Author: Eoghan Lyng

Not a Rock Doc (A Shark’s Tale)

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

T[/dropccap]he documentary opens on two old men watching footage of a band called Sharks. The band, it seems, were a band led by Free bassist Andy Fraser, and enjoyed a modicum of success in their native England. The camera returns to the two men, who introduce themselves as Sharks bandmates Steve Parsons and Chris Spedding. What follows is a film that demonstrates these veterans of 1970s rock familiarising themselves with the trappings of the 21st century. They make a joke that The Clash won’t be turning up in the feature, but what we get is a strangely insightful look into the workings of a London rock band. Better still, it’s a very funny doc.

“Did I have fun [on cocaine],” Spedding muses. “Yes. Do I regret it? No.” Spedding made a name for himself in the 1980s, working as a session player beside a collection of big names (he worked with Paul McCartney on ‘No Values’.) Parsons – incidentally, a co-director of the film – flitted between singing and acting in the intervening years, but there’s no denying the sparks behind his eyes at he arrives on stage. Spedding too speaks of the group with great fondness, telling an interviewer – conveniently wearing a ‘Who The Fuck Does She Think She Is..’ t-shirt – that he prefers playing guitar to singing. More humorously, Spedding and Parsons are learning as they go, coming up with zingers and catchphrases as the film envelops. “What’s my motivation?” Spedding asks. “Money,” comes the reply.

We see an excited teenager attending their concert, happily comparing them to the other albums in his personal collection. Parsons is captured speaking on radio, stating that Sharks were a “supergroup” of sorts who represented the sound of the era. Spedding, meanwhile, autographs for a queue of fans, many of them as old as he is. But Parsons is nevertheless determined to make Sharks a viable proposition for the new decade, utilising websites and applications to generate support.

Schematically, Not A Rock Doc (A Shark’s Tale) bears something of a resemblance to Let It Be (Michael Lindsay Hogg, 1970), although the tone is ultimately more positive than The Beatles work. This isn’t a film about breaking up, but about piecing something that was thought to be broken back together. It doesn’t hurt that Spedding and Parsons are joined by Tosh Ogawa on bass, bridging a gap between their generation and the younger audiences. Spedding sounds fiery during some of the instrumental sections, invoking raw blues in the process.

In a strangely moving segment, Toshio Nomura speaks of his unwavering support for the outfit. Spedding seems moved by the support for the band, particularly in this digital era. But the analogue instrumentation adds a dimension that is somewhat missing from the music in the modern circuit. Parsons quips that although it has been forty years since the band started, they can still rock out. No, the film doesn’t luxuriate from a high budget, but this gives it a strangely holistic vibe to it that makes for compelling viewing.

Sex Pistols fans will enjoy the appearance of drummer Paul Cook, but the focus is almost entirely on Spedding and Parsons, two old friends who have been on many rodeos together. They share war stories (Spedding is spotted in a Womble costume in a funny interlude), yet never take their eyes off the present. Where the band will go next with their music, it’s too early to say, but there’s no doubt that whatever the project is, it will be very interesting , and no doubt there will be a solo or two in it. Not A Rock Doc (A Shark’s Tale) is a very good work.

Not A Rock Doc (A Shark’s Tale) premiered at the Doc’n Roll Film Festival.

Napoleon

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

The film opens with the titular character (Joaquin Phoenix, bringing an uncertain birdlike quality to the performance), walking through the French debris, his eyes peering at the revolution on the streets. Electing to defeat the “Royalists and the English”, he rises through the social rankings, when he meets Joséphine (Vanessa Kirby, in a role that is weirdly underdeveloped, despite the actresses sterling credentials), and falls head over heels in love. Her presence is a common distraction: No one has ever cast such a spell on him, and the strength is such that the thought of another man beside her repulses and infuriates him in equal measure. But as he rises to the rank of Emperor, pressure is put on him to sire an heir, and he grows dubious of Joséphine’s ability to produce a successor for him.

Napoleon is an ambitious film, spoiled by the lack of an emotional centre. Phoenix, all furrowed brows and frenzied laughs, is a curious choice for the French leader, and his brio sits at odds with the bedroom scenes, where Napoleon repeatedly fails to satisfy Joséphine’s secret desires. She shacks up with a younger, more handsome man while her husband is away at war.
Phoenix is better during the battle scenes, although he is underserved by the camera work, which flits from one angle to another, confusing the narrative in the process.

The battle in Russia – all white specks and dark hues – comes across worst of all, and Scott makes little effort to distinguish one army from the next. A film of this magnitude is bound to take liberties with the historical sources, and – while the depiction of Waterloo might ruffle a few feathers – it does present some flavour of the tactics of the era. Less happily, the battle scenes are done with nary a flourish nor a feature. If the audience hears a footstep, then a soldier is about to be killed. There are no surprises, no red herrings; nada.

Napoleon also disappoints in its depiction of women. Joséphine anchors her husband’s desire, but she spends much of the film offscreen, and her presence is only mentioned via flashbacks and letters. In essence, Kirby is there to be plucked by a ravenous husband, who twists and turns until he exhausts himself. The only other female character of note is Marie-Louise, a 15-year-old who weds Napoleon after the annulment of his marriage to Joséphine, who speaks of her attraction to the French Emperor, before following him to his bedroom. Glaringly, she is never seen or heard from again. This wouldn’t be such an issue if it wasn’t for the fact that the film opens up with Marie Antoinette’s execution, which Scott films with giddy, semi-schoolboy like glee.

Ridley Scott’s latest historical drama is disappointing. Considering the talent – an Oscar winning lead matching with a director of Scott’s calibre – this could be one of 2023’s most memorable works. Instead, what we get is something that is bland, banal and driven by old fashioned, sexist ideals. More happily, the film highlights Napoleon’s unquestioning desire to win no matter the cost. The film closes out with a memorial of sorts to the many men who laid down their lives for his Empire, cautioning viewers to the promises of idealistic young leaders in the process.

Napoleon is in cinemas on Friday, November 22nd.

Looking for love? These debut features are bursting with passion!

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

This was DMovies‘ sixth consecutive year at Tallinn Black Nights, but not only was it my first time at the Festival, it was my first time in Estonia (I have been lending a hand with remote coverage of the event for many years). I worked beside two DMovies journalists on site, Victor Fraga and Jeremy Clarke, trailing through the garden of cinema. On the third night of the Festival, the three of us met for a drink, exhibiting very differing opinions on what we consider to be a strong example of cinema. Like all art forms, cinema should demand an intellectual, emotional and comprehensive opinion from the viewer. The best of art elicits a diversity of opinion, which is fitting for this festival, because the work was so organic and diverse in its nature.

Falling Into Place (Aylin Tezel; pictured just below) was the most impressive film that I watched, largely because the story was so well poised: it was like watching a novel unfold on the big screen. I was delighted to see Aylen Tezil receive an award for her craft, which was presented to her by a jury of critics. Mo Mamma (Eeva Mägi), a very unusual Estonian “horror”, and Tentigo (Ilango Ram), a hilarious Sri Lankan comedy about a corpse with a boner were deservedly mentioned at the ceremony (awarded them five and four splats respectively). I was not entirely convinced by top choice for First Feature, The Moon is Upside Down (Loren Taylor). The juries saw as a strength what I set out to criticise: very fragmented individual stories are pieced together in order to create an emotional crescendo. Diversity of opinion makes it art.

I was surprised that Endless Summer Syndrome (Kaveh Daneshmand) did not win an award, either for acting or directing, because it was an accomplished effort for both. Sophie Colon brought an authentic element to the proceedings, and I was stunned at her commitment to the practice. You could feel her despair, anguish, horror at various points during the film. Like Falling Into Place, Endless Summer Syndrome worked because it was gingerly handcrafted, and the many parts gelled together. No directorial flourish was put in without some clear, well thought-out reason, and that included nudity. Both Tezlin and Colon appear without clothing in their films, but in Tezlin’s case, it was to highlight her character’s fear of intimacy following a difficult breakup, and in Colon’s case, it was to demonstrate that her character had indeed given birth, despite adopting two children afterwards.

Fellow DMovies writer Paul Risker gave me a little hand by reviewing the playful Spanish drama The Quiet Maid (Miguel Faus, pictured above).

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Different beasts

This might explain why Cat Call (Rozália Szeleczki) and Body Odyssey (Grazia Tricarico) did not reach their full potential.,did not fully work. They highlighted cinematic interpolations above the narrative beats of the story. The plot of Cat Call was flimsy, while Body Odyssey‘s was difficult to understand, and I suspect the dream sequences which featured in both films were produced in the hope of fattening up the work. As Sir Sam Mendes says, a good film must start with a good script.

Storytelling isn’t everything, which was extremely apparent in Mr and Mrs.Stodola (Petr Hátle) and The Fisherman’s Daughter (Edgar de Luque Jácome). Both films were largely static in their resolve. There were few stamps of artistry and limited cinematic ingenuity, just a faithful re-telling of script to screen. The Fisherman’s Daughter closed with a beautiful sequence filmed entirely underwater, melding creature with swimmer in one large underwater paradise.)

Dilli Dark (Dibakar Das Roy) was a bold, vibrant work that was suffused with colour and candour. It boasted an impressive colour palette, which was a direct contrast to Unmoored (Caroline Ingvarsson), a convoy of grey hues and sadder, more forlorn styles.Vera and the Pleasure of Others (Romina Tamburello and Federico Actis) was an enjoyable sex romp, utilising a series of singular moans, bolstered by some sterling performances. Playful, pitiful and very, very sexy. And then there was Inpaintings (Ozan Yoleri; pictured below), an impactful visual diary about a young woman embracing her life’s purpose, shot against the blistering hot Turkish skies.

These films gleamed with sense of originality and flair. A selection of 16 films directed with passion and a creative vision. None were directed without vigor, or with poor intentions. A labour of love.

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Beyond First Feature

Outside of the First Feature category, I was exposed to films in other categories, and of this selection, The Peasants (DK Welchman & Hugh Welchman) was the most ambitious. A story of earthly lust, it was bolstered by a painting technique, that highlighted the book’s aestheticism and sense of geography. Elsewhere, The Ghosts Cult And Big Brother: Mad On The Final Black Night (Green Geng) – interminably long title notwithstanding – made a compelling case against war using a dreamlike structure.

Due to time constraints, I didn’t get to explore any neighbouring towns (something for next time, perhaps), but Tallinn left an incredible impression on me. Buildings loom over citizens, strolling from destination to destination, the art peering over them like a friendly, familiar face. Passages and cobble intertwine, reminding humanity of their humble beginnings. A beautiful city. Boy oh boy, do I want to go back to.

Skunk

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

Liam (Thibauld Dooms) is a troubled soul. His domestic life is a mess, as is his current dwelling, a youth facility for neglected and abused teens. Struggling to find a place of his own, Liam flits from fury to reflection in the hope of gaining some sense of clarity at this turbulent time. What follows is a journey of sorts, where Liam re-plays some of the more tramautic moments in his life in the hope of becoming a more rounded and developed person.

The journey, he quickly realises, is perilous. His memory, it is quickly established, is rife with violence; much of it sexual. Director Koen Mortier directs these flashbacks with nary a flourish nor a close-up, and merely lets the tension play out in front of the camera. Scarred by the experience, Liam ends up screaming at his guidance counsellor, reminding her that he cannot go home, and cannot stay in this place. The camera allows Liam to walk away, giving him the space to scream out his thoughts without intrusion. Dooms is an excellent lead, commanding the screen with a series of furrowed brows and miminalistic gestures. He’s talented, although he’s helped by the authenticity of the script, which frequently places him in the middle of a corrosive setpiece.

Mortier films it naturalistically, which adds to the reality of the pain. Although some of the violence is toned down from Geert Taghon’s book, there is enough to make an impact. In one almost tantric moment of pain, Liam recalls a whole horde of people fighting in his house, which ends with a person throwing him up the stairs. It’s clear that Liam has never experienced kindness in the one place he should be safest and most loved of all: his home. Like Dooms’ acting, it’s the smaller actions that hold the most impact, and the most affecting moment in the film comes when Liam realises the kindness that is being offered to him.

Cinemagoers could be forgiven for suffering from an aversion to uber-violence, which explains why much of the actions are implied rather than exhibited in full force. There is heartache; there is teeange fuelled angst; but Mortier coolly keeps everything loping along at an unhurried pace. This is a world where family drama is other people’s business. Put simply, this isn’t a Europe that discusses the ramifications of crime, but turns a blind eye to it.Most of the set-up is fairly holistic. There are no montages, no miraculous feats of technical ingenuity. What is on display is raw, and bolstered by nothing but nerves. As the film progresses, Liam grows stronger, aided no doubt by the memories that have put him on this solitary road to his Damascus.

But the malign absurdity of his personal life is reflected in his actions, which make him difficult to be around. His domestic life is undercut by a hope to reunite with his parents one day in the future; when they can be a family once more.Economically, the film has the good sense to wrap the story up in little more than an hour and a half.

There’s an urgency to the film that adds to the closing sense of nausea, and by the time the film closes, it ends on just the right note. What’s more, the film draws into the fractured male psyche, which is rare to see these days. There are shocks, but nothing anybody above the age of sixteen can’t handle. Mortier is particularly good on the sense of place: the wooden houses, grey-buildings, the rusted gates. Each of these tiny details makes for a compelling and deeply watchable whole.

Skunk just premiered at the International Youth Competition of the 27th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.

Eastern Front (Idarinne)

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

This documentary couldn’t be less timely. It peers at the war in Ukraine, complete with footage which was gathered by co-director Yehven Titarenko, so what we get is something uninhibited, urgent and presented with direct, almost live, impact. It’s quickly established that Titarenko is a former volunteer, and one who founded the medical battalion frist hThe Hospitallers in 2014. What Titarenko brings to the forefront, or Eastern Front, is a sense of authenticity, every frame shot from the heart as much as it is from the head. Russian documentary filmmaker Vitaly Mansky (the film’s other director) commends Titarenko’s spirit, and follows Titarenko headfirst into the conflict that has shocked so many across the globe.

The men mean business from the get go. Opening on a tank, the camera turns to Titarenko, standing bravely in front of a Russian tank on Kyiv’s main boulevard. This shot, it is said, was photographed on August 24th, 2022. The rawness permeates the film, and there are times it feels more like a piece of news journalism more than a feature. That is the film’s greatest strength, but also its Achilles’ heel. In its ambition to capture the immediacy of the conflict, Eastern Front occasionally loses its sense of rational thought, offering little to no space for contemplation.

Where the war will go is anyone’s guess, but there is nothing in this film to suggest the next logical step. Eastern Front takes a journalistic approach to its framework, but it makes the decision not to comment on the war. As a handheld/hat-held documentary, much of the individual moments are scintillatingly produced, curating a country torn down by armed forces.Indeed, there are explosions within a near distance of the camera crew, highlighting the perilous risks that were taken for the sake of the project. There are also calmer moments – much of the documentary takes place beside a river, where people discuss their experiences – and the Baptism of Subbota’s son is surprisingly tender moment that shows humanity’s willingness to carry on in the face of great evil. Humourously, a sperm bank is considered to be of equal value to children, as an emergency supply for future generations.

Another issue is the film’s runtime, a 97 minute documentary which feels longer because of the many pregnant pauses between shootouts. In a film as loud, visceral and immersive as this one, the quieter moments inevitably suffer by comparison, and some of the more interesting conversations lose some of their impact in the process. There’s also a shot of a herd of cows caught in the mud, which feels like an outtake from an abstract French film, and not the workings of a war documentary.

And yet it’s hard to fault the bravery of the camerawork, plunging viewers straight into the middle of the war. While the audiences have the option to walk out of the cinema, or pause the film (if watching at home), the people in this documentary must live it out; every nerve shaken by the advent of another bullet. When the commentators say that they are reminded of WW2, it doesn’t smack of self pity, but genuine shock and anguish.

As it stands, Eastern Front is a strong, albeit haphazard, look at Ukraine. It recognises the terror that is waging the streets, littering the skies with fear and disturbance. The guerilla-style footage never lasts too long to become overtly gimmicky, and the impression directors Yehven Titarenko & Vitaly Mansky create is one of trauma. War never gives easy answers, and as the war is still going on, the feature isn’t in the position to offer any. It’s not an easy film to sit through, but its importance is never in doubt.

Eastern Front just premiered in the Rebels With a Cause Competitions of the 27rh Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.

All the Colours of the World Are Between Black and White

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

We take queer relations for granted in Europe. People of all persuasions can walk hand in hand across the streets of Madrid, Manchester and Dublin, and although they may encounter some aggression from passersby, gay couples know that the law is on their side. How very different it is in Nigeria, where acts of homosexuality are punishable by “caning of 100 lashes.” And in a film based on two gay men in Lagos, European audiences come face to face with an altogether different perspective on homosexuality.

The film centres on Bambino and Bawa, two men who meet in Lagos, and develop a friendship. Straight away, they detect a tension between them, but given their heritage and upbringing, are too reluctant to do anything about it. The rest of All The Colours of the World are between Black and White centre on their feelings, dipping in and out of the scenery with the fervour of a hunting eyeing up its prey. As plots go, it’s fairly paper thin, but the two men make it worthwhile, committing themselves to their geography, as well as their carnal desires.

Of the two actors, Tope Tedela (Bambino) is the more relatable, peering into the environment, as if praying for a God he knows won’t hear from him. Bambino is a delivery man who rides around the city on his motorbike, who stumbles into Bawa (played with mercurial restraint by Riyo David), almost by chance. It would be wrong to call the film “magic realism”, but there’s something deeply spiritual about the work, tying these wayward men together. Separately, they see Lagos in one way, but together, they view it as a form of paradise for their needs and personal affectations.

Bambino’s life experiences another hurdle: His friend Ifeynwa (Martha Ehinone Orhiere) asks him to fellate her before she enters into an arranged marriage, putting him an awkward position. When Bambino and Ifeynwa engage in the sexual act, it is done as an act of labour, not lust. Bambino plays the lover, but his eyes belong to another.

What director Babatunde Apalowo Apalowo provides is context. By the time the film has closed, we are left with a character study that highlights the struggles that exist across the seas. The forbidden love presented in the film is one that is carried with great shame and great pathos. Without positing a spoiler, it doesn’t end with a happy ending, or close out with some aphorism that the viewer can take home with him. Instead, like life itself, it simply focuses on the events itself. All the Colours of the World Are Between Black and White is a work of understated beauty.

All the Colours of the World Are Between Black and White premieres at the 31st edition of Raindance.

Miúcha, the Voice of Bossa Nova

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

Miúcha, néée Heloísa Maria Buarque de Hollanda, was a singer of tremendous form and energy, boasting a free-spirited nature to her voice. But like a lot of women of her generation, it was her association to men that seemed to interest people more than her singular accomplishments, varied as they were. She was a sibling (Chico Buarque’s sister), a spouse (João Gilberto’s second wife), a collaborator (Antônio Carlos Jobim’s partner) and a disciple (Vinicius de Moraes’ pupil), but never a woman, an artist or a spokesperson. She was an attachment, rather than an entity. And this is something Miúcha, The Voice of Bossa Nova sets out to correct through a collection of personal letters, audio diaries and home movies.

One suspects that Miúcha might have handled things differently, but the 1970s was a male-dominated decade, and the fact that she sounded as vital as she did says a great deal about her character in a music industry that wasn’t as understanding as it might have been in later years. Feminism forms the film’s central dissertation, but Miúcha fans will be impressed by the throve of photos that are displayed onscreen, many of them taken in the studio. There, the singer can be caught in the middle of her process, unhindered by expectations or gender norms. There’s just her, a guitar player and a microphone.

The film also boasts an impressive watercolour sequence of a guitar floating away. Animated especially for the film, it encapsulates many of the documentary’s more pertinent themes: freedom, fantasy and a desire to let loose. It’s a beautifully produced sequence, yet the film never escapes the feeling that it could have been produced as a television programme. There’s nothing cinematic about the film: It’s centred on archival footage, voiceover work, and an absence of contemporary hook makes it an occasionally boring watch.

The soundtrack features a rousing version of ‘Samba de uma Nota Só (One Note Samba)’, demonstrating that bossa nova in its purest form is as exciting and as powerful as it must have sounded in the 1960s and 1970s when it was produced for the first time in Brazil. Music, like cinema, needs great resolve to realise it’s potential. Miucha’s documentary had some potential,but her voice was suffused with it.

The archived footage is fascinating, but the documentary does not entirely take off. Although the genre of bossa nova started off in Brazil, it later seeped into the rock lexis, and could be heard on some of The Beatles and The Doors most expressive work. Like many genres, bossa nova can be heard on modern day hip-hop, but you won’t find that information out in this documentary. It’s more the pity because when it works, the documentary really works, peeking right inside the eyes of the artist who spent her life (literally) fighting the man. “I was a lot less feminist than I should have been”, the artist says in a voiceover that’s laced in equal parts disappointment and acknowledgement.

Miúcha, The Voice of Bossa Nova premieres at the 10th Doc’n’ Roll Film Festival. Just click here for more information.

Rock Hudson: All That Heaven Allowed

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

This movie takes its name from one of Rock Hudson’s most enduring films All That Heaven Allows (Douglas Sirk, 1955), and straight from the opening shot the documentary peers at the actor’s personal life with decided interest. Not that it sensationalises his domestic life – his sexuality has been public knowledge for some time – but the film does what it can to demystify the artist from the heartthrob who impressed men and women in different capacities.

Director Stephen Kijak quickly establishes Hudson’s impact on the world, and we’re quickly given the “women wanted him, men wanted to be him” routine, but the actor was much more complicated than the image he and his agents projected to the public. In 1985, Hudson admitted that he had contracted Aids, shocking the world of cinema much as Freddie Mercury’s diagnosis would affect the music industry in 1991. What Kijak demonstrates isn’t necessarily closure but context, and the documentary presents a complicated person who had to play two roles – actor and human – throughout his career.

Considering that he was a star in the 1950s, it’s no surprise that he was told to keep his sexual predilections a secret from the public, but the extent to which he tried to reveal his sexuality might come as a surprise to some viewers. Characters frequently found Hudson in “closets” in his films, a thinly veiled metaphor that won’t surprise anyone these days, but kept him sufficiently veiled at that point to carry on as he pleased. As is evident from the film, Hudson started off like anyone: A young person with a stomach and ambition that initially seemed larger than his reach. Yet he persevered to deliver some scintillating performances, and his acting abilities – not forgetting his natural good looks – served him on his journey to attain fulfilment. Like many Catholics, he spent much of his time querying his worthiness in an industry predicated on capitalism, but when he delivered, he proved his worth and then some.

But it must have pained him to hide a part of himself from the public, and one of his boyfriends/paramours describes the efforts they went to hide their relationship from the public eye. As his illness grew more apparent, the tabloids started to speculate on his homosexuality, and the film highlights Hudson’s importance in relaying information to the public about the disease. (As a side note, one of the issues I have with the documentary is that they state that no other celebrity has made as grand an effort to highlight the illness as Hudson did, which conveniently overlooks the valiant efforts Brian May and Roger Taylor have made since losing Mercury to the dreadful virus.)

Stephen Kijak’s doc is occasionally hagiographic, but the point remains an emotive one, highlighting one man’s ambition to distant his personal life from his art. Whether Hudson will be the last to do so remains unlikely, but it’s hard not to admire his commitment, particularly when so much of his method stemmed from truthfulness and spontaneity.

Rock Hudson: All That Heaven Allowed will be available to download and rent on digital platforms from Monday, October 23rd.

A Silence (Un Silence)

Posted on by Eoghan Lyng

QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM SAN SEBASTIAN

The timing for A Silence (Joachim Lafosse, 2023) couldn’t be more fitting, because the film is being screened concurrent to accusations of rape being levelled at British sweetheart, Russell Brand. At this moment, millions all over Britain are asking themselves if it’s acceptable to believe a man based on how he appears to the public. Because that’s precisely the dissertation behind A Silence: men can wear their smiles in public, while their women carry the scars of a fraught relationship.

Emmanuelle Devos stars as Astrid, a spouse to a lawyer of some acclaim (played by Daniel Auteuil, from Claude Berri’s Jean de Florette, 1986). For 25 years, she has been subject to a shame she has done everything in her power to protect her children from. We see her interact with her husband who glares at her when she looks at his private possessions, and chides her when he thinks she’s straying from the role of dutiful wife. The shame she feels isn’t felt by her children, who decide to bring her private story to justice – and in doing so, expose her to the media she has largely left to her husband to fend off.

The plot is bone-thin, but between the shots lies Astrid, a fragile, middle-aged woman who spends much of her time either in tears or in shock. She regularly gives a look of deflection: Closing out conversations when they get too uncomfortable, or gazing out into the road where she longs to escape. In some ways it recalls the loneliness of another Belgian feature, Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (Chantal Akerman, 1975), as both movies exhibit women in the most comfortable of settings (their homes), drifting into a despair they have unwittingly facilitated. But that’s where the two similarities end, as A Silence presents us with a woman who has spent much of her life in the arms of a celebrity figure, only to find that it’s more difficult to endure because it’s so public.

Devos is excellent: Barely off camera for a minute, the French actress has to carry the emotional undercurrents that cement the work. The same cannot be said for Matthieu Galoux, who plays the sullen son determined to present another side of his mother to the public. Galoux is stoic, but could be more so, and there are times he overplays the character beats. Much better is Auteuil who as Francois Schaar is delightfully evil to watch. He bears an altruistic face to the press, and a more sinister one in his personal life, but distinguishes the two personalities well enough for the audience to latch onto.

It’s unlikely that Galoux’s popularity will leap-frog from arthouse actor to Hollywood heart-throb. But Devos is excellent, providing a portrait of a woman calling out for salvation, from a marriage and institution that has shackled her with silence. Thankfully, that appears to be changing in the real world (as of the time of this review, four women have accused Brand of assault), and with a bit of luck, fewer women will have to suffer their demons in silence.

Un Silence (A Silence) just premiered at the San Sebastian International Film Festival in the New Directors Section.