous works. On the surface, the film could be labeled as a ‘black-and-white slacker movie’, but the nuanced characterizations never make it a derivative. Unlike the good American slacker films (example, Richard Linklater’s works),“Nicole” reveals its hidden depths through intermingled magical realism and less talkative, accomplished performances. The film commences with a recently graduated young girl Nicole (Julianne Cote) waking up naked, next to an un-named man. She slowly dresses as if her mind is thinking about the emptiness of the one-night stand and steps out into a sidewalk, where Nicole’s bike hitched to a fence along with many other bikes. That dreamy haze of a sequence tells a lot about the suburban girl with a puerile attitude.

Nicole’s mom and dad are away on a long summer vacation and she’s been left with lot of instructions about tending the lawns, pools, fish-tanks, etc. She spends her day working in a dead-end job at the local charity store. The rest of the time she hangs out with her best friend Veronique (Catherine St-Laurent) discussing about former boyfriends and planning out what do for the summer. Just as Nicole is happy about having the house to herself and Veronique, her elder brother Remi (Marc-Andre Gronin) arrives with two other band-mates – Pat (Simon Larouche), a married man who’s about to become a father and nonchalant drummer JF (Francis La Haye). Armed with a new credit card, Nicole decides to take a trip to Iceland with Veronique. The summer’s longevity and the characters’ aimlessness, however, diffuse them with new ideas as they become more emotionally distant from one another.

Director Leflaeur’s movie title is drenched with irony. Nicole seems to be suffering from insomnia throughout the summer who is little afraid to fully embrace the adulthood. To kill time, she walks around the neighborhood peeping through windows of still-awake neighbors. She even finds herself in a playground as her eyes seem to be thinking about the less arduous childhood. Nevertheless, the ‘sleeping’ refers to the somnabulant phase of Nicole’s life. It is an expression that indicates her ignorance toward squandered freedom and habitual depression. Nicole in a way thinks fun, freedom like boxes in an application form that just needs to be ticked-off to attain something. Her reply to the unseen one-night stand and her choice of vacation to an alienated land reflects this attitude. Audiences who hate to watch films that lack dramatic fireworks may see this film as one where nothing happens. But, Leflaeur elegantly nuanced script just suggests that a lot is happening under the surface, and waits for patient viewers to unmask them.

Albert Einstein said “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving”. In the film, Nicole’s lock on the bicycle recurrently gets jammed, which somehow works like symbolization for her life’s immobilization. The sense of being stuck increases within Nicole as her romantic flirtations with JF are patronized (“You’re by best buddy’s little sister”) and when her friendship with Veronique goes through unexpected trajectory. Movies often tend to overly judge a young suburban adult, but Leflaeur makes us feel for the protagonist, stuck with indecisiveness. It is not that Leflaeur conceals the main character’s indifference and jealousy towards her peers; it is just that Cote and Leflaeur finds the perfect empathetic tone to make us care. The friendship between Nicole and Veronique also seems palpable with no sentimental turnaround.

Director Leflaeur stays away from soaking the narrative with a false sense of charm or on-the-nose humorous tone. When an elderly co-worker tells Nicole to not stand too close to microwave since it might affect her fertility, she just does the opposite. Even this quirky humorous scene reveals about Nicole’s character rather than being simple gag. Leflaeur pitches up his favorite surrealistic tone with the character of Martin, a ten year old boy with an adult voice and is in love with Nicole, his former babysitter. Martin’s initial conversation with Nicole seems to be discarded joke, but Leflaeur gradually adds depth to the boy’s character, making him to be a contrasting persona when compared with Nicole. There’s also another wonderful surrealistic sequence involving a middle-aged man driving around circles in the neighborhood with a toddler on the back-seat. Sara Mishara’s astounding black and white cinematography provides timelessness to the characters’ inner conflicts. Leflaeur and Mishara opt for a straightforward but resplendent mise-en-scene in which we are able to observe the people on-screen without any preconceived notions.

“You’re Sleeping Nicole” (93 minutes) transcends its generic story-line about the indecisive phase of adulthood into a deliciously contemplative movie experience, with subtle characterizations and gorgeous frames.

Trailer

You're Sleeping aka Tu dors Nicole -- IMDb

Russian film-maker Nikita Mikhalkov’s“Urga” aka “Close to Eden” (1991) is one of those non-narrative movies that moves at a glacial pace and riddled unrelatable characters, but still manages to bestow us an indelible movie experience. This carefree docu-drama tries to explore the vanishing or largely vanished lifestyle of inner Mongolians, who herd sheep and horses with their family in a stunningly beautiful landscape. The exhilarated freedom, the robust family values and fear over the modern technological changes are subtly addressed in this tale of Mongolian nomads. An ‘Urga’ refers to a long stick with a lasso at the end, which the Mongols use it to catch away the adrift sheep and horses. When Mongolian couples make love out in the field, they plant it in the ground to warn others. “Territory of Love” is another English title given to the movie, which is a more apt one, especially after considering that “Urga” is all about sublimely depicting how the nomads’ beloved territory is impinged upon, in the name of technological & cultural advancement.

The PG rated“Urga” starts with a sequence that makes us question the PG rating for a moment or two. We see a rider on a white horse holding the Urga, chasing another rider on a black horse. The rider on the black horse, who is a woman, falls onto the grass and tries to run away, while the man in the white horse catches up with her. He forcefully embraces the woman, but she manages to push him back to escape towards her ‘yurt’ (round tent). Later, we see the woman, with blood oozing from her nose, sitting in the same tent with the man who chased her. As we gradually observe this man and woman, we get to understand the statement ‘appearances can be deceiving’. Gombo (Bayaertu) and Pagma (Badema) are radiantly happy couples, living with three adorable children and an elderly grandmother.

The rape-like scenario has arisen because Pagma, the city girl who has embraced the ways of her husband's nomadic life, wants to respect the Chinese law of three children (for ethnic minorities; Chinese should follow one- child policy, which was ended recently). Gombo, who was enamored by the tales about Mongolian king Genghis Khan, wants to have a fourth child (Genghis Khan was born as a fourth child). Pagma remains wise to the ways of contraception and insists her husband to buy condoms the next time he goes to city. We also get to observe the positively infectious, pastoral lifestyle of the family, whose yurt consists of few modern artifacts like a Swiss knife, a portable stereo, generator, a baseball cap, and an accordion. The family is often visited by drunk uncle Bayartou, riding on a horse, giving them some random gifts. Bayartou has no home and family as we see his belongings – umbrella, a suitcase—hitched onto the horse’s saddle.

On one instance, the uncle gives the picture of Sylvester Stallone (from “Rambo”) to Gombo’s family, who doesn’t own a TV or have seen a movie, and humorously states that he is his brother, living in America. Although the family doesn’t believe Bayartou, we later see Stallone joining the modern artifacts (hangs inside the yurt). Quite unexpectedly, on one fine morning, a Russian truck driver named Sergei (Vladimir Gostyukhin) meets up with Gombo. The burly Russian road worker sleeps while driving the truck, which plunges half-way into the lake. A wealth of details is imbued upon us as Sergei meets Gombo’s family for the dinner. Gombo and Sergei strike up a mirthful camaraderie, which is never exploited for dramatic encounters. The next day, Gombo goes with Sergei with his two horses on a mission to buy a TV and condoms (as per Pagma’s instruction).

Director Mikhalkov made “Urga” after the collapse of Soviet Union with the help of renowned French producer Michel Seydoux. The movie is seen to be a departure point for Mikhalkov (who later went onto make Oscar winning “Burnt by the Sun” and other acclaimed works like “The Barber of Siberia”, “12”, etc), who had in his earlier part of career made period films. In“Urga”, Mikhalkov advocates for mankind’s reunion with nature, and prefers wilderness, tribal rituals in favor of contemporary lifestyle and modern civilization (which is said to have drawn lot of criticism in his homeland). However, Mikhalkov doesn’t make these generalizations in a bland manner. The director starts on a simple yet astounding anthropological level. His excellent directorial skills are evident in the manner he captures the feel and rhythms of the couple’s life, their daily chores and their hospitality towards guests (the slaughter and skinning of the sheep would surely rattle animal-lovers and vegetarians). The nuanced cultural revelations of the Mongols leave us with as much exhilaration as we witnessed about Eskimos in Robert Flaherty’s seminal documentary “Nanook of the North”.

Spoilers Ahead

Sergei’s character initially seems to inhibit all the Russian stereotypical manners. Steel teeth, army background, tattoos, overjoyed nature, assumed superiority and horrified gaze towards Mongolian traditions are all the expected Russian elements diffused by the director. As Sergei strikes a mild friendship with Gombo, and when the duo makes way for the city, we also expect the narrative to travel like a buddy comedy. But, unexpectedly Mikhalkov offers a more humanistic side of Sergei rather than wallowing in stereotype. The depressed weeping of Sergei’s wife, Marina and the silent desolation of his girl child represents how hard it is for the Russian to survive as a stranger in the city. We could understand the kinship between Gombo and Sergei, who both are victims of a harsh economic reality and industrialization. Mikhalkov also doesn’t shy away from observing at Sergei’s superior, hypocritical attitude (evident in Sergei’s tale of sacrifices and in his grandeur vision about Russian forces and fields).

The subtle notions that Mikhalkov imbues in the narrative when Gombo travels for the city might be lost on quite a lot viewers. Mikhalkov and writer Roustam Ibraguimbekov aren’t interested in making a traditional movie out of a much unknown culture. Gombo’s bewildering misadventures in the city are never pitched up to make it a straightforward, feelgood drama. The incongruous journey of Gombo (trotting on horse through paved streets); his nervous reaction in the medical shop, filled with women employers; and his eagerness to eat sugar plums or to buy baseball cap, TV, cycle, etc. seems to insist how rapidly his culture is diminishing and how people are attracted by various symbols of cultural imperialism. The nuanced details about Gombo’s experiences are all wonderfully amalgamated in the poetic dream sequence. In the dream, Gombo’s guilt over embracing modern artifacts acts up as he sees Genghis Khan and his army thunderously arriving to punish (“What’s this iron shit you ride? Where’s your horse”).

The reflective as well as comical dream sequence is then followed by more brilliant scene. In it, we see Gombo’s family consumed by the modern civilization: the grandmother single-mindedly pops out the bubble paper from television box; Gombo uses his ‘urga’ as aerial and they all watch news report about the meeting of Gorbachev and Ronal Reagan. The camera gazes at every family member’s face and all we see is an expression of emptiness and doubt. Slowly, Pagma goes out of the tent and we see her on TV screen, smiling and holding a yurd as if commenting that their life in this pastoral landscape is more interesting and less chaotic than the modern civilization possession by television, which is full of haphazard, unwanted things. The puzzling form of the film comes in the form of its‘epilogue’, where an adult male voice says “This is how I, the fourth child of Gombo was born. They called me Taimoudjine like Genghis Khan in his childhood”. The man’s voice also suggests at the transformation of the steppe and his livelihood. The city’s setting, the television programs hints that the film is set in the present (that is in late 1980s) and so the epilogue narration of Gombo’s fourth child means that it’s a voice coming 20 years later from the present. Or else Mikhalkov just blurs the idea of time to note how all the existing cultures and beautiful valleys are changed or annihilated for the sake of obscure human advancement.

“Urga” (119 minutes) is a subtle, bittersweet commentary on the dilemma of a indigenous family, caught between the reluctance of moving forward with times and notion of holding back their identity. The rich life led by these nomads portrays how calm life could be, unburdened by the western values & objects.

Trailer

Urga aka Close to Eden -- IMDb

Critics fondly call Japanese film-maker Sion Sono, a punk auteur of the 21^st century cinema. Of course that tag doesn’t do full justice to a film-maker, who has in the two decades provided extensive and varied body of works that range from bloody guerrilla-style films (“Hazard”, “Why Don’t You Play in Hell?") to surrealistic tales of abuse (“Suicide Club”, “Strange Circus”) to epics and biting psychological character studies (“Love Exposure”, Cold Fish”). Nevertheless, Sono’s works are definitely not for all. His penchant for framing assortments of perversity and anarchist behavior would rattle viewers not interested in darkening subject matters. Sono’s 2011 movie“Himizu” may not be his best, but it’s definitely one of the boldest works, where Sono was able to expand on his trademark themes as well as able to diffuse several new stressful themes. It was also one of the director’s most compassionate works with less violence and perversity.

“Himizu” was based on a manga series of the same name from 2001-02. The manga series portrayed the grim story of a middle-school boy Sumida. Sono updated the script by setting Sumida’s restless spirit against the backdrop of ferocious 2011 Tohoku earthquake and tsunami (Spike Lee’s “25^thHour” was adapted in similar manner from David Benioff’s novel). The initial shots set in the aftermath of earthquake lend a post-apocalyptic feeling and in the course of the narrative, Sono along with existential crisis of a teen was able to tell wider societal implications of the disaster. The 14 year old protagonist Sumida (Shota Sometani) lives in a decrepit lakeside shack with an alcoholic mother. In the evening, after school, Sumida rents out boats for tourists, but the humongous disaster has curbed the business prospects. Only a warm community of homeless men and women gather around Sumida’s house (including an elderly man named Yoruno who claims to be a company CEO, lost everything to earthquake).

Sumida’s father is a deadbeat, who often beats the boy for money and repeatedly states, how great it would be if Sumida had drowned when he was meant to, so that he could have claimed the insurance money. The exuberant teacher at the junior-high class asks Sumida to have a ‘dream’, but the boy replies ‘A boat shack’s fine; Ordinary is the best’. In fact Sumida’s aim is to live like‘himizu’– an indigenous shrew mole of Japan. Apart from the homeless, the only person cares about Sumida’s well being is a self-confessed stalker classmate, Keiko Chazawa (Fumi Nikaido), who was written all the words Sumida has uttered in school and pasted it in her room. One day, the boy’s mother runs off with a stranger, leaving a note ‘have a nice life’.Later, Sumida is brutally beaten by Yakuza gang, to whom his father owes a lot of money. All this physical and emotional tortures pushes Sumida to embrace a homicidal madness. As the boy struggles to find a way from the doomed future, he encounters soulmates, fully consumed by the societal madness.

As usual, director Sono seamlessly establishes the cruelty of the world Sumida inhabits through impeccable visual palettes (littered with rubble and muddy riverbanks) and painfully real human characters. Sono takes the post-tsunami devastation images of Japan and subtly uses it as a symbol for a repressed society that is barely holding itself together.The repeated abuse of the younger people might be viewed as over-the-top (Chazawa’s parents has built a gallows for the girl to hang), but these abuses could be taken as a metaphor for how elderly statesmen of the government have abused the general public’s trust in them (like smothering the implications of a nuclear disaster). Sono’s vision of school only seems to provide that common, useless platitudes like ‘I’m a flower, one of a kind’, whereas the students are thrown at immeasurable societal challenges.

“Himizu” is diffused with Sono’s thematic trademarks as well as differs a lot from the previous works. The extraordinary surrealism, heightened approach towards perverseness and violence depicted in Sono’s ‘Hate Trilogy’ (“Love Exposure”, “Cold Fish” & “Guilty of Romance”) has been replaced with a sense of optimism and more grounded characters. The number of selfless characters in “Himizu” provides tough fight to the gang of abusers. Despite her eccentricity, Chazawas comes off as the altruistic character capable of transcending the Japanese psyche with a distinguished better future. Child-like Yoruno (played to perfection by Tetsu Watanabe) represents a older generation that seeks redemption for the sins of past. While, Sumida is beaten up by the Yakuza member, Yoruno chimes in and asks to be beaten for the debt owed. He also makes a statement “It’s only six million! You beat up a little boy for that amount”, which insists on the triviality of the conflict, compared with the larger environmental threats.

Sono’s has the ability to transform a seemingly random encounter into a sequence that resonate his favorite societal themes. In one inventive, gutsy scene we see pair of inexperienced burglars hiding from the house owner, a neo-Nazi who watches the news report on Fukushima disaster implicating the government officials. The person in TV states how Japanese always use the excuse‘that they’d come too far’. The same excuse in a subtle manner is used by all the characters over the course of narrative (the burglars goes too far by not just robbing but also killing the neo-Nazi). In another scene, a perplexed young man is caught before he tries to stab a man, singing on stage. He asks“Who Am I?” which is a question that haunts Sumida’s mind (referred in the poem he recites) and confronted by an entire society in the aftermath of disaster. “Himizu” drew a lot of attention for its public stabbing sequences, especially after the recent confession of ‘Charleston Church Shooting’ suspect Dylan Roof stated that ‘Himizu’s’ teen protagonist inspired him to commit the act (Roof’s website had Sumida’s words “Even if my life is worth a speck of dirt, I want to use it for the good of society").

Sono’s work, nevertheless, doesn’t encourage violence to get rid of angst. In fact, the film insists on love, hope for such endlessly abused people. The public stabbing spree witnessed numerous times by Sumida actually happened in Tokyo’s Akihabara district. The incident on Akihabara left 10 injured and seven dead (all are pedestrians) and similar kind of incidents happened in Hiratsuka Train station, Tokyo supermarkets, etc. A Japanese Criminal-sociology specialist commented on a ‘Seattle Times’ article that "the number of isolated young people in society is increasing. Many people feel that the competitiveness of Japanese society has made them outsiders.” Sono accumulates these harrowing real-life incidents to strengthen his viewpoint on the pressures faced by Japanese teens (in the film, the youngster stabbing in the bus shouts "Don't I have a choice?"). He subtly notes the irony in the speech of the schoolteacher, who persists on individuality as well as the need for all to have singular vision to build the nation. The mid-part where Sumida wanders through the city with a misguided idea of activism does seem a little too long & repetitive. But, the ending is one of the best in Sono’s films. As Keiko persistently shouts“Sumida! Don’t give up!” to the salvation-seeking young man, we feel how compassionate, hopeful and unpredictable this Japanese punk auteur could be.

“Himizu” (130 minutes) is a bold, stinging examination of existential and moral crisis faced by an embittered youth and a devastated society.

Trailer

Himizu -- IMDb

Only few directors in the world of cinema were able to produce astoundingly prolific works with consistency for a longer time in their career. British film-maker Ken Loach’s five decade directorial career is one rare example. From “Poor Cow” (1967) to “Jimmy’s Hall” (2014), Loach has been a champion filmmaker in raising thorny sociopolitical questions. Loach’s declamations against the established power also made to be the most misrepresented and vilified of the British directors. Renowned Critics often annotate that every images within a film arrive with ideologies attached with them and that cinema is more than a means to offer distraction and pleasure. If you those words seem to speak the truth, then a movie-buff can’t definitely exclude this foremost political filmmaker.

Ken Loach’s much admired naturalistic style reached its fullest form of expression in his second feature-film“Kes” (1969). The film was based on Barry Hines’ novel “A Kestrel for a Knave”, who co-wrote the screenplay along with Loach and television producer Tony Garnett (Loach’s earlier TV dramas were produced by Garnett). The story basically fits into the ‘coming-of-age’ sub-genre, told with a dash of Neorealism. The film’s protagonist is a gangly and wise teenage boy Billy Casper (David Bradley), hailing from a Yorkshire working family. His town named ‘Barnsley’ is a mining town, where social and economic oppression always sends the working class into the abyss of emotional despair. Billy is more intelligent, smart and respectful than what his teachers and family members think of. Billy, owing to his background, is always perceived as a thief, and so he doesn’t care to nick things when it is convenient. He is repeatedly bullied & exploited by the social system in place.

The film starts with Billy woken up early in the morning by the ramblings of his elder brother, Jud (Freddie Fletcher) who has to go for his shift in the pit. Jud has skipped school to be just another laborer in the coal pits and things aren’t looking the same for Billy too. The boys’ mother (Lynn Perrie) is either preoccupied with her unskilled job or about her new boyfriend. It’s been long time since the father has disappeared from the scene. Billy’s not much interested in studies and the teachers’ pompous presence doesn’t do anything to change his view. He is often bullied by his classmates (with ill-words aimed at his parents) and by his elder brother. Billy’s meandering imagination finds an objective when he sees a beautiful kestrel and its nest in a nearby farm. He gets (or stoles) a manuscript on falconry and is intrigued by the ways to train a kestrel Hawk. Billy later takes a kestrel from its nest, names it “Kes”, spending most of his time in training the bird. He soon becomes some sort of expert on falconry and the birds’ presence seems to flutter at the gloominess surrounding him.

“Kes” is a very simple but a highly rewarding coming of age cinema ever made. Loach’s great quality of being a profound humanist benefits in bringing out carefully observed nuances in the characters. The director subtly notes at how individuals could be disoriented by an oppressive social system, which expects one to do the same thing as his fore-bearer. Unlike Loach’s later works like“Raining Stones”, “Looking Eric”, etc,“Kes” doesn’t really have a figure of villainy. Jud, Billy’s brother, could be considered as antagonist by some. His burning anger and drunken slurs make him a despicable character, but Loach tries to humanize by showing the madness he goes to go through by working in the pits. Jud’s wrath in the end, directed towards Billy is not because his younger brother has stolen money belonged to him, but for the reason that the money could have made him to take a week off from the pits (“Sixteen quid! I could have had a lousy week off work for that” says Jud).

“This Sporting Life” (1963),“The Loneliness of Long Distance Runner” (1962) were some other exemplary socially conscious ‘Kitchen-sink’ dramas, but what “Kes” makes excellent from the lot is its profound central performance and the way Loach blends in humor into the proceedings. One of the most talked about scene in “Kes” is the football sequence, where a puffed up coach (played by Brian Glover) fancies himself to be a ace League player and bullies the students to make his side score goals. On the outset, the sequence might seem to be there to provide laughs, but the manner in which Billy is treated during and after the game points at the absence of basic human decency in an institution that deems to uphold social values. The same point is insisted a little grimly when ill-tempered headmaster Gryce punish students with a cane. But, as always Loach’s members of establishment aren’t always the uninterested lot. There’s Mr. Farthing who seems to resonate the viewer’s voice and comes close to recognizing Billy’s true potential. The couple of scenes, when Billy talks to Farthing on what’s troubling him sum up the underlying emotional crisis of Billy and why the boy associates himself with a kestrel hawk (“Teachers, sir. They’re not bothered about us. They’re always looking at their watches to see how long is left of the session”).

Billy’s understanding about the nature of kestrel hawk (“Hawks can’t be tamed. They are manned. That’s what makes it great”) tell us a lot about his aspirations or expectations. He respects the hawk for what it is and he expects the same from the society that always puts on the lens of preconceived ideas. The author and script writer Barry Hines’ choice for ‘kestrel hawk’ as the titular bird is not without reason. ‘Kestrel hawks are perceived to occupy lower social classes, with eagle inhabiting the top place. So, Kes becomes a true companion for the boy, who is forced to be stay at the lower rungs of socioeconomic class. If you are aware of Loach’s work, then the ending might be easily predictable. Others might be affected by the abrupt, downcast climax. In fact, many critics complain that this downward spiral towards pessimism as the fundamental flaw in the director’s works, however realistic it might be.

In “Kes”, the dispirited closure is expected as an unjust severity from the film’s first frame is elusively entwined. Despite its resolute, observational direction and splendid cinematography, the reason for Kes’ burgeoning impact is David Bradley’s utter lack of self-consciousness in portraying Billy Casper. Bradley’s debut could be fittingly compared with the emblematic performance of Jean-Pierre Leaud in Truffaut’s“400 Blows” (1959). His delicate and detailed gestures while training the hawk are enthralling to look at. But, whats more impressive is that Bradley has a comfortable screen presence, even when his character does nothing but just observe his surroundings.

“Kes” (110 minutes) is a heartbreaking and contemplative coming-of-age masterpiece that imbues a poetic sense of topography and character. Its brand of social realism is what continues to inspire contemporary British film-makers like Andrea Arnold, Shane Meadows, etc.

Kes -- IMDb

Roger Ebert's Review

The South American rain-forest country Colombia is famous for its culturally-rich carnivals, among many other things. The ethnically diverse rural side of the nation – populated by natives, Spanish colonists and Africans brought as slaves – is said to place huge importance on music. The traveling musicians, called as ‘Troubadours’, are seen as valued member of the society. The accordion players and drummers are the only source of entertainment for the hard-working, impoverished farmers of rural Colombia. Music festivals like the famous ‘Vallenato Kings Festival’ (vallenato means ‘born in the valley’) would make the great peasant musicians and folk singers to gather in small Colombian villages for fierce instrumental duels. Colombian film-maker Ciro Guerra’sprotagonist in his second feature-film “The Wind Journeys” (“Los viajes del viento”, 2009) is an aging troubadour/accordion player, who is literally and metaphorically at cross-roads in his life.

“The Wind Journeys” has a simple, thin story-line: an elderly Vallenato musician, Igancio Carillo (Marciano Martinez) is on a quest to return his accordion to its rightful owner – Ignacio’s old master. Ignacio is accompanied by a young wanna-be musician Fermin Morales (Yull Nunez), who wants to be a famous wandering musician. Ignacio has no sweethearts waiting. In fact, he has recently buried his beloved wife and vowed to not play the accordion. The Morales in Fermin’s name is derived from his mother’s husband as he doesn’t know about real biological father, who is said to be some wandering musician. One is in search for solitude from his exhausted career, while the other is in search of a career to be in peace. So, its plot structure could make up for a typical ‘in search of a father/son figure’ movie, but “Wind Journeys” in many ways remain distinctive, thanks to Guerra’s subtle tones and ponderous rhythms plus the spectacular landscapes.

The movie is said to have been filmed in nearly 80 locations around the less explored (cinematically) rural, northern coasts of Colombia (Guerra’s first movie“The Wandering Shadows” (2004) was a travelogue and so is his upcoming film “Embrace of the Serpent”, which was filmed in Amazon jungle). The cross country journey made by Ignacio and Fermin takes the viewers through remarkable and varied areas of snowy mountain ranges, lagoons and deserts. Director Guerra’s DoP Paulo Andres Perez employs sweeping wide shots to showcase the majestic glory of the land. The geographic locations itself plays an important role in the character transformations and renders a refined episodic quality to the proceedings. Ignacio battles in an accordion duel, while he also plays in the background for a life-claiming duel.Cattle rearers and poor farmers from the villages easily recognize as if he was local mayor or priest. We see brutish plantation owners asking musicians to play their favorite tunes, in the same manner a king uses jesters in their court. There are also unexpected, sublime moments, when Ignacio plays music from the heart.

Guerra imbues the Latin American brand of magical realism in his script and images. Ignacio’s accordion is decorated with a pair of painted horns and a folktale behind the instrument is that it was received by Ignacio’s master as a prize for winning duel against the devil itself. The narration is filled with similar cultural tidbits, which makes the changing landscapes more magical. The mythical tales and wonderlands, however, don’t eschew the harsh lifestyle endured by the people. Guerra never ignores the characters’ woes and the society’s afflictions, but the folk sensibilities and local musical influences convey how elegant these people are in accepting life as it is. Guerra uses dialogues only to provide us some information about Ignacio’s troubled past and the present existential crisis. For the most part, as in a Herzog or Terrence Malick movie, the images speak a lot, while the characters find it hard to express themselves.

The conversations aren’t written in a cinematic fashion and no definitive answers are provided in the end. Guerra doesn’t even film the customary goodbyes (typical in Western road movies) or goes for sentimental close-ups, when the two main characters are soothed by their companionship. Cynicism is kept at bay, especially when myth, customs and superstitions crisscross the journey. As the journey is punctuated by outbursts of violence and supernatural evocations, we expect the film-maker to adopt a cynical tone; the urge to comment on the absurdity of Ignacio’s quest. But, this absence of cynicism is what adds strength to the narrative’s contemplative, mysterious tone; it is what renders the amazement in seeing in a culture, not unhinged by sleek appliances. Most of the performers in the film are non-actors, playing their real-life parts (Martinez playing Ignacio was a real Vallenato musician).

Great film-makers and critics often comment that cinema’s true ability is to make invisible things visible.“The Wind Journeys” (117 minutes) portrays emotions, customs and natural beauty that are otherwise invisible to our modern, misanthropic eyes. It would be a tedious affair for mainstream viewers, but a perfect journey for those seeking remarkably mature & restrained cinematic experience.

Trailer

The Wind Journeys aka Los viajes del viento -- IMDb

Genre-blending exercises are often seen as a risky venture as many would be ready to pounce on a movie for not following a distinct, identifiable path. Indian mainstream films often blend genres, but mostly to a migraine-inducing effect. Even in the best genre-blending Indian movies, melodrama or colorful songs serves as a much required connecting bridge to ease the audience. A mad-cap energy and unchecked ambition are eschewed out of these Indian masala films. Kamal Haasan’s “Abhay aka Aalavandhan” (2000) is one fine example for an Indian film that tried to coalesce endemic sub-genres with unlimited energy. It tried to be an action thriller (the kind we witness in Hong Kong films); a stoner/psychopath film (as in Hollywood); a romance; a psychological thriller; and also incorporated Bollywood-style songs. Of course, some worked and some seemed totally out of place, but these impulsive tonal swings are something we rarely experience in cinema. Korean film-makers, like their Indian counterparts try to make poly-generic films and over the decades, they have mastered this skill than Indian film-makers.

Bong Joon-ho is one such excellent poly-generic film-maker (“The Host”, “Snowpiercer”). But, Jang Joon-hwan’s“Save the Green Planet” (2003) is one of the most wildly veering, genres splicing Korean film that reached the same fate as“Abhay”. The posters of the film would make you think of it as an offbeat sci-fi comedy. It could be a macabre comedy as the opening sequence suggests or a wacky romantic comedy, a police procedural, demented serial-killer movie, an alien conspiracy tale as the later acts hints at. “Save the Green Planet” incorporates all these types along with a rich sociopolitical subtext. The film opens with the voice-over of Lee Byeong-gu (Shin Ha-kyun) explaining to his acrobat girlfriend Soo-ni (Hwang Jeong-min) about the plan of masquerading aliens to take over Earth at the next Lunar eclipse (as we saw in Hollywood films “Invasion of Body Snatchers” or “They Live”). Lee is convinced that CEO of a renowned chemical company, Kang Man-shik (Baek Yun-shik) hails from “Andromeda”. He suspects Kang is the leader of aliens’ conspiracy to exploit Earth’s natural resources.

Lee also believes that by kidnapping and torturing Kang, he could learn lot about the‘royal genetic code’ and that through Kang, he could destroy the‘Andromedan Prince’, who is about to arrive on Earth by the lunar eclipse. Lee and Soo-ni kidnaps a drunk, uncooperative Kang in his underground garage which lends for a wonderful blackly comic sequence. Lee is always armed with a pepper spray, a weird helmet and a garbage bag garb, which according to him are the best elements to defend and block alien brain waves. Kang’s head is first shaved as Lee believes hairs for the aliens are some sort of signaling device. The kidnapped CEO is placed in an underground lair of Lee’s isolated hillside home, which previously served as bathhouse for coal-miners. Lee works as a honey-bee farmer and in the leisure time, he either tortures Kang or designs mannequins for local shops.

The bigwig Kang is also the son-in law of police chief and so the search for him becomes the first priority. An ingenious ex-detective Chu (Lee Jae-yong) and a disgruntled young detective work together secretly and make headway than the incompetent police force, which falls for contrived evidences from Lee. Gradually, it is revealed that it’s not the first time Lee has kidnapped someone. He had done prior experiments on other suspected aliens, although it produced no valuable results. For Lee, Kang looks like the perfect alien, since even under chains and after all the torture, Kang talks in a lofty, influential manner. Nevertheless, Kang remembers Lee, who before spewing alien-conspiracy tales worked in his chemical company. It is then we are filled with Lee’s backstory and what caused this alien invasion paranoia.

Jang Joon-hwang exhibits relentless energy as a director, especially for a debut feature (unfortunately Jang only made one full length movie after this). The director is at his best in designing the dark humor sequences, in poking fun at the messianic complex of American heroes, and when Kang & Lee play their mind games. Jang’s directorial approach loses some energy when it veers to be an intelligent police procedural. The film starts off as an amalgamation of different genre approaches and appeared to rely on the question of ‘is he insane or not’? However, as the narrative progresses, there was genuine character development and multiple-layers associated with Korean sociopolitical climate are revealed. In fact, what tried to be a goofy, violent comedy transcends to pose contemplative questions on the human condition. It isn’t that the script is devoid of contrivances. It has the usual dose of Korean melodrama and an extended climax that tries too much to increase the ambiguity. But, its manic originality is something we can’t banish as a nonsensical drill.

The elegantly conveyed backstory, the film’s larger message and an impeccable production design definitely demands a second-viewing. Bullying is one of the primary themes explored in the film. Bullying of strong against weak and the man’s bullying nature towards the environment seems to have played a vital role in protagonist Lee’s transformation. Director Jang draws wonderful parallels from the exploitation experienced by Lee in the society with the industrial exploitation spear-headed by governments and corporates. Jang’s choice of Kangwon province as Lee’s abode is said to lend the socioeconomic significance to the tale. Kangwon, now a rich casino land, once was a coal-mining town. In the 1980’s when the government took forward its ‘improving economy’ agenda, the miners lost their jobs, which later resulted in protests and bloodshed. In the narrative, CEO Kang and insane Lee gradually transform to become symbols for the persistent struggle between rich and poor. In the cases of demented killers, the question of nature vs nurture is repeatedly raised. Here, Lee was badly exploited by both nature as well as nurture.

“Save the Green Planet” (118 minutes) is a wildly innovative effort that tries to avoid clear-cut generic labeling. Not everything works here in this genre-blending flick, but it should be watched for its unbridled energy and fascinating emotional core.

Save the Green Planet aka Jigureul jikyeora! -- IMDb

Political and socioeconomic unrest reached over a boiling point in the American late 1960’s as the politicians were busy with the presidential nominating conventions. Civil Rights Movement, Sexual freedom and Vietnam War became the vital talking points for outstanding intellectuals. It was also the time when US politics and the theatrical aura of television shows amalgamated to give way for ‘Live’ political debates. Directors Morgan Neville(won an Oscar for the doc.“20 Feet from Stardom”) and Robert Gordon’s “Best of Enemies” (2015) fixes the series of Live-TV debates between political luminaries William F. Buckley, Jr. and Gore Vidal, as its condensing point to highlight how it has led to the modern, on-screen clamoring of political nitwits.

“Best of Enemies” is also one of the most lamentable tales since Gordon and Neville sheds light onto the psyche of these two brilliant thinkers, their egos and existential crisis. The documentary commences with a quick introduction about the highly competitive American television news circuit during 1968 summer. Republican and Democratic Party conventions for the upcoming presidential elections were going on full-fledged, but the ABC television network suffered in the hands of its counterparts CBS and NBC due to its inability to provide the ‘gavel-to-gavel’ coverage. As the former President of NBC news clearly puts forth: “ABC was the third of the three networks. Would’ve have been fourth, but there were only three”.

William Buckley, the prominent conservative political commentator was once asked, if there was anybody he wouldn’t share a stage with. Buckley said he would refuse to talk up with a communist, or Gore Vidal. The mutual antipathy between these two men suddenly gave ideas to the studio-heads of ABC and so they concocted 10 televised debates, which slowly turned into a ratings-grabbing, firebrand show. Both William Buckley and Gore Vidal had experienced resounding defeats and staggering successes in their lives. Buckley and Vidal were beaten down in their desire to run for political office (in the early 1960’s). However, Buckley became an eminent host of right-wing talk show ‘Firing Line’, while Vidal got busy with writing acclaimed works, including the scandalous, satirical novel "Myra Breckinridge”.

Gore Vidal and Buckley’s animosity seems to have not just developed from their difference in opinion over political ideology or sexuality (Gore despite being called as gay literary icon, refused to identify himself as homosexual. In one of his famous remarks Gore said: “Actually, there is no such thing as a homosexual person, any more than there is such a thing as a heterosexual person”). They just hated each other as a person. As one guy says in the doc., “Their confrontation is about lifestyle; what kind of people should we be?”Their mutual hatred reaches a culmination point at the Chicago’s Democratic convention as Vidal in the flow of the argument calls Buckley “a crypto-nazi”. To which, Buckley angrily hisses in live TV show saying “Now listen you queer, stop calling me a crypto-nazi or I’ll sock you in your goddamn face and you’ll stay plastered”.

The strong words from Buckley are shocking even in this deplorable name-calling political climate. It’s considered as a great breach of conduct and Vidal has taken it as victory over his arch-rival. Directors Neville and Gordon makes it clear how this vital moment in the debate haunted the lives of both men, till their death, and how it forever changed the way politics is discussed on TV-shows. The highest ratings rewarded by the viewers at the end of Vidal-Buckley made TV networks to embrace verbal fisticuffs of political pundits. The 10 part televised debates has in an obscure manner played a leading role in transforming political talks to a theatrical performance. Today, in all democratic nations across several languages, we could see corporate & social media encouraging political demagogues (or even nitpickers) to tear down their opposers rather than discussing on mutual agendas.

Directors Robert Gordon (left) and Morgan Neville

By perfectly staging the life events of Buckley and Vidal, before and after the debate, the directors were able to make us understand how these men were product of their own desperate era. But, what these men couldn’t understand then (which the director duos puts rightly in context) is that, they are going to become precursors of metamorphosing political landscape. Neville and Gordon were shrewd in their execution. They have impeccably created the political atmosphere of American 1960’s through perfectly placed historical footage. The sidelong commentary from former studio-heads, biographers and journalists highlights the importance of this rivalry within the contemporary realm and also allows for an uncanny reflection into the lives of Vidal-Buckley.

“Best of Enemies” (87 minutes) is one the most entertaining & illuminating documentaries to showcase how broadcast media and two great minds turned political discourse into a blood-sport.

Trailer

Best of Enemies -- IMDb

“Nobody is born evil. Most people are simply getting over bad emotional habits established in the first ten years of their life” says Marlon Brando in Stevan Riley’s unusual and stupendous first-hand documentary “Listen to Me Marlon” (2015). Like that relevatory quote, Riley’s work tries to be a eulogy for all trouble artists, rather than being a mundane & pitying portrait of Brando. Marlon was a very private person, although the tabloids and media liked to keep him on a spotlight. In his lifetime, he had rarely lowered his defenses to let others (even loved ones) learn about his innermost thoughts. And so, Riley’s documentary becomes a significant one since it is entirely based on Marlon’s private audio recordings.

With the permission of Brando’s own estate, Riley has combed through 200 hours of the recordings to concoct a profound journey into the great actor’s psyche. Marlon preferred to speak his thoughts as he was dyslexic and has treated the audio records as a form of ‘self-hypnosis’ (he says ‘Listen to me Marlon’); a way to let go. But, Riley doesn’t stick with the one-dimensional autobiographical note. He cobbles together film clips, behind-the-scene footage, and early interviews to provide us multi-dimensional, and often misunderstood, notions of Marlon. The documentary opens with a strange, digitized 3D image of Brando’s head (which the actor made in the 1980’s) and this hologram makes lip movements to the audio recordings. It sort of gives the viewer an effect of Marlon talking from beyond the grave.

The stylistic element of using the hologram becomes particularly relevant when Brando regards the unbridled power of human face in a performance (“Your face is the proscenium arch of the theater, thirty feet high”). The documentary is not told in a strict chronological sense, although it starts from Brando’s childhood to his move to New York, where he met Stella Adler, a legendary method-acting teacher (and her mentor is Stanislavsky). After many of the emotionally despairing incidents in his life, Brando goes back to his afflicted childhood. He elucidates the emotional stress of living with alcoholic and abusive parents. But, this isn’t a documentary where Marlon just goes on and on for the sake of his ardent fans.

Riley astoundingly uses his directorial crafts to keep all the movie-lovers intrigued. The tapes suggest how Brando’s personal life was affected by the method-acting and Riley’s juxtaposes the clips of Brando spending time with paraplegics (to play a role of paraplegic army veteran in his debut feature-film “The Men”). Later, Marlon tells how angered he was at the sight of seeing his father beating on mother and used that anger to play a vital scene in“A Streetcar Named Desire” (Riley plays up ‘Stanley Kowalski’s tantrum in front of Stella Dubois'). The director also uses the clips & images to insist on how Brando had to make over a public image, for the sake of money & fame. We hear Marlon reciting about the abusive behaviors of his alcoholic dad, which is laid in parallel with a made-up act for TV interview (where Marlon and his dad sit with a smile) – “We had an act we put on for each other. I played the loving son and they played the adoring parents”.

Brando does some brutally honest assessment on his performances (“There are times I know I’d much better acting than in that scene"– referring to"I coulda been a contender” scene from “On the Waterfront”). He is also candid in his hate for certain directors (Coppola, Bertolucci), movies and scripts. “How can you do that to yourself? Haven’t you got any pride fucking left” says Brando to himself on his role on “Candy” (1968). Perhaps the most poignant part of the documentary is Marlon hoping for peace of mind. The footage of his time in Tahiti are played over, in which he seems to be perfectly at home. Riley also allows us to see Brando’s reflective & rebellious side, which was rarely given its due in media. Marlon’s stand on the civil rights movement, on the plight of Native Americans, on the insincere attitude of Hollywood studios enlightens us on his craving to bring about a social change.

“Listen to me Marlon” is quite frank in a way we doesn’t expect it to be. Brando’s frankly talks about his numerous affairs, while being married – “Past a certain point, the penis has its own agenda… a lot of your decisions are made by your penis, not by your brain”. At times, Riley uses the audio to solemnly observe how contradictory Brando’s words turned out to be. After the birth of his first son, Christian, Brandon says “The day he was born, I said to myself ‘my father is never going to come near that child, because of the damage did to me”. Later in his life, Brando regrets for not being a good father (Christian was convicted on a manslaughter case; and Marlon's daughter Cheyenne committed suicide at the age of 25). The actor reflects on how all his emotional malaise have raised from the first 10 years of his life and how he wasn’t able to redeem himself from that earlier damage.

I was overwhelmed by a sense of wonder at the end of documentary as director Riley has only relied on Marlon’s voice & clippings (without using a single talking-head), and yet made it to be one of the most fascinating, biographical accounts of the legendary actor. There are times, when the narrating hologram plus the visuals of abandoned mansion or wind chimes becomes distracting, but for the greater part the documentary is a triumph of editing. Riley makes it more than an account on ‘greatest actor ever lived’; it’s also about a contemplative individual’s restless search for himself.

Trailer

Listen to Me Marlon -- IMDb

“I saw it all from your belly. I felt the slashing of your body. That’s why now I wear this, in me like a shield. Because only revulsion stops revolting people”

Peruvian film-maker Claudia Llosa’s“The Milk of Sorrow” aka “Le Teta Asustada” (translates to ‘The Frightened Teat’) is a fractured, bizarre and a beautiful film. It’s fractured because it is about a fractured society; the one in which the trauma of an era’s violence or sexualized violence still lingers. The woman born in this society doesn’t have much to inherit, except their mother’s persistent fear of sexual violence. As per the folk custom, these abused matriarchs pass their emotional bruises to female offspring through breast milk. Apart from the central metaphorical title, the film is riddled with other allegorical symbols (some forced & some subtle ones), but at the same time, there’s unbridled poetry in the images, which allows the viewers to connect simply on an emotional level. Yeah, your patience to take on a dismembered narrative would surely be tested, although for me it was a rewarding experience.

Armed conflicts between government and rebels have become frequent event in Peru, from the 1980’s. It is in the 1980’s, an armed Maoist rebel force named ‘Shining Path’ aka ‘Sendero Luminoso', started its fight with paramilitary and state forces. The Shining Path and their counterparts, however, only showed a blood path to the Peruvians. More than 70,000 civilians died in that early conflict (lasted from 1980 to 1992), in which mass rapes were used as a vital strategy by the army. Harvard anthropologist Kimberley Theidon’s book ‘Entre Prejimos’ is said to have vividly described the sexually abused women’s testimonials (the atrocities which often resulted in pregnancies).“The Milk of Sorrow” opens with the singing voice of an old, indigenous Peruvian woman, who sings about the traumatic experiences she endured in that period (raped and forced to swallow her dead husband’s penis).

The old woman soon dies, passing down the suffering to her cowering young daughter Fausta (Magaly Solier). She is one of those unfortunate children, whom arrived into the world ‘without a soul because it hid underground out of fear’. Fausta has taken her mother’s dread so much into her heart that she has implanted a potato in her vagina to repel the ‘potential’ rapists, although it is a comparatively peaceful period in Lima – capital city of Peru. A doctor warns that using potato as a contraceptive device would kill her (potato has begun to take root and makes her bleed). Apart from that internalized fear, Fausta’s immediate problem comes over from her desire to give mother, a proper burial in the village. Her uncle (Marion Ballon), with whom Fausta lives, wants to bury the body in the backyard, since it would be too much to spend on coffins and other expenses.

The uncle’s family is also busy with their daughter’s marriage, and so Fausta has to move her mother’s preserved body within that auspicious event. In order to cover the burial expenses, Fausta gives in and takes a job her aunt recommends. She works as a maid in ‘big house’, the abode of a wealthy & sullen pianist Aida (Susi Sanchez). Ms. Aida symbolizes the typical, exploitative bourgeoisie, who promises a pearl for every song Fausta sings in her beautiful, melancholic voice. The young woman gradually finds her inner voice too through her emblematic experiences in the house, which also includes meeting a genial gardener Noe (Efrain Sollis), who seems different from the predatory guy, she always envisions. Can she make gentle strides to overcome transmitted sorrow & neuroses?

Spoilers Ahead

“The Milk of Sorrow” is a highly meditative character study that ends with a hopeful message (a water symbolism). The whole dealing with the ‘old wounds’ kind of story-line could have easily been transformed into a melodrama, but director Claudia sensibly concentrates on the hushed emotions of the haunted souls. Claudia Llosa’s narrative moves in a glacial pace, but what would test the viewers’ patience is that way each scenario is imbued into the narrative. On the outset, these scenes may seem to not provide an immediate emotional heft. Nevertheless, a deep, resonating emotional effect waits for those who could see through its layers of allegory and symbolism. Yeah, the symbolical visual imagery becomes too distracting at times (like the scene, when Fausta & her uncle sit on opposite points in a frame, separated by a large cloth in the shape of X; a large remote-controlled door that separates two different, fractured societies, etc), although it doesn’t threaten to derail the character’s tangible emotional journey. One of my favorite visual in the film is that of empty grave turned into a swimming pool (although I couldn’t fathom what it really symbolizes).

There’s enough emotional restraint Claudia displays with her intuitive frames (filmed mostly in medium or long shots) and in portraying the inner torments of Fausta. The slightly detached observational distance the director keeps leaves certain lurid things off-screen, but never lessens the impact on viewers. Fausta’s uncle & aunt work as wedding planners and the recurring iterations of the Peruvian marriage ceremonies illustrates the placement of traditionally unique rituals alongside the modernized attitudes. These insipidly jovial ceremonies also serve as a counterpoint to the emotional isolation that pervades in the society (symbolized in the scene, where Fausta & her family stand in front of a painted tropical background for a portrait). The rich Peruvian of European descent and the way she lures Fausta with pearls to gain access to the young girl’s songs could be taken in a more allegorical manner than a simple plotting device. In spite of the pressing images of magical-realism, the film could be termed as ‘obnoxious’, if not for the vacant, anguished eyes of Magaly Solier (she made her acting debut in Claudia’s first film “Madeinusa”). She impeccably wears the forced passivity of women, fearing mistreatment, but also brings out her emotional pain through those songs.

“The Milk of Sorrow” (95 minutes) is a restrained and arresting portrayal of emotionally injured women, in search of a curative process. Its heavier themes and symbolism-crowded images would demand from you a reflective mindset.

Trailer

The Milk of Sorrow aka Le teta asustada -- IMDb

Hirokazu Kore-eda is one of the best film-makers working today, who could tell a simple story with abundance of empathy and by employing meditative visuals. His brand of humanist cinema pays homage to legendary film-makers like Kieslowski, Ozu, Angelopoulos, and Kenji Mizoguchi. Most of Kore-eda films – “Nobody Knows”, “Still Walking”, “Like Father, Like Son", etc – withholds a firm emotional core, which in the hands of lesser directors, could be easily turned into an insincere melodrama. It’s really unbelievable how Kore-eda possessed this undeniable power to construct profound visuals & emotions even from his first feature film, “Maborosi” (1995) aka “Maboroshi no hikari” (which means“a trick of light”). ‘Maborosi’, based on author Teru Miyamoto’s novel, is one of the most serene examinations of death and unresolved grief.

Yumiko (Makiko Esumi) and Ikuo (Tadanobu Asano) looks like a happily married young couple, living in the modest, working class section of the port city, Osaka. They have an infant son, Yuichi and seem content with what they have. Yumiko is only troubled by a recurring dream, about her grandmother. As was in real life, the senile grandmother walks away from 12 year old Yumiko’s house and couldn’t be found from then on. Yumiko was afflicted by her last encounter with grandmother and thinks she should have firmly stopped the elderly woman. The dream ends with a boyish version of Ikuo gazing at little Yumiko. When she recalls this dream to sleeping Ikuo, he simply says“I’m not your grandmother’s reincarnation. Keep dreaming may be she’ll come back.” He might not be the embodiment of that disappeared old woman, but he is definitely the one Yumiko loves the most.

But, Kore-eda hints what’s going to happen to their relationship, as we see in an earlier shot, where the couples recede over the horizon. There’s no denying of fondness between the couples, but an elusive melancholia seems to have pervaded in Ikuo’s soul. One day, as Yumiko waits for her husband to return from work, a policeman knocks on her door and later revealed that Ikuo has committed suicide by walking onto a train. Instead of loud wails, we Yumiko descending into an emotionless state. Time passes and for the sake of her son, she accepts a marriage arrangement with a widower Tamio (Takashi Naito), who lives with his little girl & elderly father in an idyllic fishing village. The new surroundings, especially the cordial people of the village bring little happiness to Yumiko. But, still the huge root of sadness within her, ponders one question: Why Ikuo took his life?

“Maborosi”, of course, isn’t a mystery that tries to provide answers about the depressed mind-set of Ikuo (just like what the title implies – a mirage or phantom). It’s more about how Yumiko braves her soul through these scathing emotional punches. Films tracking down a despondent characters’ emotional pain are abundant, but still what makes film like “Maborsi” or “Three Colors: Blue” (which is also about a woman haunted by sudden demise of husband and daughter) standout is directors’ command over the composed images. There are no common two-shots or closeups that feeds on Yumiko’s sadness or histrionics. Kore-eda observes his characters from a distance and sometimes their figures are consumed by the humongous landscape (as if to say that we can’t find answers to all in this large place), but still he is able to trigger our empathy and our ability to grasp the protagonist’s turbulent mentality. The director (& cinematographer Masao Nakabori) creates a mood of melancholy only through low & natural lighting.

Spoilers Ahead

As Yumiko moves onto the fishing village, we know she has suffered, not one but two unresolved losses in her life, for which she feel responsible in a way. Life is a very fragile thing for her at that moment. But, still she has chosen the new life to resolve things, especially for her little son. Yumiko’s fresh encounters with Tamio or the wise villagers (including a strong, old woman, who takes her boat daily to fish) gradually brings her out of the sorrow and note how these sequences are either brightly-lit (than the later sequences) or shot in sun-drenched outdoors. When Yumiko makes that trip to Osaka, we know something is going to trigger her guilt & other suppressed emotions. But, once again, Kore-eda incredibly showcases this emotional descent through reflective images. Yumiko’s change of perception or a slight irritation over Tamio’s indifference (like their contradiction over spots-freckles) isn’t overplayed. We expect a shouting-match or thrashings in the scene, when Tamio arrives drunk, late into the night and calls her ‘a liar’. But that scene takes us step further into Yumiko’s complicated thoughts (“Call me when you’re going to be late. I’m worried about you”……….”How could you marry me after losing someone so special?”).

A little bell attached to cycle key (Ikuo’s cycle) becomes an incredible symbol of lamentation. Towards the end, we see Yumiko as if in a trance, following a procession of mourners, wearing bells (Kore-eda frames the group from a long distance, encompassing large grey sky). The cremation and the ensuing conversation bring a perfect closure to Yumiko’s mourning period. There are also other symbolical representations: the hollering of sea representing Yumiko’s desolation; a dark tunnel leading to sun-lit surroundings becomes a symbol for rehabilitation or renewed hope; frames showcasing Yumiko through half-closed sliding doors represents her emotional confinement. And, there are many such symbols in the narrative (what did the abandoned railway platform represent?) that urges us to ascertain its significance. “Maborosi” includes many of the narrative tropes & personas which later became Kore-eda’s trademarks: the naturalistic observation of children; mid-shots that cover the peaceful-gathering of family (eating water-melons); not showing the moment of tragedy, etc. There are also the usual homages to ‘Ozu’ like the placement of tea-pots, beer bottles, seasonal transformations, cutting a shot to street or outdoor view, and shots of passing trains. Brilliant would seem simple word to acknowledge the performance of Makiko Esumi as Yumiko. This was her first acting role and her previous on-screen experience was only as fashion model. It is amazing how she has brought out her characters’ grief, knowing that the distant, virtually static camera isn’t going to provide any help.

“Maborosi” (109 minutes) is about a grief-stricken woman seeking to embrace life through unbridled patience and compassion. It must be watched for its undisputedly poetic & subtle compositions.

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Roger Ebert's 4-Star Review

Maboroshi no hikari -- IMDb

‘Why the heck would these people their lives, among many other things, to conquer an uninhibited mountain?’ would be the unfathomable question in a non-climber’s mind. Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi’s sublime mountain-climbing documentary “Meru” (2015) may not provide the perfect or easy answer to that question (“For the view” says a climber at one point), but it is highly fascinating to see the unyielding drive of a mountaineer to stand atop a near-vertical cliff, and to gaze at the purest of beauty that nature could offer. Apart from the eye-popping natural imagery, “Meru” has a binding human story at its core.

Professional mountaineers Jimmy Chin, Renan Ozturk and Conrad Anker has these significant urge that affected all the eminent human beings throughout the history: to transcend all the limitations. The limitation, in the case of the three mountaineers, is set by nature in the form of a 21,000 feet behemoth of a mountain named‘Meru’. Although we might have heard numerous tales about the challenging climbs in peaks like Everest and K2, Himalayas’ Meru is said to possess the most dangerous ascent. Jon Krakeur, American mountaineer and non-fiction writer (“Into Thin Air”, “Into the Wild”, etc) nicely spells out the challenges while ascending through the unclimbed‘Shark Fin’ line on Mount Meru. Unlike the climb of Everest, no Sherpa or fixed ropes could be used; there’s 1,500 feet of ice-walls and perilously shifting granite structure (where 200 feet climb per day is the possibility); and then there’s the unpredictable weather & human dilemma.

Conrad Anker (left), Jimmy Chin (middle) and Renan Ozturk

Conrad Anker, the most experienced climber of the three, has tried Meru on three occasions: 2003, 2005 and 2011. His last two expeditions are covered in the documentary, in which Jimmy Chin and Renan Ozturk have joined him (these three guys have climbed Everest several times; Jimmy even skied on top of the Everest). For Conrad, it’s like unfinished business since his mentor Mugs Stump died before conquering the undisputed Shark’ Fin (in 2003). Conrad has a concerned wife, Jenni & three sons, in Montana and is also haunted by the death of his beloved friend Alex Lowe (died in an avalanche). Jimmy Chin, Conrad’s long time climbing partner, is one of the much sought-out adventure photographer (his photos are in magazines like “National Geographic”, “Outside”, etc). Renan is a new-comer in the team and leaves behind caring girlfriend (and a dog!).

As the three alpinists start their ascent from the piercingly beautiful ‘Gangotri’ in 2008, their hitched cameras film every grueling step. The climbing of Meru was originally planned as seven day trip, but bad weather keeps them at the task for three weeks, sleeping in a cramped tent that just hangs like a tea bag. In the end, due to depleted food sources and insurmountable risks, the trio makes a heart-breaking decision to go down, with only 100 meters left to conquer Shark’s Fin of Meru. It then takes three years for the alpinists to once again climb the punishing altitude. In this 3 year time, Renan and Jimmy faces near-death experiences in their profession (one endures a skull fracture, while the other has miraculously survived an avalanche), which makes them contemplate a lot. Conrad is caught between his familial obligations and incredible-draw of Meru. What these three men achieved in the end couldn’t be fitted into a mundane adjective, since it’s not just the hazardous granite structure they had to conquer; they also had to defeat the heaping debris of human dilemmas.

Jimmy Chin’s camera doesn’t try to induce the proverbial chest-thumping moment into the joruney. He is primarily focused on the anxiety, doubts and incredible supercharges of a mountaineer. The thoughts about weight of gear, depleting food, the guilt over leaving one’s family are always depicted to be on the back of alpinisits’ mind. The trio plus Jon Krakeur clearly explains how there is great professionalism and perfect assessment of risks involved, in what’s generally perceived as a no-holds-barred, death-wishing sport. The intimacy with which the directors Jimmy and Elizabeth (Jimmy’s wife) have approached their human subjects is as compelling as nail-biting climbs. The driving elements of the trio, namely loyalty, friendship, and unwavering obsession (which even ask them to forget loved ones) are finely brought out. Yeah, at times, there’s too much of philosophical musings that lacks spontaneity (especially from the colorful words of Krakeur) but that doesn’t lessen the empyreal effect provided by the images.

“Meru” (87 minutes) is not just an account of three mountaineers, scaling the unattainable. It is a testament to the triumph of indomitable human spirit.

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Meru -- IMDb

“This game…it’s a rabbit hole. After only four moves, there are more than 300 billion options to consider. There are more 40-move games than there are stars in the galaxy. So, it can take you close to edge”.

It is futile to watch a game of chess (at least for me) and to understand what’s going to happen or who’s going to win. May be because there’s not enough flexing of muscles or grueling clashes involved. And, yes to simply call it a game would diminish the description of Chess. It not only demands unwavering concentration, but also exacts for a genius mind to know one’s own moves and anticipate the opponent’s. The mistakes could be made within a flash of a second and the defeats are immediate. The mere thought of finding out ‘the perfect move’ is enough to send one’s mind over the edge, and the game of Chess, is indeed riddled with great players, who spiraled down due to mental problems. Edward Zwick’s“Pawn Sacrifice” (2014) tracks down one such genius & delusional mind that graced international chess, Mr. Robert James Bobby Fischer (1943-2008).

The film rather than being a biopic of Mr. Fischer is just presented as a dramatization of the events leading to 1972 ‘Match of the Century’ between Russian Boris Spassky and Fischer. When “Pawn Sacrifice” opens Fischer (Tobey Maguire) almost seems to be a representation of American Cold War politics: dreadful, delusional and cocksure. He is in an isolated hotel room in Reykjavik, Iceland, dislocating the panels and telephones of the room, in search of a bug. The news report announces that the famous American chess player has forfeited his match with Russian Grand-master Boris Spassky (Liev Schreiber). Then, the narrative switches to concentrate on Fischer’s childhood, who is photographed by men in Chevy (the FBI), while his mother is hosting parties to her communist friends (& whispers in Russian). Raised by a single, Jewish-Communist mother (Robin Weigert), Fischer learned to predict whether he is being surveilled or not.

As Fischer grew in an environment of fear & suspicion, the American political entropy also grew in parallel (and both reached its threshold, insanity point). Of course, Fischer’s paranoia wouldn’t have ever been a talking point, if not for his genius abilities, displayed in the game of chess. Fischer’s rise to one of the youngest best chess players is narrated in a phenomenal manner. There are also few hints about his obssessive talent and reckless behavior in these early episodes. By the age of 16, Fischer is left to fend for himself and by early 20’s, the strains of fame and sense of paranoia affected so much that he announced to quit from the game. Later, a patriotic lawyer (Michael Stuhlbarg) and a priest (Peter Sarsgaard) come together to make the genius play and win the championship title against Grandmaster Boris. Fischer, as expected, keeps on oscillating between genius and madness. Similar to the outerspace rivalry between US and Soviet Union, the chess championship (of 1972) was also construed as war of intelligence or ideologies (Russian dominance in chess during that era was exceptional).

Director Edward Zwick loves to build a dramatic narrative from historical stories (“Glory”, “Last Samurai”, and“Defiance”). So, he is quick to find a historical context to the intercontinental chess match. The coldness of the playing room, hushed voices, and swift moves almost emulates US & Soviets’ desire to humiliate each other. At every turn, Zwick imbues a line like “We lost China, we’re losing Vietnam, we have to win this one” to insist on the importance of 1972 match, from the historical perspective. Yes, these kinds of gung-ho statements are no way subtle and seem patronizing. And, yes there’s a typical ‘on-the-face’ shots of Nixon and Brezhnev, eagerly watching the Chess match from their respective suites (I’d like to see this leader’s reactions while watching the famous‘40-move’ game). Such narrative elements, including the barrage of news reports, appeared to change the movie’s course into Rocky territory (the fight with Ivan Drago). Thankfully, Zwick strays a lot from using the typical rivalry narrative.

Despite that aforementioned jingoistic vibe, Zwick manages to avoid cold-war cliches. He attributes the feverish following of Fischer to the inherent jingoism, kindled by politicians and media (there’s a passing reference to what happened to Chess legend once the Cold War fever died down). The director also doesn’t try to convert Boris into Ivan Drago of Chess. It is a fairly nuanced portrait of the Russian Grand-master (and thankfully Boris doesn’t speak in accented English). There’s an odd slow-motion shot of chess pieces being moved or the shots of crowd wildly celebrating, but for the most part “Pawn Sacrifice” doesn’t try to be a conventional sports drama (or an emotional trickery). The all-important big match was well conceived by Zwick and he gets to the heart & soul of the game. But, still nothing could come close to the real game played by Boris and Fischer (watch it in the 2011 documentary “Bobby Fischer Against the World”).

The script by Steven Knight (“Locke”, Eastern Promises”) & Co. could have delved deep into the Fischer’s ‘so-called’ mental problems (or may be it is Zwick’s rational direction that hasn’t profoundly handled the characters’ psychological underpinnings). Fischer’s majestic talent was overrun by his absurd, ludicrous claims, but when Tobey Maguire’s Fischer enlightens the genius side, it is a marvel to watch. Tobey brings out the genius’ ferocity, energy and insecurities without doing a smear job (although Tobey is too short to play a towering guy like Bobby Fischer). Sarsgaard once again proves that he is excellent, when playing a solemn and thoughtful character.

“Pawn Sacrifice” (115 minutes) is a captivating portrait of the indivisible madness and brilliance of a Chess legend. Watch it for its array of impressive performances.

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Pawn Sacrifice -- IMDb

“In an age of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act”

------- George Orwell

Fritz Bauer is a hero. A man, who stood for truth and raised his voice when most of his fellow citizens hid behind a carefully constructed facade. He was West Germany’s Attorney General and the driving force in making his country accept and discuss its Nazi past. Bauer, a Jew and Social Democratic Party activist went into exile (in Sweden) during the Nazi era. The late 1950’s and early 1960’s was the time when West Germany strengthened its ties with ‘West’ and reconciled with Israel. So, from a political point of view, the leaders & bureaucrats wanted the terrible past to be swept under or forgotten. But, Bauer led the criminal investigations of former Nazis, who held positions in judicial system to political offices. The grim truth about Auschwitz and the public trial in 1963 wouldn’t have possible if not for Bauer’s determined efforts. German actor/film-maker Giulio Ricciarelli’s debut feature “Labyrinth of Lies” (2014) is a dramatized account of the investigations that led to 1963 Auschwitz trials.

Nevertheless, “Labyrinth of Lies” is not about Fritz Bauer (look out for “People vs Fritz Bauer” which is said to pay fitting homage to the man). Its protagonist is a fictitious young prosecutor Johann Radmann (Alexander Fehling). In real-life, Joachim Kugler and Georg Friedrich Vogel were the prosecutors, but to provide a typical emotional attachment, the primary characters fictionalized. Radmann is portrayed as an upright idealist and naive about the holocaust, like many young people of his generation. He has grown tired of trying traffic violation cases and just when he thinks he is ready for the big ones, journalist Thomas Gnielka (Andre Szymanski) storms in the prosecutor office and demands to identify those who participated in Holocaust, whom are roaming freely and relishing with administrative jobs.

Radmann for the first time hears the word ‘Auschwitz’ and does little research on the journalist’s accusation. Soon, he gets the support of attorney general Fritz Bauer (Gert Voss) and asks Radmann to lead the investigation. Bauer and Radmann’s efforts, however, were met with ridicule and hostility. Even his colleagues feels it would be better to cover-up the past. But, Radmann brings in camp’s survivors, whose testimonies shake him to the core. The abominable experiments of Dr. Josef Mengele in Auschwitz camp disturbs him so much that he becomes completely distracted from overall investigation. His emotional downfall is further accentuated by ugly truths, administrative blunder and overall ignorance of the average Germans.

Director Giulio Ricciarelli shows enough restraint in revealing the horrors of holocaust. An Auschwitz camp survivor starts telling his gruesome experience, and the director cuts to a closed door. Little later, the teary-eyed secretary (who sat at her steno desk) silently comes through the door. In fact, except for the one occasion, we never hear what the survivors went through, but instead the sequences are meshed with choral music and concentrates on the blank faces of the persons. Bauer and the fictional Radmann’s story aren’t about Holocaust or Auschwitz trials; they are representation of indispensable voice, who relentlessly question at a morally vacant, self-satisfied society. And so, the directorial efforts don’t concentrate on the facts behind holocaust. Director Giulio is rather interested on the question of how average citizens could stand behind atrocities committed in Auschwitz or elsewhere. However, Giulio restraint in direction hasn’t deeply entered into the pedagogical script (co-written by Elisabeth Bartel).

The film starts in the John Grisham legal thriller territory and gradually transcends to the Hollywood arena of righteous hero seeking truth. The script does packs in some astounding revelations about the society in denial, but for the most part the character trajectories and events are not only predictable, but also too conventional. Radmann falling in love with Marlene (Friederike Becht) and the eventual fallout with her are one of the overused elements in this kind of righteous hero narrative. The emotional malaise of Radmann in the later part stretches a lot and even falters from a dramatic perspective. Still, two elements of the script must be commended: the accuracy with which the investigations are presented (especially the Mossad’s involvement in capturing Eichmann); and for subtly showing how the Cold War politics allowed Nazis to go scot-free. Alexander Fehling is convincing as the blond, steely-eyed protagonist. The subtle performances of Gert Voss (as Bauer) and Johannes Krisch as Simon, the man whose twin daughters became victims of Dr. Mengele (based on a real-life character) certainly elevates the material.

“Labyrinth of Lies” (124 minutes) isn’t definitely the most strong work about the Holocaust guilt in post-war Germany. But, still it remains as an accessible & thought provoking examination on how muddled the nature of evil could be.

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Labyrinth of Lies -- IMDb

Anne-Sophie Brasme was just 16 years old when she wrote her first novel “Breathe”. Melanie Laurent also made her feature-film debut at the age of 16. When the multi-faceted French actress read the novel, who studied film-making in school, wanted to turn into a movie. After making couple of shorts and a feature film (“The Adopted”), Melanie has adapted “Breathe” aka "Respire" (2014) with a highly refined sense of direction, while at the same time burrows the torment of a 17 year old girl deep underneath our skin. Brasme’s novel, when released, was termed as a ‘Young Adult’ novel. However, it differs so much from the YA template that it becomes a universal story of friendship between two people, who had never experienced real love in their lives.

Teen friendships can either give you nurturing or strangling experience and it’s hard to tell which way it is headed. “Breathe” tackles the hormonal-driven closeness of two 17 year old girls, Charlene aka Charlie (Josphene Japy) and Sarah (Lou de Laage). The film opens with Charlie getting up from her bed, hearing the enraged voice of her mother talking with absentee, abusive father. Charlie sits at the dining table and dips her face into the bowl of brewed coffee to obscure her feelings. Her dad offers her to drive to school, but she rejects and walks alone wearing a mask of melancholia. Charlie’s loyal friend is Victoire, who often bickers about boys. In comes Sarah, a natural beauty, whose mother works for a NGO in Nigeria. Charlie is immediately drawn to this girl, who exudes confidence and excitement like none of her classmates.

Sarah is tired of her cackling aunt with whom she lives and her absentee mother. She needs a sense of stability, while Charlie wants to experience free-spirit and fun, which they both can give to one another. An instant emotional bond is formed and later Sarah tags along for Charlie’s family vacation to seashore. The girls’ emotional bond strengthens and then gradually weakens during the vacation. Sarah seems to be the girl who can never emotionally invest herself onto somebody for a long time. Charlie is just the opposite in this: she is the girl who gets obsessed over a firm emotional connection. In an earlier scene, a teacher says ‘passion’ is something that emerges from the gut. The shared passion that made possible the friendship between these two girls eventually turns into torment, which figuratively delivers a strong punch at Charlie’s guts.

Sarah got to be one of the most familiar figures in movie history. The way she pouts her full lips; the manner with which she sexily sways to the disco song; that studied casualness; that rock ‘n’ roll attitude. So, it’s pretty easy to predict that Charlie is going to be seduced and witness anguish through Sarah. But, still there is something intense in the way Melanie Laurent has unwounded the script (co-written with Julien Lambroschini) that keeps on creating incisive, detail layers about the characters. The layers are stacked up so elegantly that the script at no point displays YA novel sensibilities. Laurent transcends the‘Mean Girls’ territory and draws us to ponder over the roots of the obsession and animosity that plagues these girls. “Breathe”could simply be considered as a treatise on damaged single mothers. The dysfunctional bearings of the older women and their existential vacuum are what reverberated throughout the movie in the girls’ actions. Laurent and Julien aren’t just saying “Oh yes! women can be cruel to each other too”. Beneath that statement, we are also left to contemplate over how women are trained (or should I say forced) to possess undiminished source of empathy and forgiveness (the battered mother-daughter duo’s actions reflect this theme).

Insecure feeling, the most common fearful aspect of adolescence, is the main theme of the narrative. One girl refuses to act on her emotions, while the other acts upon every emotion that comes upon her mind so as to fulfill that yearning for acceptance. Insecurity plays a vital role on both their polar opposite behavior. The students’ drinking, drug intakes and aroused rocking of hips become a symbol for that insecurity. That feeling, however, isn’t confined to these adolescent people. The adults in the film feel that too and they indirectly seem to advice their young ones to drink or dance away one’s problems. Although the viewers might choose to villain to hate, the script addresses the question of Charlie’s treatment of her previous BFF Victoire. The shocking end also asks us whether Charlie need to have put up with so much of the ill-treatment that eventually drained her of kindness.

“Breathe” even with a robust script couldn’t have delivered that gut punch, if not for the deft directorial touch of Melanie. The naked emotional truth the director displays is as honest as what we witnessed in Abdellatif Kechiche’s “Blue is the Warmest Color” (a film whose low-key charms are overlooked due to that infamous long sex scenes). There are hints to Charlie’s need for physical closeness with Sarah, but it is an aspect that’s never treated in a trite manner (Melanie treats it as a propagation of Charlie’s passion towards Sarah). May be under the hands of another director,“Breathe” could have become a full-blown sexual relationship movie. As a viewer, we are meant to take Charlie’s side and hate Sarah, but the director shows wholehearted compassion even for the manipulative assailant. For example, look at the way the film-maker has staged the scene when Charlie takes a look into the false, precarious life of Sarah. Laurent employs a smart tracking shot to put us on Charlie’s point of view in order to perfectly extract the empathy of ours on Sarah’s life. So, when Sarah threatens & bullies Charlie for learning the truth, the emotional brunt falls on us too.

Director Melanie has an excellent eye for shot compositions. Along with cinematographer Arnaud Potier, she creates a barrage of visually communicative shots. When the split starts between the girls, there is a wide shot (first one in the film I think) of Charlie standing alone amidst a sea, symbolizing the sea of afflictions she is about to encounter; when the bullying reaches a threshold point, there is a shot of Charlie watching the sunset, reeling in the impending doom; and there is also a shot of grey bare-branched tree reflecting on the glass pane through which Charlie watches Sarah. The brief shot is composed in a way that indicates the brink of her emotional fissures. It’s these little, subtle shots that sustains the gritty atmosphere throughout the end. Of course, all this directorial and writing excellence wouldn’t have survived, if not for that anchored presence (not just performance) of Japy and Lou de Laage. Japy’s passive blankness and Lou’s terrifying volatility are hard to forget.

“Breathe” aka “Respire” (90 minutes) is one of the best sensitive, unsentimental films to showcase the fragility of adolescent friendship.

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Breathe aka Respire -- IMDb

A majority of commercial films exorcises empathy, turning individual personalities into types. Audiences tend to expect for a distinct good and evil paths, so that they can be solaced by the filmmakers’ judgmental vision. The presence of such paths plagues all genres, especially the Horror films. The possession sub-genre in‘horror’ repeatedly wishes to present the glory of divine beings through the arduous fight with Lucifer or Old Nick or simply devil. The naive, innocent, virginal girl who is usually possessed becomes merely a vessel through which God quenches his enemies. The green slime, self-inflicted wounds and the profane words becomes vital elements for us to see persons on-screen as ‘types’. Although Friedkin’s unsettling masterpiece “Exorcist” (1973) diffused layers of social elements into its narrative, it only reached its undiminished fame through the head-turning, spider-walk or green slime sequences. From then on, Hollywood has increasingly clinged on to certain elements that treats the so-called ‘possessed’ as mere pawns for providing entertainment.

The 2005 horror-thriller “The Exorcism of Emily Rose”, based on the true story of West German girl Anneliese Michel, uses the standard Hollywood ideas to showcase the struggles of a girl in strictly supernatural terms. Anneliese Michel’s death (1952-76) gained wide-spread media attention, which lashed at Church-approved old-fashioned exorcism rite (her parents & priest were proven to be guilty parties in court). It was seen as a vital case about misidentification of mental illness and religious hysteria. German film-maker Hans-Christian Schmid’s“Requiem” (2006) tries to rationally understand the conflicts that infested Anneliese. It may not have accurately followed the real-life tale, but displays unbridled empathy for its central character. “Requiem” is not a horror movie and stays away lousy sensationalism of American possession movies.

Michaela (Sandra Huller) is an intelligent 21 year old girl, who lives with her devoutly Catholic parents – Karl (Burghart Klaussner) & Marianne (Imogen Kogge) – and a younger sister in a small German town. She has dreams of going to a university and to become a teacher. Michaela is so happy to show her father the letter that confirms her place in university. But, her mother asks “How can you go with that ‘thing’? The ‘THING’ is referred to Michaela’s history of mental and physical breakdowns (epileptic seizures, grim visions). The god-fearing mother also thinks that nothing good would come out of a university education. However, with the support of her father, Michaela takes a dorm room and focuses on her course on Pedagogy.

Michaela’s social life in the city revolves around smart friend Hanna (Anna Blomeier) and a clumsy boyfriend Stefan (Nicholas Reinke). Michaela excels in studies, improves her looks and develops her dressing sense. She parties and likes the warmth of her boyfriends’ kiss. But, soon this sexual and rational awakenings negatively affects her, as she once again starts to have seizures and sees visions that calls her a ‘slut’. Michaela states that something is stopping her from touching the rosary and seeks the local priest’s (Walter Schmidlinger) advice, whose sane reply is “Who’s stopping you? The devil? We believe in him and in God too, but they are symbols, not literal things”. Nevertheless, a young clergyman (Jens Harzer) believes in the girl’s religious fear. There’s no uncertainty in what happens to Michaela from then on, but the girl’s downward spiral raises thought-provoking questions on religious faith and human reasoning.

Spoilers Ahead

The film’s narrative has been exclusively presented from Michaela point of view, which could have fizzled out, if not for powerful, incredible performance of Sandra Huller (her first movie role). Unlike the typical possession movies, we never get to see the vision that affects Michaela, so as to clear-away the supernatural underpinning of the tale. The intense suffering and uncontrolled energy must only be portrayed through emotions and Huller excels in this aspect. She not only captures the rage that stems from the disapproval of her god-fearing mother, but also displays the warm emotional core that really clouds our eyes with tears in the end. That final shot of Huller’s small smile & long gaze really gets at you and made me think that her portrayal is truly a ‘requiem’ to Anneliese’s memory. Two of my most favorite scenes, elevated by Huller are: the wildly erratic behavior she displays towards the end; over-excited dance movements in the club, which hauntingly exhibited the character’s need to cling to an identity or freedom.

Director Schmid’s unsensational approach to the story puts us in the head of Michaela rather than anticipating a head-spinning moment. The narrative is not only devoid of supernatural presence, but also extinguishes far-fetched metaphors or symbols of evil. There’s no metaphysical vision or a subtly loaded film-maker’s opinion on religious beliefs. There are potential villains in the tale, but Schmid’s isn’t pointing out fingers; he remains staunchly subjective till the last shot. Apart from the lack of ‘visions’ Schmid even stays away from showing the exorcism sessions. The film’s chief objective is to show how compassion, the most significant element in all religions, is replaced by archaic thoughts. It condemns the acerbic judgmental attitude of the believers. So, if Schmid tried to extend the narrative till the girl’s death, he might have been accused for the same thing, he is condemning, i.e. being judgmental. Even though, Michaela’s mother disapproves her daughter in various instances, she is also shown as an individual capable of love. The muted tones and the hand-held cinematography may not satisfy those expecting visceral impulses. Schmid’s directorial signatures reminded me of Von Trier’s early low-budget works like “Breaking the Waves”, “Dancer in the Dark”, etc.

“Requiem” (90 minutes) is a brilliant character-driven film that depicts the agonies inflicted by dysfunctional religious and familial systems. It is a contemplative cinephile’s possession movie.

Requiem -- IMDb

If you google the word ‘Euthanasia’ and look for its definition, it is said: “The intentional putting to death of a person with an incurable or painful disease intended as an act of mercy”. So, it a very grim subject and film-makers seldom touch a subject that is about the slow, painful death of the old. Nevertheless, Israeli writer/director duos Tal Granit and Sharon Maymon’s“The Farewell Party” (2014) aka “Mita Tova” (translates to “A Good Death”), have not only brooded on the subject of euthanasia, but also concocted sequences, infused with a warm, darkly comic energy. It might be tempting to call it with a disputable tag ‘Euthanasia comedy’. But, don’t worry; it isn’t a mocking, comedy of errors about the concept of assisted suicide. The film, more or less, achieves an improbable balance of tone and never loses its focus in asking the big questions about the haunting aspect of all lives, i.e., death.

“The Farewell Party” can be best described as a feature that evenly diffuses the vision of Michael Haneke (in“Amour”) and John Madden (in “Marigold Hotel”). Movies that discusses such a serious subject would usually enamor a niche audiences as it jumps out of the award-season floodgates, but “Farewell Party” also said to have gained the attention of Israeli mainstream viewers (declared a smash-hit and also nominated for 14 Israeli academy awards). Yehezkel (Ze’ev Revach) is a septuagenarian prankster and sharp-minded innovator. When we first see him, sunlight shines with effervescence into his retirement home room (situated in Jerusalem). Without words, that image tells us Yehezkel is playing ‘God’. He is using a computer mic to distort his voice and talking to a senile, cancer-afflicted old woman, Zelda (Ruth Geller) as God, and instructs her to continue her treatment. He simply says‘heaven has no vacancies for now’.

But, Yehezkel isn’t always having fun in the retirement home. He and his wife Levana (Finkelstein) are forced to witness the gradual death of a dear friend, Max (Shmuel Wolf). The terminally afflicted man’s wife Yana (Aliza Rosen) asks Yehezkel to put her husband out of his misery. Yehezkel is rattled by the suggestion and Levana asks him to not even think of considering Yana’s request. However, the desperate Yana enlists fellow retirement home inhabitants – Dr. Daniel (Ilan Dar), a former veterinarian and ex-police chief Raffi Segal (Rafael Tavor). Daniel and Segal are closeted (literally) homosexuals. Although Levana is disturbed by the idea of assisted suicide, Yehezkel offers to build a machine that will allow Max to push a button give himself a fatal dose of tranquilizers.

As a note of Irony, this device is connected to Max’s Sabbath timer, which is a vital gizmo for orthodox Jews (see Wikipedia’s‘Electricity on Shabbat’ for details). Max peacefully dies, but the word passes around about the existence of Yehezkel’s device. A bereaved old man asks the crew to visit his wife or that he would visit the law officials. Levana is more troubled by this and her little memory losses gradually turns into a full-blown dementia. She even asks the retirement home’s director to find her a different place, fearing that her own husband & friends would put her to sleep. Yehezkel wishes that he never played around with death after witnessing his wife’s worsening condition and as more offers for using the device pours in.

The plot details may sound a little crass or too somber, but except for s few mis-construed sequences, it is astoundingly balanced. The gathering of these elderly men to perform their deadly job was given a healthy dose of dead-pan, dark comedy. Writer/directors Maymon and Granit imbue the sweetness of an American comedy and mix it with the earnest emotions of European films. The humor in lot of ways tries to push the cinematic boundaries related with the discussion of age, terminal illness and death. The laughs and chuckles that come out of our heart also provoke some deep thoughts in our mind. But, I think the directors stumbled a little, when they had to adopt a totally grim tone in the film’s third act. The moral dilemma regarding Levana’s illness is clearly portrayed and so the ending is anything, but predictable. But, still the events that led to ending seemed a little too mundane, when compared with the inventive first two acts. The ending appeared to give us some answers or strong opinion. I would have only preferred the big questions.

The presence of muted color schemes and clear interior spaces conveys how grim the atmosphere of assisted living is. One of the often repeated quotes about old age is “growing old isn’t for sissies”. The elderly ensemble cast and the manner with which they showcase their inner conflicts makes us remember that quote. The close-up shots of Revach’s face (plays Yehezkel) speak about the battles going inside him, which the words couldn’t. Finkelstein as Levana is my most favorite performer of the cast. She gracefully expresses the fear, embarrassment, and painful sadness through her eyes.

Barring few flaws, “The Farewell Party” (95 minutes) turns out to be a vital work that discusses themes often omitted in visual medium: old age and death. It should be watched for its low-key humor and perfect, nuanced acting.

Trailer

The Farewell Party aka Mita Tova -- IMDb

Cycles of male violence is one of the very important themes Canadian film-maker Dennis Villeneuve likes to explore. And women are either at the receiving end or forced to stand with calm grace as violence hovers around. Villeneuve’s first two movies, “August 32^nd on Earth” (1998) & “Maelstrom” (2000) were about the psychological abuse (or violence) underwent by his women protagonists. Guns were pointed at female engineering students in the film “Polytechnique” (2009) (based on Montreal students massacre of 1989), while Oscar-nominated “Incendies” (2010) had distressingly poetic visions, which gazed at the roots of war from the perspective of two adult women. The oblique tale “Enemy” (2013), among many other themes, inquired on men’s treatment of women. Even though Villeneuve didn’t write the script for “Prisoners”(2013), he chose one, which was all about women thrown into despair by male violence. With “Sicario”(2015), by using the label ‘drug-war thriller’, Villeneuve once again chosen a tale about a woman, contemplating as well as fighting for her place in the‘wolf’ traversing land.

Director Villeneuve also has this fascination with ‘doppelganger’ element that drove the works of some legendary film-makers like David Lynch, David Cronenberg, etc. A dichotomy either geographically lays side by side or the dichotomy resides inside a disturbed human mind. In “Sicario”, there is a wonderful, brooding aerial shots that shows how one of the peaceful cities (El Paso, Texas) stands close to one of the most violent city in the world, Ciudad Juarez. And, let’s not forget Villeneuve’s likeness to portray the poetic calmness that is brutally uprooted in a moment by the nauseating violence. In fact, Sicario's one such poetic, brooding sense of silence is suddenly bulldozed by a SWAT vehicle, carrying FBI Kidnap Response Team.

The calmness of an Arizona suburb is disturbed and there our fearless/vulnerable by-the-books FBI agent Kate Macer (Emily Blunt) witnesses the ripple effects of Mexican drug war. She and her team respond to a hostage situation, gunning down two perpetrators. They also make a horrendous discovery of dozens of bodies, lining the walls of the derelict house. Soon, the agents are surprised by an explosive device, rigged in the basement and two men are killed. Kate is obsessed with getting the men who are really behind what she saw. She is chosen by an elusive, sandals-wearing official Matt (Josh Brolin), who promises to cut the head of the cartel snake by getting through the cartel’s American connection Manuel Diaz. Matt says his job is to ‘dramatically overreact’ and that’s what he has planned to do, by bringing in a shadowy colleague named Alejandro (Benicio del Toro). Kate isn’t sure what’s her job is, but she tags along hoping to get the bad guys. Matt, of course has a hidden agenda, but it isn’t that hidden. If only she was wise enough, she could have predicted that only a vortex of darkness remains within.

If you are going to watch “Sicario” expecting an original plot or a fresh take on America’s war of drug, you would be grossly disappointed. But, first time screenwriter Taylor Sheridan unwraps the layers of simple story with an ingenuity that also works as a wonderful character study of two morally opposed persons. The question Sheridan raises is something the movies have always risen (“Should one transform into a monster to kill a monster?”), but the script gets to that point in an organic way rather than pedantic manner. The dialogues flows freely (“You’re asking me how a watch works”……”Nothing will make sense to your American ears”……”This is the land of wolves”…... etc) and elegantly hints at the turmoil that waits for them. But,“Sicario”wouldn’t have brooded long enough in our mind, if not for the indelible sense of dread, injected by Director Villeneuve.

DirectorVilleneuveand Cinematographer Roger Deakins

Villeneuve and the masterful cinematographer Roger Deakins concoct pulse-pounding images that are rich in poetry too. Each frames exhibit layers of visual complexity, yet there is a cumulative effect to the flow of images. The slow-steady camera movements, the spectacular aerial shots and perfectly calibrated visuals are interspersed to give that agitating tone – the one that digs under our skin (composer Johann Johannson also heavily assists to set the tone) – which makes our subconscious to think: ‘isn’t this as close as to reality’. It’s amazing how much tension and pressure the visual approach diffuses on us, especially after considering the film’s limited budget of $32 million. At various points, we are made to wait for the arrival of violence, although nothing happens. Take the scene, when Alejandro investigates the arrested migrants of Nogales about the tunnel. It’s a fairly simple scene, but the way it’s performed and the means by which it is staged doesn’t wear off the emotional strain we felt in the previous sequences. While Villeneuve shows the piled-up bodies on the wall like an art of high-horror, he also perfectly makes use of the power of suggestion (like the torture sequence).

Deakins once again employs natural modes of light and shadows to create the world, whose inhabitants and landscape showcase inherent duality. One of my favorite scenes that beautifully notes the dichotomy involved in visuals is when Alejandro pays an unannounced visit to distressed Kate to sign a paper. Alejandro’s face is clouded with darkness on one side, brightly lit on the other side; he places the gun under Kate’s jaw, while his other hand wipes her tears. It is a fairly predictable scene, but once again the staging makes it to be a poem on Alejandro’s nature. There are many such visual hints in the narrative, which is what makes “Sicario”, not another drug-war thriller. Villeneuve impeccably brings out other important duality in the script: idealism vs realism. There’s a conflict between the American fantasies of bringing in an order (called as ‘end justifies the means’), while its activities only spawns more chaos or disorder. The director repeatedly refers to the strain of family sentimentality among cartel leaders and corrupt cops, whose urge to protect & provide their families makes them to live oblivious of the sufferings they cause. There’s a sub-plot in the script to give us a victim’s standpoint, which could easily be turned into a clumsy, attention-gaining thing. But, the director precisely makes the point on the cyclic nature of violence with limited visuals.

And as I mentioned earlier, Villeneuve brings in his often repeated theme of ‘female condition’. In the end, it could be read as a character study of a young, resilient woman, who is displaced by the senseless male violence. There are also other unseen or unspoken women in the movie’s frames who are vanquished by cyclical nature of male violence. However, one thing that bothered is the ‘wolf’ quote. Does is say that the women don’t have a killer instinct? Villenvue in his interview to ‘The Playlist’ clearly states that the reference to ‘wolf’ is not about gender; it is more about the individual’s human quality and generation (as always ‘younger generation’ represents hope than those wolfish, old-fashioned idealism). Emily Blunt plays Kate with vulnerability and intensity which doesn’t push her into the standard female action characters. Del Toro plays Alejandro with sad eyes, only to shock the viewers with his rapid, brutal transformations. The tacit chemistry between these two adds a reflective facet to the narrative.

“Sicario” (121 minutes) is a cartel-busting thriller which is set in the murky atmosphere of uncertain allegiances and spiraling violence. Although its message is simple, the, poetic beauty of its vileness gives us an astounding viewing experience.

Trailer

Sicario -- IMDb

Spoilers Ahead……….

Legendary film-maker Sergio Leone’s final film “Once upon a Time in America” (1984) is arguably one of the most ambitious works in cinema. Starring great performers Robert De Niro and James Woods, the movie was drastically cut for its theatrical release (139 minutes), and a saddened Leone died five years later without making another movie. A 229 minute version played at Cannes in 1984, but only last year, a digitally restored 251 minute version, dubbed as‘Extended Director’s Cut’ (supervised by Martin Scorsese’s Film Foundation), gave the best look yet at this masterpiece. Nevertheless, simply calling it as a quintessential work of the gangster cinema would be like limiting its achievements.“Once Upon a Time in America” recalls many of the 1930’s gangster cinemas, the era when ‘gangsters’ became a staple of American genre cinema. As Leone himself has stated: “My movie was to be an homage to the American films I love, and to America itself”. But, the reason for the film’s unprecedented distinguished status, owes a lot to Leone’s telling of this epic story, in a manner which surpasses the limitations of a storyteller.

                                               Narrative-wise, the film is about the rise and fall of two Jewish, New York gangsters (based on Harry Grey’s novel “The Hoods”) – David ‘Noodles’ Aronson (De Niro) and Maximillian Berkowitz (James Woods). A large part of the narrative is set in the prohibition era (in the 1930’s), while there’s also a narrative strand set in the 1960’s, which has the suspense elements of a thriller genre. The film possesses both a linear narrative structure as well as confusingly fractured non-linear structure that jump back and forth in time (especially in the first half-hour or so). One of the most vital moments in “Once Upon a Time in America” that impressed many movie-lovers is its audacious opening, disorienting montage sequence that first commences in an opium den. An opium reverie soothes Noodles (De Niro), but he is soon woken up by the buzzing in his mind. A newspaper article shows the charred dead bodies of some gangsters and gradually this buzzing turns into a telephone ring.

                                                The reason for Noodles’ rendezvous in the opium den is simple: he has betrayed his lifelong friends by giving some information to police that have resulted in their gruesome deaths. This telephone rings over a succession of sequences taking us back in time, although at times we couldn’t even see a telephone in the frames. Through the loud rings, a montage cuts through the whiskey ambush, a celebration of the end to prohibition (a cake-topped coffin is inscribed with the words ‘prohibition’). At one point, a hand picks up the receiver, but still the phone keeps on ringing in the background. Eventually, the phone is picked up by a Sergeant named P.Halloran (after ringing for exactly 24 times).

                                              Leone, in fact shows many other phones in this opening sequence, but the one that’s ringing couldn’t be easily found because what’s ringing is Noodles’ guilt of betraying his best friends. Roger Ebert says it better: “A ceaselessly ringing telephone, ringing forever in the conscience of a man who called the cops on his friends”. It not only puts the viewer on the fragmented mind-set of Noodles, but also desperately makes them to search for a meaning in these images. As the film disentangles all its narrative strands in the 4-hour running time and ends by focusing on the gleeful face of Noodles, we can feel that the initial telephone rings were not Leone’s way of stretching Noodles’ guilt. The whole film is about how certain things (or events) and people are not like as we perceive them. By displaying the disjointed images that moves between time and space, in the opening sequence (where even sound sometimes doesn’t match that of the on-screen visuals), Leone hints at how Noodles (and ours') gained perceptions are going to be played at throughout the film’s course.

                                             In the book ‘CrimeWave: Hollywood Crime Cinema’, it is stated that the opening sequences were Leone’s way of transferring his trademark slow, poetic Western film beginnings to a more modern ‘gangster era’ setting. This is evident when Eve enters into her dimmed apartment and finds bullet-holes in the bed, and then gradually three gun-men become visible. This sequence along with the phone-ringing setting makes it an equivalent to gunslingers waiting for the arrival of train or the squeaking of windmills in “Once Upon a Time in the West” (1968). The resonant backdrop the phone creates in order to display guilt or disorientation or to imbue a tension on viewers’ mind, is of course, couldn’t be created in our contemporary era (as ringtones & voice-mails would only annoy rather than create a brooding sense of dread). “Once Upon a Time in America” is one of the unique films, where everything from direction to production design is engaged in perfect, balletic movement. And, that‘ringing of phone’ (along with the ‘doped up’ look in the end) is one of the most equivocal moments in cinematic history.

There is a certain kind of authenticity and outspoken nature to the Romanian new generation movies. Their new wave film-makers (Cristi Puiu, Cristian Mungiu, Radu Muntean, Calin Peter Netzer, Corneliu Porumboiu) lack the egotistic or judgmental characteristics that plague many film-makers around the world, who want to tell truth or take a hit at prevailing hypocrisy. Films either tend to twist our worsening social reality or shine a light on it. Radu Jude and his fellow Romanian film-makers take projects that belong to later category; one where films become a social necessity rather than to create a despicable allure. “Aferim!” (2015) is Radu Jude’s third feature film (I haven’t seen his first two films), which critics see it as Jude’s tonal & thematic departure. “Aferim” flawlessly contextualizes the historical roots of European racism on socially disadvantaged ethnic groups, whose descendants we now see migrating in masses to different Western European countries. The film’s pivotal design is a hardscrabble journey, but unlike the one witnessed in McQueen’s “12 Years a Slave”, Jude’s nuanced commentary gives us one darkly jovial history lesson (and, of course the film is starkly cruel at right times).

“Aferim” is set in the 1830’s Wallachia, a period when the Roma (not to be confused with Romanians) ethnic minorities lived in slavery (in places now collectively called as “Romania”). The Roma people were back then called with slang terms like“Crow” or “Gypsy”. The continuing levels of discrimination against Roma people are considered to be serious concern (as per EU report) and the contemporary inequality is said to have made the Roma’s to migrate in masses. So, director Jude and writer Florin Lazarescu handling the subject of social repression of Roma slaves, is naturally diffused with allegorical tones (which is only expressed in subtle tones). However, this isn’t a film that solely provides a scathing critique on just the Romanian social order. Jude also astoundingly dissects the other forms of subjugation or exploitation, like the anti-Semitic, xenophobic, homo-phobic and brutally patriarchal rants, which is almost encountered in every other society around the world, past or present.

The opening titles and the opening shot of a cactus framed against a dry land, brightly lit sky gives an emotional atmosphere that is akin to ‘Western’ genre films. The attractive black and white aesthetics, deliberately distant frames do convey that the film could be a revisionist medieval period drama. The sight of an old man atop a horse in this particular landscape screams “Don Quixote!”. “Aferim” is an evolution from all these immortalized tales since the central quest here is drenched in immorality, unlike the journeys made by principled bounty hunters or esteemed knights. Constable Costandin (Teodor Corban) is our guide to this morally parched land. He is an aging old, accompanied by his inexperienced son & protege Ionita (Mihai Comanoiu). Costandin is the kind of silver-tongued protagonist we come across in Western films. He boasts a wellspring of rural wisdom that is both vilely racist and darkly humorous.

The father and son’s mission is simple: to hunt down the gypsy Carfin Pandolean (Toma Cuzin), who is said to have stolen from his Boyar (master or lord). The duos journey puts them through various bracing encounters in which Costandin or the opposite parties exhibit their hatred for everything, from women, gypsies, Jews, Englishmen, Russians, etc.“The butcher doesn’t fear thousands of sheep” he explains to his son on how to treat the gypsies. Thanks to a betrayal, Carfin is soon caught, but the reason for his alleged crime seems to be different than the one stated by Boyar. Throughout the return journey, Carfin has an effect on his captors’ conscience, but this isn’t a tale of reckoning, because in Costandin’s world, moral corruption and ignorance veils the human emotions as much as the thick fog that obscure the land.

Spoilers Ahead

The script by Radu Jude and Florin Lazarescu is supposed to have drawn a lot of dialogues from historical documents and folklore literature of those times (19^th century). For examples, at the fair, a Roma family begs: “Buy us! Save us from hunger!” and then there’s a reference of how gypsies are traded as dowries. Florin and Jude had perfectly found places to stuff the folk-wit. There are some excellent sayings that seem appropriate to come out of Costandin’s mouth (“Fear is shameful but healthy. It is God’s gift). Some of Costandin’s linguistic verve is also highly offensive and morally reprehensible. “Tight of cunt and hard of butt, makes the cock crack like a nut”; “The country’s torn apart with prongs and the cunt sings merry songs”; “In the ass of the humble, devil-sits cross-legged”; “Woman shall be less castigated than men, as they are dimmer of wit and weaker before sin”,and such misogynistic, lewd remarks keeps on pouring, which at one point makes you think that the dialogues are not just a way to look at the racist mentality of the period, but also becomes a fitting introspection into primary character itself. Costandin’s boorish jokes, bigotry and drunken merriment sort of become a defense mechanism to prevent the heavily weighing thoughts about moral putrefaction. Costandin’s brand of archaic humor only shows us that there is a sense of moral decency within him which only wants to hide behind those remarks. If we get to the core of whats haunting Costandin, then we could express a twisted affability to his character nature. Florin or Jude doesn’t excuse Costandin’s behavior, but they are providing us a window to study the flawed nature of this individual.

The protagonist’s self-importance, self-pity and a rare streak of decency could easily be drawn parallels in our contemporary society, where men caught in the mid-level bureaucracy or in societal hierarchy tend to take a morally wrong stand, simply citing that ‘it is not their place to question’. Nevertheless, the script isn’t a scathing attack on those mid-level, ‘following orders’ people; it surprisingly a subjective approach and displays how their souls are lost by doing the assigned duties. In the end, when Costandin talks to his shocked son about how “the world will stay as it is, you can’t change it try as you might”, it seems Costandin is talking to his stalking conscience. “Aferim” raises some vital questions about personal responsibility and the moral judgment of future societies. Priest bargain over the price of a child slave, a priest’s racist rant based on Hamitic myth are all brief, hilarious sequences that easily digs into the corrupted society, and when the full force of all these vile remarks are seen in action (in the end), its hard not to flinch. Costandin, at one point asks to his son, “a hundred years from now, will folks say a good word about us?” Both the priests’ rants and Costandin’s question are inextricably tied to central queries involving individual responsibility and moral judgment.

There are obvious allegorical notes behind the scenarios designed. But, director Radu Jude allows us to fully immerse into the atmosphere on-screen (Jude won ‘Best Director Award’ in Berlin Film Festival). On a plain visceral level, viewers are able to take in the simple narrative trajectories or the resplendent images, without the need to possess knowledge about contemporary Romanian society. The paths, where Costandin and Ionita journey through are tangible and there are some excellently staged recreations the period, particularly the festival fair setting. DoP Marius Panduru and director Jude fill their frames with little details and subtle dramas. The proclivities of drunken revelry in the tavern brims with details and in the morning, when Carfin uses some gypsy healing method to dispel Ionita’s hangover, the frame is littered with prone bodies and vomiting men, while Costandin exclaims“O treacherous world, first sweet, then bitter!” Director Radu never feeds us any emotional cues by keeping the camera at a great distance. The rare occasions when the camera goes closer, Costandin himself is persecuted by ones higher than him. Radu’s distanced shots at many times slowly moves, waiting for their arrival & departure from the frames as if imbuing the feeling on us that they are mere passersby of the vast history (or as Costandin says“we’re like spark from these embers"). From these shots, we can understand that their emotional as well as societal progresses are too slow (not only theirs, in a way ours too).

“Aferim” (106 minutes) is a vigorous, timeless and comprehensive exploration of regressive ideals that keeps us and our society in an impassive state. As a cinephile, all I could say in the end is: “Bravo! Radu Jude”

Trailer

Aferim! -- IMDb

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Kes [1969] – An Imaginative Lad’s Struggle against Drudgery and Preconceptions

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Save the Green Planet [2003] – An Elegy for the ‘Violent Gene’ in Us

Best of Enemies [2015] – An Engrossing Study on Intellectual Vanity

Listen to Me Marlon [2015] – A Sumptuous Treat for Moviebuffs

The Milk of Sorrow [2009] – The Blossoming of Enigmatic Fausta

Maborosi [1995] – A Poetic Tale of Ineffable Tragedy

Meru [2015] – A Grounded Portrayal of Daring Climbers

Pawn Sacrifice [2014] – Transformative Tobey in a Cold War Chess Movie

Labyrinth of Lies [2014] – A Vital History Lesson Bogged Down by a Formulaic Script

Breathe [2014] – Melanie Laurent’s Mature Take on Obsessive Friendship

Requiem [2006] – A Sober-Minded ‘Possession’ Movie

The Farewell Party [2014] – An Invigorating Tragicomedy

Sicario [2015] – A Formidable Descent into Moral Chaos

Once Upon a Time in America, a Telephone Rang Incessantly!

Aferim! [2015] – A Riotously Funny Journey into the Roots of Racial Inequality