Sweet Dreams

QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

The story takes place in a farm at the heart of the dense Indonesian rainforest, in what was then known as the Dutch East Indies, in the year of 1900. Agatha (Renee Soutendijk) and her husband (Hans Dagelet) are the ageing owners of a the plantation and the factory. They enjoy a comfortable lifestyle, with a horde of employees ensuring that the business runs smoothly. Slavery has been abolished, however working conditions are barely commendable, and payments are often delayed. Jan has a child with his employee Siti (Hayati Azis), a young boy called Karel. The topic of the child’s fatherhood remains tacit, allowing Agatha and Siti to retain a civilised relationship.

Agatha is the first woman to take matters into her own hands, seeking a very strange type of liberation from her relative stability. Her meticulous actions lead to Jan’s death. She urges her son Cornelis (Florian Myjer) and his heavily pregnant friend (an equally unhappy) wife Josefien (Lisa Zweerman) to travel from the Netherlands in order to help her to run the business, and sort his father’s inventory. Nobody was prepared for what would come next. Jan wrote a testament naming his “only legitimate son” as his sole heir. That’s not European Cornelis, but instead the small, olive-skinned Karel. This leaves Agatha penniless, shocked and despondent, while also subverting colonial power relations. Maybe it’s time for the last Dutch settlers to leave? Cornelis suggests that his mother should move to Europe, but the old woman refuses to budge. She is profoundly attached to the land where she spent her entire life.

Siti is the second strong woman. She has plans for herself and her child, as well as an allegiance towards the workers with whom she shares the ethnicity. She has an affair with the charming and muscular Reza (Muhammad Khan), but refuses to flee with her people. She doesn’t want to return to her origins. In fact, she has never been to the place of her origins (the film once again delves into an elusive sense of belonging). While it is her self-determination that prevails, the real motives that drive Siti are never entirely clear. She is mysterious and ambiguous, the most complex character in the film. A deeply introspective, cathartic dance at the end of the 102-minute story emphasises that she alone is the master of her steps, in one of the film’s most powerful scenes.

Josefien is the third strong-willed female character. Unlike her mother-in-law, she despise the rainforest: she finds the smells and the flies vomit-inducing, the slow passing of time excruciating. She wears the trousers in the relationship with the hesitant and dispassionate Cornelis. Despite her protruding belly, she is bursting with sexual desire, and her husband is hardly prepared to meet her needs. And she is the one who makes the decisions, spurring her spouse on as required, while also manipulating others around her in order to achieve her main objective: returning to the Netherlands. What all three women have in common is that they are in firm control of their body, as their choices gradually reveal.

Sweet Dreams meditates on colonisation, empowerment and belonging. While Josefien wants to be in Europe, Agatha and Siti want to stay at the rainforest. The identity of these three women is defined by their life and experience, and not by their ethnicity. Agatha is a European whose heart belongs in the Indonesian rainforest. She takes this attachment to an extreme, in the other one of the film’s most powerful scenes. This is a movie that derives its strengths from strong scenes infused with symbolism, rather than complex, multi-threaded dialogues. It is often silence and exuberant body language that prevails. These women communicate with their subtle (and also not-so-subtle) gestures. It helps that the production values are very high: the cinematography is rich and vibrant, with the bursting colours of the rainforest, while music score is pervasive and enveloping (composed of various strings gingerly arranged to enthralling – and at times unsettling – results). This is an elegant arthouse period drama that delivers constant thrills and occasional chills.

Sweet Dreams just premiered in the Official Competition of the 76th Locarno Film Festival. It is the second feature film by Bosnian-Dutch director Ena Sendijarevic, who also wrote both of her movies.

Yannick

Somewhere in Paris, three actors deliver a comedy entitled Cuckold, about a woman leaving her husband for an older uglier man. There are no more than 20 theatre-lovers in the audience, who are thoroughly enjoying the performance. Suddenly, Yannick (Raphaël Quenard) stands up and interrupts the show in order to express his frustration. He is angered that he travelled for 60 minutes from the outskirts of the French capital in order to watch a play that makes him feel even more miserable than he normally does. The three actors Paul (Pio Marmaï), Sophie (Blanche Gardin) and William (Sébastien Chassagne) attempt to reason him to no avail. “This isn’t just about money”, an adamant Yannick argues. “I had to take a whole day off work and now I feel worse than ever”. He explains that he’s car park watchman, and that in three years a vehicle has never been robbed or even damage. It is therefore only reasonable that the three thespians should carry out their job just as duly.

What’s spectacular about Yannick’s tirade is that it neatly encapsulates the sensations that all of us have experienced when we sacrificed time and money in order to watch a play or a film that turned out to be painful. Our protagonist then resorts to some extreme measures, making us all regret we did not take matters into our own hands with a similar approach. Bad spectacles should never be tolerated. Overt criticism and sheer violence are the most appropriate response, we soon find out. Why should anyone be held hostage and under torture, without even being allowed to pee, for nearly two hours inside a (movie) theatre? Yannick liberates us from the shackles of etiquette and civility that inconveniently bind us to our theatre seats.

Gradually, the conflict escalates. The audiences become thoroughly entertained by the impromptu, real-life intermezzo. Allegiances suddenly change. Yannick is hellbent on proving that he is not as dislikable as he may seem. He eventually lets how guard down, giving the “hostages” the opportunity to react. Could Paul, Sophie and William turn the table, or has Yannick unearthed some inopportune truths, and taken the actors our of their comfort zone to very revealing results? The meta-stage becomes a place for confession and redemption.

Quentin Dupieux has penned and directed a pithy, robust and thoroughly entertaining 65-minute comedy that raises some very serious questions about the relationship between the artist and the audiences, and tests their connection to the extreme. An astute script, a firm directorial hand and a few good performances are the main ingredients for success. Yannick is a truly cathartic and refreshing film experience. Just make sure you come armed. And that your weapon is fully loaded!

Yannick premiered in the Official Competition of the 76th Locarno Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. Also showing at the Turin Film Festival. In cinemas on Friday, April 5th (2024).

Slimane

QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

Omar (Akin Victor) is released from prison. He jumps on a train and visits his friend Ava (Banafshe Hourmazdi), who lives with her dog. She tells him that most of their friends have fled, that she broke up with her partner Violet, and that their friend Slimane has been taken away. There are no further explanations, and audiences are left to put the puzzle pieces together. The film synopsis explains us that the film takes place “in a Germany in the not too distant future” and that “queer people have become more marginalised and under threat”. It would be barely possible to work that out without this information to hand.

Roughly three quarters of this 19-minute exquisite blend of slow cinema, queer drama and science fiction are entirely devoid of dialogue. The conversation between Omar and Ava is very languid, and the camera hardly captures their face as they speak. Instead we see the dog, a leg or the wall as the two young people talk. For about three minutes, the static camera shows nothing but the blurry wallpaper. The weather is cold, the sky is grey. These creative choices create a sense of distance and alienation. This is a bleak and despondent world. The only slimmer of hope appears in a cathartic gesture in the final scene (the movie’s most powerful moment).

The biggest challenge that Portuguese director Carlos Pereira faces is to create a coherent piece of slow cinema within such a short duration. The latest movie by Tsai Ming-Liang, a masterpiece of LGBT+ film and slow cinema, had a runtime of 127 minutes. While visually bewitching, Slimane also feels loose and fragmented. Perhaps that too was a creative choice, providing the movie with an otherworldly, enigmatic aura. Either way, I look forward to seeing Pereira fully develop his language and vision, and author his first feature film (this is his third creation, all of them short films). I shall look out for the director’s name in a “not too distant future”. Hopefully his fate won’t be as bleak as his characters’.

Slimane premiered in the Pardi di Domani section of the 76th Locarno International Film Festival on Friday, August 4th. Incidentally, Tsai Ming-Liang will be honoured with a Career Achievement Award at the very same event in just a couple of days (on August 6th).

This piece was published in partnership with Ubiquarian.

Paradise Europe (Du bist so Wunderbar)

QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

Edu (Murillo Basso) is a 20-something-year-old Brazilian gay man living and working for Amazon in the German capital, while also struggling to fit in with the local culture. He has a serious medical condition (we see the disturbing graphic details within the first minute of the movie), a consequence of his presumably promiscuous lifestyle. The gay scene in Berlin is highly sex-orientated, and Edu works occasionally works at the local sauna. There are ample opportunities for him to meet as many partners as he like. But the consequences of these encounters can be destructive. To make things worse, Amazon has not paid his health insurance, leaving him in a vulnerable and indeed embarrassing situation. What a pain in the arse. Quite literally.

The 17-minute short film follows Edu as he desperately scrambles to find a new room, while also grappling with a sore back door. His prospective landlords are deeply intrusive, and their demands frivolous. He’s asked to turn vegan, not to use the bathroom at a certain hour in the morning, and to go away at weekends so that his landlady can enjoy her privacy with her boyfriend. Even his homosexuality is brought into question. Fortunately, he is not asked to undergo the Flour Test. And there is the occasional racist comment, always neatly wrapped in dissimulated cordiality. It is awkwardness that prevails in these strange interactions, which serve to highlight that even a city as progressive as Berlin is not as welcoming for foreigners as many of us would like to think.

These countless and protracted interviews are interspersed with images of a demonstration against the removal of the renting cap in Berlin. Edu wishes to attend the protest, but his busy routine coupled with the fact that he only has a few days to find a new dwelling prevent him from doing so.

Paradise Europe presents the experience of immigration through a realistic lens. The story is mostly credible and palpable, even if some of the characters that Edu encounters on his journey slip into facile cliches (the precious vegan, the eccentric artist, etc). Young Brazilian filmmakers Leandro Goddinho and Paulo Menezes have created a film that’s uncomfortably funny to watch. It leaves viewers wanting to laugh about Edu’s absurd predicament, without being sure whether that’s acceptable or not. Brazilian gay men who lived in Berlin during their youth (myself included) are used to putting on a half-smile, and finding humour in the most preposterous of situations. Bottoms up, everyone!

Paradise Europe (aka You are so Wonderful) premiered on August 3rd at the Pardi di Domani section of the 76th Locarno Film Festival on August 3rd. It won the Silver Leopard.

Kokomo City

A bleak statistic that emerged in 2015 claimed that the average life expectancy for black trans women is 35, which equates to living in the 16th century. Even though the claim has since been contested as not entirely accurate, it is still representative within some cohorts of this community, specifically sex workers, the subject matter of a powerful and candid documentary, Kokomo City. Liyah Mitchell, a large feature in the documentary, poignantly states that if she carried on with sex worker, she is likely end up dead. Sadly, her words resonate even more acutely with the recent death of another of the documentary’s subject Koko Doll who was shot in a hate-motivated crime.

Kokomo City is by first-time director D. Smith, previously working in the music industry as a producer for the likes Lil Wayne and Andre 3000, yet once she started her transition found herself ostracised, jobless and eventually homeless. Whilst couch surfing, she turned her hand to documenting her personal research into sex work, considering it as a possible, if not one of the only ways to make money. Through Instagram and YouTube, she managed to locate her interviewees; black trans sex workers Koko, Liyah as well as Daniella Carter and Dominique Silver – from Atlanta and New York. D.Smith took on a softer approach, seeking to make her interviewees feel comfortable and trust her in a bid to reveal more of themselves. Removing any formality in the interview process by placing the camera at lower angles and striking a conversational rapport.

Her strategy paid off with exceptional results. For a debut, D.Smith has impressively captured the essence of her subjects likened to a seasoned director. She has created a documentary that is unique and fresh, garnering confessions that are incredibly frank and authentic telling a story that feels very urgent. Unabashed, brazen comments such as “they want to see a pretty-ass girl with a big dick” are regularly and unapologetically blurted out, but ultimately offer an enlightening picture of the inner workings of the profession. Simultaneously these tête-à-têtes offer perceptive reflections about the trans and black experiences from individuals like themselves in the periphery, looking in.

We gain further insight of the internal machinations of their male clients and how deeply suppressed these individuals can be. In an eye-opening moment, Dominique exclaims after detailing a difficult altercation “violence doesn’t happen before the orgasm. It happens after,” suggesting their clients’ instant feelings of vehement remorse is contributed to widespread internalised trans/bi/homophobia. It would appear their very existence is threatening, questioning the very foundations of black heteronormativity.

Shot in black and white, we are treated to montages of the women flaunting their bodies; beautiful bodies that they have worked hard for, of which D.Smith encourages them to show off and celebrate. Furthermore, there is lightness permeating throughout, amplified by an upbeat musical score, but wholly attributed to the subjects themselves: their vivaciousness, the way the inject humour even when detailing of the most life-threatening of encounters. Their openness to reveal themselves and attempts to remove any shame instils a sense of ownership of their actions, consequently, providing a more positive attitude towards sex work.

This documentary is a vehicle for D.Smith to highlight and empower these marginalised lives, attempting to replace any victimhood with agency, and autonomy.

Kokomo City is on BFI Player on Monday, September 11th. Also available on other platforms. It shows at the Doc@PÖFF of the 27th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.

Does Christopher Nolan look down on his women?

Within just a couple of days of its release in cinemas worldwide on Friday, July 21st, Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer widespread accusations of sexism. Some critics noted the that first female character only speaks after 20 minutes into the film, and then someone immediately has sex with her. Face the inevitable consequences of opening your month, babe! Others pointed out that the film fails the Bechdel Test. This is indeed true. Despite the presence of three significant female characters, they never talk to each other at all. Oppenheimer’s lover Jean Tatlock is played by Florence Pugh (pictured above), while his wife Kitty is played by Emily Blunt, and his sister-in-law Jackie by Emma Dumont. The cast includes nine female characters, against 119 males (according to IMDB). A disgruntled viewer slammed the “blow-up doll” treatment that these women received. Another one joked, while also extending the comment to Nolan’s entire filmography:

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According to various sources, there is not one single scene in Christopher Nolan’s entire filmography of 12 movies in which two (or more) women talk to each other about anything other than men.

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This is what Victoria Luxford (who wrote our review of Oppenheimer) has to say:

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“I’m wary of any metric that takes nuance or storytelling out of the equation – by the strict rules of the Bechdel Test, The Room [Tommy Wiseau, 2003] is a better film that The Godfather [Francis Ford Copolla, 1972 ]. Allison Bechdel herself says she never intended the comic strip to be adopted as a doctrine.

For Oppenheimer itself, I think the articles implying the film is sexist is a stretch. Florence Pugh’s character is a psychiatrist who is shown to be in her own field on Oppenheimer’s level in terms of intellect. Did she need to spend most of her time nude? Probably not, but I think to focus on that is dismissing some interesting dimensions to their relationship.

Equally, Emily Blunt’s character, Oppenheimer’s wife, is shown to be equal to the men questioning her in the latter stages of the film. She’s shown to be morally stronger than her husband in almost every aspect.

It’s true that they are angry, frustrated, troubled people, partly because of the position society puts them in. I would say this is period – accurate. It’s the 1940s, and these are women kept from decision making roles, particularly in this space. Nolan reflects this in a small moment where Olivia Thirlby’s character is irritated that security assumes she is a typist and not one of the scientists.

My personal opinion, both as a woman and as a film lover, is that with films such as these there seems to be a need for people to have a strong reaction, even if it’s based on shaky ground.

As with the argument that Barbie [Great Gerwig’s other half of the Barbenheimer duo, released on the same day as Nolan’s film] is ‘anti-men’, I would say that calling Oppenheimer a poor representation of women is a point that relies on ignoring a lot of nuance.”

AKA

Cinematographer-turned-director Morgan S. Dalibert’s debut feature combines action-packed sequences with the topics of loyalty and betrayal, against the backdrop of a dysfunctional family and the criminal underworld. The director pairs up with actor Alban Lenoir (captured three years ago by his very own lens, in Guillaume Pierret’s Lost Bullet). The two men also penned the film script together. The outcome is a movie with high production values, and the unfulfilled potential to become a 21st century version of Luc Besson’s Léon: The Professional (1994).

The story commences as your average undercover cop thriller. Adam Franco (A. Lenoir) is a true beast of a human being, a field warrior who uses his own muscles and fibres as a lethal weapon. The French government recruit him for a secret mission. His objective is to penetrate an organised crime ring, led by the cruel and ruthless Victor Pastore (Eric Cantona), who has possible links with an African terrorist. Adam is the perfect man for the job: apart from his physical attributes, he has a vast experience as a mole. He promptly infiltrates Pastore’s syndicate, and is soon promoted from driver to bodyguard. His skills impress both his peers and the big boss. Adam becomes acquainted with Pastore’s family, and bonds with his small son Jonathan (Noé Chabbat). He becomes some sort of mentor, perhaps even a father figure, for a child bullied and ostracised at school. That’s when his mission becomes a little more difficult than he anticipated. Adam has to find the balance between protecting Jonathan and carrying out his mission as planned.

There is no shortage of bullets and violence of various sorts in this 122-minute thriller. A little trimming of about 15-20 minutes could have helped. Instead, Dalibert insistently focuses on the fight scenes, notably his forte. There is little time left for the characters to breathe and forge meaningful relationships between themselves. The actors try to deliver their best, but the screenplay doesn’t offer ample opportunities for them to exhibit their full skillset. As a result, the cast are not always directed to their greatest strengths.

Football legend Eric Cantona demonstrates that is well-versed in the craft of acting. His portrayal of the rancorous mob boss is impeccable. Lenoir is auspicious in the role of Adam, however he could have done with a little less action and a little more psychological depth. Overall, AKA lacks narrative focus. The incessant violence does not hit viewers emotionally. The film misses the opportunity to deliver something beautiful and meaningful.

AKA is available for streaming on Netflix. Despite its shortcomings, it quickly became one of the most viewed French films of all time on the platform.

Talk to Me

Demonic possession tropes are revamped in this innovative horror by Australian director duo Danny and Michael Phillipou, where the usual apparatuses of Ouija Boards or Pentagrams used to conjure spirits are replaced by a embalmed hand rumoured to belong to a psychic who once communicated with the dead. The result is an exhilarating fast-paced ride, albeit through familiar teen horror territory. It borrows aesthetic devices from Gen Z show Euphoria, successfully incorporating them into Mia’s (in a visceral performance by Sophia Wilde) escalating PTSD.

Such elaborate manifestations of trauma are a continuous source of inspiration for much of the genre; think Babadook (Jennifer Kent, 2015), Hereditary (Ari Aster, 2018), Midsommar (2019), and Censor (Prano Bailey-Bond, 2021), to name a few. The trauma in this instance is the suicide of Mia’s mother. Her spirit is conjured back into existence during a séance using the bizarre hand. The entity of course proceeds to wreak havoc.

Holding the hand allows a participant to see the spirit of a dead person sitting across from them, in their decaying form. The spirit is invited to possess the body for 90 seconds, with an addictive upshot of an instant high. Participants are forced to release the hand once time is up. An impression of Mia’s mum appears through Riley (Joe Bird), the younger brother of best friend Jade (Alexandra Jensen). She begs for a few more seconds. The spirit refuses to leave Riley’s body, turning malevolent, hellbent on violently self-harming, and haunting Mia.

At first Talk to Me treads on conventional horror terrain, in the vein of Jennifer’s Body (Karyn Kusama, 2009) and Cabin Fever (Travis Zariwny, 2016). Formulaic scenes of rowdy groups of insecure teenagers in the suburbs (played mostly by actors in their 20s) seeking cheap thrills in the occult. Each participant’s summoning is visualised like a hit from a bong, staggered one after the other, presented like TikTok videos. Once Riley is severely harmed, the film departs from cliché adolescent horror morphing into a pulsating adrenaline-filled sequence of sinister events. This otherworldly mush reflects Mia’s deteriorating mental state. The creepy atmosphere intensifies, ratchet up by a vigorous musical score by Cornel Wilczek, wrapping itself into a sombre finale which cleverly pays homage the directors’ Greek roots.

Interestingly, there is very little by way of explanation as to how this hand fell upon the hands of these teenagers or how it is accepted that a dead spirit will naturally appear every time someone touches it. Yet the manner and speed by which the plot is set-up spurs you to suspend belief and accept this state-of-play. It boldly gestures to the directors’ intentions for Talk To Me sequels to illuminate us on the source of all this paranormal activity. The concept here is strong, one that can easily carry the weight of a franchise. The Australian directors have shown great skill and vision.

Talk To Me is in selected cinemas on Friday, July 28th. On BFI Player and Prime Video on Monday, September 18th

Oppenheimer

Christopher Nolan’s 12th film arrives in cinemas in the most unexpected way. His first work after an ugly breakup with long-time studio Warner Bros, Oppenheimer comes with the peculiar hype of being one half of “Barbenheimer” – the double bill proposed by those who noticed its shared release with Greta Gerwig’s Barbie movie. The clash has been beneficial for everyone as fans opt to watch two films instead of choosing a side, but will this three-hour epic hold up its end of the bargain?

Cillian Murphy, who had small roles in all three of Nolan’s Dark Knight Trilogy films as well as Inception (2010) and Dunkirk (2017), takes the lead as J. Robert Oppenheimer. Known to history as The Father of The Atomic Bomb, the film dramatises his recruitment by the US government during World War 2 to put together a bomb that will end the war. Conscious of the ramifications, but also fearing what would happen if the Nazis get there first, Oppenheimer leads The Manhattan Project, and the historic development of the bomb that would destroy Hiroshima and Nagasaki. As well as the project, the film also looks at Oppenheimer as a man, and his opposition to the use of his invention in the years after the war.

The film breaks a lot of rules around summer movies. It’s a three-hour, artistically-led drama that prioritises conversations over spectacle, and yet it is as thrilling as anything you will see all year. The tension as The Manhattan Project builds, with many learned minds disagreeing over the methods and morality of their work, creates the tone of a horror/thriller. Behind the camera, it’s a symphony of sound and vision. Ludwig Göransson’s imposing soundtrack dances with the visuals, telling an emotional truth beneath the facts of the case. It’s breathtaking to watch, particularly in the Imax format Nolan endorses.

Many Nolan movies can be accused of getting lost in the science, and with Oppenheimer those calculations are already historical fact. Instead, the director revels in the murkiest, dirtiest moralities faced at the time. We look at the man behind the legend, and how only the most complex mind can make the kind of breakthrough he achieved. The growing spectre of Communist panic puts a question mark over his patriotism, but he is shown to be a free thinker rather than a card-carrying revolutionary (“why limit yourself to one dogma?” he asks when questioned about his beliefs).

The film’s other question is harder to answer: is he truly the “destroyer of worlds” he became known as? Is a scientist responsible for how his breakthroughs are exploited? Arguments for and against are made, but from unexpected quarters. Representatives of the American establishment bristle at his guilt, as it questions their own Post-War consensus of “doing what we had to do”. Oppenheimer’s greatest judge is himself, with the third hour of the film unfolding as a fascinating quest for some kind of punishment.

Hollywood’s biggest and brightest line-up to be nourished by the actor-friendly project, and everyone gets fed. Matt Damon is the perfect foil to Murphy as the brusque Manhattan Project director Leslie Groves, who doesn’t trust these men of science but is smart enough to know he needs them. Emily Blunt shines, particularly in the third hour, as Oppenheimer’s wife Kitty, a role that starts out as slight and build brilliantly into a storm of impotent rage. Notable names like Florence Pugh, Rami Malek, Gary Oldman, and Casey Affleck all appear in roles that are slight for stars of their stature, but allow them a moment that justifies their involvement.

There are two performances that stand above the crowd, however, in Robert Downey Jr and Cillian Murphy. The former Iron Man found Marvel stardom thanks to interesting, charismatic supporting roles during his comeback in the late 1990s and early 2000s. While he is older, this performance is reminiscent of that period. There’s no hint of Tony Stark here, no quips or self-assured smirks. Instead, he uses the authority of his stardom to make Atomic Energy Committee chair Lewis Strauss an unknown quantity for most of the film, both helping and hindering Oppenheimer in equal measure, before a late-stage twist that allows him to grandstand. It’s a remarkable performance that reveals an actor going back to basics and finding cinematic gold.

He is, however, a close second to Murphy. The sheer weight of history felt in his eyes would be enough to carry such a weighty film, but every scene makes your eyes drift towards his every movement. It doesn’t have the same menace as his famous Peaky Blinders character, Thomas Shelby, but it does have some similarity to that performance, in that they are both men burdened with superior knowledge and dreadful acts. This is Murphy’s first significant movie lead, and hopefully won’t be his last.

Nolan’s work is so notable that his recent films have suffered the fate of being scrutinised to death. Oppenheimer is a film that should simply be enjoyed. The director may have not saved cinema with 2020’s Tenet, but he continues to stretch the limits of what we believe large scale movies are capable of.

Oppenheimer is in cinemas worldwide on Friday, July 21st.

Last Night of Amore (L’Ultima Notte di Amore)

Andrea Di Stefano’s third directorial feature is his most mature work to date. Di Stefano, who is known to the Italian audience mainly from his career as an actor (Rob Marsshall’s Nine, or Marina de Van’s Don’t Look Back, both from 2009), chose an experienced team for this sleek production . The actors Pierfrancesco Favino and Linda Caridi deliver top-notch performances in their respective, highly demanding roles, while the grim and noir-ish cinematography by Guido Michelotti and the catchy soundtrack by Santi Pulvirenti add the perfect finishing touch.

The spectacular opening sequence with an aerial shot of Milan, the camera hovering over various parts of the city, from the old and the modern districts to the docks and, finally, the protagonist’s residence, belongs to a modern film anthology. Eventually, the director focuses on the protagonist’s, police officer Franco Amore (Favino), residence where a surprise party is being prepared, for Franco’s retirement after 35 years of service. We watch as Franco’s wife, Viviana (Caridi) gathers a crowd of her husband’s friends and associates, all eagerly waiting for their man to pay their respects. Franco arrives, but seems to be a bit out of it, clearly in a fraught emotional state for reasons that will be revealed later in the story.

When Franco gets a phone call from his boss, even though this is his last day of service, he is obliged to go to the city centre, where a mass shooting resulted in the death of a precious friend and colleague, Dino (Francesco Di Leva), among other casualties. Franco is shaken by the news and, as he arrives at the crime scene, looks lost in one of the several close-ups on his face that always. These shots successful convey the character’s conflicting feelings, overwhelming sense of loss, and unbearable guilt. Rewind 10 days, and we follow Franco’s routine at work, serving as a form of security/bodyguard on behalf of his wife’s cousin Cosimo (Antonio Gerardi), a shady individual who sells costly pieces of jewellry to celebrities. The act of fate that seals Franco’s destiny and forces him to build his whole personality out of nothing during a single night, occurs when he saves the life of a Chinese gangster. Bao Zhang. Out of gratitude, he offers the veteran Italian copper the opportunity to work for him as a driver, though the exact nature of his new vocation remains shady. Franco also implicates his friend Dino in the business, a man who is keen on acquiring easy money, even if it is through illegal action.

The director, who also signs the film’s screenplay, attempts to trace the reasons why honourable men voluntarily decide to shake the devil’s hand, thus unleashing a chain reaction of events that could have horrible repercussions. Franco is introduced to the audience as a measured and modest individual, who loses his grip at the moment he agrees to work for a well-known gangster of Milan. Despite his conscientious work ethics, Franco never managed to climb the professional ranks, partly because of his wife’s family links with the mafia clan of “Ndrangheta”. Viviana, is initially introduced as a loving and caring spouse, however her role encompasses many facets and the audience can only make a solid assessment of her contribution to the story after the finale.

Favino’s portrayal of Franco shines a light on the human aspect of the character, employing the wide palette of his facial expressions and supreme command of body language. Franco Amore is a memorable character that will linger in your memory for a long time. The gloomy imagery, the dirty portrayal of Milan (you would never guess it’s one of the richest cities of Europe), and the claustrophobic tension of the second half elevates the suspense level further up. While Last Night of Amore doesn’t add anything new in the trite tropes of the crime genre, it stands out due to the production’s high values, exceptional lead and supporting performances, and photography reminiscent of the most notable Neo-noirs of the 209th century. Unmissable!

Last Night of Amore premiered at this year’s Berlinale, in the Berlinale Special Section, and it became a box-office hit in its home nation a few months later. There is no UK release date as of yet.

Fragments of Sorrentino

Best known to international audiences for his extravagant visual style and the existentialist – at times even pessimistic – undertones that permeate the totality of his filmography, Paolo Sorrentino is considered by several prominent film critics and scholars to be the natural successor of legendary Italian cinematic figures such as Michelangelo Antonioni, Bernardo Bertolucci, and Federico Fellini. Keeping in toe with the post-WW2 wave of Italian, and European in general, art cinema, though keeping a safe distance from the Neorealism tradition, Sorrentino‘s oeuvre claims its own place in the country’s rich filmmaking history while retaining those essential traits, both thematic and stylistic, needed to distinguish his films from those created by his worthy predecessors.

Sorrentino‘s trademarks comprise a buzzing energy as far as film aesthetics are concerned, swooping camera movements that frequently focus on facial close-ups of the protagonists, main characters – almost exclusively male and middle-aged – who often wander around the big cities in a nomadic search for the lost meaning or anything that could ascribe value to people and their surroundings, and a commentary and critique of the current national status quo in respect to society, culture, and arts. In his 2014 Oscar acceptance speech for his magnum opus The Great Beauty, which won the Best Foreign Language Award, Sorrentino named the four major influences that shaped his work from the beginning of his career until the present day: Federico Fellini, Talking Heads, Martin Scorsese and Diego Armando Maradona. This reveals that he draws from cinema and culture from both sides of the Atlantic. His work seamlessly blends the commercial with the intellectual form of moviemaking. But it was Fellini’s work that had the most profound mark on Sorrentino‘s work.

Below are some interesting snippets of the life and career of a complex and multilayered artist.

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One lonely boy

Born in 1970 in the southern city of Naples, the Italian auteur suffered an ineffable tragedy during his teenage years as he lost both parents in a freak accident of carbon monoxide leaking while on a holiday getaway on the mountains. Sorrentino was fortunate enough not to follow his father and mother in their fatal excursion, as he preferred to stay home and watch his favourite team, Napoli, and the great Diego Armado Maradona live at Napoli’s home stadium, San Paolo. His battle with the overwhelming grief over his parents’ demise is graphically illustrated in his latest film, The Hand of God (2021; pictured below), a largely autobiographical feature in which the protagonist, Fabietto functions as the director’s alter-ego, a boy struggling with the post-puberty complexities and dilemmas while at the same time aspiring to become someone in the Italian filmmaking scene. At the age of 18, Sorrentino first came into contact with cinema by watching both American and Italian movies and developing a sense of cinematic taste through the independent American cinema movies as well as Martin Scorsese’s early masterpieces.

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Two’s company

Even from the first stages of his illustrious career, Sorrentino linked his name as director with that of Toni Servillo, one of Italy’s most skilled and versatile actors, with the two artists forging a brotherhood that still lives on. In a discussion between the two, Sorrentino explicitly stated: What I’m looking for in an actor – especially a lead actor – is realism. Realism in a performance can be exceptional, but it must not be conventional or grey. You’re able to create something realistic and unique at the same time – to bring to the surface qualities that are essential to cinema, while also making events familiar and relatable to audiences” while Servillo added: “An actor essentially has to testify for the director, with his or her own body, inside the parameters of the film. That’s absolutely necessary to preserve trust between director and actor” (you can read the full conversation here). The unique chemistry between them was born and made possible the filming of some of the most distinct in their quality titles that modern European cinema has ever created.

Sorrentino’s debut feature, One Man Up (2001) also signalled his first collaboration with Servillo (pictured above in the film poster), who played a lead role for the first time in his career. Nevertheless, it was not until a few years later that the formidable director-and-actor dyad made their breakthrough with the 2004 sophisticated crime drama The Consequences of Love, a movie featuring a lonely protagonist, Titta Di Girolamo, who is forced to work for the Mafia as an intermediate laundering money on their behalf. Titta’s life will be turned upside down when he meets a stunning young woman (Olivia Magnani) who works in the hotel in which he resides and instantly falls in love with her. This film established Sorrentino’s reputation on an international scale, while it also earned several distinctions (most notably it became an entry in Cannes’ Official Competition). The movie’s existential dimension is brought forth by Sorrentino’s masterful direction and unorthodox shots that deftly capture the protagonist’s inner state of solitude and despair. Servillo is, once more, excellent as the taciturn Titta Di Girolamo while Magnani’s ravishing looks literally shine onscreen, forcing the members of the audience to identify with Titta’s motivations and his quest for redemption and liberation from the shackles tying him to the underground.

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A real diva

What followed was Il Divo (2008; pictured below) the biopic of controversial Giulio Andreotti, the second longest-serving post-War Italian prime minister (after the late Silvio Berlusconi). Sorrentino is a brilliant as well as unconventional auteur and in this movie, he opted for a rather non-traditional narrative approach that attempts to cover a wide time-span during which Andreotti played a dominant role in the Italian public life. Thus, the story doesn’t progress linearly but adopts a rather fragmented character as we see the protagonist in a variety of social encounters, private as well as public. In that way, Sorrentino effectively avoids imposing his assessment on Andreotti’s persona to the audience and shrewdly evades the convenience of providing definite answers and introducing prejudiced conclusions regarding the film’s subject. Furthermore, we watch Toni Servillo delivering another brazen performance, perhaps the best of his career so far, portraying Andreotti as a laconic, almost cryptic personality who hides under a vast number of layers which are meant to obscure or even conceal his true character as a human being. It should be noted that Andreotti was a man who had a thousand nicknames, such as “The Sphinx”, “Hunchback”, “The Fox”, and the titular “Divo”. Servillo uses kinesics and body language in a way that should be set as an example for all aspiring actors around the world and succeeds in adopting Andreotti’s body posture and above all his inscrutable, almost deadpan, facial expressions.

Even though Il Divo is essentially a political biopic, it is also a film in which Sorrentino reveals his influences by American auteurs such as Martin Scorsese and Francis Ford Copolla. In the beginning of the movie, we are witnessing a string of murders taking place onscreen abetted by an explosive pop music score and captions rolling out of blinds. The aesthetics are reminiscent of Copolla’s classic Godfather trilogy while Andreotti as a protagonist seems to carry within him an existential gloominess and an anti-hero quality akin to that of Travis Bickle in M. Scorsese’s Taxi Driver.

The operatic style of the production is enhanced by the soundtrack composed by Teho Teardo in 2008 reaching its climax in the final scene that is set before Andreotti’s Palermo trial.

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The beautiful and the vulgar

As we’ve already mentioned in the introduction of this article, Sorrentino is frequently compared to and associated with Federico Fellini, as both the grand Italian creators share several affinities, without however their two bodies of work becoming identical in any sense. The similarities are clearly discernible in Sorrentino‘s magnum opus, The Great Beauty (2013), a film heavily reminiscent of Fellini’s La Dolce Vita (1961), where we follow the ostensibly futile roving of the protagonist, author and journalist Jep Gambardella, played in perfection by Toni Servillo, around the streets of Rome, witnessing the all-encompassing decadence of the Italian upper-class that manifests itself in the vulgarity of the exorbitant parties and other debaucheries, that put a dark veil over the Eternal City’s beauty.

Both Sorrentino and Fellini’s films are set in Rome, featuring journalists as protagonists and criticising the social milieu of each time period, with the spotlight put on the disillusionment of a generation which has long abandoned the ideals of the past in favor of pointless celebrations that become more and more barbaric over the course of time. Plus, Toni Servillo is for Paolo Sorrentino what Marcello Mastroianni was for Federico Fellini, both delivering unforgettable performances in their respective roles with the former winning the 2014 David di Donatello Award for Best Actor. The news of his childhood amore’s premature death will ignite Gep’s innermost journey to reassess his life, contemplating his past, the missed chances, the mistakes, while the desire to write will inevitably resurface. The photography is magnificent, with many imposing shots of Italy’s charming capital. This elegance is pitted against the decadence and vulgarity of the city’s aristocracy, which is caustically satirised by the director, who also pens the film. The humorous aspect is also present in The Great Beauty, though it is counteracted, and sometimes even obliterated, by Gep’s somber remarks and observations on a number of themes reflecting the modern human condition, such as artistic inspiration, death, modern art, and, of course, the meaning of love. The title of the film finds its justification at the end of the film, when the protagonist is asked why he hasn’t written a second novel for more than four decades, Gep admits: “All of my life I’ve been searching for the great beauty, but I never found it”.

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The hand of the filmmaker

Sorrentino‘s latest feat to date, the 2021 autobiographical flick The Hand of God, the title being a direct reference to one of the most contentious moments in Diego Armando Maradona’s glorious career, is the movie in which the Italian auteur returns to his childhood, that is forever marked by the overwhelming grief over the demise of his dear father and mother at the tender age of 16, and faces again, in a more mature stage of his life, the challenges that scarred his soul and molded his personal as well as his artistic identity. The predominant theme in The Hand of God is none other than death itself. When a journalist asked Sorrentino if all of his films are ultimately about death, he answered: “Yes, I couldn’t make a film without touching on such an important issue. For human conditions, there are five issues that are key, and death is one of them.” What are the others? “Family, eroticism, happiness, and loneliness”.

The character’s obsession with the notorious phenomenon of the captain of the Argentinean national team and captain of Napoli for a period that lasted seven years (1984-1991) reflects Sorrentino‘s own childhood fascination and resulted in Maradona sending the Italian director a signed Argentina shirt after his mentioning of his name in the 2014 Academy Awards Ceremony.

The Italian master delivers an accurate rendition of his own recollections from his turbulent early years, while breathing life into a vivacious representation of life in Naples during the first half of the 1980s. This film is a first for Sorrentino in the sense that he features a teenager as the main character in lieu of an elder protagonist as he usually prefers, with Toni Servillo lurking in the background in the role of Fabietto’s father and Teresa Saponangelo playing the boy’s mother. The film includes some snippets from Sorrentino‘s youth, such as Fabietto’s brother auditions for a Fellini movie, an event that corresponds to reality. Regarding the question whether there will be a sequel to the Hand of God, Sorrentino responded that it is not in his immediate plans, but left an open window for the far future by saying: “Not now, maybe in 20 years”.