Author: Alasdair Bayman

A Ciambra

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

Premiering at Cannes 2017’s Director’s Fortnight, A Ciambra screened at the Festival to a largely positive reception. However, outside the special bubbles created by such an environment, for better or worse, a festival favourite becomes malleable to the real world away from the confides of sponsored Illy cups of coffee.

Further, with an executive producing credit, Jonas Carpignano’s latest feature possess an extra selling point: Martin Scorsese is one of the film’s executive producers, alongside Emma Tillinger Koskoff. Adopting a milieu in the mould of Italian Neorealism, A Ciambra works as a piece in the mould of the cinematic past, whilst projecting its contemporary context to the forefront of its visuals.

Pio (Pia Amato) knows nothing else outside of a life away from hustling cars with his brother, smoking and voyeuristically observing men of crime in rural Calabria, Italy. Caught somewhere between boyhood and manhood, he is too old to be fooling around with younger kids but has yet to prove his masculinity to the older men in the criminal underworld. At home, he comes from a line of Roma people that are known to the Carabinieri to be criminally engaged with car theft and extortion. In his unique approach, Carpignano gained the trust of Italian-Roma travellers, who are consequently cast throughout the film. Again recalling Neorealism, this technique works well in the introduction of the Pio’s actual family but halters past this point.

Stories such as this have been expressed before in cinema’s history but Carpignano’s acceptance and head on confrontation of the European migration crisis from the East bestows the film with fresh light, represented in the boy’s friendship with a working migrant, Ayiva (Koudous Seihond).

Shooting across the remote and desolate locations of Calabria, the cinematography here could juxtapose the innocence of the boy with blushing pastoral beauty. Yet, what is deployed through Tim Curtain’s camera is a tight focus of Pio himself. There are no sweeping longshots, whatever the boy observes the audience likewise does. Recalling the haunting work of László Nemes and his DP Mátyás Erdély in Son of Saul (2015), the work submerges one’s spectatorship into the world present. Meandering through the space, the distinct lack of profundity towards Pio’s true existence, as so fundamental to the mastery exhibited in Neorealism, means that this cinematic technique serves to isolate and become repetitive.

This is not a lacklustre film. There is a vitality in witnessing this boy go through the motions of getting sucked into the criminal underworld, yet the whole affair lacks true perspicacity. One has to complete Carpignano on incorporating the migrant crisis deep into his narrative, still this only serves as a buffer to the main narrative. This unfortunately results in one of the most on-the-nose endings I can recall in recent memory. Souring the taste after its tedious almost two hour running time, it was enough to produce a lousy gasp on my behalf.

A Ciambra is out in cinemas across the UK of Friday, June 15th. It’s out on VoD on Monday, October 15th.

Eighth Grade

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

Adolescent school kids are nothing new to celluloid. Established in the template of The Breakfast Club (1985), future coming of age stories have always been shifted towards John Hughes’ very 1980s’ mould. Embellishing its contemporary setting, Bo Burnham’s directorial debut Eighth Grade utilises the strange world of social media and school life in order to create something entirely new and ground-breaking. Integrating Burnham’s idiosyncratic style as a comedian, with an acute cinematic eye for the strangeness of formative childhood experiences, his career as a Youtuber, comedic stand-up and actor are cumulatively reflected in this feature.

Kayla (Elsie Fisher) is the ‘other’ in her class. Following her as she goes through the motions of her last few weeks in the titular year, the disparity between her veneer online profiles and the real Kayla is a grand one. Commencing as the audience would watch a video on the platform, Burnham and Andrew Wehde’s camera slowly zooms out from a tight close up of Kayla enacting her online persona. Flourished with her trademark ‘Gucci’ outline, her audience is unsurprisingly very small. Reserved at school, the difference between the two characters we see at home and online underlines a fragility to Kayla’s slow growth as a human being. Allowing this discussion to grow further, the all-consuming and frequently falsity of online profiles is a clear framework expanded on. Yet, beneath this, the director allows his own personal experience of the medium to ruminate in the character Fisher portrays.

The filmmakers, chiefly in Burnham’s writing, inject an overwhelming sense of pride when observing the teenage girl participate in the real world – away from any screens. Such a potent emotional response suffuses itself throughout. Her innocence, along with perceiving her everyday life as a sequence of profound events – exemplarily in the deployment of a slow-mo tracking shot of her crush Aiden (Luke Prael) – speaks to a universal experience we all share.

Selecting to merge montages of the social media the teenager is consuming with that of a normal medium close-up creates a new cinematic landscape to represent the consumption of the internet – thankfully gone are the Matrix-esque codes and algorithms which dominated the early half of the 2000s. In the camera further, you are interpolated at water level with Kayla as she negotiates a pool party – recalling Barry Jenkin’s Moonlight (2017). With a comedic film, praise always falls to the writing and deservedly so in this instance, yet behind the dialogue rests a great artistic craft of cinema.

Eighth Grade feels as though it will be revisited time and time again by audiences, allowing them to indulge themselves in the innocence of youth, whilst bringing a complete new interpretation through viewing a change from the youthful mind-set of Kayla towards her caring Dad, Mark (Josh Hamilton). Filled to the brim with sincere tenderness for its central characters, as well as viewing them in all shades of grey, Burnham deserves as a standing ovation for his debut, just as he has done previous during his stand-up acts.

Eight Grade won the Audience Award at Sundance London in 2018, when this piece was originally written. It’s out in UK cinemas on Friday, April 26th (2019).

McQueen

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

Much like the eternal image of flamboyancy imprinted into Oscar Wilde’s 1980 novel The Picture of Dorian Grey, Ian Bonhôte’s and Peter Ettedgui’s documentary on the late great fashion designer Alexander McQueen commences with a computerised image of a skull enwrapped in luscious Gothic fabrics – graphically comparable to the painting of Dorian Grey. Sharing an intersection of genius and tragedy, the two men exhibit the beauty that comes with sensual fulfilment; one art, the other sex. Yet, despite this link, the film avoids any hedonistic representations, seeking to humanise an artist who expressed his personal problems through ‘savage beauty’- as dubbed by The Guardian.

Commencing as a literary work of Wilde’s would, Bonhôte and Ettedgui select to divide their work into chapters of McQueen’s life. Dubbed ‘insert name, these titles yield thematic qualities. Further, possessing a somewhat meta textuality, such chapters work as texts within a text, supporting the artistic legacy and personality of the man himself. Not overtly overblown towards his greatness, the deeply personal archive footage initially depicts his formative years in the real world, away from the dizzy heights later reached. Submerged into the personality space of McQueen through hand held video footage taken by friends, it is hard not to be charmed by the entertaining nature of the man.

As the approach with many a modern documentary, the aforementioned digitalised images of strange Gothic creations – all relevant to the styles and themes influencing McQueen in that given moment of his career – reflect the distorting boundaries he blurred between high and low fashion. Offering a refreshing palette cleanser to the intimate talking head or video footage, these detailed twisted and contoured skulls, fabrics and figures somewhat interpose one into the creative headspace of the man himself. Varying from his personal entourage to famous models, a wide variety of them are clearly still processing his death all these years later. Flourished with emotiveness, even in their melancholy, his team still express the pure joy Alexander possessed in moments, alongside his undying love for family.

Akin to Wilde’s literary protagonist, Bonhôte and Ettedgui illustrate life’s peculiar flow. In moments of great happiness, such as becoming Chief Designer at French powerhouse Givenchy, the filmmakers utilise all the tools at their disposable to induce the viewer into aligning their own emotional spectrum to that of the designer. With the highs come the lows and adopting an objective eye, the two directors are not afraid to illuminate McQueen’s darker demons which, for better or worse, made the greatness of the man.

Composed by Michael Nyman, his involvement in the film is testament to the longevity of impact McQueen had upon all creatives. The resolution to the documentary feels too clean for a story revolving upon such a man. Referenced briefly, his personal life outside the barriers those of information presented by talking heads is only hinted at and never a focus point. For such a rebellious character, McQueen’s resolution is as sanitised as a fairy-tale ending – Bonhôte and Ettedgui should have taken a leaf out of Wilde’s text and confronted us all with our pitfalls, successes and ultimate mortality…

McQueen is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, June 8th. It’s available on VoD on Monday, October 22nd.

Hereditary

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

Branded as one of the ‘scariest movie’ in years, Ari Aster’s directorial debut has induced a premeditated petrified reaction from viewers who simply know they are going to see the film. Slowly building the ‘hype’ through a steady marketing campaign – including the genius creation of an Etsy page for the daughter of the Graham family – A24, as with Robert Egger’s The VVitch (2015), have ingeniously added to their growing catalogue of masterful modern horror film, whilst shifting the way we perceive film marketing. Still, it helps when the film itself plays a wickedly genius cloak and dagger rotation into the audience’s emotional psyche, as well as spiritually channelling classics horror narratives as The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, 1973) and Polanksi’s Rosemary’s Baby (1968).

Adorning the hashtag for the film on social media, Toni Collette portrays the grieving Annie Graham who must support her family through a period of mourning the death of her mother. Ominously lingering from the first frame, Ellen Taper Leigh, the grandmother, feels uncannily still in this world, even though we see her earthly body at an open casket funeral. Gazing with melancholy, 13-year old Charlie (Milly Shapiro) is as distraught as her mother at this passing. Accompanied by an irritable ticking noise she inherently produces, the loss of her grandmother weighs heavily upon on. Unlike their other half of the family, Steve (Gabriel Bryne), with his son Peter (Alex Wolff), seem abject from true sadness towards the death. Unravelling as a tight family drama that deconstructs the roles we all must play in such a group, Ari Aster holds nothing back when approaching how inextricably bound we all are to our family ties.

Adorning an oversized ragged orange hoodie, Charlie comes to discover the secrets of her grandmother – inevitably leading to dire repercussions for the family. Always equipped with a chocolate bar in her pocket, its consumption similarly leads her down a stray path. Starting out as it means to go on, an initial scene with Charlie resourceful making use of a pair of scissors and a dead pigeon builds an uncanny platform for the film to then build upon. Heightened in the ominous tones deployed in the ghostly presence of the grandmother, the visuals ambience is matched in Colin Stetson’s deep Gothic choir music.

Central to the success of this disconcerting feature, Toni Collette delivers an emotive performance that could in other instance feels showy and over boiled in constantly frightened facial features. Placing the relations all the family share, Aster’s writing aids Collette’s acting in allowing her protective matriarchal qualities to override any possible stereotypical feverish potentials in the character.

Aesthetically, the cinematography follows through with its original conceit on framing action from a side on perspective, as though peering into a dolly house. Repeating the allusively of this tale occurring with the opening dollhouse, or some strange world, is not to the determent of the family driven drama. Operating with a certain genre, the true horror of Hereditary rests in witnessing a family, on that was once filled with love, eat itself from the inside out.

Much like canonical horror films, Hereditary infuses the viewer into its terrifying ambience through the pillars that make cinema such a unique artistic expression. Possessing some of the darkest imagery I have witnessed since The Devils (Ken Russell,1971) Aster’s first film strangely leaves you wanting to experience the whole thing again, whilst paradoxically deeply troubling one’s self. Further hype will develop upon its UK release (date tbc), still such extensive terror and delight are justly so for a film of this ghoulish magnitude.

Hereditary premiered in the UK at Sundance London, when this piece was originally written. Out in cinemas on Friday, June 15th (2018). On Netflix in July (2020).

Zama

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

To say Lucrecia Martel’s latest feature Zama does not need to be slowly processed would be akin to hastily consuming a Michelin star dish composed of the finest ingredients and culinary imagination. Through adapting Antonio di Benedetto’s 1956 novel, Martel cinematically rewrites the Orientalist and Westernised notions of colonial history. Comparable to Lynne Ramsey’s long absence from film, Martel’s previous failed project in transferring Héctor Germán Oesterheld’s graphic novel El Eternauta has fortuitously benefited her filmmaking- kaleidoscopically merging science fiction and period drama.

Counteracting preconceived notions of giving the audience an establishing shot of the historical surroundings of a period drama, Martel’s first shot depicts Spanish officer Don Diego de Zama (Daniel Giménez Cacho) looking out across the sandy banks towards an ocean of nothingness. Allusive, he is a figure lost in the natural landscape and incapable of driving himself forward towards loftier political standing in Latin America. Ridiculed by the native women of Asunción (Paraguay’s capital) surrounding him on the shores, the diegetic laughing of such women permeates the initial soundscape, seemingly driving Zama to the fringes of insanity and an act of violence towards one of them. Connecting the past and present together, these laughs linger even after they have evaporated into thin air.

Flowing to the courtly world of 18th century Latin America, Zama seeks to use the power Luciana Piñares de Luenga (Lola Dueñas) to gain favour in Spain, thus achieving his dream of relocating to Lerma. On his quest to gain favour, he desperately accepts the Governor’s (Daniel Veronese) requests for him to hunt down and kill an outlaw of the state; Vicuña Porto. In time, it becomes evident that Porto appears to be a ghostly omnipresence in such surroundings.

Non-linearity, in the case of Martel’s fifth feature, distorts one’s interpretation of the titular character. Cacho’s performance, fused with the director’s writing, leaves a great deal down to his physicality and facial acting. Costumed in the first frame with a vivid red jacket, its corrosion underwear and tear holds a mirror toward the slow decay of Zama’s inner being. Operating in a socio-political atmosphere imbued with a distinct lack of civility and proper bureaucratic governance, the colonial regime in Asunción is a discombobulated as the narrative itself. An evident outcry to the biases of history, Martel’s voice seeks to uncover the barbarity of colonial mindset.

Coalescing sound in its true natural form, the wavering fans inside colonialist’s extravagant homes, barking dogs and distorting insects clicking fill the world of Zama with a tangible pulse. Participatory with human dialogue, layering compositions engulfs one’s presence in this world. Away from diegetic sounds, plucking Brazilian guitar strings of Los Indios Tabajaras juxtapose the ambient noises of sound designer Guido Berenblum’s tones. Creating a distinct scope, the sci-fi elements of El Eternauta have clearly infected the filmic brain of Martel, impacting proceedings of narrative and sound.

A means of another distinctive cinematic element, the cinematography of Rui Poças’s compositions divide the frame into divisions; helping to expand the density of the screen. Positioning a character internally, only to have the background of an exterior location, forges a backdrop of otherness. Poças and his masterful director in this medium expose the inner desires of Zama; to transgress beyond this desolate place.

At times tentative and deeply opaque, Zama searches to truly interpolate one into the shoes of this barren human soul. Positioned in a purgatorial state, Zama’s liberating escape can only occur through submerging himself in the disorder of the world. Stories such as Martel’s, thanks to the aid of di Benedetto, help inform a new generation of filmmakers and creatives away from the trite phrase, introduced by Churchill, that “History is written by the victors’’. Stated by the director herself during a Q&A at the BFI, her latest feature is a cocktail- one that you just drink and see what happens. To that call, I can only proceed to pour myself another serving of this impervious feat of filmmaking.

Zama is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, May 25th and then available for streaming online on Monday, June 4th.

Show Dogs

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

M an’s unconditional love for his canine friend has been expressed throughout cinematic and world history. Exhibited earlier this year in Wes Anderson’s touching Isle of Dogs, the undying affections shared between man and animal have not been more poetically expressed since De Sica’s Umberto D (1952) and the little Jack Russell Flike. On the reverse side of this artistic expression, peculiar films as Cats and Dogs (Lawrence Guterman, 2001) use CGI to its mischievous advantage to depict real dogs imitating human speech, thus taking anthropomorphism to a whole new meaning. Following in the pawsteps of such noughties releases, Show Dogs resurrects this family-friendly entertainment in a narrative template that has been seen a thousand times over.

Slowly becoming the auteur of the talking dog film, Raja Gosnell’s previous filmography brings a level of predictability to the unfolding events of his fourth feature on the titular creature. Rottweiler Max (Ludacris) is a brooding NYPD dog who is the best in the business. Exhibiting his strengths in a flashy opening sequence that introduces the film’s mcguffin – a rare baby Panda – the CGI talking extends to some eye wateringly bad computerised dog front flips and sliding, all done by Max to chase down the bad guys. Stolen from China by a cocky villain Berne (Andy Beckwith) for a rich client, you know it’s a piece of Hollywood produced pulp entertainment when the villain has a British co-criminal. In a cross specifies moment of CGI dialogue, Max promises to the little Panda that he will save him – hence the tedious narrative driving force of the film.

Thankfully for Max, a real-life human being is forced to accompany him on his mission. Frank (Will Arnett) is initially antagonistic towards Max from the first scene, still, they must work together to evidently stop animal cruelty once and for all. Flying to the dizzy heights of Las Vegas, the dog show proves to be the complete antithesis from the reserved, tweed counterparts at Crufts and The Kennel Club. Accompanied by the finest ear blasting EDM on the over-saturated market, the exclusivity of this dog show is elicited through flashy dresses and an obligatory establishing shot of the famous Caesar’s Palace Hotel.

In Arnett’s performance, intertextual references to his role as Lego Batman are planted into the script, or possibly through improvisation, by writers Max Botkin and Marc Hyman. Feeling somewhat deployed to wake parents up from their dozy sleep, the incorporation of lines of Aristotle’s philosophy from a Buddhist dog plays out in a similar fashion. One only has to look at the excellence deployed at Pixar to see that films do not have to be a binary – either family friendly or not- to be a success amongst children and adults. The fundamental essence of CGI talking dogs clearly creates a strange onset environment for all human actors involved- demonstrated in some shoddy acting from the whole cast.

Max’s adventures in Las Vegas force him to team up with a little Papillon, who was the former world champion show dog, Philippe. Played by Stanley Tucci with a gusto that stands out in the flat script, it is surely a harbinger for light in the dark caverns of witnessing dogs with talking mouths.

Formulaically unfolding, it became apparent when watching the final act that Raja Gosnell’s style feels outdated firstly in its heteronormative conclusion and lack of true engagement with a subject matter – clearly not void of ‘kids’ films as My Life is a Courgette (Claude Barras, 2017) or Song of Sea (Tomm Moore, 2015). You clearly cannot teach an old dogs new tricks…

Show Dogs is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, May 25th.

The Young Karl Marx

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

To many, Karl Marx is simply known as the creator of the communism – an ideology that has been at war with capitalism since its outlining in The Communist Manifesto (1848). Heightened in the Cold War, its socialist origins have been transformed into something grotesque and other by totalitarian leaders. Humanising the architect of the other, Raoul Peck’s The Young Karl Marx seeks to add shades of grey to this well-known political figure, alongside his friend and fellow political philosopher Friedrich Engels. It premiered in February 2017 at the Berlinale. After a long draw out dialogue over the film’s distribution, selected venues across the UK as are owed a great deal in delivering the film to UK audiences. Upholding the old age phrase of ‘’The personal is the political’’, the director builds upon his acute cinematic representation of modern thinkers, as transparent in his previous feature, I Am Not Your Negro (also released in 2017).

Living through a time of great social oppression, injustice and change, Peck’s depiction of the 19th century unfolds initially through Marx’s voice-over. The deep ruffling tones of actor August Diehl imbue this somewhat younger Marx with a world weariness that is reflected in the thinker’s constant struggle with finances. Instantly depicting the disparity between classes in Germany, socialist ideals are introduced through parable of peasants collecting damp wood from a forest floors. Acting as a quasi-prelude, the scene merges with Diehl’s voice over to cement the very fundamentals of Marxist regimes.

An environment of societal change, the ambience of revolution commences in Cologne, during 1843, as Marx begins to distance himself from the Austrian Social Democrats as Otto Bauer. Somewhat Europe trotting, the action hence cuts to the Ermen and Engels Mill in Salford, Manchester. Witnessing the inequalities of the rich and poor first-hand, Friedrich Engels is politically stimulated after seeing a worker called Mary Burns (Hannah Steele) walk away from the factory in order to maintain her sense of class pride. Resulting in theoretical works that self-criticised his own being and the Bourgeoisie, Engels’ path eventually leads him to Pierre-Joseph Proudhon (Olivier Gourmet) – the first philosopher to describe himself an anarchist. In his wiser company, both Engels and Marx encounter one another, thus leading to the ensuing bromance. Tentatively finding its narrative footing, The Young Karl Marx’s preliminary stages take a while to create the groundwork for its later success.

Recently celebrated by Manchester City Council, a statue of Engels has been resurrected outside the formerly mentioned HOMEmcr to ‘’inspire the next generation of artists, musicians and performers’’ and pay tribute to his work in the city. Away from real world honours, Peck hence cuts his action towards Marx’s newly formed life in Paris with his wife Jenny von Westphalen-Marx (Vicky Krieps). A former affluent lady, Westphalen is a woman who sees that ‘’Happiness requires rebellion’’. Choosing her love for Karl and adoption of a free political discourse over wealth, Krieps portrays this historical figure with a vitality that feels fully realizsd, comparable to her captivating turn as Alma in Paul Thomas Anderson’s opulent Phantom Thread (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2017). Besides his genius, Marx is portrayed by Diehl and the filmmakers as a figure constantly negotiating the boundaries of poverty. Extended in the internal struggles of Engles, the film raises a fundamental question: are we better off to live in experience or operate in the safety of commentary?

A stark contrast to the grandeur of political speeches in Hollywood filmmaking, the variety of shots deployed in the edit suite contrast a tight tapestry of ideological thought when either Marx, Engels or a fellow contemporary discuss their ideas. Absence of any hierarchical interactions, it’s clear from the performances, dialogue and director that its political beliefs are for the people. Lacking any overtly verbose speaks, ‘The Communist Leagues’ ideas do not distract from the deep friendship of either men.

Void of the emotionally and political connection employed in his previous feature on James Baldwin and race relations, The Young Karl Marx still sincerely humanises Marx, rather than simply a radical, and his compassionate relations with Engels and his wife. Yet, traces of Peck’s masterful eye for social historicity linger in a final archival montage sequence, alongside Bob Dylan’s iconic Like a Rolling Stone – the political is therefore the personal.

Watch The Young Karl Marx by clicking below:

The Wound

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

L iving in a world filled with very little, Xolani (Nakhane Touré) works in a Queenstown (in Eastern South Africa) warehouse for a white boss. Introduced during such labour, his social life is left as an aside from the filmmakers. Yet, away from his professional commitment, every year “X” ventures outside of the city to help his former rural community with a traditional circumcision – Ulwaluko. Placed in charge of nurturing young teenagers into men, he must tend to their titular wound during a long secluded period in the barren wilderness.

Responsible for healing a young city kid, Kwanda (Niza Jay), X’s deepest secret – his homosexuality – is slowly identified by the boy. Orientating in an age-old practice, the unavoidable primary focus of The Wound’s efforts lay in the depiction of masculine pious values. Besides this, one cannot look past its acute representation of not just homosexuality, but the pitfalls of loving someone too much.

A thin veneer susceptible to crumbling under pressure, the masculinity of Xolani, eloquently portrayed by Touré, is a fragile one. Expressed in absent glances into the distance, his own Ulwaluko evidently has not created a strong macho character, as intended by this patriarchal society. When arriving at the rural camp, he is greeted by an old friend and fellow khaukatha Vija (Bongile Mantsai). Married and with three children, Vija, like Xolani, hides his true self from the world. Two alternative sides of the same coin, the rural space allow their desires for one another to come to fruition. However, in director John Tregove’s crafted realism, a distinct lack of bucolic imagery arises in this link between desire and nature. Similarly, their relationship is nothing more than a form of exercising lust for Vija, unknowingly to Xolani.

Instead of romanticising their sexual encounters, Paul Ozgur’s camera and lighting initially capture their intercourse against the backdrop of low key lighting, until an explicit scene towards the film’s end. Unobtrusively filming these sequence with a clear eye, both the cinematographer and director retain a desirable presence, whilst exhibiting the vulnerability of Touré’s character. Imbuing a central dynamic between love and hiding his true self from the world allows director John Tregove’s feature debut to express the fundamental conflicting nature that inevitable lays in all humans; regardless of class or gender. Furthered not just through one’s sex but likewise in sexuality speaks to societies’ expectations to define gender into stereotypes.

Managing Kwanda’s slow healing, the boy is ridiculed by the more rural ‘initiates’ for his adoption of wearing trainers with traditional African robes. Covered in white paint, their innocence is emblazoned upon their skin. Possessing similar imagery to Rungano Nyoni’s Bifa award-winning debut, I Am Not a Witch (2017), the entrapments of highly patriarchal societies interlinks the two, making for a perfect double feature. Absent of any sensei-apprentice qualities, the relationship held between Kwanda and Xolani is an arduous one for both parties. A stark contrast to the authoritative ways of Vija, X does not place virile pressure on the boy. Voyeuristically observing other people’s action, Kwanda comes to recognise himself in Xolani’s shy reclusive personality.

Accompanying the visuals, the diegetic sounds of Xhosa chanting fill John Tregove’s film with a spiritual ambience. Performed by the cast whilst at the moment, tribe chants as Somagwaza, Uyingew and Siph’Umentabeni create a distinct soundscape. Such traditional songs are consequentially juxtaposed against Kwanda’s one moment of engagement with the real world; listening to a techno based track in a car. A clash of cultures in the music evidently informs the filmmaker’s intentions to illustrate an abundant disparity in Xolani’s sexuality against the heteronormative milieu.

Unfolding in its final act, as the bandages of Kwanda’s wound similarly do, The Wound’s lasting impact is one of melancholy. A means of all this, the haunting use of the formerly mentioned native chant Siph’Umentabeni unnervingly lingers over the credits. Capturing the character’s in an impartial manner, John Tregove delivers an atmospheric piece, one that is sure to become a canonical film in world cinema’s archive.

The Wound is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, April 27th, and then on VoD the following Monday, April 30th

Lean on Pete

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

Comparable to Andrea Arnold’s turn towards America’s impoverished class in the eloquent American Honey, British filmmaker Andrew Haigh follows a similar course of direction in his latest feature, Lean on Pete. Premiering at The Venice Film Festival and produced by the dexterous A24, Haigh’s newest offering is a sombre piece that absorbs you in its world, characters and harsh settings.

Adapted from Willy Vlautin’s 2010 novel, Charlie Plummer portrays a young teenager, Charley, who finds himself emotionally attached to Lean on Pete – an underdog racehorse owned by Del (Steve Buscemi). Opening with Magnus Nordenhof Jønck’s camera, the film’s initial shots are tight medium close-up of the boy on morning run. Consequentially, such a constant movement comes to hold thematic resonance, permeating nearly every scene throughout the narrative. Operating firstly in characterising the boy, the camera secondly serves as a location setting; interpolating one deeper into small town American humdrum existence.

At home the only parental figure present is his father Ray (Travis Fimmel). A manual labourer, the household lacks the structure that comes with a cohesive family life. Living well below the poverty line, Lean on Pete’s characters and vistas connect to Francois Truffaut’s seminal The 400 Blows (1959). Formed in a literary tradition such as the Bildungsroman – brought to prominence by modernist D.H. Lawrence’s A Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man – these two films equally propel their leads into the cruel adult world. Such a clash of innocence and experience is a profound encounter.

Alongside the masterful Truffaut, the sudden thrust of youthful virtue into a tainted world connects this feature to a contemporaneous source, Ira Sach’s Little Men (2016). Nevertheless, the director allows his follow up to 45 Years to interchange between neo-Western elements, social realist drama and a friendship story between a boy and an animal. Initially observing this plethora of themes as a miss-direction, with distance one comes to see some reverence in this multiplicity.

Escaping the mundaneness of his home life by gaining a summer job for Del – a shady horse owner – Charley becomes emotionally attached towards a particular horse, the titular Lean on Pete. Constantly worked into the ground, the horse scrapes and scuppers to the finish line in races. Given the opportunity, Del will sell him South to Mexico when failing to win a fair number of races.

Jockeyed by Bonnie (Chloë Sevigny), her later introduction brings new light into this duo’s relationship. The antithesis to Charley’s unforgiving naivety, she is experienced in the dubious methods used by Del to immorally win races. In the atmosphere of said event, the sweat and dust the swirl around in frame pours out, leaving one fully immersed in this crooked extortion. Upon winning his first race under the care of Charley, from the moment the horse steps onto the track, his fate is an investible one – regardless of any small victories. Clinging desperately onto these animals, one cannot help but feel pathos towards all those who are involved.

Though Lean on Pete is a melancholic immersive experience, comparable to the macabre atmosphere of Haigh’s previous features, his fourth feature lacks the profound threads that made 45 Years (2015) so stirring. Coming to an end with some form of peace, Charley’s story is bookended by the formative mentioned running. Deceptively playing with narrative tropes and audience expectations of The Black Stallion (Carroll Ballard, 1979) et al, Haigh’s style is as open as the highway’s in this world. It is an open road for the director’s next step…

Lean on Pete is out in cinemas on Friday, May 4th. It’s out on VoD the following week (2017). On BritBox on Wednesday, March 17th (2021).

Listen up: this is our BFI Flare podcast!

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

Following the jump to the Podcast form, the team at DMovies have been waiting for the right moment to strike again! Thankfully, the BFI Flare: LGBT Film Festival 2018 proved too good an opportunity to pass up on covering for all our dirty new listeners! Seeing an array of films, from investigatory documentaries on America’s Southern LGBT community to a biopic on the Queer icon Oscar Wilde, BFI Flare’s programme had it all this year. In amongst the walls of the Southbank’s iconic building, Alasdair Bayman went on a quest to interview the very best filmmakers who attended the festival.

Following Scott Jones, the victim of a horrendous hate crime in Canada, Love, Scott (Laura Marie Wayne, 2018; pictured below) is a kaleidoscopic investigation of trauma and perseverance in a world filled with oppression. As you will hear in the podcast, both Scott and Laura were in fine form as they delved deeper in the essence of their friendship and film. Nonetheless, what is not revealed in the audio is the touching emotion apparent on the faces of the both the director and subject matter.

Secondly on the podcast, Mario’s (Marcel Gisler, 2018; pictured below) director and co-star, Aaron Altaras feature. The titular character is an U21 football player for Swiss side BSC Young Boys. Consequentially a result of Leon’s (Altaras) arrival at the club, the two strike a prolific on field relationship. Spiralling towards away from the field of play, both Mario and Leon must face the penalties ensued by being LGBT in a hyperactive masculine environment.

As Alasdair sat down with Aaron, awaiting the arrival of Marcel, our dirty writer was informed of the actor’s supporting of Arsenal. An aside anecdote, at the international premiere of the film at the BFI the previous night, Aaron was sequentially approached by a member of The Gay Gooners – an LGBT supporters group at the football club. Praising the film for its power, the member then proceeded to offer Aaron free tickets for their game against Stoke City. Underlining the welcoming environment instilled by all those working and participating in the festival, this small gesture shows that film is an international and free medium, touching all those participating.

To round off the podcast, Malcom Ingram, the director of Southern Pride, speaks upon his film’s post-Trump setting. Vocal and opinionated, Ingram evidently projects his political views into the film in an unobtrusive manner, resulting in the final Pride sequence being some poignant filmmaking.

Opening their doors to all cinephiles, BFI Flare: LGBT Film Festival 2018 highlights the cultural and socio-political change cinema can yield. In this regard, one would be amiss to not be encouraged for a brighter, fairer cinematic and political future. Don’t forget to subscribe to our MixCloud channel and keep your eyes peeled as we will be hitting iTunes soon! As always, watch this space for filthier content in the future!

Mario

Posted on by Alasdair Bayman

Back in 2010, Germany striker Mario Gomez urged footballers who were homosexual to come out as they “would play as if they had been liberated.” Cut to 2018 and this call to arms from Gomez, who has since never stated if he is gay or not, the situation is as dire as ever. Being the only football player who has played in an array of Europe’s top five leagues to come out, former Aston Villa midfielder Thomas Hitzlsperger felt “he wanted to tell the world he was gay while he was still playing in Germany for Wolfsburg, but was advised against it” – according to an interview with German journalist Raphael Honigstein in 2014.

The overtly masculine and competitive nature of the sport means that any small piece of humanity or personality shown by a player results in ridicule by the press and opposing fans. Touching on Hitzlsperger’s experience of being a gay man in the blatantly heterosexual world of football – with its oppressions – Mario (Marcel Gisler, 2018) focuses acutely on the blossoming career of the titular Mario Lüthi (Max Hubacher). Whilst in the U21 squad of Swiss giants BSC Young Boys, he falls in love with their latest signing, Leon Saldo (Aaron Altaras). Complicating matters further, Mario and Leon both play in offensive positions and the pathway into the first team is only for a select few. Merging career ambition with a formative love relationship, this Swiss-Germanic production eventually conjures up some pathos after a slow start.

Shy and timid, Mario’s life is conjoined to the hip with football. In early pre-season where a professional focus is needed, the club transfer in Leon Saldo from Hannover 96’s U21 Academy. Strong, athletic and good-looking, Leon appears the perfect fit to be nurtured into the first team. Competing for the same spot, the two eventually form a prolific on-field relationship, leading the U21 squad towards league glory. Seeing the prospect held by both players, the Swiss club decide to room the two boys together, in an attempt to strengthen their on the field chemistry further. Consequentially, their off-field understanding grows into a shared love and understanding of one another. Seen by another team member kissing when away travelling to a game, the two must thus face the costs of sharing this twofold relationship.

Bringing a delicate edge to Mario, Max Hubacher, in moments, achieves a tenderness that feels fully realised. Contrasted against the confidence of Leon, the two work hold chemistry in periodic moments. Such instances occur after a long period of the film establishing its characters and mood. A juxtaposition of the dazzling heights of Goal! The Dream Begins (Danny Cannon, 2005), the world of a young upcoming footballer includes moments of loneliness, anxiety and resolve. Throughout its lengthy running time, the glamorous lives of Paul Pogba and Zlatan Ibrahimovic seem like galaxies away from the hard demands of continuous physical exercise and intense periods of nothingness. Talent is one thing, but the drive to succeed in a competitive environment is another aspect.

From the moment that rumours surrounding their relationship get out into the internal system at BSC Young Boys, Leon and Mario’s lives change forever. The clean almost corporate-like qualities possessed in the environments of the training ground work against the deeply personable relationships held between the two lovers. Accompanied by a shockingly suppressive meeting between the manager and club representative, Mario is informed that it would be best for him to be seen with a woman to suppress the rumours around him and Leon. This particular scene, alongside the final moments of the film, does unearth a sensitive soul to Mario. Regardless, the journey to these two specific moments lacks the eloquence apparent in other young LGBT tales as Maurice (James Ivory, 1987).

Addressing a key social and sporting subject that does not appear to be high on the agenda of Fifa or Uefa, Mario, through all this, is tragic in its few shining scenes. It is appropriate to suggest that the professionalism that radiates from its lead character impacts its stirring core. Credit where credit is due, however, I am sure solace and inspiration will be found from audience members and professional athletes who hold their sexuality as a closely guarded secret. Gisler and his team thankfully do not park the bus and come out against their subject matter in an assertive attacking manner. Still, it is void of the masterstroke that would be deployed by Pep Guardiola in footballing masterclass against Jose Mourinho.

Mario premiered at BFI Flare: LGBT Film Festival 2018 in March, when this piece was originally written. It’s out in cinemas on Friday, July 13th. It’s available on VoD and DVD from Friday, August 17th.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tIGxpk9c-7U