Month: February 2018

U – July 22 (Utøya 22. Juli)

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On July 22nd 2011 500 young people attending a summer camp in the idyllic island of Utøya, near Oslo, were attacked by 34-year-old right-wing terrorist Anders Behring Breivik. The attack claimed the lives of 77 people, left 99 severely injured and a further 300 profoundly traumatised. It shocked a nation not used to crimes of such dimension. It was the deadliest event in the wealthy and pacific Scandinavian country since WW2. And it spawned two films: this one and 22 July (Paul Greengrass, 2018).

The film opens with documentary footage of an explosion in Oslo, the result of a bomb also planted by Breivik. Then it takes us Utøya, where the young people have a barbecue and chat joyfully, unbeknownst to them that they are trapped in a tiny island with a heavily armed and sadistic killer. The following 72 minutes follow Kaja (Andrea Berntzen) as she attempts to evade death and also to find her sister Emilie, all in one single breathtaking take. She runs though the woods, the cliffs and the water trying to find shelter wherever possible.

You would be forgiven for thinking this is an exploitative film trying to reopen painful wounds and to capitalise on fetishised violence. But it’s not. This is an overtly political film, and the Norwegian director Erik Poppe sets the tone in the very beginning on the movie. Kaja talks with her friends, immediately before the shooting begins, and after they hear about the explosion in Oslo. They speculate that the bomb may have been planted by al-Qaeda in response to Norway’s involvement in Afghanistan. They have no idea that the attack is in fact being conducted by a white Norwegian man.

Poppe places us in a war zone, where no one is entirely sure what’s going on. The young people at first assume this is a drill, and not once in the entire movie are the words “death” and “dead” uttered. It’s very difficult for Norwegians used to a safe and comfortable life to vocalise the unfathomable horror they are experiencing. Viewers are reminded that no one is ever entirely safe, and forced to wear the shoes of extremely vulnerable people in a war-like attack. While in Norway this may be a one-off attack, people in Syria are experiencing a similar ordeal far more often.

As viewers, we presume that Kaja survived. Otherwise how would Poppe be able to reconstruct the events? Then there’s a twist at the end, and it will change your entire perspective of the film and how the massacre occurred. The extremely realistic images will haunt you for a long time.

In addition to challenging the “Islamic terrorist” notion and making Western viewers unused to violence wear the shoes of vulnerable people desperately fleeing death, there is also a third relevant angle to the film. This one is probably entirely unintentional, albeit no less relevant. U – July 22 is released just five days after the Stoneman Douglas High School shooting, when 17 young Americans were killed. The massacre reopened the debate about gun control in the US, with NRA lobbyists and Donald Trump claiming that mental health disorders and not the weapons were to blame. Well, regardless of whether Breivik has mental health problems or is a just “plain evil”, one thing is certain: he would easily acquire the weapons he used in the bloodshed in most US states.

U – July 22 showed in the Official Competition of the 68th Berlin International Film, when this piece was originally written. It premieres in the UK as part of the BFI London Film Festival taking place between October 10th and 21st. It’s out in cinemas on Friday, October 26th. Out on VoD on Monday, February 25th (2019).

Hard Paint (Tinta Bruta)

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The largest country of Latin America has a vibrant queer culture and big cities like Porto Alegre (the Southernmost Brazilian state capital, where Hard Paint takes place) are open and diverse enough for gay men to live out their lives without concealing their sexuality. But the country is also riddled with violence, and loneliness is no stranger to young homosexuals.

Pedro (Shico Menegat) is young and good-looking. But he’s also extremely laconic and introverted, and his looks are careless: his attire is ordinary, his hair is long and dishevelled. He lives with his sister Luiza. He makes a living of performing on Cam4, a pornographic live sex application. He rubs glow paint over his body and dances under UV-A light (black light) for mostly anonymous and lascivious men. His username is the very descriptive NeonBoy. Pedro was kicked out of university and is awaiting trial after a violent episode of homophobic bullying in which he harmed the bully.

Then one day Luiza departs leaving Pedro on his own. He develops a romantic liaison with Leo, another “neon” performer, but it seems that Leo too could be about to leave the city. When you are young and lonely, the departure of a dear person feels a lot like a bereavement. Could Pedro once again be left on his own, in what’s probably the most difficult moment of his life (he could receive a jail term in his impeding trail)?

At first, you will find it difficult to connect with the insular and shy Pedro, who’s only able to “open up” in front of the cameras. Porto Alegre doesn’t come across as an inviting place, either. The concrete jungle surrounding the lower middle-class flat inhabited by Pedro is grey and soulless. The streets are impersonal. Neighbours on the windows are hardly visible, except for their shadows and profiles. The chat rooms are also deeply dehumanised. Pedro is treated as merchandise, and his clients are unwilling to meet him even for a friendly conversation. He has no one to turn to, it seems.

This is a film is full of small symbolic elements. Water is a central theme. There’s a leaking faucet, heavy rain and a powerful shower, and all of them seem to bring about change in his life. And there are doors with heavy locks and metal bar gates, emphasising the violence and the loneliness of the young gay man in Porto Alegre. Ironically, it’s one of these metal bar gates that saves Pedro during a very scary episode in the final third of the movie

The marketing collateral of Hard Paint may suggest this is a post-porn experiment, but it’s not. This is a film with emotional depth. A lot of emotional depth, even. By the end of the 118 minutes, Pedro’s candour and quiet charm will have won you over. Plus there are some credible and surprising twists. And Anohni’s song Drone Bomb Me in a very beautiful moment of liberation and redemption.

Hard Paint showed at the 68th Berlin International Film Festival in 2018, when this piece was originally written. It won the Teddy Award (LGBT) Prize. In cinemas across the UK on Friday, August 2nd (2019).

Daughter of Mine (Figlia mia)

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Vittoria (Sara Casu) is about to turn 10, and she lives with her doting mother Tina (Valeria Golino) in a happy and and stable household. She befriends Angelica (Alba Rohrwacher), a dysfunctional and promiscuous alcoholic who’s about to be evicted from her own house unless she can raise 27,000 to pay off her debts. At first, it’s not entirely clear what bonds the adult and the child. They seem to have very little in common except for a vague physical resemblance.

Daughter of Mine is set in the barren and oppressively hot Summer of Sardinia, one of the poorest and most remote areas of Italy. Their fishing village looks very precarious and primitive, and untouched by tourists. The houses are old and most of the buildings are derelict, few roads have been paved, and a heavy and brown cloud of dust is lifted by passing cars and motorcycles. The landscape is very arid and golden-hued, just like Vittoria’s hair. This is a sight many people would not associate with a European country, but instead with a developing nation in Africa or South America.

We soon discover that Vittoria is in reality Angelica’s daughter, and that Tina adopted her in exchange for financial help for the biological mother. Vittoria begins to suspect that Tina isn’t her mother, and confronts Angelica about the truth. Angelica confirms her suspicion. Then everything changes. Vittoria rejects her adoptive mother and begins to forge a maternal connection with the very non-motherly Angelica. The inexperienced mother serves her daughter Alka-Setzer tea for breakfast.

There are elements of Italian Neorealism throughout the movie. The social realism in poverty-stricken Southern Italy and the shaky handheld camera will ring bells with fans of Rossellini and De Sica. There’s plenty of movement, and the cinematographer follows the two warring mothers as they walk in despair for very different reasons, in two key sequences of the movie.

Alba Rohrwacher is particularly impressive as the careless and irresponsible Angelica. She worked before with the filmmaker Laura Bispuri in Sworn Virgin (2015), where she played an Albanian transsexual. She has now fully displayed her chameleonic abilities, and is a strong contender for the Best Actress Golden Bear. Parallel to this, Bispuri is now established as one of the strongest voices in Italian cinema (a country with very few female filmmakers).

There is a highly symbolic moment in the film that deserves a special mention. Vittoria enters a tiny hole in the ground in a nearby necropolis, following the orders of her biological mother who believes there’s a treasure hidden underground. This is like reverse birth, reentering the mother (Mother Earth, in this case) for the purpose of death.

Yet, this is not a flawless film. While Rohrwacher is outstanding, some of the other actors are not as convincing. And some of the subplots don’t tie together with the rest of the narrative. For example, Angelica negotiates the sale of horses with a tradesmen played by Udo Kier, but I can’t see the functionality of the scenes except for showcasing the famous German thespian.

Daughter of Mine showed as part of the Official Competition of the 68th Berlin International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. It premieres in the UK at the BFI London Film Festival taking place between October 10th and 21st.

The Prayer (La Prière)

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QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM BERLIN

Faith can save and heal. The road towards healing and salvation is bumpy, and unequivocal doctrine is no panacea. Cédric Kahn’s latest movie The Prayer is neither a religious nor an anti-Catholic film. Instead it’s a moving portrayal of a 22-year-old rescued from heroin addiction, those who helped him, and all the obstacles he encounters on his way.

Thomas (Anthony Bajon) arrives in a religious rehab community of young men living in a mountain in the idyllic French Alps, somewhere near Grenoble. His life is far less beautiful and pacific than the landscape. His forehead has a fresh scar, and he’s facing an uphill struggle against his past. Plus he has no family to support him. His psychological scars are also visible. He has seizures and anger management problems. But he eventually finds solace amongst the males who are there in order to fight their own chemical demons. They support each other through companionship, friendship, work and a little entertainment (such as singing and playing the guitar). And a lot of prayer.

The Bible becomes one of his best friends. He memorises the psalms and the takes the holy book on a hiking trip on the mountains, where he has en epiphany. But he also encounters abuse. For Mother Myriam (played by Fassbinder’s veteran Hannah Schygulla), faith is contingent on suffering, plus a little twist of violence. In addition, there is a tragic and unexpected death, and Thomas finds a very unorthodox way of dealing with the pain of bereavement. But this is not Peter Mullen’s The Magdalene Sisters (2002). The Catholic Church here, while conspicuous, is not entirely corrupt and oppressive.

This is a movie that neither makes judgements nor provides easy answers. It’s not a provocative film, but instead a reflective one. Instead its complexity is in the humanistic portrayal of the round characters, and the extremely moving performances. Bajon is outstanding, and he could easily win the Golden Bear for Best Actor. He morphs from a completely dysfunctional soul into a credible and viable young adult, capable of loving and making firm commitments. The testimonials of those who overcame drug use are also very powerful, and I wonder whether former patients were used.

The Prayer is showing at the 68th Berlin International Film Festival, in the event’s Official Competition

Transit

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This is an extremely peculiar film and not an easy one to watch. It’s not light entertainment. It is so incredibly multi-faceted and original that it might cause estrangement at first. Yet, it’s a film you won’t easily forget. You will catch yourself mulling over its unusual story, trying to weave together its various narrative strands and political connotations.

Georg (Franz Rogowski) escapes to Marseilles after the German troops approach Paris. He’s carrying the papers of a communist writer called Weidel, who committed suicide out of fear of persecution. These papers include a manuscript of a book, two letters to his wife and a document from the Mexican Embassy granting him a visa to enter the country. Georg assumes Weidel’s identity in an attempt to flee war-ridden Europe. This purposely asymmetrical film relocates a Holocaust-drama into modern France, complete with refugees from North Africa and beyond. Viewers are left to dovetail the two different times and realities.

This is a wilfully hybrid endeavour in more than one way. The plot from the past fuses with the themes from the present, and so do the props. Georg wears clothes from the 1940s, the documents are printed with old-fashioned calligraphy. Otherwise, the settings are modern: digital devices and 21st century cars are to be seen everywhere. Georg’s predicament is further complicated with the arrival of the beautiful and enigmatic Marie (played by Paula Beer, who was catapulted to fame two years ago in François Ozon’s equally cryptic Frantz). Her identity is as elusive as her motives, nevertheless the two become predictably infatuated with each other (and that’s about the only predictable element of the movie).

Georg, who has a soft-spoken and child-like voice, develops a gentle bond with Driss (Lilien Batman), the mixed-race child of his buddy Heinz (who died whilst fleeing). Driss’s mother is a deaf immigrant from North Africa, and they live in the Maghreb outskirts of Marseilles. This is an allusion to the refugee crisis befalling Europe right now. While the political tones of the film are not entirely overt, it’s not difficult to join the dots in this case. Georg and Driss are obliquely the byproduct of war and political persecution. They represent Europe’s failure to shelter and protect the most vulnerable people, both during WW2 and now.

Ultimately, the message of Transit is: “look, history is repeating itself, we’re making the same errors as in the past. The calligraphy and the clothes may have changed in the past three quarters of a century, yet we have hardly learnt our lesson.”

Transit premiered at 68th Berlin International Film Festival in 2018, when this piece was originally written. It is a free adaptation of the 1942 book Transit Visa by German writer Anna Sheghers. It is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, August 16th (2019). On Mubi in July/August (2020).

Eva

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QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM BERLIN

A French psycho-sexual thriller starring 65-year-old Isabelle Huppert playing a wealthy prostitute, with flavours of Ozon and Haneke. Sounds like the surefire recipe for a dirtylicious movie. What could possibly go wrong? Well, quite a lot. Benoit Jacquot’s Eva has a disjointed script. Far more seriously, it lacks naughtiness. It lacks humour. There’s no zest, there’s no jest. It’s a film that blends in too many flavours, and they ultimately kill off each each other. The outcome is vapid and bland.

The beginning of the film looks promising. An elderly writer dies and his young and good-looking prostitute Bertrand (Gaspard Ulliel, best known for portraying Hannibal Lecter in Peter Webber’s Hannibal Rising, 2007) steals the manuscript of his latest play, entitled “Passwords”. Bertrand becomes rich and famous by claiming to have written the play himself. He now has a beautiful girlfriend, who suspects the authenticity of his authorship. He meets a prostitute called Eva (Isabelle Huppert), and the two begin to develop a twisted bond. Bertrand then starts writing a book (this time his own) based on his experience with Eva. He embarks on new sexual adventures in search or creative inspiration (just like Charlotte Rampling’s character in Ozon’s masterpiece Swimming Pool, 2003)

Eva has a dirty secret, too. She’s married and her husband is in jail. She works in the sex industry apparently in an attempt to pay for her husband’s lawyer fees so he can be freed on probation as soon as possible. It feels like the role was written specifically for Huppert: she’s her usual confident and subversive self, she had a BDSM instrument (just like in Haneke’s The Pianist, 1999) and she even cracks the skull of the protagonist open (just like in Paul Verhoeven’s Elle last year). Huppert is convincing enough, and she looks absolutely stunning for her age. And it’s quite fun to watch her donning a dark wig.

The major problem with Eva is that the script is too convoluted and discombobulated. The many narrative threads get lost, and instead of an ambiguous, open ending, we are left with a “what the heck just happened” type of closure. The attempts at comedy are equally ineffective. A lot of people in the theatre laughed. But they laughed at the film, not at the story. So I can tell you with confidence I wasn’t alone in my disappointment.

The film also lacks nudity (male and female). There are no genitals and no breasts, only a carefully placed sheet over the two lovers in bed. Not what you would expect from a French film about a prostitute. Perhaps the septuagenarian French director Benoit Jacquot – a regular at the Berlinale – intended for it to become an international blockbuster, so he watered down the most explicit visuals. The film is adapted from British writer James Hadley Chase’s eponymous novel. It was previously made into a film by Joseph Losey starring the late Jeanne Moreau (in 1962). I have neither read the book nor watched the previous film, so it is possible that I missed certain nuances. Still, I would recommend you avoid this movie, unless you are itching to see Huppert donning femme fatale red apocalipstick and a new wig (which is of course an entirely bona fide reason).

Eva is showing the 68th Berlin International Film Festival, and it’s vying for the major prize the Golden Bear.

Dovlatov

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The year is 1971, the month is November and the city is Leningrad. The urban landscape is covered in snow and the air is foggy. The mood of people is equally sullen and morose. After experiencing a period of relative freedom in the 1960s, the Soviet Union is once again gripped by censorship. It’s almost as if Stalin had made a return. The climate (in both the denotative and the connotative senses) is nasty. Plus, a sense of economic and political gloom prevails. Publishers seek “positive” writers who will convey a sense of hope and lift the spirits of the populace. The entire film takes place during a period of seven days.

Russian-Armenian journalist Alexei Dovlatov (played by the bulky Serbian heartthrob Milan Maric) does not wish to conform to the newly established orthodoxy. His writings are too subversive for the official media, and he is consistently denied membership by the ultra cliquey Writers’ Union. He endeavours to capture social reality: he visits and talks to shipyard builders and metro construction workers. He does not wish to leave the Soviet Union. He wants to stay and lead a normal life with his wife Lena (Elena Sujecka) and their daughter Katya.

Dovlatov’s ironic and transgressive writings were prohibited under Brezhnev, and he eventually migrated to the US, shortly after his friend Iosif Brodsky (also portrayed in the movie). Both men would eventually become recognised as some of the most influential Russian writers of the 20th century, and they die while living in New York – the film explains in writing at the end.

Dovlatov blends tragic events that took place during that week in November – such as the attempted suicide of a co-worker and the accidental death of a painter arrested for smuggling – with the oneiric (we see Dovlatov’s fears beautifully portrayed in two dream sequences). Polish DOP Lukask Zal (of Paweł Pawlikowski’s Ida, 2013) delivers a visually compelling movie, with a reality as murky and misty as Dovlatov’s imagination. The images of the majestic Saint Petersburg (then Leningrad) are enthralling (not too difficult, considering the city in question). Dovlatov, however, is artistically inferior to the black and white Polish film from five years ago. It’s far less audacious and inventive.

In case you have never heard of the Russian writer Sergei Dovlatov or are only very vaguely familiar with his work (I belong to the latter category), then you might find his biopic a little esoteric and overwhelming. References are so abundant and intertextuality so prominent that people lacking the specific cultural capital might not be able to engage with the film thoroughly. Gogol, Dostoyevski, Tolstoy, Pushkin, Chekhov, Solzhhenitsyn, Nabokov and many more are repeatedly referenced. Non-Soviet artists of all sorts and eras such as Pollock, Munch, Hemingway and Sophocles are also discussed. The namedropping is so intense that it’s difficult not to keep track of it.

All in all, this is a conventional biopic with an elegant photography and plenty of treats for fans of Russian literature, but nothing beyond this. It is unlikely to convert new fans. I would hazard a guess that the Russian director Aleksei German, who won the Silver Bear for Outstanding Artistic Contribution just three years ago with Under Electric Clouds, will neither repeat nor excel his achievement.

Dovlatov showed at the 68th Berlin International Film Festiva, when this piece was originally written. It premieres in the UK as part of the BFI London Film Festival taking place between October 10th and 21st.

Central Airport THF (Zentralflughafen THF)

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For most people an airport is a transitory place. It is where they spend a few hours when they travel. Some might even stay overnight, if you miss your flight and are forced to sleep in the terminal (like it one happened to me once, and I wouldn’t recommend the experience to anyone). For refugees in Tempelhof Airport of Berlin, the transit is far more extensive. They can spend weeks, months or even years living in the hangars before their future is determined by German authorities. They come from places as varied as Syria, Afghanistan and the Donetsk region of the Ukraine.

Tempeholf is a magnificently ugly, oppressively calm and yet strangely liberating place. Central Airport THF quickly delves into the building history in the beginning of the film. Some sort of tour guide shows the gigantic building to attentive visitors. We learn that the Airport was originally built in the 1920s, and it was intended to become the world’s biggest and most impressive, had Hitler won the War. We are then abruptly brought back into the present, where the building is used as shelter for refugees.

The Brazilian-Algerian filmmaker Karim Ainouz knows what it means to be a foreigner in Berlin. He’s an immigrant himself, and his previous film Futuro Beach (2015) also deals with an exile living in Berlin. Three years ago, the Brazilian fictional character Donato migrated by choice. The people in this documentary, on the other hand, are not fictional and they did not leave their countries by choice. They fled a deadly conflict. But the two films also have elements in common: the rupture for the immigrant/refugees equally traumatic and likely irreversible, plus the destination (Berlin) is a cold and barren place, and yet unexpectedly welcoming.

This isn’t just a film about people. This is also a movie about an incredible building, which is now home to refugees and also also a leisure ground for German families at the weekends. People cycle, have barbecues and children fly kites right next to the hangars inhabited by an undisclosed number of refugees (the same portrayed in Ai Weiwei’s Human Flow, from last year). Everything is awkwardly harmonic. The Germans are extremely efficient, and it’s clear that these people receive good medical and psychological treatment. Some bemoan their situation, which is quite understandable: while comfortable and safe, this is hardly a private and homely place. Others express contentedness and gratitude. An older Syrian man says Tempelholf is like a retirement in heaven.

There’s even an apiary in the airport, for some unexplained reason (in fact, most of the film except for the short history lesson in the beginning isn’t contextualised, leaving viewers to join the puzzle pieces). The wooden slate for the hives are similar to the refugee hangars and also representative of German efficiency: they are very densely populated and yet feasible.

The camerawork in Central Airport THF is almost entirely static. The helmer remains behind the camera. There is no voice-over. The concourse, the hangars and the runway of the airport are vast, dark and intriguing. Some aerial shots are splendid. All in all, the images are gripping and soothing. This is the temple of gloom that miraculously harbours life and hope of a new start. It also is the perfect paradox: the airport that once epitomised Hitler’s global ambitions has now become a symbol of Angela Merkel’s “Refugees Welcome” policy.

Central Airport THF showed at the 68th Berlin Film Festival in February, when this piece was originally written. It is available on ArteKino for free during the entire month of December, 2020 – just click here.

Damsel

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Samuel Alabaster (Robert Pattinson, in a very convincing performance) is a clumsy cowboy. He’s on a mission to save his wife-to-be Penelope (Mia Wasikowska) from the hands of an evil kidnapper. His sardonic sidekick is the reluctant and makeshift preacher Parson Henry (played by the co-director David Zellner) and the inept duo have brought along the miniature horse Butterscotch. Samuel intends to give the animal to Penelope as a wedding present, in a ceremony intended to take place immediately after the rescue of the poor and vulnerable lady.

But Penelope isn’t as unprotected as Samuel assumed. In fact, the lady can perfectly fend for herself on more than one way. Slowly, the film morphs into a feminist story. The topic of being rescued against one’s will prevails throughout narrative. Women are emotionally strong and perfectly capable of making their own decisions, it soon becomes clear. Conversely, men are irresolute, needy and ineffective.

Damsel starts out as sort of circus ride through wild, wild West. The creatures and characters that Samuel and Parson meet are bizarre, grotesque a primitive. Everyone is rough looking, there’s a blind dog, a disabled midget, animals and people being killed all around. And there’s a twist of puerile humour everywhere. It feels very appropriate for Disney World ride.

The film also has several elements of slapstick – such as Samuel not knowing on which side of the chest his heart is located and being unable to remove a chain from around his neck. Then it tries to become some sort of feminist movie. Penelope is empowered and savvy. In fact, she feels very urban and sophisticated. The film attempts to resonate with the #MeToo movement with some ironic lines about seduction: “you gave me the wrong signs”, cries out one of the males. But instead of coming across as a feminist movie, it just feels like a very old-fashioned screwball comedy (where “kick-ass” females ridiculing men were the norm).

The directors (both of whom also star in the movie) make the difficult decision to kill one of the main characters and big stars long before the end of the movie, just like Marion Crane in Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960). And just like Janet Leigh’s character, the character also dies in toilet (albeit in very different circumstances, plus there is not shower in here)! Another major difference is that this loss is not compensated by a complex and riveting script following the death and – unlike in Hitchcock’s masterpiece – the narrative becomes banal.

Damsel showed in the 68th Berlin International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. It showed in Competition, but it didn’t win any prizes. In fact numerous journalists walked out of the film throughout the session presumably out of boredom.

On Netflix on Monday, January 18th.

Mrs Hyde (Madame Hyde)

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Threaded with an absurdist tone throughout its narrative, Serge Bozon’s Mrs Hyde is surprisingly captivating in its characters, setting and cinematic language. In the lead role, Isabelle Huppert portrays a conserved teacher who struggles to captivate the imagination of her boisterous science students. In the actress’ chameleonic abilities, seamlessly merging into the women she portrays, it is hard not to be absorbed in watching Huppert deep in the fragility of Mrs Géquil. Bozon’s direction too imbues the film with a contemporary edge, offering colourful frames to compliment the swift cinematography.

Gentle – furthered by Huppert’s slim figure – Mrs Géquil struggles daily to hold the attention of her teenage pupils. Merging into the soft pastel colours of the school classroom, her outfits emphasise how passive her authority is. Constantly interrupted by Malik (Adda Senani) and his rowdy classmates leave the teacher in a position of powerlessness. Not supported by the school’s head teacher (Romain Duris) – who is more concerned with keeping up with the kids than expelling them – forces her into her scientific laboratory. Away from her work, Marie has a stay-at-home husband who respects her sense of being.

Having witnessed Bozon discuss the film in a talk in the New York Film Festival last year, it is evident from his personality that the eccentricity of his character’s situations is an apt reflection of the director himself. Bestowed with a title that alludes towards Robert Louis Stevenson iconic novel, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, its references the duality that human nature possesses. In the instance of Marie, after experimenting in her laboratory during a thunderstorm, the consequences are life changing – offering a comical twist on the somewhat clichéd superhero origins story. Malik says: “I believe in superheroes because they are not real, whereas you Mrs Géquil, are”.

Possessing a quick edit, resulting in moments of comedy or absurdism, Madame Hyde, in this cinematic tool, shifts along at a pace which benefits the narrative. Captudre with a crispness in the quick yet steady movements of Céline Bozon, moments are not dwellt upon and have an eagerness to them. Furthered by its three-act structure, with a 90-minute running time, Bozon constructs a tightly constructed narrative, leaving little room for overindulgence.

Welding a script that pivots on a theme of the importance of education, and the pivotal relationships teachers and pupils share in forming the latter’s being, Huppert roots the film in an eccentric, fragile tone. Equivalent to some of her best roles, the iconic French actress wields the ability to transform into any character she possesses. Benefited by the contrasting clothes she wears as she enters her Hyde-esque transformation, the visual sight of Marie wearing a luscious red shirt in the final few scenes speaks a thousand words of her transformation.

Akin to his contemporaries of Bruno Dumot and Eugène Green, Serge Bozon may be an acquired French taste, nonetheless, his eccentricities and distinctive style is undeniable to be revelled in.

Mrs Hyde shows as part of the Berlin Critics’ Week, which runs parallel to the 68th Berlinale, when this piece was originally written.

Watch Mrs Hyde right here with DMovies and Eyelet:

Diverge

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A pandemic virus has wiped out large cities and seemingly most of the world’s population. Chris Towne (Ivan Sandomire, the Eddie Vedder lookalike pictured above) is desperately searching for a cure for the malaise as his sick wife Anne (Erin Cunningham) grapples with the symptoms of the disease. Their son has already passed away. The couple meander through a dry and deserted landscape, symbolic of what the world has now become. Until they encounter an enigmatic stranger (Jamie Jackson) who claims he can save not just Anne but all of mankind. How? By sending Chris back into the past in order to rewrite history.

The post-apocalyptic future portrayed in the beginning of the film is strangely beautiful and eerie. The landscape is arid, bright and vast, the image saturation is so low that the sequence is almost black and white. Attention to textures is paid, from twisted clouds to cracked soil and water puddles. The first-time director successfully conveys a sense of isolation and despondency with a lovely artistic finish. But then Chris travels to the past and the film turns into something different, some sort of psychological thriller with a far more elusive artistic edge. A subtle psychological thriller, with a European touch. Not a fast-paced Hollywood thriller.

After time-travelling to the pre-apocalyptic past Chris and the stranger come across their own versions, and they do their best to avoid being seen by “themselves”. They attempt to stop Chris (from the past) from working on a project which will culminate in disaster, triggering the deadly pandemic. They are trying to alter the course history. The stakes are high, and so they will do anything they can in order to save mankind from impending doom. The movie lends a whole new meaning to at least two phrases: “you arrive in this world naked” and “I’m going to kill myself” – you can join the puzzle pieces and work out what I mean without watching the film. Otherwise just watch the movie!

This is a film interesting enough to keep you going for 85 minutes. I would recommend that you watch it in the dark and with good speakers or headphones. Or a seashell (again, watch it in order to understand the reference!). On the downside, this is far from a perfect movie, if still enjoyable and with enough philosophical and lyrical depth. The time travel premise feels a little bit trite, and the script has a few gaps. Plus the profoundly poetic tone in beginning of the film gets diluted throughout the narrative, and the initial ideas never comes full circle.

Diverge is available worldwide on all major VoD platforms from February 2018.