Month: November 2019

A tale of two ethnicities

Posted on by victorfraga

The Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival is now on its 23rd edition. It takes place between November 15th and December 1st in the Estonian capital. DMovies have followed the event live, and we have published exclusive reviews with all 21 films in Competition and also an interview with the jury president, the iconic British director Mike Newell.

This is has been a very special year for the Festival, as it opened up a side event called KinoFF in Eastern the cities of Narva and Kohtla-Järve. Narva is fright on the border with Russia, and nearly 95% of the population is ethnically Russian, while Kohtla-Järve is more or less evenly split between ethnic Russians and Estonians. This may seem an unremarkable event in any other country, but in Estonia it acquires an entire different dimension. That’s because the two communities have a history of division and resentment, with little prospect of inregration.

We spoke to the Hannes Aava (pictured below), the Programmer and Head of Press and Communicatiosn at the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, in order to learn a little bit about the recent history of Estonian cinema, how KinoFF began, , and whether cinema can indeed work as a bridge between two historically segregated communities!

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Victor Fraga – Can you please tell about the connection between the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival and ethnic Russians? Have your overcome a lots of barriers?

Hannes Aava – Just over a quarter, 26%, of the population of Estonia is Russian. We have screened in Eastern Estonia before. We used to screen in 11 cities around the country, but we had to drop most of them when we got the Fiapf (International Federation of Film Producers Associations) A-category status. We are only allowed to screen in one city, and we need to apply for extension, for side festivals. Fiapf is a very powerful organisation because the global producers are behind it!

Russian audiences have been the most devoted fans because Russian films are doing very well. Russian audiences naturally tend to watch more Russian films, and there are a lot of good Russian films. Narva and Kohtla-Järve were the first cities that agreed to support us. It would be financially impraticable for us to launch a brand new festival in these cities, so we needed their support. Kohtla-Järve is home to out the mining and oil shale industry, our primary source of energy. Approximately 60% of our energy comes from there. That itself is a very interesting and controversial topic because that’s the dirtiest way of getting energy. Only Estonia and China do that in a large scale.

VF – Can you please tell us where the initiative came from?

HA – It’s a shifting mindset. There was a lot of Russophobia when the country became independent in the 1990s. The Russians didn’t feel very safe here. This is the first time in about 25 years that the Estonians are realising that we shouldn’t neglect the Russian minority.

We have been talking integration for a very long time. The word integration itself is a very problematic word. We should instead talk about peaceful co-existence, so that people don’t lose their identity. The integration narrative always had this secret clause that one should become the other. It suggests that Russians can’t keep their identity as it it, that they should adopt Estonian culture instead. Language is also a very painful topic in our society right now. They are very protective of their language. I think there’s this mindset now: we need to rediscover Narva because it’s a border town. It’s not good for us socially – culturally and politically – that Narva should stay isolated.

VF – At DMovies, we believe that cinema as a tool that unites people. Has Estonian cinema served as a bridge between ethnic Russian and Estonians?

HA – That’s a very good question. Estonia has always had a representation issue in cinema. We have no LGBT movies. I don’t know any Estonian film where the protagonist is LGBT. There’s a short film, but that’s it. Same thing with Russian cinema. The Russians are underrepresented in Estonian film, but this is now beginning to change. There’s a TV series called Burning Land with a Russian cast, that’s something new. It’s shot mostly in Russian language with Russian characters. Something that would never happen 10 years ago.

We still haven’t had a film that connects the two communities. We have very good distribution network for Russian cinema. All the main mainstream comedies, action and auteur films reach the screen and are very popular amongst Russians. But there hasn’t been a story that captures both sides.

VF – The movie Golden Voices (Evgeny Ruman), which is showing at your Festival in Competition this year, deals with the Russian community in Israel. Russians have their own separate video store and cinema culture. Does the same apply to Estonia?

HA – The only sign of physical segregation here is that one fifth of Tallinn’s population lives in Lasnamäe. That’s where you find the Soviet-era concrete blocks. In the heart of the city there is not such segregation, and there are no film stores and cinemas targeted exclusively at Russians. Russians films are totally mixed. However, I can say the Russians in Estonia live in the Russian mediasphere.

VF – In a bubble?

HA – I guess you could say that. That might become a political problem. Because Russian state controls all of the media. Medusa is one large news channel, and their moved their offices to Riga, in Latvia, in order to remain free of state pressure. That could be a liability.

VF – When I interviewed Tiiana Lokk last year she told me that there were 600 cinemas in Estonia at the end of the Soviet era. And that the regime encouraged Estonian culture. Maybe they weren’t that oppressive at all? Can you please talk about Estonian before and after the demise of the USSR?

HA – The Soviet Union’s position towards small countries such as Estonia, on one hand they encouraged the narrative of ethnic independence. On the other hand, there were a lot of restrictions. We couldn’t express ourselves freely. The Soviet Union still determined how Estonians could perform their identity.

The 1990s were a very interesting time because we gained our independence. We actually got cut off from the world because we were no longer part of the Soviet regime, but we weren’t integrated with the West, either. It was a a very harsh period from an economic perspective. All the cinemas closed down. In the end of the 1990s, we had less than 10 functional cinema screens in the country. But things began to change once the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival was established in 1997. We were one of the organisations that pushed for the reopening and digitalisation of cinemas. Now there are 70 or 80 cinema screens around the country.

VF – Narva has been called “the next Donbass”, and there is a lot of speculation about a possible Russian invasion. Have you encountered and hostility towards the Festival? Or could KinoFF help to build bridges and heal wounds from the past?

HA – We have never encountered hostility. We have been greeted with open arms. I was there for the opening ceremony of the Kohtla-Jarve Festival and they asked me: “Why didn’t you come sooner???”. It was a very positive message.

This Festival – along with other initiatives such as music events, musicals and operas that moved towards the East – is not going to be this magical bridge. The two communities won’t immediately extend their hand and agree peace. It’s more about giving them a selection of culture that they can consume at home. Culture is making the world a better place, as long as it’s not controlled by state propaganda.

The picture at the top of this article if from KinoFF at Kohtla-Järve. The two at the bottom are from KinoFF at Kohtla-Järve

Finky

Posted on by victorfraga

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM THE TALLINN BLACK NIGHTS FILM FESTIVAL

Seated on a cabin, Fincaí an Folaí (Dara Devaney), nicknamed Finky, operates a string puppet show. Speaking the gorgeous Irish that slithers his tongue, he pulls the wooden dolls from their spirited slumber to rallying childlike whoops. In itself, it foreshadows the lethargic tone the film takes through an impasto of impressively bizarre shots.

It’s the beginning of a convoluted tale that this writer can’t entirely make out, though the uncompromisingly cryptic standing does much to recommend the film as a visual experience. Through the cascade of silhouetted, yellow-lit aquatic lights sits one of the battiest comedies in years. Superficially, Finky works as an Irish language Terry Gilliam-like fairy tale. Yet unlike the blithe Brothers Grimm (2005) and The Man Who Killed Don Quixote (2016), this pays obeisance to the ugly side of the fairy tale genre.

Finky, a character whose life is as vacuous as the wood he pulls, ups and leaves to Glasgow after he upsets an angular mob. His sins catch up with him as he wakes up in the film’s most beautifully filmed sequence, a hallucinogenic bromide that circles his enclosed bed with claustrophobic simmer. Paralysed from the waist down, our protagonist spends the rest of the film embedded to his chair, an eye patch blocking his sight, a metal claw in a hand’s place.

Director Dathaí Keane takes due advantage of the ongoing confusion, as Finky speaks in mumbled, parodic patterns, picking his clawed hand in order to insult his oily, priggish lawyer. Through his puppets and metal objects, Finky finds the freedom to express himself from outside the mask he wears, tussling a wine bottle to the head of an unwitting bar attendee when he demands to take down a mob gang.

Whatever the story is, it doesn’t entirely work, but what works exceptionally are the directorial flourishes that accompany it. A despondent Finky sits at his wheelchair, pouring the frustrations over a darkly positioned keyboard. A close cut caption over Buchanan Bus Station captures the silent passages passengers pull with naturalistic elegance. Meanwhile, a 30-second montage capturing the flopped patterns of tomato ketchup on chips works with an endearingly emotive quality, while a tussled bar fight lights with radiant neon lights permeating the ceilings. It’s one of the most beautifully lit Irish films I have ever seen. Plus, it’s in the Irish mother tongue herself!

It all leads to a satisfyingly inventive closer, a cascading helicopter floating piously over the ports of Glasgow. It all wraps up with another impressive choreography of stylistic symmetrical solitude. You don’t need a copy of Tomás Ó Criomhthain’s An tOileanach in order to enjoy the variety of shots on display!

Finky is showing at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival as part of the First Feature Competition.

Our dirty questions to Mike Newell

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The 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival takes place between November 15th and December 1st, showcasing more than 250 feature films and 300 shorts. The A-category film festival has become a prominent and prestigious platform for dirty movies made in every corner of the planet.

This year, 67-year-old British director Mike Newell was invited to head the jury of six, which will selects the winners from the 21 films in competition. Each film comes from a different country in every continent of the world, and we have reviewed each one of them exclusively for you (you can read them by clicking here).

We took the opportunity to have a conversation with the iconic mainstream filmmaker. He counts the likes of Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005) under his belt, plus another 50 titles or so, in a career spanning five decades. We talked about his relationship to the Estonian event, what he learned from watching so many independent and unconventional movies in such a short period of time, his thoughts on Truffaut’s controversial remark about British cinema, the future of British movies in Europe after Brexit, and much more!

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Victor Fraga – Please tell us how this invite to be president of the jury came to being. Had you been to Estonia before? Have you ever shown your films here?

Mike Newell – No, I’ve never shown a film here. But I was here last year at the Festival because there was a section about composers run by the son of Arvo Pärt, one of the great men of this country [Estonia]. His son has a particular interest in film music and invited the composer of the film that I had just finished this time last year (a Netflix release called The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society) to be part of section of the Festival. And she said to me: “It would be great if you came along”. So that’s how I met the Festival director Tiina Lokk. We got on very well and then six months ago she invited me. Connections, connections, connections!

VF – Let’s talk about British cinema. Our country has a representative in the Competition, Muscle [by Gerard Johnson, pictured below]. How is British cinema being represented abroad? Are there enough features in prominent European festivals such as this?

MN – I enjoyed Muscle very much. I knew one of the actors, Craig Fairbrass. I don’t know about British movies being represented in European festival because I see a particular section of British cinema, which is the connection with America as opposed to the connection to Europe. I am of that camp. So I come to a festival such as this, which has films from all around the world. You discover that these films are very serious. This is not to say that they are not entertaining. A lot of them are entertaining, but they have a serious purpose. They are not simply there to satisfy the audience and to make money. That’s not the very first thing in their heads. They are there to represent their concerns, their cultures. They are not plugged into the British and the British-American pipeline. You are reminded of that very forcibly every day when you watch these films. It’s good for the pipework. It cleans you out. You can’t make the assumptions that you make when you are going to the cinema at home.

The last two films that I saw at home were The Irishman (Martin Scorsese, 2019) and The Joker (Todd Phillips, 2019). Big blockbusters. When you come here what you see is that people have a much more modest and intimate concern for their subjects and for their nationalities. That’s healthy.

VF – Can you please talk about Muscle?

MN – It’s a bold film. The film is rooted in traditions and past films and writing in English movies. What the director says to you, which I can see, is that he finds the Joseph Losey film The Servant (1963) a very powerful inspiration . That movie was written by Harold Pinter, the great theatrical writer. And you can see that in the movie as well. So it plugs into a very important line of English writing and drama. It’s very interesting to see someone revisiting that territory 50 years later, that is to say, an ordinary man who becomes sucked into the dangerous life and relationship with a person he doesn’t know and doesn’t wish him well.

VF – Does Muscle plug in well into the “healthy” pipeline of national films that you mentioned?

MN – I do think that. This is not to say that it isn’t entertaining and that Hollywood wouldn’t recognise it. Hollywood would definitely recognise it for what it is. I’m sure it will be a very potent calling card for the director to show Americans. It will have a double function.

VF – What are the biggest joys and challenges in heading a jury of six and judging 21 films from 21 different countries?

MN – The bad things are that you aren’t sufficiently alert to see that from one screening to the next the kind of dial of what the movie is, of its ambitions, that swings all over! As you go in, you know only what the catalogue of the Festival tells you, and then suddenly you find yourself with a very serious movie that has no jokes at all. Then, half an hour later, you dive straight into a comedy. You have to readjust all of circuits for it! Every day for 10 days, and several times a day.

VF – Is that challenging?

MN – You bet your arse that’s challenging! Because you gotta wipe everything that you’ve seen in order to watch the next film, which might be something completely, radically different.

The lesson that I learnt is in reality a negative one. It’s a pity. Some films that we have seen have a great difficulty in ending in a satisfactory way, or are not concerned to end in a positive way. They will end in a negative way. Whether these films come from Taiwan, South America or somewhere else, they don’t see an optimism in the world right now.

VF – Is it mandatory that films should have a happy ending?

MN – No, not at all. But sometimes what happens is that a film will end simply by smashing into a kind of “what now?”. The film doesn’t know “what now?”. The audience therefore must figure out – if it can – where the film will lead to.

VF – Is that a bad thing?

MN – Maybe it’s not a bad thing, and I’m not arguing for happy endings.

VF – What about ambiguity?

MN – I think ambiguity is a wonderful thing. What I meant is that there is a lack of hope in these films. Ambiguity can offer you hope. A significant number of times in the films that we have seen you feel that hope is not there.

VF – Is that a concern? Does that mean the world is moving in the wrong direction?

MN – The world will move in whatever direction it wants to move. What it means is that the cultures that produced these films are cultures that feel under threat in one way or another.

VF – Truffaut once famously said that British cinema was a contradiction in terms. Do you think this perception has since changed and Europeans are now more receptive towards British cinema?

MN – Fuck Truffaut, how dare he??? I think what Truffaut was talking about were the silly comedies and endless war films, and stuff like that. But wake up, Truffaut! This may have been true then, but your own humanity should have said it won’t last forever. And it hasn’t lasted forever. There’s now a very healthy approach to film dramas in the UK. That quote has always annoyed me, I feel belittled!

VF – Have you ever encountered hostility towards British cinema on European soil?

MN – I don’t believe so. I have been welcomed and treated very well. But everybody knows that quote. Perhaps what you feel is that you are too scared of the quote. Are we sufficiently inventive? Do we break conventions boldly enough? Probably n… well, who does??? That’s always an accusation. And Truffaut himself was not free of it. He made some very milk pudding-y kind of films!

VF – I’d to talk about the Competition entry from Kosovo The Flying Circus [by Fatos Berisha, pictured below]. The characters are actors who recreate Monty Python, and they dream of meeting the legendary Michael Palin, who’s visiting Albania at the occasion. How do you feel about it?

MN – I haven’t seen it yet, I believe I’m seeing it next! The notion of reenacting Monty Python tests my belief circuits a little, but we shall see. Monty Python is a sacred text!

VF – Let’s talk dirty. Will Brexit change the relation between British and European cinema? Could it have a negative impact on our output?

MN – Yes! What will happen is… what a disaster! Recently there were elections to the EU Parliament, in which the British Brexit Party won more seats than anyone expected. Then we saw in our news broadcast the opening ceremony of the Parliament. The anthem of the EU is Ode to Joy, as you know. As it began to play, the Brexit Party delegation turned their backs on Beethoven. In doing that, they are trying to demonstrate to their voters is that the cultural institutions of the EU are worthless.

So what should we have? Should it all be as in The Last Night of the Proms? Should we all wave the Union Jack and sing patriotic songs? That’s ridiculous! What you see in that tiny incident is that at least 50% of us think that we should be more concerned with our own culture than with the broader culture.

Do Europeans turn their back on Shakespeare? We have great things to offer to the culture of Europe. They have immense things to offer to us. Those offerings are going to get overlooked. They won’t disappear. People like me are infuriated by Brexit. Brexit’s is a very bad thing. Not just culturally, turning our backs on Beethoven, but where’s the money gonna come from? It takes millions of dollars for us guys to make what we make. and that’s going to be more difficult now, and we are gonna fall under the sway of another culture, America, and that’s going to be difficult, too.

I owe a whole great to America. I love America. I am tremendously fond of many great Americans, and America has done great things for me. At the same time, I hope that the relationship with people in my country is not exclusive. And we’ve taken a considerable step towards it being exclusive by doing what we are doing.

VF – What’s your advice for nascent and established British filmmakers who wish to use European festivals as a platform for their work?

MN – That they should come. Beat the drum! See what the sources of finance are, understand the sensibility of the other countries. Success in the movies goes up and down. Look how unbelievably successful German movies were 30 years ago, and now German movies are in a period of acquiescence. Every culture is a waveform: the German, the French and also the British!

Kalel, 15

Posted on by victorfraga

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM THE TALLINN BLACK NIGHTS FILM FESTIVAL

At the age of just 15, Kalel (Elijah Canlas) does not have it easy. He has to face a very premature adulthood. He drinks, he smokes, he takes heavy drugs, he has a girlfriend, he has to contend with violent thugs at school, plus a witchy mother and careless sister at home, in a busy lower middle-class neighbourhood somewhere in the Philippines. Plus, he has been diagnosed with HIV.

This is a harsh and cruel society almost entirely devoid of altruism. No one is supportive of Kalel. His tactless father – who happens to be the local priest – asks whether he has been “bum-fucked”. His mother is far more concerned about her well-endowed new lover, a married a man called Mon. His sister is also devoted to her new boyfriend. Screaming, slapping, punching and menacing body language are the main currency, even at home. Gestures of affection are few and far between.

The institutions are equally broken. The nun at his Catholic school endorses violence, while the local doctor does little more than offer ointment for treating the skin rashes that are quickly spreading all over Kalel’s body. Most Westerners will know that these are symptoms of full-blown Aids, yet both Kalel and his doctor seem unaware of the gravity of the disease. Antiretroviral therapy is nowhere to be seen. At the end of the movie, we learn that the number of people infected with HIV in the Philippines has grown by 170% between 2010 and 2017. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. A lot of people remain undiagnosed because they fear the widespread and overwhelming stigma associated with the disease. This is a society unprepared and downright unwilling to support the most vulnerable people.

The movie is never concerned whether Kalel is indeed gay and how he became infected. That’s entirely irrelevant to the narrative.

Jun Roble Lana’s 15th feature was clearly made on a shoestring budget. The images are black and white and the frame is a very unusual square (instead of the more conventional 16:9 and 5:4). This is not a handicap. In fact, the movie is teeming with spontaneity and frankness. It’s also profoundly disturbing, and there is no message of hope. It does, however, successfully raise awareness of a very disturbing phenomenon. While HIV infections are under control in most of Europe, there is a very fast-growing epidemic in this Asian nation.

Kalel, 15 is showing in Competition at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. A very audacious addition. DMovies are live at the event as special guests.

Monster (Arracht)

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Our story takes place in 1845 on the misty Irish coast. The potato blight is quickly destroying crops and people are facing starvation. A fisherman called Colman (Donall O Healei) lives a mostly peaceful life with his wife and daughter, until his landlord increases his taxes. The ruthless and greedy Englishman was aware that the potatoes were rotting and that poor people such as Colman could hardly feed themselves, let alone pay out more money. His attitude epitomises that of the British Empire, who infamously allowed nearly two million people (nearly a quarter of the country’s population) to perish.

Colman decides to meet up with his landlord in the hope to find a peaceful solution, but violence unexpectedly erupts as a fellow Irishman decides to do justice with his own hands. The allegiance of certain Irishmen is very ambiguous. Many had joined the British army and fought for the Empire in the various wars overseas, therefore earning certain privileges. Will they once again stand by the reckless and murderous colonisers (and keep their privileges) or will they this time side with their very own people?

After the bloodshed, Colman runs away and lives inside a cave on the seashore, presumably hiding from authorities. He takes an orphan with him, a girl called Kitty. Progressively, the starvation escalates. Colman’s wife and child have passed away, and so have many locals. Potatoes are gone and all the barnacles have been eaten. Locals resort to extreme measures in order to feed themselves. An elderly man is killed for his blanket. All traces of humanity gradually vanish. Plus winter is approaching, which could seriously compromise Colman’s and Kitty’s meagre chances of survival.

Almost entirely spoken in Gaelic, Monster examines the most traumatic moment in the history of Ireland. It’s filmed on the dramatically craggy coast of the nation. The landscape is impressive yet threatening. The waters of the sea are just as turbulent as the lives of people. The soil is barren and damp. Beautiful Irish songs and chants add a nice and gentle touch to the tragic environment.

The narrative, however, has quite a few loopholes. It’s never entirely clear how Colman’s family died, how he ended up with Kitty, and why it took the child two years before she told him her name. There are also problems with make-up and casting. Some of the starving people (including Kitty) are the picture of health, with rosy cheeks and a fit figure. The horrific symptoms of diphtheria, dysentery, cholera, smallpox, the flu and many other diseases that were decimating the Irish people are not very realistic. As a result, the movie often feels artificial and contrived.

Monster showed in Competition at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. It’s in cinemas on Friday, October 15th (2021).

Through Black Glass

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QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM THE TALLINN BLACK NIGHTS FILM FESTIVAL

An 18-year-old blind orphan (Vasilisa Denisova) lives with other blind and partially-sighted girls in an institution in the fictional Russian town of Belodonsk. She sings in a choir in the local Orthodox church. Otherwise, her life is rather uneventful. She is very beautiful, yet profoundly timid, demure and religious. She dreams of joining the local convent. One day an unknown benefactor offers to pay for an operation that will restore her sight, in exchange for the hand in marriage. She hesitantly agree.

She travels to Germany, where she undergoes a very successful surgery. This is also where she meets her future husband Nikolai (Maksim Sukhanov), an extremely powerful oligarch. He claims royal ties and calls himself a czar. He owns his personal aeroplane and lives an spectacular estate with an army of grovelling servants. The now fully-sighted pretty young woman is overwhelmed by the vulgar and grotesque wealth. This is in contrast to the religious virtues of prudence, modesty and charity to which she was accustomed. She feels trapped, not dissimilar to the birds in a cage sitting in the middle of the gigantic lounge.

The bald-headed, ogre-looking, middle-aged man is ruthless, manipulative and paranoid (as opposed to the candid, naive and gullible female). To Nikolai, love is a piece of merchandise. He confesses that he would have returned the girl to the orphanage had the operation not been successful. He believes he’s being constantly hunted down. The house is surrounded by guards with dogs, and he’s flanked by security wherever he goes. He finds solace in his wife-to-be. He breaks down and tells her of his frailties. But he also demands sex from her. The girl rejects his advances with profound horror and abjection. She proposes a “white relationship” (companionship without sex), which infuriates the lustful man.

A few days before the wedding, Nikolai allows the girl to visit her hometown. This is when she sees the orphanage where she grew up for the first time. She also comes across a very unexpected person from the past, in an event that could seriously jeopardise her future with Nikolai. The consequences could be disastrous, yet the girl seems prepared to take the gamble.

The eighth feature film by Ukrainian filmmaker Konstantin Lopushansky, who also penned the film’s script, is an allegory of Russia, a country poisoned with oligarchy and patriarchy. Perhaps unsurprisingly images of Vladimir Putin in various colours and textures are featured prominently in the middle of the film. The Russian leader isn’t too different from Nikolai in their brutality and authoritarianism. The comparison is straightforward and clear.

The ending is fairly predictable yet perfectly effective, and the movie does justify its extensive duration of 140 minutes. However, this is not a flawless endeavour. It lacks the visual excellence of other Russian and Ukrainian director such Andrey Zvyagintsev, Sergei Loznitsa and Alexander Sokurov. The biggest problem is that the images are often so dark that both the action and the settings are hardly discernible. Even on the silver screen. Given the film title, this may have been intentional, but does still impair the viewing experience.

Through Black Glass is Showing in Competition at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.

The Coldest Game

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Russians are rude, unpleasant, unscrupulous and they have no regard for human life. They play dirty and can only win by cheating. They hate democracy. They are plain evil. On the other hand, Americans are kind, generous, honest and with a profound respect for the well-being of others. They epitomise good, here personified by the kind and avuncular Bill Pullman. This is more or less how The Coldest Game is constructed. Surprisingly, this is a Polish movie. Yet, its Polish identity is nowhere to be seen. The action does take place in Warsaw, yet the nation’s culture and language are hardly there to be seen. It could be any country. This thriller is unabashedly American, from both an aesthetic and ideological perspective.

The year is 1962. The World Chess Championship takes place in Warsaw, and the contestants are American professor Joshua Mansky (Pullman) and Russian champion Gavrylov (Evgeniy Sydikhin). Masnky has been recruited by the CIA. A Soviet agent named Gift is there to ensure that Mansky does not win, and he will resort to very unorthodox measures in order to achieve his goal. He’s the real bad guy (his name means “poison” in German, suggesting what he might be up to).

This chess game, however, is a mere ersatz competition for something far more dangerous and significant. The Soviet Union is sending ships to Cuba, and the Americans suspect that they are loaded with nuclear material. It’s the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the world is on the brink of war. On October 22nd, John F Kennedy goes on national television in order to warn Americans and the world of the imminent danger. A part of his speech is shown in the movie. As the military crisis escalates, so do tensions on the chess board.

With more twists and turns than the Transfagarasan Highway of Romania, and an incredibly overwhelming and intrusive music score, this is your conventional American thriller in pretty much every single way. The extremely convoluted plot and fast-paced narrative gets tiring after just 10 minutes. The link between chess and nuclear arms is very weak and bizarre. An unexpected cork suddenly pops into the story in order to connect the two topics. There are also plenty of random murders (by poisoning and by fire weapons), bottles of vodka (Mansky is an alcoholic), a strange glass cage inside the American Embassy and even a very efficient hypnotist during one of the chess matches. A script is a real mess. Maybe the writers would have benefited from less vodka.

The movie wraps up with an extremely urgent and pertinent message about nuclear weapons, reminding viewers of the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty (INF) signed in 1987 by Reagan and Gorbachev, which was repealed by Trump and Putin earlier this year. The consequences of such irresponsible gesture could be catastrophic consequences for mankind. At least this time isn’t Russians alone that are to blame this time!

The Coldest Game showed Competition at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. It’s on Netflix in February.

Lost Lotus

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QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM THE TALLINN BLACK NIGHTS FILM FESTIVAL

A young teacher called Wu Yu (Yan Wensi) receives the devastating news that her mother has been tragic killed in a late-night traffic accident, and that the driver just drove off. She breaks down in agony upon recognising her body in the local morgue. The police tells her that the CCTV did not capture the incident, and there were no eye witness. Wu takes matters into her own hands, desperately posting signs and asking people on the streets for more information, in the hope that the truth will eventually surface.

Wu regrets not paying much attention to her mother’s Buddhist devotion while she was alive, but that immediately changes after the untimely bereavement. She takes up the faith wholeheartedly, frequently meeting her mother’s Buddhist friends, praying, lighting incense and chanting. Plus she agrees to cremate her mother seven days after her death, despite knowing this means destroying the only piece of evidence and compromising the investigation into the crime.

Soon she receives a tip off that helps her to identify the culprit. She meets up with the offender’s lawyer and he offers her a very large compensation in exchange for her silence. He lays a suitcase filled with a large sum of money right in front of her eyes. Wu furiously rejects the money and carries on with the investigation. She wishes to meet the man who killed her mother, but his lawyer refuses to do so. She’s told that he’s a very powerful man. Wu becomes increasingly indignant. The compensation is increased on a par with her indignation. Her husband insists that she should accept the money, but Wu is determined to seek justice instead.

She gradually realises that she’s contending against very powerful and dark forces. Nevertheless, she carries on undaunted. But there could be consequences for her self-determination. Wu’s quest for justice is at times erratic and dysfunctional, her reactions off-the-cuff and unpredictable, leaving her husband entirely despondent. This is not Manichean tales of poor female versus evil establishment. A number of questions are raised. Should Wu take the money? Is she being selfish towards her husband? Or is it her husband being greedy? Is it worthwhile to confront a rotten system? These questions remain unanswered, leaving viewers to reflect about morality and practicality.

The duality of religious teachings are also prominent in the film. Wu embraces Buddhism, yet she remains mostly alien to the values of patience and wisdom. Plus a character who she meets in the final third of the film conveniently conflates compassion with complacence and impunity. He reveals that the teachings of Buddhism can be easily subverted for very mundane and unholy purposes. Religious hypocrisy can be a powerful manipulation tool.

Lost Lotus is showing in Competition at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. A heartfelt and potent movie with very convincing performances.

The Flying Circus (Cirku Fluturues)

Posted on by victorfraga

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM THE TALLINN BLACK NIGHTS FILM FESTIVAL

Shortly before the break of the Kosovo War in the 1990s, four young and naive male actors wish to travel to Tirana in order to perform at a prestigious festival. Their play is some sort of burlesque Monty Python. They hear that Michael Palin himself is in Albania filming his latest documentary series. This could be the opportunity of their lives: they could both make it big and also meet in person the very person who inspired their play.

The journey is far from simple and straightforward. Despite having an official invitation, Kosovo has now become no man’s land, and they have to contend with menacing and violent Serbian oppressors until they reach the river that separates Kosovo from Albania. They make their crossing on a precarious fuel-smuggler’s dinghy. Upon reaching the Albanian side, they need to get to Tirana. They believe that their brotherly Albanians – unlike Serbians – will be very supportive of their mission, but they encounter a number of unexpected barriers, including thieving thugs and corrupt police officers. They are forced to give out the little money that they possess, and eventually end up in jail.

Their luck eventually turns. The police release the four artists upon making phone calls, speaking to the Minister of Culture and confirming that their invitation is genuine. They finally reach Tirana, where they encounter yet more challenges. Their performance has not been advertised because they failed to send a confirmation to the festival organisers. Yet, they might find a solution. After all, where there is a will there is a way.

The four young actors are very sweet and charming. Adorable dreamers. But they are also inexperienced and vulnerable travellers. They epitomise both artistic resilience and foolishness. But will their gamble pay off? Will they successfully represent their troubled home nation in a foreign country? Might they even win a prize? Is there a chance that will they meet their elusive English idol? Could a mysterious man wearing hat and shades and quietly watching the foursome be Michael Palin in disguise?

This Kosovan/Albanian/North Macedonian production is a lighthearted and conventional comedy of errors. It’s about artistic expression as a tool for personal and political liberation. It’s urgent in its simplicity, spiced with political flavours, prescient messages and moral dilemmas. Should the four man return to Kosovo before the war breaks and fight for their country’s freedom, or should they remain in Albania, where they can get their message across through their art?

The Flying Circus is showing in Competition at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. DMovies is live at the event.

When the Moon was Full

Posted on by victorfraga

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM THE TALLINN BLACK NIGHTS FILM FESTIVAL

B/ased on the true story of the brother and sister-in-law of Malek Rigi, the former leader of the Jundallah terrorist organisation of Southeastern Iran, When the Moon was Full starts out as a psychological drama about female oppression gradually morphs into action thriller, with gun fights, car car chases and plenty of brutal murders. An unbelievable yet true story. A typical case of reality surpassing fiction.

The young and gorgeous Faezeh (Elnaz Shakerdoost) meets the kind and vaguely timid Hamid (Hootan Shakiba) in a local bazaar. They fall in love and get married. However, not all is rosy. Chauvinism prevails in this profoundly conservative society. The availability of the female is negotiated by the family, and she’s often reduced to her physical attributes, such as her eyes and feet. A woman who wears make-up and doesn’t cover her hair properly is regarded as a “slut”.

Faezeh and Hamid go on honeymoon near the Pakistani border, where she meets her in-laws for the first time. One day, the police arrive with one of Hamid’s brothers in handcuffs and uncover a pile of weapons and money. Faezeh begins to sense that there’s something wrong. Perhaps Hamid isn’t so pure and loving after all. She challenges him, but he refuses to shed light on his family’s shady activities. Hamid’s harsh an unpleasant mother is entirely complacent. She advises Faezeh: “women’s words are worthless, either wife’s or mother’s”.

The couple eventually move to Quetta in Pakistan. The city is profoundly impoverished and chaotic, in contrast to the far more civilised neighbouring Iran. The previously clean-shaven Hamid grows a beard. Hamid and and Faezeh dwell in a house the size of a palace. “It looks like a stadium”, she says of her room. The extravagant and luxurious lifestyle overwhelm Faezeh, eclipsing her concerns about his family’s trade and his strange facial hair. She has a son and is now pregnant with twins

Gradually, Hamid’s mask slips. He and his brother Malek are in reality fanatical Jihadis from the Jundallah organisation, who routinely cooperate with Al-Qaeda. Quetta is very near the Afghanistan border, and some of the film’s most electrifying scenes take place in a nearby Al-Qaeda camp. Their mission is to recruit more fighters and to eliminate infidels. They are blindly devoted to the very male concept of martyrdom. One day Faezeh wakes up alone locked up in her palace. Her son is nowhere to be seen. The lover of her dreams has morphed into a menacing oppressor. She’s trapped in a nightmare.

In the movie’s most disturbing event, Faezeh’s brother comes to her rescue, but he’s captured by the Jundallah terrorists. He’s beheaded live on Arab television, and his executioners phone his mother in order to ensure that she watches the unspeakable act. This may sound like fiction gone far, but in reality this is exactly what happened. Faezeh’s life too is in danger. Hamid’s associates demand that he kills his wife immediately after she gives birth to the twins. The babies should be spared, presumably to be trained as Jihadis. Hamid’s allegiances are divided. Does he have a scintilla of humanity inside him or is he entirely consumed by religious fanaticism? Will he spare the life of the mother of his children or will he abide by the rules of his fundamentalist associates?

At 137 minutes, When the Moon was Full makes for sobering yet very uncomfortable viewing. It’s also a little tiresome. The successive narrative developments aren’t easy to follow unless you have a reasonable understanding of Iranian/Pakistani geography and politics. And the multiple points-of-view make the story unintelligible at times. Just because reality is difficult to comprehend, it doesn’t mean so should the movie.

When the Moon was Full is showing in Competition at the 23rd Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. Three years ago the director Narges Abyar won the Best Director prize at the event for his previous feature Breath.

The Cave

Posted on by Jack Hawkins

The Cave opens with an establishing shot of Eastern Al-Ghouta, a dusty tableau of decrepit rooftops set against the mountains of the Syrian desert. Five to ten seconds pass before the scene is disturbed by a black object hurtling towards the ground, exploding in a billowing cloud of smoke. It’s a missile, and it’s followed by five more, causing untold terror and misery to the 400,000 people trapped in the devastated city.

This was the reality of the Siege of Eastern Ghouta, which the Syrian Government laid upon anti-government forces from April 2013 – April 2018, killing some 18,000 people and displacing 105,000 more. The Cave is a sobering depiction of the siege and the remarkable people who laboured to restore the threads of their crumbling society. Sadly, it is a struggle that continues in towns and cities across the ruined country.

The focaliser of the story is Dr. Amani Ballou, a young female paediatrician who managed a subterranean hospital known as the Cave with her colleagues Samaher, Dr. Alaa and Dr. Namour. We see bed after bed rush through the emergency entrance, the victims screaming in pain or sprawled out limply, clinging to life. Many of them are so young that they can barely articulate their suffering, they just cry or stare in confusion, covered with blood and detritus.

Dr. Amani is stoic and decisive in the face of this immense pressure, yet the carnage of the civil war is not the only thing she faces – she also receives attacks on her gender. The most notable example of this occurs when a man blames the medicine shortage in Al-Ghouta on her being a woman, ‘find someone who can help me… a male manager who can do a better job.’ What follows is a patriarchal spiel of how women should stay at home, but he is left stumped when Dr. Namour interjects, ‘as a doctor, has my work been bad in the presence of a female manager? Hospitals don’t rely only on one person, it’s teamwork.’

The filmmakers – led by director Feras Fayyad – observe this teamwork with skilful humanism. We see the chemistry between them amongst all the chaos; there are jokes, stories, bickering, but above all there is unerring purpose and perseverance. They make maximum use of the limited resources at their disposal and employ little rituals to keep them sane, such as the classical music Dr. Namour plays on his iPhone during surgery- ‘we don’t have anaesthetic, but we do have classical music!’, he tells one ailing patient.

For some, Syria has become a war rather than a country; a place of relentless violence, partisanship and religious fundamentalism. The Cave shows us the humanity of this awful conflict, immortalising the heroes who risk their lives to save thousands. And if you needed yet another reminder of the terrible loss this conflict has wreaked, four staff members lost their lives during filming of The Cave. They were: Abdul Rahman Alrihani, managing director; Wassam Albas, ambulance driver; Ezzedine Enaya, nurse; and Hasan Ajaj, nurse.

The Cave is out in UK cinemas Friday, December 6th.