Tag: Andrea Pallaoro

Monica

Posted on by victorfraga

Monica has been ostracised from her family. Nevertheless, she decides to return home in order assist in the care of her dying mother, despite not seeing her for many years. The circumstances are far from ideal and certain secrets are yet to be revealed, and with abandonment, still fresh on the mind, this fractured family must unite once again for the final moments of a matriarch’s life.

The story begins with Monica (Trace Lysette) taking an important phone call, her voice and mannerisms already highlighting so much; there’s a lot of anguish in her trembles, and past pain is a constant thorn in her life. As the minutes slowly roll by, the film opens itself up to the viewer and offers an inkling about what could be the cause of the hurt – even in her work you can see Monica’s mind wandering to other things with ease. Unconventional camera angles scattered throughout the film only showcase parts of Monica’s face or body, almost as if access to her life is not allowed by outsiders. Fragments of this mysterious woman’s life only being released in dribs and drabs.

Monica’s solitude is broken when she returns to her family home after finding out that her mother, Eugenia (Patricia Clarkson, Six Feet Under) is dying of a brain tumour and it has started to affect her senses; the body is ailing and very fragile; her mind is no longer as it was, to the point that she has no idea who this strange woman is that is now helping with her care – Monica is a trans male who hasn’t seen her family since she transitioned. This untimely homecoming allows Monica to reunite with her estranged brother Paul (Joshua Close) while also meeting his wife Laura (Emily Browning, Legend) and their children for the first time.

Accompanying the story is a very well-constructed soundtrack with perfectly chosen songs such as Pulp’s Common People which plays over the radio and offers a little more explanation into the narrative. They act as signifiers in what would usually be a very vague film, and God knows you need help staying engaged with this story. The performances from everyone involved also aids the film throughout, especially from Lysette, who really explodes in the role and uses her full range of acting talents (and possibly some of her own experiences) to portray this nearly broken woman at her darkest and her shining best.

There are some beautifully nuanced and subtle moments spread across the film (albeit sparingly) that attempt to offer insight into the story. Moments such as Monica crying in the bathtub, or tenderly sharing her mother’s bed – such powerful images that leave a lasting impression on one’s mind, but for all the emotion that these moments do provide, the film is left hidden by a murky mist. It leaves too much to interpretation, none of the past trauma comes out in the wash as it were, and as the film slowly trundles past the halfway mark, you are still none the wiser to whatever it was that happened. The uncovered secrets of the film are its biggest pitfall because nothing of any real merit happens within the story, you are left wanting more, hoping for some sort of resolution, but it never comes – teetering on the edge of a cliff for so long is not good for anyone’s psyche.

Monica also suffers from being too slow. Apart from a raunchy sex scene and some intimate moments between mother and daughter, it really does struggle to grab the attention of the people that have taken two hours to view it. It feels like a missed opportunity more than anything because its lack of disclosure isn’t as sophisticated as it thinks it is. What begins with the promise (or at the very least the allure) of genuine drama and pure emotion, soon becomes none of these things, when it could so easily have been exactly that.

After debuting at last year’s Venice Film Festival, Monica will make its UK debut at this year’s From Venice to London Film Festival, which takes place between February 3rd and 6th at Curzon Soho.

Hannah

Posted on by victorfraga

Hannah (Charlotte Rampling) lives in a suburban town somewhere in French-speaking Belgium. Despite her many years (the character is presumably in her 60s or 70s), she still has to work as a cleaner and housekeeper for a bourgeoisie family with a disabled child. She is married, but the relationship is mostly uneventful. She has a dog, her biggest companion. She takes theatre lessons, which seem to offer some sort of therapy and venting outlet for an otherwise tedious existence.

Then her husband gets imprisoned. Apparently she committed a crime towards a child, and her spouse took the blame for her. Just maybe. It’s never entirely clear what really happened. She also has a estranged son. He refuses to see his own mother and even prevents her from seeing her own grandchildren. He’s very upset, presumably at the crime that she committed. Her imprisoned husband is upset at his own son, and not at his wife Hannah. Presumably because of his refusal to see his mother. I have intentionally used the word “presumably” several times in this review. This is a film that only provides viewers with fragments of reality, allowing us to pierce the pieces together in an entirely different way. Another film critic I spoke to created an entirely different version of events.

Yet, this is not a detective movie. The Italian Andrea Pallaoro is not too concerned about the nature of the mysterious crime. Instead, he investigates Hannah’s personal relationships, routine, fears and ambitions. You will be asking yourself whether the plot will come full circle at the end of the movie, whether the relative equilibrium in Hannah’s life will be restored, whether the crime will be revealed or not. The intentionally monotonous and languid pace of the film suggest an all-too-European open ending. Will Pallaoro surprise us with a shock revelation, or will the questions be left unanswered? Of course I won spoil the ending for you. The last sequence of the film (and I was informed that two endings were initially made) takes place in the metro, and it’s very powerful exactly as it is.

In a way, Hannah is a neighbour that we all have. Or someone you see on the metro/Tube. We dislike and pity her in equal measures, while only knowing fragments of her life. Pallaoro emphasises our alienation with the constant use of slanted angles, mirrors and blurred surfaces (such as a steamed glass inside the slower). It’s as if she was saying to viewers: “you are taking very partial, subjective look into a stranger’s life. She’s fallible and she deserves our compassion, just like any human being on Earth”.

The camera is almost entirely static, except for a sequence in the public swimming pool and the final one in the metro. It reminded me a lot of Ulrich Seidl. The gaze remains motionless and firm, the action is subtle, yet the sentiments are rampant. Subtlety and simplicity speak louder than technical wizardry and myriads of twists.

The 70-year-old British actress is magnificent. She hollers and moans in her theatre class, in the very first sequence of the film. She does it again later in the second half of the movie as she breaks down in a public toilet cubicle (this time she isn’t acting, she’s having a real meltdown). She longs for her husband’s body in bed (this will ring a bell with those who watched Rampling’s character erotically fantasising about her missing husband in Francois Ozon’s Under The Sand, 2000). All extremely convincing and moving.

Hannah screened in the main competition section of the 74th Venice International Film Festival, where Charlotte Rampling won the Volpi Cup for Best Actress in 2017. It is out in cinemas across the UK on Friday, March 1st.