Tag: Arthouse

My Top 5 dirtiest arthouse movies

Posted on by victorfraga

Diving into cinema, art-house films offer a unique lens through which we can explore the complexities of human experience, artistic innovation, and cultural commentary. Particular cult art-house films are pillars of cinematic achievement for film studies students, providing endless material for analysis and appreciation. Here are the top five cult art-house films that every film studies student should watch and analyse, each pushing the boundaries of cinema as an art form.

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1. The Seventh Seal (1957, Ingmar Bergman, 1957):

Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal is a profound narrative steeped in existential questions and medieval allegories. As a film studies student, one should explore:

  • The use of symbolism and its impact on narrative depth.
  • The exploration of existential themes through character and setting.
  • The integration of historical context in cinematic storytelling.
  • The film’s influence on the genre of art-house cinema.

This Swedish masterpiece challenges viewers to confront the more significant questions of life, death, and faith, making it a cornerstone film for analytical discussion in any film studies curriculum. The symbolic journey of a knight returning from the Crusades, playing chess with Death, offers rich textual and visual layers for analysis.

Film studies students can significantly benefit from using academic writing services in the rigorous pursuit of understanding these complex art-house films. With expert dissertation help, students can articulate their insights and interpretations effectively. By delegating some of the writing workload, learners can allocate more time to watch and rewatch these films, engage more deeply with the cinematic techniques used, and develop a nuanced understanding of the themes and symbols.

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2. Persona (Ingmar Bergman, 1966):

Another essential Bergman film, Persona, is a compelling study of identity and the human psyche. This film provides a fertile ground for analysis in areas such as:

  • The innovative use of camera techniques to blur the lines between characters.
  • The thematic exploration of duality and identity.
  • The impact of minimalist setting on narrative focus.
  • The psychological depth of character development.

Persona is renowned for its experimental approach to storytelling and visual composition, making it a seminal work for students to dissect the complexities of narrative construction and character interplay within film. Persona is also pictured at the top of this article.

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3. 8½ (Federico Fellini, 1963):

Federico Fellini’s 8½ is a stylistic and autobiographical film that delves into the intricacies of the creative process. It offers invaluable insights into:

  • The use of surrealism to represent a personal and artistic crisis.
  • The blending of reality and fantasy in a narrative.
  • The role of autobiographical elements in art-house cinema.
  • The directorial techniques that characterize Fellini’s style.

As a metafilm, 8½ mirrors the director’s struggles with creativity and provides a critical look at the filmmaking process itself, ideal for in-depth analysis in film studies.

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4. The Holy Mountain (Alejandro Jodorowsky, 1973):

Alejandro Jodorowsky’s The Holy Mountain is an avant-garde exploration of spiritual and existential themes. Students can delve into:

  • The symbolic representation of religious and metaphysical themes.
  • The use of vivid and surreal imagery to convey complex ideologies.
  • The challenge it poses to traditional narrative structures.
  • The cultural and political critiques embedded within the film.

This film is a kaleidoscope of surreal and controversial images that provoke thought about societal structures and personal enlightenment, offering a rich tapestry for discussion and interpretation.

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5. Eraserhead (David Lynch, 1977):

David Lynch’s debut feature film Eraserhead is a landmark in cult cinema, famous for its bizarre and disturbing imagery. Key points of analysis include:

  • The film’s dream-like atmosphere and its impact on the horror genre.
  • The use of sound design enhances the unsettling nature of the film.
  • The depiction of industrial landscapes as a reflection of inner turmoil.
  • The thematic exploration of fear of parenthood and familial obligations.

Eraserhead provides a visceral cinematic experience that is as confusing as it is enlightening, pushing students to question the boundaries of narrative and visual storytelling.

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The Bottom Line

Each of these films offers a window into the varied and complex world of arthouse cinema and challenges students to think critically about the elements that make film such a powerful medium for personal and cultural expression. Analyzing these films can provide insights into the art of filmmaking and the human condition itself.

Sermon to The Fish (Balıqlara xütbə)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

Even if you win a war, what do you gain? Many soldiers have died, the economy is adversely affected and the remaining people have to live with survivor’s guilt. This is the question Sermon to The Fish, an Azeri film set in the aftermath of the war with Armenia in Nagorno-Karabakh, grapples with, a sincere arthouse attempt to depict the way war rots you from the inside, both figuratively, and also quite literally.

It’s a slow and static film, shot in the mountain and the desert, filled with silence, foreboding landscapes and characters taking their time to move from A to B. The oil fields are still pumping, but the lakes are drying up; the fish of the title seem to have disappeared alongside most of the men Not much happens in between, director Hilal Baydarov taking a contemplative approach in depicting his protagonists mired in endless stasis.

Davud (Orkhan Iskandarli) has returned from the war. If he was happy about the victory, he never shows it on his face, which is set to permanent resignation. His sister (Rana Asgarova) tells him that everyone else in the village has completely rotted, a metaphor for the way war impacts even those who claim to be victorious. She is equally sad, narrating the tale in a somber tone, the film infused with a religious, reverent feeling. As it progresses, she slowly covers up more of her body, the tenets of Islam interacting with a sense of self-loathing to an interesting degree, the subtleties of which may have been lost on me.

As a technical exercise, there is a lot to enjoy in this feature. The use of surround sound evokes memories that aren’t there but cannot be escaped, from the chatter of now dead soldiers to the bombs and gunfire of battle. We are immersed in the world of these characters, often shot The Searchers-like (John Ford, 1956) through windows, tiny shafts of light against an otherwise compressed and black frame. But beauty and craft alone cannot power what is often a repetitive and uninteresting text, relying entirely on its poetic framework to carry the experience. The long takes, especially the stunning final shot, are highly impressive, but there’s nothing here that couldn’t have been told in a more compact short film.

Baydarov has created a brave, critical film, scrubbing away nationalism to see what is left for day-to-day people after going through such difficult experiences. It will probably never play in Azerbaijan itself, but should have a modest festival run. Nonetheless, the inertness of the characters certainly seeps into the film itself, which shows little signs of life. While the characters often stay fixed in frame, like they are posing for a life drawing, a dog bounds in and out of the frame. Whether he has been trained or is simply reacting like a dog to the events of the film, he is the one source of animation and emotion that kept me invested in the film’s long, static stakes. Perhaps it helps that he doesn’t know about the war.

Sermon to the Fish plays in the Concorso internazionale section as part of the Locarno Film Festival, running from 3-13th August.

Who is Sleeping in Silver Grey (Bai tian zong shi tai guo man cahng)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TALLINN

On a purely aesthetic level, Who is Sleeping in Silver Grey is a masterpiece. On a narrative level it frustrates as much as it beguiles, resulting in an impenetrable experience. One repeated motif is a bird smashing its head against a glass windowpane. I couldn’t help but feel like this bird, seeing the images in front of me but unable to get through to their genuine meaning.

It begins in Shanghai, 1927; pre-revolution, bustling and international. The first thing we notice is the rain, constantly pelting down in almost every early scene. A New Year’s celebration is led by an Italian jazz band; it quickly cuts to a funeral for the Italian pianist. The young Yang Zipei (Ze Ying) carries his baby, facing an uncertain future.

We learn nothing more of her, the film quickly jumping decades into the future, with her granddaughter Cheng Die (Yinyin Ma) teaching piano in Dehai City (which doesn’t seem to exist in reality…). It’s clear from this epic jump in time that Who Is Sleeping in Silver Grey is uninterested in telling a conventional story, often confusing in its depiction of who relates to who, why something is happening or how certain scenes develop. It uses nightmare logic to create a poetic reverie, the topic of which is frustratingly out of my grasp. Soon Die is kicked out of her town for sleeping with one of the student’s parents and sent to mysterious Linyuan Town, a place where no one speaks and everyone seems haunted. It’s hard to say exactly what happens next, let alone what it means.

It’s better to focus on the great filmmaking itself. The use of the academy ratio is inspired, realising the full cinematic and epic potential of such frames. Many people use it as an intimate shorthand, filled with small details and intense close-ups, but here we see so much more potential from the format. As the square aesthetic gives the impression of a high vertical plane, director Liao Zihao uses plenty of negative space to create some immaculate mise-en-scène, whether it’s our hero situated in the corner of the frame, seeing her subsumed by the space around her, or planimetric compositions bisected into halves and quarters, allowing us to feast on the beauty of the production design.

Fans of slow cinema — cinema that’s more about the look than the story — will be delighted. One seemingly incongruous reference to The Suspending Step of the Stork (Theodore Angelopoulos, 1991) seems to show where Zihao’s inspiration lies. The black-and-white cinematography makes the most of contrast between light and dark while casting a wide depth of frame, resulting in a genuinely transportive experience. Still, I couldn’t help feel that I would rather attend a gallery exhibition of the same frames as opposed to actually watching the sequential film again.

With mythological creatures, centaurs and angels, occasionally coming into view, as well as foggy moments that recall Kenji Mizoguchi’s ghost-like fables, there is evidently a crucial Chinese context that I am missing here — perhaps to do with ancient tales, perhaps to do with the Chinese revolution. Nonetheless, when I let my critical brain go and the images wash over me, I found some of the most assured directing from a first-time director in many years. It’s the kind of film you should go to see with your friends. Maybe if you work together, you can figure out what it’s all about.

Who is Sleeping in Silver Grey plays in the First Feature Competition at the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, running from 12th – 28th November.

Luzifer

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

The devil is very much alive in Luzifer — even if we don’t see him, his malignant presence lingers across every frame of this haunted, dour Austrian film. Telling the story of two religious fanatics who live in an Alpine hut threatened by the tourism industry, it creates a modern-day parable about the price of isolation and the dangers posed by capitalism.

Director Peter Brunner is interested in extreme states of mind, as previously expressed in his Caleb Landry Jones-starring To The Night (2018), telling the story of a man obsessed with fire. Flames are replaced here by extreme religious penance, Johannes (Franz Rogowski) constantly forced to self-flagellate by his overbearing and overly-intimate mother Maria (Susanne Jensen). They live a simple existence, living off a generator and supplies provided by another local Alpine dweller. But their religious and sacred world is interrupted by the presence of whirring drones, a harbinger of a future that has no place for them.

Franz Rogowski is one of the most interesting actors in contemporary German-language cinema, taking the kind of versatile roles that explore the different facets of wounded masculinity. His Johannes might be the most stripped down performance yet — both literally in his shaven head and often naked appearance — and in the vulnerability he lays bare as a mentally underdeveloped adult. (It’s a shame he doesn’t speak much, because it would’ve been interested to see him attempt an Austrian accent.) Susanne Jensen is equally intense, constantly invoking images of the devil and themes of poisoned minds that betray a deep wound at her centre. Their life cannot truly exist in modern Austria, even though they live so remotely, as they are being hounded to leave so a ski lift can be put in their place.

A sense of evil is well-portrayed through the production design, featuring odd, tortured wood carvings of religious images, and the swooping camera-work, showing off the wintry Austrian alps. One match cut in particular, cutting from Maria’s ear to a hole in the centre of a mountain, is particularly inspired, creating a void that lingers at the centre of the movie. The devil seems to be everywhere, but he is also nowhere. This is the essential problem with the movie; there’s nothing to actually be scared of.

Are the developers the devil? Or is the devil in Johannes, who despite his limited speech patterns and simple manner, occasionally runs off with a younger lady to satisfy his sexual needs? It’s hard to parse as Luzifer constantly adds layer after layer of sick, twisted moments that feel of a piece with the Austria’s austere and harsh arthouse film productions. The evidently talented Brunner could easily make a proper exorcism drama that would terrify viewers, but Luzifer ultimately doesn’t stick. Of course it’s filled with horrific images — incest, insects, the possessed — but they aren’t wrapped in the kind of production that makes one feel genuinely revolted. There’s no being worse in Christian belief than the literal devil, but here he’s the kind of guy who can easily be replaced by a ski lift.

Luzifer plays in Concorso internazionale at Locarno Film Festival, running from August 4th to 15th.

FIRST TIME [The Time for All but Sunset – VIOLET]

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

Riding on public transport can be an awkward yet often liberating experience, allowing us to experience the world go by while also trying to avert our gaze from other strangers. FIRST TIME [The Time for All but Sunset – VIOLET] captures this mixture perfectly, creating an arthouse romance about the endless possibilities found on while sitting by yourself on a train.

FIRST TIME starts in fantasy-land, playing a Coca-Cola commercial from 1987 soundtracked by Robin Beck’s eponymous song. The clips are unabashedly romantic, beautiful lovers swooning by the beach while clutching the world’s most popular soft drink. Hamburg’s U3, a circular subway line that spans 25 stations, provides the ‘reality’. The majority of FIRST TIME is comprised of an epic simulated one-take where two young boys (Aaron Hilmer and Fynn Grossmann) sit opposite one another, sneaking glimpses as and when they can. Soundtracked by slowly-rising dreamy indie pop, First Time asks us to sit and watch as these two boys feel the pangs and flushes of attraction. With no dialogue or text, we are not told what to think, simply to observe and come to our own conclusions.

If it sounds forbidding, especially for 50 minutes, FIRST TIME is actually a lot of fun. It’s ostensible arthouse, installation-favourable form is prodded and poked, even subverted, with moments of incongruity that belong in a romantic comedy. The film is proof that if you have some form of tension at the heart of a movie, you can easily stretch conventional cinematic patience. Neither teen wants to get off the train, yet neither of them wants to make the first move either. The overall result is an expertly rendered depictions of young, awkward and painful romance that’s as tense as anything in a Hitchcock movie. Even in liberal Hamburg, one sees the reluctance of young men to approach another romantically for fear of being violently rebuked. Both actors Hilmer and Grossmann have so much to do physically here, pulling off that acute feeling of being torn between emotions rather well.

The frame of the train window acts as a layer between the boy’s world and wider Hamburg; an anchor for the passing of time and a silent Greek chorus. Pay close attention and the repetition of the train line is complemented by insider references that gain a strangely cosmic meaning, suggesting that advertisements have a strange way of permeating our collective unconscious.

It’s worth admitting that I’m very biased towards anything train-related. Whether it’s Before Sunrise (Richard Linklater, 1995), Brief Encounter (David Lean, 1945) , A Station for Two (Eldar Ryazanov, 1983) or Night Train to Munich (Carol Reed, 1940),trains are the most romantic and beguiling form of transportation. For the ultimate site-specific screening, I even watched the screener on a train, allowing both background and foreground to blend into one another. Despite my favourable disposition towards anything train-related, FIRST TIME doesn’t just coast on pretty images and handsome young boys, but provides an experience both emotionally and intellectually stimulating (as well as being rather funny). Conceptual artist Nicolas Schmidt, who already impressed me at Berlinale 2020 with his strange short Inflorescence, showing a flower fluttering in the wind near an allotment as Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream It’s Over” plays, has stepped up to another level of sophistication with this gorgeous medium-length effort.

FIRST TIME plays in Pardo Di Domani – Concorso internazionale at Locarno Film Festival, running between 4th – 14th August.

The light shines on first-time directors!

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

Tallinn was already meant to save cinema this year. The setting of Christopher Nolan’s Tenet (2020), Estonian locations were thrust into the limelight at a scale perhaps not seen since Tarkovsky made Stalker (1979) all those years ago. Talking to people here, it seems that every film professional in Estonia was involved in Nolan’s film. I also learned here that the city is already offering Tenet tours, showing off those key locations that gave the film its autumnal aesthetic. Where else, I was told, could you shut off a motorway for three weeks?

But while Tenet didn’t manage to get as many bums in seats as self-proclaimed-saviour-of-cinema Nolan personally hoped, the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival keeps the flame of cinema alive when so many theatres across the world remain closed. Masks on, social distancing encouraged, hands sanitised, it was a pure thrill to be able to return to the film festival circuit after so many barren months.

This was especially true of the First Feature Competition, which proved the power of theatrical projection to provide the best possible environment for debut filmmakers. The strong curation, with plenty more hits than misses, and no outright bad films, provided a variety of fascinating and marked aesthetic visions and plenty of new directors to watch as they progress and hopefully become big names in their respective home countries.

The physical presence of Tallinn’s screenings, as well as the opportunity to socialise with the filmmakers and actors in person, reminds one of the importance of connecting cinema to their environments. Films cannot be extricated from their location or situation, the context of where you see the film providing crucial insight into its perspective that a streaming service or online release simply cannot provide.

Great happiness

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Aesthetics meets commentary

In total, there were 21 films in the First Feature Competition (including three non-competitive entries). We reviewed every single one of them exclusively for you. You can find all of these reviews in our film archive.

A film like the sold-out Goodbye Soviet Union (Lauri Handla), which told the story of an Ingrain Finnish boy’s last years in Estonia during the 80s before the fall of the Berlin Wall, resonated far more after learning a little about Estonia and their complex relationship with Russians and their Soviet legacy.

Inspired by the directors own youth, the film provided a fresh take on the indie teen drama. On the other side of the spectrum, 25 Years of Innocence. The Case of Tomek Komenda (Jan Holoubek) played like a Polish version of The Shawshank Redemption, a ripped from the headlines tale of injustice and the need for true accountability. Realism and international significance also permeated the melancholic tone of Should the Wind Drop ( Nora Martirosyan) set in the disputed region of Nagorno-Karabakh just before it descended into conflict.

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Cinema speaks to national traditions

This is an Armenian film about a country that exists in reality, but not in the eyes of the wider international community, providing necessary context for the region. Other first features were also in conversation with national issues. The epic sociological tone of Great Happiness (Wang Yiao) brought to mind Jia Zhang-ke in its exploration of the new capitalist Chinese generation; Poppy Field (Eugen Jebeleanu) was made in a classic minimalist Romanian New Wave style while exploring homophobia in Bucharest society; and Sententia (Dmitry Rudakov) bore the mark of the Moscow Institute of Cinematography style while investigating the dark world of Soviet censorship.

Other films were more aesthetically restless, such as standout Fortuna — The Girl and the Giants (Nicolangelo Gelormini) ,which used a dual narrative to excellent, haunting effect, and The Penultimate (Jonas Kærup Hjort),which bucked conventional Danish, dogme-realism in favour of parable and kafkaesque absurdity. While there is inevitably some showboating and underdeveloped ideas throughout a lot of these films — even in the very good ones — they show first-time directors with boatloads of flair and acres of potential.

Fortuna — The Girl and the Giants

This sense of flair came through strongest in the genre films. Hopefully out-of-competition entry Kindred (Joe Marcantonio) is a hopeful breakout horror hit in the UK, tackling the gaslighting of black women while showing a great eye for old-school craftsmanship. Likewise The Flood (Victoria Wharfe McIntyre),a rape revenge thriller set in tropical Australia, was filled with greatly rendered suspense scenes. Both films provided necessary genre relief against austere and taxing arthouse.

The varied work, spanning social naturalism, pure fantasy and even magical realism, was neatly handled by the curators, providing personal introductions that showed their passion for cinema and their joy at presenting films in their best possible environment.

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The miracle of Tallinn

The fact that I am writing this piece at all feels like a minor miracle. In addition to seeing live music and drinking in bars, watching films — a commonplace act in a normal year — feels like living on an alien planet. Yet the diverse and international selection of films showed us the connections that run throughout the globe, providing a rosy picture (uncharacteristic for 2020) of cinema’s future.

The Award Ceremony will take place on Friday, November 27th.

The three images on this article are stills from the first-feature entries: Frédéric Hambalek’s Model Olimpia (top), Great Happiness (middle) and Fortuna – the Girls and the Giants (bottom).

Two journalists from DMovies, Redmond Bacon and Victor Fraga, attended the 24th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival for the entire duration of the event. A full wrap-up including reviews of all 21 First Feature Competition and 26 Official Competition movies will be published next Monday.

Fortuna – The Girl and the Giants (Fortuna)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TALLINN

This is a film about children, but this is definitely not a film for children. A devastating mix of reality and fantasy that creates a provocative, chilling reverie, Fortuna — The Girl and the Giants is easily one of the standout films of the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival and perhaps a favourite for the best First Feature award. Coming across as something like The Double Life of Veronique filtered through the dark imagination of David Lynch, it establishes debut feature director Nicolangelo Gelormini as a fresh new voice in Italian cinema.

It tells the story of Nancy (Cristina Magnotti), a young and troubled girl with a feverish imagination. Unable to talk to her mother (Valeria Golino) about her problems, she is sent to an uncaring child psychiatrist (Pina Turco) who barely looks up from her phone. Meanwhile, her friends tell her that she is really called Fortuna, a magical princess from another planet. But when one of these friends falls out of the window, we realise that this isn’t a traditional fairy tale, but arthouse in service of profoundly dark emotions.

It’s probably best not to ruin any more of the plot, which doesn’t matter as much as the film’s strange atmosphere and overall emotional power. When watching the first half of the film, it’s better not to focus so much on story as elements of symmetry, harmony and architecture. We get a real sense of the apartment blocks that create a stifling and menacing atmosphere, captured at different angles and repeated at different times to give us a real sense of character, place and situation. To be honest, nothing really makes sense until the far more melancholic second half, which clarifies the situation while bringing its terror into full view.

Moving between a full aspect ratio and a 4:3 frame, the film refracts and comments upon itself to create a multi-layered and ultimately extremely moving tale. Utilising a double narrative approach that mixes elements of the music video — Gelormini’s background – and chilling contemporary horror, it rewards close attention and critical audience engagement.

While some of the early elements and strange diverting moments initially seem irrelevant to the plot and at times seem to be the director flexing his aesthetic muscles a little too much, they later provide a crucial imaginative atmosphere that begs for a repeat viewing. Most importantly, when the direction begs for a more nuanced and subtle approach, the film knows when to dial the bravura down.

Containing one of the most brutal “based on a true story” postscripts committed to film, the overall effect of Fortuna — The Girl and The Giants is seriously chilling. Anchored by a great child performance by Magnotti — who manages to express so much by doing so little — as well as a searching synth score with nods towards the sci-fi genre, Fortuna pays back its initial confusing tone in spades while giving viewers a lot to think about. Simply put, this is one of the most haunting films of the year.

Fortuna — The Girl and the Giants plays as part of the First Feature competition at Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, running from 13th to 29th November.

The Enemies (Doshmanan)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TALLINN

A puzzling character study trafficking in loneliness, meanness and sadness, The Enemies is both a confounding and intriguing experience. Telling the story of a Zohreh (Roya Afshar) a 60-year-old Iranian woman in Tehran disliked by her family and hated by her neighbours, it asks deep questions of its central character without ever compromising on its singular vision.

Zohreh’s son Sharab, a drug addict, is missing. Her husband is supposedly working by the Caspian Sea. She lives with her daughter, a flight attendant, and her mother, critical in both health and temperament, never wasting a moment in telling Zohreh she has ruined her life.

In fact, Zohreh takes no interest in matters of family, doting upon her many cats and spending her free time stealing supermarket sweets and handing them out to schoolchildren instead. Meanwhile, someone has been sending the rest of the apartment block’s letters accusing Zohreh of terrible things. But is there more to these letters than initially supposed?

In describing this film I’ve had to deliberately misrepresent the plot. To describe the plot entirely accurately would be to give away some of its keenest pleasures. In this film, nearly everything you learn at the start is something of a misnomer, upending your expectations throughout. It’s best experiencing the film knowing as few twists and turns as possible, so you can guess alongside the characters as to what is actually going on.

Is she acting so oddly because her son has gone missing? Or is there something much deeper at the heart of The Enemies? An exciting tension runs throughout the movie, the character of Zohreh seemingly able to move in any direction. Credit must go to the brilliant Roya Afshar, who never gives too much away, suggesting huge amounts of sadness and even mischievousness behind her large eyes.

With many assistant directing credits to his name, this is Ali Derakhshandeh’s first time directing a feature fiction film. His enigmatic story is embedded within a measured and melancholic style, making use of long takes, slow pans and careful blocking. We are not told what to think or feel, having to engage critically into figuring out Zohreh’s inner-state.

This remove in both style and content makes the film difficult for emotional investment, even when it occasionally breaks from its alienating style and gives us brief glimpses into the real Zohreh. While individual scenes benefit from fine acting that combines awkwardness and offence in equal measure, it’s hard to say what Zohreh’s inner-conflict and relation to the outside world really is.

Perhaps it’s a metaphor for the status of women in Iran. With multiple references to the state of the country as well as video calls with relatives having a seemingly better life abroad, the film critiques the way Iranian society seems to pigeonhole and blame women for things outside of their control. Her flight attendant daughter, flitting between Iran and the wider world, is between both worlds, while her mother, in her last days, is fixed to the streets and culture of Tehran. Meanwhile drug dealers run rampant just outside the flat window; something is rotten all right, but the ultimate meaning remains frustratingly elusive.

The Enemies plays as part of the First Feature competition at Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, running from 13th to 29th November.

Model Olimpia (Modell Olimpia)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TALLINN

Filled with elliptical storytelling, minimal dialogue and a strange, unsettling tone, Model Olimpia is a low-key German horror film filtered through an arthouse style. Presenting a mother-and-son relationship quite unlike any other, it announces Frédéric Hambalek as a director to watch.

Made for almost no-budget, the film only consists of a handful of players. At its centre is a young man (Alban Mondschein), a quiet and strange boy. He performs rituals at the behest of his mother (Anna Steffens) such as looking at pictures of strangers and imagining their secret lives, as well as masturbating to the audio of cringe-y erotic novels. It appears that she has created her own therapy technique, one that will go to dark places in order to “fix” her son.

What is the mother trying to achieve? Is she actually trying to help her son, or is she the reason he is so strange in the first place? This tension is brought to the test by the arrival of a new neighbour (Mathilde Bundschuh), a kind, well-adjusted student who offers the young man the chance for a more normal life.

Or does she? It’s hard to tell considering the weirdness of all the players. Characters move and act slowly, drained of any true emotion. There’s influences from Yorgos Lanthimos here, especially Dogtooth, with its hermetically sealed world of internal rules and symbols that keeps the viewer second guessing throughout. There’s also elements of Berliner Schule directors such as Christian Petzold and Angela Schanelec. Like these abrasive directors, the film moves at strange angles, forcing the viewer to constantly play catch-up.

The connective narrative tissue between scenes is almost completely omitted: showing us only the jagged parts instead of the whole. We are often dropped into the midst of scenes, giving the film a feeling of unpredictability. The camerawork is extremely precise, making use of unconventional, mostly static frames to create a controlled and unnerving atmosphere. The tone is so controlled that when there is a marked break with the films carefully created style, you stand up and notice, providing a masterclass in making and then disrupting a certain type of style.

In different hands the film may come across as overly crass or even misogynistic, but Model Olimpia is so matter-of-fact in its presentation it can be interpreted in multiple ways. This is stressed by the lack of a score, which provides the audience little guidance of how to feel. In fact, the most unsettling thing is not knowing what to feel rather than simply having a strong reaction one way or another.

There will probably be mixed reactions to this film. It’s likely to put a lot of viewers off. But for those who want to stick with it, there are plenty of rewards to be found in its intriguing approach. Some may find it bitterly comic; while others will be utterly horrified. To work on both levels on such a small budget is a fascinating achievement.

Model Olimpia plays as part of the First Feature competition at Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, running from 13th to 29th November.

Longing Souls (El Alma Quiere Volar)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TALLINN

The coming-of-age story is mixed with the old wives tale to excellent effect in Diana Montenegro’s debut feature Longing Souls. A slow, quiet and assured effort from Colombia, it expertly examines superstitious women’s lives through careful and clever composition and a great eye for the tiny accretion of detail.

Longing Souls starts with the 10-year-old Camilla witnessing a truly horrific event: her mother being beaten with a belt up by her father. As a result, she is sent to live with her 79-year-old grandmother. She lives with Camilla’s aunts, all of whom seem afflicted one way or another. Soon, the young girl realises that these women are living with a so-called curse, inflicted upon them by their neighbour Felicia.

But perhaps the curse isn’t really from Felicia, but from the men in these women’s lives: who are either unavailable, abusive or literally infirm. Together these women must band together and find a way to live despite their difficulties. Longing Souls really looks at these ladies, providing a feminist portrait that stays true to itself throughout.

While looking on the outset like a kitchen sink drama, this is not your run-of-the-mill arthouse film. Instead director Diana Montenegro imbues the film with a quirky eye for composition; often employing planimetric shots and horizontal pans to give the old house an immersive feel. Yet she is not slavishly devoted to her style, knowing when to cut to a close or medium shot in order to enhance a particular scene. Still we rarely leave this expertly constructed-space, Montenegro draping the entire film in a Beguiled-like atmosphere; filled with white, flowing clothes, billowing curtains and natural candlelight.

This old-timey aesthetic compliments the many superstitious rituals we see throughout the film: from covering your face with oatmeal, rubbing yourself with stones while repeating mantras, saying the name of Jesus Christ 1000 times, and cracking an egg into a glass of water. Montenegro views these strange liturgic moments without judgement, providing a fascinating insight into how Catholicism and superstition can often be so easily interlinked.

Using a mostly amateur cast, the film balances this stylised approach with fine naturalistic and lived-in performances. Montenegro is not afraid to simply let domestic scenes play out, focusing on the bodies of these women and their relation to the space around them. With moments that are alternately sad, funny and often downright strange, we really get a sense of who these people are; leading up to a pitch-perfect final scene that doesn’t betray the carefully laid groundwork of the film’s previous moments.

Scored to a variety of old-school Colombian pop songs, Longing Souls manages to stay dreamy and touching despite its dark subject matter. It’s affirming to see Argentinean legend Lucrecia Martel as one of the film advisors; with her stewardship, there is a real hope that this film asserts Montenegro as a fresh new voice in South American cinema.

Longing Souls plays as part the First Feature Competition at Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, running from 13th to 29th November.

Wilcox

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

Sean Penn’s Into The Wild (2007) gets an arthouse update in Wilcox, a tale of isolation in the great Canadian wilderness. The second film from Quebec auteur Denis Côté this year after Ghost Town Anthology, it’s a quiet, modest effort that doubles down on his increasingly minimalist approach.

Looking like a runaway member of the army in his khaki clothes, huge backpack and high boots, Wilcox (Guillaume Tremblay) trudges around the countryside, living in the moment and connecting with nature. Breaking into either abandoned or at least unfurnished homes, stealing from the supermarket or relying on the kindness of strangers, Wilcox is a man who lives entirely off other’s contributions. He meets many local, older men, and judging from the smiles on their faces, it’s evident that they get along well. But as we never hear anyone speak, we can never tell for sure.

Wilcox is presented as a film with no dialogue, which didn’t quite prepare me for how quiet it actually is. In fact, the film barely features any diegetic sound at all, Côté overlaying most scenes with a light ambient hum. The camera palette is both filled with light and rather smudgy, as if someone has rubbed their greasy finger over the lens. It gives the film both a dreamlike feel and a distancing effect, forcing the viewer to project themselves onto the story instead of being swept up by it. In addition, brief archival clips of a tortoise with a rabbit, and a man with facial scars are inserted into the story like something from a dream, adding unnecessary flourishes that may increase the film’s artistic cache but did little to invest me emotionally in its story. These aesthetic choice may hamper Wilcox‘s chances of hitting cinemas, but it fittingly stresses his isolation, and perhaps makes it a perfect choice for a feature length installation piece.

Wilcox

As we never hear Wilcox speak, we never know the reasons for his journey. Despite the film’s attention to detail — such as the tragic looking tinned food he eats, the way he sets up a tent for the night, and how he opens windows of other people’s houses — he is more an idea representing social isolation than a fully rounded man in and of himself. This seems to be Côte’s intention, rarely editorialising but allowing the main chunk of the story to speak for itself.

Nonetheless, the beginning and the end of the movie is bookmarked with short texts telling us of North American explorers who abandoned the civilised world and ended up either dead, missing or in jail. These include Christopher McCandless of Into The Wild-fame and Lillian Alling, a Russian expat who tried to walk back home to Siberia, and was last seen about to cross the Bering strait. Wilcox is presented as both compendium and tribute to these daring souls. Nonetheless, by lacking the drive of either McCandless or Alling, Wilcox is a hard man empathise with, making this a fascinating aesthetic experiment which lacks in truly emotive drama.

Wilcox premiered at the Locarno Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. It shows in October at the Cambridge Film Festival.