Archive for category: Festival Journal

the new dissident cinema [TIFF ’13 post 2]

16 Sep
September 16, 2013

The Square (dir. Jehane Noujaim — Egypt)
Omar (dir. Hany Abu-Assad — Palestine)
Ladder to Damascus (dir. Mohammad Malas — Syria)
Manuscripts Don’t Burn (dir. Mohammad Rasoulof — Iran)
Closed Curtain (dir. Jafar PanahiKambozia Partovi — Iran)

While it’s been repeatedly commented that the running theme of this year’s TIFF was torture—and indeed, 10 of the 21 films I saw either depicted or referenced it—that didn’t seem nearly as significant to me as a substantial new wave of dissident cinema. While much of the attention in this genre was soaked up by the Bill Condon directed festival opener The Fifth Estate, the riveting documentary The Square was the deserving winner of the People’s Choice Documentary award.

The film follows six Egyptian revolutionaries from the February 2011 through to the deposing of Morsi—at the post-screening Q&A the Cairo-raised/Harvard-educated director Jehane Noujaim confessed that the film was only finished its edit and delivered the day before the festival. A few subtitle typos and errors are the only evidence of the haste with which it was finished—the film is a thorougly slick, smartly crafted adrenaline rush that literally has the freshness of last month’s headlines. I will not soon forget the passion of the young secular activist Ahmed Hassan, one of 6 Egyptians whose story the film follows, but equally moving and charismatic is Magdy Ashour, who is loyal to the Brotherhood but even more loyal to his conscience.

Of the five films considered here the one that looks most multiplex-ready in terms of production values and genre chops is the suspense thriller Omar, which tells the story of a young Palestinian resistor whose participation in the cold assassination of an Israeli soldier leaves him caught between the resistance, the security police, and the young woman that he loves.  The film was made with mostly Palestinian producers and crew and invites comparisons to last year’s masterful Ziad Doueiri film The Attack, but is perhaps rather less nuanced and more about skillfully ratcheting up the suspense all the way to a shocking climax. And of the many TIFF screenings depicting torture this is probably the only one where the torturers are Israeli security police.

Omar was made almost entirely on location in the West Bank, and the Academy Award-nominated Abu Assad was able to shoot without fear of significant interference, unlike the other films in this category.  Ladder to Damascus, for instance, was made almost entirely in secret by Syrian auteur Mohammad Malas.

The film depicts a kind of Syrian nation in microcosm—a number of people rooming together in one house, Muslim and Christian, working people, intellectuals, artists, even a soldier. The group are threatened by the civil war happening all around the house—Malas finding the suitable metaphor for depicting both an idealized Syrian community—and human lives themselves—under duress.

Permission to shoot was obtained by submitting a false script to the Syrian film authority.  At the post-film Q&A, Malas was asked how the shooting license was policed, and he explained that the resulting film must match the approved script in order to receive a second license—a license to distribute. In the case of this film he never intended or expected to receive the second license—his only hope is that audiences around the world will get to see what Syrians cannot. In order to protect the safety of the actors and crew they never received copies of the script.  The mostly amateur cast were given pages of script on the day of shooting and expected to learn their lines on the spot.

While this approach makes for some rough edges with the performances, the same can’t be said of the brilliant cinematography by Joude Gorani, which is quite simply visually stunning.

The most restrained and low-budget-looking film on this list is Mohammad Rasoulof’s Manuscripts Don’t Burn, this one also shot in secret, but in Iran. The title, a nod to 1930s Soviet dissident Mikhail Bulgakov, provides a textual link back to previous generations of covertly-produced dissident art.  The film depicts how the Iranian government started using contract killers in the 1990s to assassinate writers and intellectuals under a layer of plausible deniability.  The pacing is slow, the performances extremely restrained, but when the film loops around at the end to retell the opening scene, the payoff offers more than mere plot closure.

The combination of this film and the more brightly-lit but guarded Closed Curtain (described in a previous post) suggests that Jafar Panahi’s This is Not a Film has touched something off—with today’s digital technology, what cannot be filmed with official sanction can be covertly created to a standard that can touch global audiences via the festival circuit and the internet.

Closed Curtain (and This Is Not A Film) / Shivers [TIFF ’13 Day 1]

07 Sep
September 7, 2013

Before getting on the plane to Toronto I decided to do a little remedial viewing and finally watch Jafar Panahi’s much-touted low-budget cinematic intervention/protest This Is Not a Film. In a manner befitting a film that was shot on a shoestring and smuggled out of Iran on a USB drive, I watched it in a format that is pretty much the opposite end of the quality spectrum from the sumptuous screens at the Lightbox.  I went to this page hosting the film on a pirate website and downloaded it using this free Firefox plug-in, which yielded a 278 Mb Flash video file on my hard drive.  I then processed it into an iPad-friendly file format using HandBrake and loaded it on my aging 1st gen iPad for the trip.

Watching Panahi improvise low-budget ways around the multiple legal restrictions on his filmmaking is inspiring—a strange, low-key partial triumph of the human spirit wrapped within the melancholy of long-term house arrest for a supposed thought crime.   Nothing so shambolic should be so compelling and yet I couldn’t stop watching him watching DVDs of his own films, talking on camera to his visitor/co-filmmaker, visiting websites with his MacBook, and doing some filming of his own with his iPhone.  My compressed/low-def Apple-based set-up seemed like the right way to watch this one.

Closed Curtain

I ended the day with a much more pristine Lightbox viewing of Panahi’s more recent, more filmic, but perhaps less compelling Closed Curtain. His new piece has an interesting, subtle, and nuance intertextual relationship with the previous film, but what This Is Not a Film achieves with simple conversation and serendipitous encounters (and surprise bursts of authentic emotion), Closed Curtain attempts with a kind of murky symbolism that almost makes me think I would put up with something more heavy-handed if only it were more direct.

Clearly Panahi cannot be more clear if he wanted to—his straining at the limits of what he is allowed to say right now is heroic but leaves me with little more than a general concern for his well-being and a fervent wish that he will be able to get back to making the films that he wants to make.

Shivers

On opening day afternoon I was very excited to see David Cronenberg introducing a digitally restored print of his first commercial feature: “an adolescent filmmaking exercise that maybe did some things that hadn’t been done before,” he said, after sharing a tidbit that Dan O’Bannon had seen Shivers before he wrote his Alien script.

The digital print is thick with filmic grain, which will please purists when they view this on what I presume will be a forthcoming Blu-ray release, although I do wonder sometimes, when I see the circular reel-change indicators left in the image rather than extrapolated out, whether the purity thing can be taken just a little too far. Just a quibble really.

TIFF ’13 film agenda

02 Sep
September 2, 2013

Yep, the blog is back after a six-month hiatus—I am getting into gear for another ten days of bingeing on world cinema.  Here are my picks for which  I have locked down tickets so far:

review: Barbara (Christian Petzold)

17 Sep
September 17, 2012

Calling this film “quiet” or “restrained” would be factual enough, but somehow it doesn’t do justice to how truly engaging the story is. Nina Hoss is perfectly cast as the eponymous character, managing the tricky task of seeming both put-upon and above it all. Punished for requesting an exit visa from early-1980s East Germany, Barbara is removed from her advanced medical post in East Berlin and sent to a run-down rural hospital. Here she finds herself attracted to a colleague (Ronald Zehrfeld, relentlessly appealing) whom she suspects may be reporting on her to the police, while deciding whether she should try to escape with her West German lover (Mark Waschke).

This was one of the two screenings I took in at TIFF that was projected in 35mm film format, but it felt like a happy throwback for more reasons than that.  If you need convincing that there is still some life in the classical, jump-cut-free style of filmmaking, moving from medium shot to medium shot, out and in again, keeping the medium itself in the background of the story experience, this is the film for you.  Watching this film I felt a real nostalgia for my early art house experiences with international cinema—films that told me stories that had both the verisimilitude to lived experience that Hollywood films lack, and the exotic power of an open window into another country’s culture and history. What a treat to watch a layered, subtly directed story play out, and not to be sure precisely where it will go. Barbara reminds me why I love the movies.

review: The Attack (Ziad Doueiri)

14 Sep
September 14, 2012

A successful Palestinian surgeon (Ali Suliman, in a compellingly restrained performance), respected and honoured by the Jewish Israeli medical establishment, and working in a Tel Aviv hospital, sees his life’s foundation drop out from under him when his wife perpetrates a suicide bombing that kills 17 people, 11 children among them.  Ziad Doueiri’s absolutely remarkable film The Attack surprised me with its nuanced handling of this loaded storyline, adapted from the novel by the pseudonymous author Yasmina Khadra.

Doueiri first came to attention working first assistant camera on several Quentin Tarantino films including Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. He made a minor splash of his own with his engaging, semi-autobiographical West Beirut, about growing up in Lebanon in the 1970s. He has made only one film since, and West Beirut remains today as his best-known work.  That is about to change.

The filmic style here feels contemporary without overtly calling attention to itself, in a way reminiscent of the best work of Steven Soderbergh and Alejandro González Iñárritu. Jump-cut edits are very few but skillfully placed; the palette tends to blue without too-dramatic tint.  From the sharply crafted layout of the main titles to the alternately moody and propulsive score by Eric Neveux, the film feels intricately crafted. It further benefits from a script with equally thorough attention to detail.

The central question to which the the film and the protagonist are seeking answers is how a vivacious, attractive woman with such a comfortable life could turn into a suicidal/homicidal fanatic.  The way in which the possible answers are considered in turn opens up a space of unknowability that is remarkable for such an apparently straightforward plot.  To put it another way, the film is so polished in a conventional way that I was unprepared for the degree of doubt and paradox that it embraces.  This is a film that deals with the thorniest issues in a way that is faithful to their inherent complexity and contradictions.

Word is that The Attack has obtained American distribution; it will be interesting to see what degree of controversy and indeed protest that it might attract.

Side note: watch for a quick appearance by Abdallah El Akal, Stephen Dorff’s photogenic young co-star in Zaytoun.

review: Far From Afghanistan (John Gianvito with Travis Wilkerson, Jon Jost, Minda Martin, Soon-Mi Yoo)

13 Sep
September 13, 2012

This is a very quick-hit review of a complex film project that is explicated far more thoroughly by Cinema Scope, so I will just focus on a few key points.

I think I have a very clear bias when it comes to films about war, and that is that I like them better the more that they tell me about people’s direct experiences of it.  And there is plenty of footage from Afghanistan here—some moments of it intense and/or gory enough to merit a warning I’d say—but the strange fact here is that this seems to have been gathered by Afghan videographers separately from the five Western films of the omnibus, and then inserted as context.  For me it is far more powerful than anything contributed by the filmmakers themselves.

Gianvito’s own segment is somehow simultaneously too offbase and too heavyhanded, with its images of indulgent, lazy Westerners contrasted pedantically with audio accounts of civilian deaths and injuries in the war.  Jon Jost’s “Empire’s Cross” impressed me with its nerve, putting the faces and names of the 9/11 terrorist attackers on screen, but then devolving into an audio/video mashup of Eisenhower’s “Cross of Iron” speech with war imagery.  Soon-Mi Yoo’s “Afghanistan: The Next Generation” mixing archival documentary footage from the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan with fresh scenes of contemporary Afghan life, focusing on youth.  Somehow this juxtaposition did little for me, although both sets of footage are interesting on their own terms.  Minda Martin’s “The Long Distance Operator” is a rather weak fiction about the implications of remotely-conducted warfare.  It tries to achieve authenticity by casting actual vets, but this can’t hide weak writing and acting.  Travis Wilkerson’s “Fragments of Dissolution” risks taking the entire film off the rails by telling 4 stories of poverty and suicide among American war vets; a tragic subject that no doubt merits a film of its own, but risks undercutting the main thrust of this project with its super-dramatic black-and-white aesthetic and grief-wracked interview subjects.

I say all this and yet, with the except of the last segment I was constantly engaged by this film.  But it is one thing to protest the fact that in 2011 only 2% of news media coverage focused on the war, even as the American and Afghan casualty counts were at an all-time high.  It is another thing to try successfully to tell the stories that aren’t being told. In that respect this attempt, well-intended as it is, falls a bit short.

Malick-trashing (To The Wonder and the baffled critics at TIFF)

13 Sep
September 13, 2012

On Tuesday I was at the Princess of Wales Theatre for the repeat screening of Terrence Malick’s To The Wonder. I had purposefully tried to keep my expectations low, suspecting that Malick could not have come up anything as substantial as The Tree of Life in what for him was an extremely short period of time between films. I was delighted, then, to experience what seems to me his most focused, narratively clear film ever; still uniquely Malick yet more intimate, purely distilled, and—without precedent in my experience of his films—ultimately heartbreaking.

But the bigger surprise came afterward—the reaction.  Browsing the reviews online, I scrolled through a bizarre litany of complaints.  The film is “almost sickeningly self-indulgent and pretentious,” “ultimately vacant,” with characters robbed of “specificity,” “empty in meaning” with “no wonder”—a “disjointed, empty tale” that “doesn’t add up.”

I’m assuming that the folks who write these things spend a significant portion of their lives watching films and writing about them.  So I find the “vacant” criticism deeply weird.  That’s not to say that all of the people who didn’t like it also didn’t get it. But there is certainly a trend in that direction.

What I want to say is this—To The Wonder is a very straightforward story told mostly visually with minimal dialogue.  It pushes further in that direction, perhaps, than any previous Malick film.  But in almost every scene it is absolutely clear what’s going on, not just narratively but emotionally.  You would think from reading these reviews that the film is nothing but a series of arbitrary images chosen for their visual beauty rather than their narrative logic.  If all you had were these reviews to go on, you could be excused for being so wrong.

I guess it’s only human to try to cut things down to size that aren’t understood, but I find it unexpectedly painful to watch it happening to a film that clearly doesn’t deserve such treatment.

I gather that The Tree of Life itself had a bit of a bumpy landing at Cannes before its reputation was rescued as more people saw it, so hopefully To The Wonder will survive the early shredding and find an appreciative audience.  As a Malick fan I care less whether it can nab middle-brow-approval certification a.k.a. the Oscars—I just want it to find good distribution so that lots of people, including everyone who wants to, can see this brilliant, heartfelt film.

 

review: Zaytoun (Eran Riklis)

12 Sep
September 12, 2012

Some quick thoughts about Zaytoun. Criticizing this film feels like kicking a puppy. How can you not enjoy what is possibly the unlikeliest buddy-road-movie pairing ever, when an orphaned Palestinian boy (Abdallah El Akal, who could not be more loved by the camera) and a shackled, captured Israeli pilot (Stephen Dorff, basically smirk-free for the entire movie) make their way across Lebanon’s DMZ south to Israel, during the Israeli invasion of Lebanon circa 1982? And yes, hilarity, pratfalls, the Bee Gees, the World Cup of soccer, and some death & injury are involved. On one level you have to admire the sheer bravura of trying to make a feel-good movie featuring Israeli-aligned Phalangists shooting down a child in cold blood. But if you remember the Seinfeld “no hugging, no learning” rule, after it becomes clear that there is going to be some learning, you know that the hugging is well and truly inevitable.

It’s pretty clear that the film, written by Nader Rizq, a Palestinian living in the U.S., and directed by the Israeli Eran Riklis, has no intention other than to put a human face on both sides of “the Israeli-Palestinian conflict,” as it is so awkwardly if commonly called. If that sounds like a good use of two hours of your time, you could most certainly do worse than this rather entertaining film. But if it’s understanding or insight you seek, best to look elsewhere.

review: Berberian Sound Studio (Peter Strickland)

11 Sep
September 11, 2012

Berberian Sound Studio is a strange little paradox of a film. Aesthetically outstanding in its referencing of giallo cinema of the seventies, and its fetishistic deployment—and editing—of analogue sound, the second feature from UK director Peter Strickland features a note-perfect performance by Toby Jones as a put-upon English sound engineer who has been recruited to record the audio for a fictional giallo movie called The Equestrian Vortex. We see none of this film other than a brilliantly-imagined main title animation—rather we witness fruits and vegetables being smashed and ripped to create the sounds of horrifying acts of violence, actresses screaming with varying degrees of convincingness, and Jones watching the screen in disbelief. The film is grounded in how sound engineers actually work yet creates a closed-off little universe that is increasingly surreal.

But it does feel in the end as if Berberian Sound Studio has not quite arrived at its best possible destination. It is kind of a distant but clearly recognizable cousin of Mulholland Drive, with a relationship to giallo much like the Lynch film’s relationship to Hollywood, but in a more constrained way. The repeated scene of the red, blinking “Silenzio” light in the studio, for example, seems a call-back to Mulholland Drive’s Club Silencio, suggesting that the studio, like the club, is a portal to an alternate reality. When the plot inevitably begins to fold back and double on itself, Lynch style, it’s hard to feel that this film has managed those moves nearly as well as its predecessor.

That said, I still want the soundtrack, and yes, I want to know exactly what soundtracks are on Strickland’s own playlist.

review: As If We Were Catching a Cobra (Hala Alabdalla)

10 Sep
September 10, 2012

As If We Were Catching a Cobra feels less like a finished film and more like a series of video-recorded musings. Having started off life as a project about political cartoonists and freedom of expression in the Arab world—specifically in Syria and Egypt—it was “invaded” by the revolutions in those countries, in a way that is politically, rather than cinematically, interesting.

The trauma of the massive tragedy that is happening now in Syria has seized control here. When the brain goes into emergency mode, I suppose, every single thing seems important, everything is recorded. The casual viewer, though, may not feel patient with a film that takes two full hours to tell a story that in a more conventional framing might well be half that length (Facebook, I’m pretty sure, gets more screen time here than in The Social Network).

As part of the shifting of the film into covering the effects of the revolution, increased time is given to novelist and essayist Samar Yazbek. She has some interesting things to say but also makes the film seem ever more removed from the art of the cartoonists as well as the revolution itself. How to present a story of art and expression, brutality and violence, without getting more of it on screen? The effort is worthy but the result doesn’t quite add up. Once gets the feeling that there is a more focused yet rounded film waiting to be constructed from this material once enough time has elapsed.