Tag: BFI

Our dirty questions to the BFI London Film Festival’s Director Kristy Matheson

Posted on by victorfraga
Photo above by Jeff Spicer/Getty Images for BFI

The British capital gets a special makeover for 12 days, between October 4th and 15th. The BFI London Film Festival (LFF) takes place at the some of the most exciting movie theatres across the city (the Curzon Soho, Curzon Mayfair, the Vue West End, the Prince Charles Cinema, the ICA, etc), as well as nine partner venues across the country. The galas and special presentations and and most of the Official Competition screenings are held at the BFI Southbank and the adjacent Southbank Centre’s Royal Festival Hall.

The event showcases an impressive selection of feature films, short films, series and immersive works from 92 countries. This includes 99 works authored by female and non-binary filmmakers, representing 39% of the programme. In total; 79 languages are to be heard in these movies.

We spoke to Kathy Matheson, the Festival’s new Director and Curator, who just took over from Tricia Tuttle. Kristy was previously the Creative Director of the Edinburgh International Film Festival, and also Director of Film at Australia’s national museum of screen culture ACMI.

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Victor Fraga – What are the biggest challenges in running a festival of the size and the calibre of the BFI London Film Festival?

Kathy Matheson – We’re looking to put together a programme that reflects the city in which we are. Having a very laser focus on UK talent. But also looking at the whole breadth of global cinema. The city we’re in has a hugely diverse community.

VF – Okay. And for you personally as an individual, what’s the most challenging and exciting elements of the job?

KM – The most exciting thing is that you start the year, you start the programming process and you have no idea what lies in front of you. You have no idea what what might steal your heart, what films that will really grab your attention. So that’s very exciting. And I think the most challenging part of the job is thinking about the programme as a whole. How you get a programme in which films speak to each other so it doesn’t feel like lots of disparate pieces. So that overall there’s a cohesiveness and a narrative that runs through the programming.

VF – Could you please us a little bit more about the curatorial process?

KM – We don’t have doing open calls and the films across the world. And that’s really about us. We’re selecting from other festivals, we’re also reaching out and to individuals, we’re reaching out to individual sales companies, we’re reaching out to national film bodies. We’re doing outreach work for international features. For our short films, we’re doing that, but we’re also taking those open submissions. Okay. So is it.

VF – How large is your programming team?

KM – I work with four of the programmers and we’re working solely on the film programme. And then we have a number of advisors who we work with. That’s a mixture of people in different parts of the world or people with different film specialities. This means that we have a small core team and then we have a sort of a larger group of colleagues that that we work with. Is that something that you’ll have to be aware of?

VF – Would you ever consider doing an open call for international films? Would you ever consider applying for Fiapf a-list accreditation, or has that been considered in the past?

KM – It’s something that the programming team and I have had specific conversations about. This is an organisation that obviously has an enormous history lobbying for the sector. But really primarily for us, we’re an audience-facing festival. It’s about being able to present a programme to audiences in London. And also on tour. Londoners are our prime motivator when we are selecting our films.

VF – You have four competitive strands: Official Competition, First Feature Competition, Documentary and Shorts. Let’s please talk about your First Feature Competition. What is it your team looks for when watching these films? Is it audacity, innovation, or perhaps you’re seeking young talent? Or something else?

KM – What’s exciting about first features as an audience member is that you’re presented with something completely new. You’ve never met this cinematic voice before. When we put together the First Feature Competition, we want to give audiences a really great snapshot of the grit of first feature. You have films such as In Camera (Naqqash Khalid). That’s a bold and audacious film. Stylistically, it’s very ambitious. Very complex, internal and deep. That’s very different to a film like Tiger Stripes [Amanda Nell Eu; pictured above], which is audacious in the way it tells a story of a young woman going through puberty in Malaysia. It plays with genre and new forms of storytelling. Then there are films like Penal Cordillera [aka Prison in the Andes, by Felipe Carmona] from Chile is an incredibly classically made film. The way it’s shot the the the acting, the scripting. You would watch those three films, and if no one told you there were first features, you certainly wouldn’t think “oh, this is a filmmaker who’s learning how to make films”. The one thing that really knits all the the Sutherland films together is that the films are incredibly fully formed. The world that these filmmakers are creating feels very assured.

VF – Let’s please talk about the Official Competition now. All of these films have been shown in other festivals, many of them have won prestigious awards. What is it that the BFI London Film can offer to these filmmakers? Why should they show their films here?

KM – What makes LFF a really compelling proposition for filmmakers and ad those who are looking after films is the fact that these films are being met by an audience who have who are paying their own money to come and see that films. They are making choices about what they want to see. What is really great is that with all the films in Official Competition is that you have filmmaker who are very known to British audiences. Films like Evil Does Not Exist [Ryusuke Hamaguchi; pictured below] are a great example of a filmmaker very popular with cinema-going audiences here in the UK. Wwhat we what we can offer, which is a unique perspective, is that filmmakers and film distributors can see their film in action in a real cinema setting with a real paying audience. They can thus get a sense of the possibilities for that film going into release and its onward journey. So it’s a very unique proposition for film.

VF – Let’s talk about something which is very British documentary. We are in the country of documentary. The Award is named after John Grierson, isn’t it? And you’ve got fierce competition, with the Sheffield Doc Fest in June being one of the most important documentary festivals in the world. How is it that you distinguish yourself not just from Sheffield, but also from other such events?

KM – This year we have for the we have included non-fiction filmmaking into the Official Competition. It’s been really liberating for us being able to signpost some non-fiction filmmakers within the Official Competition. So with the Documentary Competition we moved to align it a little more closely with the Sutherlands.We have really centred this year on first- and second-time filmmakers, a with very similar curatorial approach to how we look at the Sutherland. You have films in there such as A Common Sequence [Mary Helena Clark, Mike Gibisser], which premiered in January in Sundance, a formally interesting movie. And then we have films like Celluloid Underground [Ehsan Khoshbakht], which is a brand new film. It looks at Iranian cinema, but was by a filmmaker based here in the UK. Chasing Chasing Amy [Sav Rodgers] is a brand new documentary as well. Oh, and there’s also The Taste of Mango [Chloe Abrahams], also by a debt British filmmaker. None of these films are formally the same

VF – So where is documentary filmmaking right now? Twenty years ago, we there was a so-called golden age of documentary. Is this a good time for documentary right now?

KM – It’s always a good time for documentaries! I think that non-fiction filmmakers continue to excite audiences because they are taking something real and interpreting it through their own lens.that. The Taste of Mango is an incredibly personal documentary. It’s a film about culture, assimilation, trauma. Things that bins us together. Between daughter, mother and grandmother. And it’s a film about the the murkiness that lives inside of families, and the many secrets to be revealed. She [Chloe] is telling an enormous story, in a way that’s universal and we all can relate to, yet in incredibly personal way.

VF – Are you telling me that film is a weapon for personal liberation?

KM – I think it can be for some filmmakers. It’s not for all filmmakers. I think the filmmaker [Chloe, the director of The Taste of Mango] is doing something beautiful. some filmmakers are using the medium of film to not only understand themselves better, but also those very close to them. You know, so it’s it’s almost like the film is a is a way of them getting to know themselves and, you know, and other members of their family much better.

VF – Let’s talk about women. There has been a string or prominent at the helm of the BFI: yourself, Tricia Tuttle, and other. I think three out of your four jury presidents are women. Please correct me if I’m wrong. Is this intentional? And do you have a quota for female directors?

KM – No, we don’t have a formal quota system. When we’re viewing films, we are trying to see the work at its face value. Very naturally there are a lot of female directors in this programme, and that’s very heartening. For some time we have tried to push female filmmakers into telling what we consider female stories.

VF – What is a female story?

KM – Domestic dramas, romcoms. You know, things that pertain solely to women. That’s really wonderful with our opening night film, Saltburn, by Emerald Fennell. The film looks at the world through an entirely male gaze. The eyes of your main character are male. If you didn’t know who made that film, you might not necessarily realise this is a female director telling a female story. We are endlessly impressed at the diversity of the types of stories that female directors are telling.

VF – THe BFI LFF is no longer a hybrid festival. Do you think that hybrid – now that the pandemic is over – are a thing of the past?

KM – I don’t think it’s a thing of the past. Some festivals have learnt a completely new way to engage audiences. The reality is: that’s running two festivals side by side, and that can be very challenging. But it has also given many festivals a new business model. We’re not running this edition of the Festival online.

VF – You don’t think that’s the future, either?

KM – For us, with BFI Player, we sort of have an online film festival 365 days a year, 24 hours a day.

VF – But you’re not going to get all the films from left on BFI player?

KM – No, obviously we won’t. obviously. It’s part of a suite of what the BFI offers. I think it’s neither a thing of the past nor a thing of the future. We do the best we can in order to meet the audience where they are.

VF – What’s your message to nascent and established filmmakers alike who want to take part in the BFI LFF in 2024 and beyond?

KM – We would love to see your film. Once once this festival is over and and November rolls around, the slate is wiped clean, and we’re excited to to see what is waiting for us for 2024. I mean that’s the very exciting part about doing this job is, you know, you get to the end of the festival and then, you have a little sleep and then you wake up and you’re like “right, what’s what’s to see next?”.

The Munich Film Festival is leading Germany’s diversity charge

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

Between March 25th and 27th, I had the privilege to attend Seeing and being seen: Representation in Film, a conference on the need for diversity in German cinema organised by the Film Festival Munich at the Evangelical Academy in Tutzing. Once again, I am reminded of how gorgeous the Bavarian countryside is, with the conference’s location, lying on the banks of the shimmering Starnberger See, offering the perfect opportunity for spirited discussions, inspiration and the possibility to find new solutions.

Having previously written an article on the topic for Exberliner, it was a pleasure to meet many of my interviewees in person, as well as see how seemingly-abstract discussions within the space of diversity can actually be translated into actionable goals. Artistic director Christoph Gröner and programmer Julia Weigl allowed for open and spirited discussion, including many disagreements and heated moments. Although everything remained civil, it showed that this is not just a one-and-done topic, but worth revisiting one again and again.

What really opened my eyes was the keynote talk by Mia Bays, director of the BFI Film Fund, who, alongside Head of Inclusion Melanie Hoyes (pictured below), reiterated the idea that diversity in cinema shouldn’t be seen as enforcing quotas, but an opportunity for better stories to be told. Their film fund, financed primarily by the national lottery, has already created a criteria which can help productions to be more inclusive, and by extension, more authentic.

Rocks (Sarah Gavron, 2020), the scrappy British film with a cast of young girls almost completely of colour, was displayed as a case in point. Not only does the film show a part of London life often missing on screen, but the funding came with the stipulation that mentorship, shadowing and learning opportunities would be offered throughout the entire creation of the film. It shows that creating diversity in film is not just about representation, but making sure that everyone gets equal opportunities when it comes to being in front of and behind the camera.

While there’s much to complain about in the UK, especially with regards to certain aspects of our cinematic productions, our commitment to diversity in film, although imperfect, does provide a roadmap for other countries to adopt. Germans from immigration backgrounds and Germans of colour seemed impressed with the British model, hoping that German production companies can adopt similar ideas.\

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Making it happen

One notable film fund already looking towards using a checklist to get a better understanding of talent applying, and in my mind, already producing some great stuff, like FIRST TIME [The Time for All but Sunset – VIOLET] (Nicolaas Schmidt, 2021) and No Hard Feelings (Faraz Shariat, 2020; pictured at the top), is the MOIN Filmförderung Hamburg Schleswig-Holstein, heralded by Helge Albers, who was also in attendance at the festival.

Naturally, having the so-called decision-makers in the same rooms as the talent is crucial in order to see that there are thousands of stories just begging to be told. For example, director and actor Sheri Hagen (pictured below), who has been acting in German cinema since the mid-1990s, mentioned several fascinating projects she’s currently working on that she’s still trying to get off the ground. Her immense talent was already on show in the two German films screening as great case-points: sci-fi short film I Am (Jerry Hoffmann, 2021) and Precious Ivie (Sarah Blaßkiewitz, 2021). The British counterpoint, made with BFI money, was the BAFTA-winning short Black Cop (Cherish Oteka, 2022), showing the type of bold cinematic vision that can be created with public funds.

Having somehow interviewed all three directors previously, the choice of films felt rather serendipitous; and it was wonderful to see the two shorts, previously experienced on my laptop, on the big screen. Both countries can produce fine cinematic visions when the money and the talent align, with symposiums such as this helping to bridge the gap and allowing these types of diverse representations to occur.

Of particular interest to me, was finding out about the UK Global Screen Fund, where the BFI is looking for a minority stake in co-productions with other countries. While events like the Berlinale are often dominated by French-German co-productions, British-German co-productions are pretty are. The German talent in attendance were also particularly interested in the possibility of working with the British, especially as Brexit can often make us Brits feel further away. Here’s hoping we start to see some great cross-cultural collaborations coming up in the next few years.

Our top 10 dirty picks from the BFI London Film Festival

Posted on by victorfraga

As we gradually resume some semblance of normality, as do film festivals. The BFI London Film Festival (LFF), which was held almost entirely online in 2020, has firmly returned to its physical format. A programme of 159 feature films from around the world (including 21 world premieres) will screen to audiences in cinemas across London. There will also be UK-wide screenings through LFF partner cinemas and virtual premieres on BFI Player. The Festival takes place between October 6th and 17th.

Below are our top 10 picks from the programme. They are dirty movies that we watched late last year and earlier this year at the Tallinn Black Nights, Berlin, Cannes, Venice, Locarno and the San Sebastian International Film Festival. They are some of the most innovative, provocative and downright filthy that we have seen this year. Of course we haven’t covered every single film in the LFF programme, so stay tuned for more dirty gems throughout the British Festival!

The 10 dirty movies below are listed in alphabetical order. Just click on the film title in order to accede to each individual review:

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1. Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn (Radu Jude):

Romanian director Radu Jude holds a mirror up to the audience, and they might not like what they see, in the film that won the Golden Bear this February. We start with a fairly explicit sex scene, as middle-school teacher Emilia (Katia Pascariu) is in bed with husband Eugen (porn actor Ştefan Steel) doing, well, pretty much what anyone who enjoys sex would do in bed. Marius Panduru’s camera doesn’t shy away, and we would say that the audience won’t avert their eyes from the screen either, although it is rare to see something so graphic, both in terms of the imagery and the lines in Jude’s screenplay.

Jude divides his film into several parts, putting the viewers in Emilia’s shoes and then, in the final part, practically forcing them to become jurors in an obscene tribunal.

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2. Between Two Worlds (Emmanuel Carrere):

A famous writer seeking inspiration starts a new life as a cleaner in Normandy, in this auspicious little drama starring Juliette Binoche. Binoche delivers a very convincing performance as a character who acts (pretends to be someone else). The French actress is no stranger to such roles.

French director Emmanuel Carrère director examines the very nature of the creative process: is it OK for the artist to lie to their subjects? Is art intrinsically exploitative? Is acting synonymous with pretending?

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3. The Box (Lorenzo Vigas):

Abandoning his native Venezuela for Mexico, Golden Lion winner Vigas has created a fascinating story of lost families and secret histories, which also premiered in Venice just last month. Hatzin (Hatzin Navarrete) is a orphaned teenager, who already feels at odds with the world. We first see him kicking the wall of a train toilet cubicle until the pounding on the door finally gets him to relent. It is a neat sign that some inarticulate rage burns inside the kid though, for the moment, he will take heed of the outside world.

Vigas’s film, co-scripted by Paula Markovitch, suggests that the moral vacuum at the heart of capitalist exploitation makes it indistinguishable from the drug trade, destroys families and corrodes the society from within.

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4. Earwig (Lucile Hadzihalilovic):

The French director Lucile Hadzihalilovic is best remembered for her 2004 debut feature Innocence, a highly poetic film following the lives of girls in a gloomy, mysterious and highly secluded boarding school. In her latest feature, just the third one in her career, she remains firmly on feminine, dark and secluded territory, and becomes even further detached to reality.

The story takes place in an undisclosed place and undisclosed time. The clothes and an ancient telephone suggest the early 20th century. A man called Albert (Paul Hilton) cares for a girl called Mia (Romane Hemelears) in a very large house not too different from the boarding school in Hadzihalilovic’s first film. Mia is entirely silent, with strange braces attached to her teeth, and various dentures that demand constant attention. At times, it looks like she is an a torture chamber. She has teeth made of glass.

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5. The Grandmother (Paco Plaza):

Old woman left catatonic by a devastating stroke terrifies her doting granddaughter, in this brilliantly subtle and beautifully elegant horror from Spain. Twenty-five-year old Susanne (Almudena Amor) enjoys a stylish lifestyle as a publicity model in Paris. One evening, just as she is about to start a new gig, she receives a phone call informing her that her grandmother Pilar (Vera Valdez) has suffered a brain hemorrhage. Susanne is Pilar’s only living relative, her parents having passed away in a car crash years earlier. She is urged to fly back to her native Madrid in order to care for the older lady, who is left completely silent and unable to look after herself.

Pilar’s figure is the subject of nightmares: her body is scrawny and wrinkly, her face demonic, with pearly black eyes, shrunken lips and mouth wide open most of the time. Her gaze is completely empty. A frustrated Susanne tells her: “you are no longer there, are you?” The old lazy does however walk around the house unaided, often appearing in very unexpected places.

6. The Hand of God (Paolo Sorrentino):

In England, Diego Maradona’s goal in the 1986 World Cup semi-final against England was the epitome of foreign cheating, Latin untrustworthiness and a moment that still gets Peter Shelton shirty. In the rest of the world, it was greeted with a wave of schadenfreude. Maradona’s goal was a plucky finger in the eye against the old empire, an act of revenge for the conquest of the Falklands/Maldives – or as old uncle Alfredo in Paolo Sorrentino’s new film The Hand of God calls it: “a revolutionary act”.

The Hand of God is head and shoulders better than Sorrentino’s most recent films – especially the barely released Loro and the arthritic Youth – and Sorrentino fans will find a lot to enjoy.

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7. Juju Stories (Xxx):

One we saw in Locarno earlier this year. This collection of magical tales shows off the breadth, humour and vitality of African. cinema. Three shorts from Nigeria, all based on the concepts of magic and madness. Told in Pidgin English, it’s a bold collection of films examining the ways man can be deceived and the difficulties of establishing personal relationships. Funny, sometimes profound and differing wildly in quality and tone, it acts as a neat West African counterpart to Ryūsuke Hamaguchi’s Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy (2021), leaning heavy on the mystical parts of everyday life. Spanning from the snooty upper-classes to the hustlers of Lagos to college students and businesspeople, it also provides a solid panorama of Nigerian identity.

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8. The Lost Daughter (Maggie Gyllenhaal):

Maggie Gyllenhaal’s directorial debut is a mature and fascinating meditation on motherhood, adapted from Elena Ferrante’s novel. It tells the story of Leda (Olivia Colman), a middle-aged woman holidaying on her own on a Greek island. She’s supposed to be working, but though she’s on her own she finds herself increasingly involved with a family of American Greeks. At first, she is repulsed by them. They’re very noisy and rude, and when she is asked if she can move her beach umbrella she obstinately refuses. However, she is drawn to the young mother Nina (Dakota Johnson), whose daughter Elena goes briefly missing. The relationship gets closer as Leda finds the young girl and returns her to her parents.

Gyllenhaal, who also wrote the screenplay, skilfully moves between two timelines, gradually revealing more information and removing layers to reveal emotional strata. Her camera is frequently close to the faces and bodies, watching intently and intimately at people in their most unguarded moments. It has the urgency of a John Cassavetes film, sensitive and alert to the changing weather of the human face.

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9. The Souvenir: Part II (Joanna Hogg):

Joanna Hogg continues her highly autobiographical meditation on filmmaking and grief to outstanding results. She has crafted yet another highly personal and lyrical tribute to filmmaking. When Lucie explains to her tutors that lack of titles and the unusual structure of her graduation film liberate her as an artist, it is obvious that the comment extends to the director Joanna Hogg. They proposed that the young woman abandons her audacious project it in favour of a more formulaic and commercially viable approach. Fortunately for us, neither Lucie nor Joanna heeded their advice. The Souvenir is also a commendable exercise of metalanguage. The vast studio settings appear on television monitors. The very house where Julie lives with her mother resemble her film school. Filmmaking and reality blend seamlessly.

The Souvenir is also pictured at the top of this article.

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10. The Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy (Ryusuke Hamaguchi):

Making its debut at Berlinale is Japanese drama Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy, a triptych of stories about people who meet through remarkable twists of fate. In Episode 1: Magic (or Something Less Assuring), a model named Meiko (Kotone Furukawa) deduces that her best friend’s new lover is an ex-boyfriend. In Episode 2: Door Wide Open, a bitter student blackmails his friend-with-benefits Nao (Katsuki Mori) into seducing a celebrated professor (Kiyohiko Shibukawa) as an act of revenge. Finally, Chapter 3: Once Again introduces us to Moka (Fusako Urabe), a middle-aged woman who meets a face from the past after travelling to a school reunion.

The Wheel of Fortune and Fantasy won the Silver Bear Grand Jury Prize this February in Berlin.

Our top 10 dirty picks from the BFI London Film Festival 2020

Posted on by victorfraga

The year of 2020 has been like no other, and every single film event had to adapt. The BFI London Film Festival (LFF) is no exception, as the British capital (and the rest of the nation) grapples with the new lockdown rules and restrictions, which have either prevented or discouraged people from leaving their homes in order to go to the cinema. Of course every cloud has its silver lining, and the good news is that all films are now within reach of anyone in the UK, not just the country’s capital.

Throughout the course of 12 days, 14 feature films and a featurette (Almodovar’s The Human Voice) will available to watch in cinemas, namely the three cosy theatres of the BFI Southbank. Plus 59 feature movies are available on BFI Player at specific time slots (which range from a few days to a few hours). They include 50 virtual premieres. You can see the full list and book your tickets by clicking here. In addition, there is also a short film, XR, immersive art and an augmented reality installation – just click here for more information.

Below are our top 10 picks from the programme. They are dirty movies that we watched earlier this year at the Berlin, the Venice and the San Sebastian International Film Festival (the Spanish festival embraced the entire selection from the cancelled edition of Cannes). They are some of the most innovative, provocative and downright filthy that we have seen this year. Of course we haven’t covered every single film in the LFF programme, so stay tuned for more dirty gems throughout the British Festival!

The 10 dirty movies below are listed in alphabetical order. Just click on the film title in order to accede to each individual review:

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1. 200 Meters (Ameen Nayfeh):

Mustafa (Ali Suliman) and his wife Salwa (Lama Zreik) live 200 meters apart in villages separated by the West Bank Wall. When he receives a call from his wife saying his son has been rushed to hospital, he’s denied access at the Israeli checkpoint on a technicality. Leaving him with no choice, he pays a driver to smuggle him to the other side of the wall. Mustafa alongside a small group of strangers come to depend on one another, as they undertake the dangerous 200 kilometre odyssey.

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2. Another Round (Thomas Vinterberg):

A history professor, a school music director, a children sports coach and a psychology teacher walk into a bar. They’ve decided to test the theory that mankind should maintain a 0.05% blood alcohol concentration in order to maximise their potential and achieve greatness. Two glasses of wine for kick-off and then top it up throughout the day. You already know where this is going but it’s an intoxicating ride through Sazerac-sodden highs before the crashing hangover sets in. The four male protagonists won the Best Actor prize at San Sebastian. Another Round is also pictured at the top of this article.

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3. Days (Tsai Ming-liang):

The king of slow cinema is back, and he’s in great shape. In his latest movie, two men carry on with their lives as normal on the streets of Taipei. One of them (Anong Houngheuangsy) is young and poor, and prepares a meal in his humble dwelling. The other one (Lee Kang) is a little older and seemingly wealthy, judging by the hotel room that he hires. This is where they meet. The conversations are sparse and wilfully “unsubtitled”. The younger man gives the older man a sensual massage, which gradually develops into full-on sex. The action is delicate and sensual, with a palpable sense of intimacy. The two characters develop a bond, helped by the quietly effervescent chemistry between the two actors. There’s also a touch of tenderness. The older man gives a tiny music box to the young one, which appears again in the end of the movie. The two men are inextricably linked through their memories, embodied by the unusual trinket.

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4. The Human Voice (Pedro Almodovar):

Breaking up with your ex is never an easy task, particularly when he’s already found a new companion. He hasn’t returned home for three days, in a rather unambiguous sign that he has now left for good. You experience a lot of feelings: despondency, jealousy, hate and – first and foremost – rage. You want to stab his chest. You want to cut him up with an axe. You want to set fire to what once was your love nest.

Can you live out these things for real? Probably not a good idea. So the 70-year-old Spanish filmmaker found a cunning solution. He staged the entire action. He built a mock home inside a large warehouse and hired Tilda Swinton to play the jilted lover. She is supported by her doting pooch Dash, dazzling costumes and a jaunty music score by Alberto Iglesias. Almodovar’s latest movie places a 1928 play by Jean Cocteau in a modern context.

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5. Never Gonna Snow Again (Malgorzata Szumowska/ Michal Englert):

Zenia (played by British Ukrainian actor Alec Utgoff) heals the pains and afflictions of the bored and sick Polish bourgeoisie. He lives in a small flat in town, and spends most of his time – massage-bed under his arm – on an upper class district, visiting very different clients. A woman struggles with an unsatisfactory sex life and an unruly daughter. A man is dying of cancer. An old lady is very sad and lonely, in the company of her three bulldogs. And so on. The young and attractive foreigner is a masseur, a healer, a hypnotherapist, a dancer, a friend and a lover, sometimes all at once.

Never Gonna Snow Again is a highly elliptical film. It’s a collection of allegories, some perfectly intelligible, some deeply personal and moot to interpretation. There is a apparent reference to last sequence of Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979), as a young Zenya uses telekinesis in order to move a glass across the table. Some sequences feel very creepy/ Lynchian, such as an exotic peep show dance (watched by Zenya) and a magic trick on stage (inexplicably performed by Zenya alongside one of his clients). All strangely delectable.

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6. New Order (Michel Franco):

What was intended to be an ostentatious celebration soon turns into a bloodbath, in the movie that won the Silver Lion of Venice. Twenty-five-year-old, pretty and Nordic-looking Marianne (Naian González Norvind) is getting married to the handsome, Italian-looking Alan (Dario Yasbek Bernal). Both families and their rich friends have united at her family’s spectacular dwelling, somewhere in Mexico City. Everyone is dressed to kill, and food and drink are abundant at the extravagant party. Until their conspiring employees open the house gates to trigger-happy, ruthless rioters.

This is no Marxist revolution. The rebels are profoundly consumerist, wide-eyed with greed, as they steal the expensive electronics, jewels and other valuables from their hapless victims. They take enormous pleasure in vandalising the property. They are not concerned about equality. Instead they work in cahoots with local authorities and other groups. Their allegiance is as fragile as the champagne glasses at the wedding party. Nihilism and factionalism prevail. There is no concern for social justice. They are prepared to betray and to kill their associates without hesitation. They just want money. As much money as possible.

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7. Nomadland (Chloe Zhao):

Fern (Frances McDonald) is a beautiful and intelligent middle-aged woman. She is very unusually charming, with her quiet and stern smile. She is also in perfect good health. Someone who could be working in Wall Street. Instead she lives in poverty in the back of her van (not a camper van, but a regular size one), travelling across her large nation in search of temporary employment in fast-food restaurants, factories and so on. She literally has to “handle her own shit”, in reference to the bucket that she uses as a toilet. The movie that won the Silver Lion at Venice is based on Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century, a non-fiction work penned three years ago by Jessica Bruder.

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8. Shirley (Josephine Decker):

In the year of 1964, the highly reclusive horror writer Shirley Jackson (Elizabeth Moss) and her husband Stanley (Michael Stuhlbarg) “welcome” two graduate students into their Vermont mansion, Rose (Odessa Young) and her spouse Fred (Logan Lerman). Rose and Fred are vibrant, optimistic and full of life. Shirley are cruel and offensive misanthropes. Shirley will attempt to hurt and humiliate the naive couple at every opportunity. Her equally unpleasant husband will support her in the very questionable endeavour.

Shirley wasn’t just a reclusive, who rarely ever left her large estate. She was also a sociopath. In the few occasions when she ventured out of her property, she helped to ensure that everyone in her surroundings felt threatened and mortified. Her actions included the the sharpest and meanest remarks, pulling scary faces and spilling wine on the sofa. Her gaze overflowing with hate and envy. She has Bette Davies eyes, complete with the bitchiness of Margo Channing in All About Eve (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1950). The difference between between Davis’s character and Shirley is that the latter is genuinely cold-blooded and brutal.

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9. Supernova (Harry Macqueen):

Tusker (Stanley Tucci) has received a diagnosis of dementia, causes and stage unknown. Things are definitely worsening, however, this simply won’t do for author Tusker, renowned for his intellectualism and lively personality. Concert pianist partner Sam (Colin Firth) is stoically resigned to tackle the coming challenges and is considering easy access bungalows or outside help. His heart is completely dedicated towards this new goal to spend their remaining time together. “Every moment”. The two are not entirely on the same page, with the sentimentality of Sam’s approach rubbing against the more clinical outlook of Tusker, railing at the inevitability of becoming a passenger in his own body. The diametrically opposed personal introspection of the writer against the sensitivity of an outwardly performative musician has until now defined their relationship, now causing friction.

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10. Undine (Christian Petzold):

Undine (Paula Beer) is an eloquent historian. She teaches tourists about the architectural history of Berlin in a local museum. She shows them a giant model of the city as it currently is and another one of what it would look like now had the GDR not unexpectedly collapsed 30 years earlier. Her life is also seeing a very abrupt change: her lover Johannes (Jacob Matschenz) is about to dump her. The nonchalant yet assertive female has threatened to kill him in case he proceeds with his plans. She does not wish to see their romance confined to the past, just like urbanistic plans for the defunct communist state.

She then meets the handsome Christoph (Franz Rogowski), a diver familiar with the underwater secrets of the German capital. The grounded lady and submarine gentleman complement each other. They meet entirely by accident (literally), in one of these rare occasions when the underwater world comes crashing into the surface. Undine was unwittingly waiting to submerge into Christoph’s world for some time. Her name is a reference to a 200-year-old German novella about a water spirit.

La Dolce Vita

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Fellini’s eighth feature film has passed into the English language as a synonym for Italian exuberance, style and the ability to enjoy life without apology. No film has ever had such an ironic title as La Dolce Vita (“The Sweet Life”, had the film title ever been translated). In the film that made his international reputation, the Italian filmmaker pours cold water over the whole concept of a treacly existence. Instead, he reveals his home country as shallow, vacant and cruel. Indeed, he is not just depicting Italy but the whole era of the 1960s, which is the beginning of our own era, and all that he shows is still relevant and deeply prophetic.

The ennui of is emphasised by the fact there is in this film there is no very obvious narrative. The story consists basically of a reporter named Marcello Rubini (Marcello Mastroianni) drifting through of the streets of Rome, and contending with a number of events. His girlfriend takes an overdose, he encounter an heiress, a movie star, and so on. Each scene is a series of episodes, in night clubs, at parties, in restaurants, etc.

This is a movie built upon imagery and symbolism. The flying Christ scene mimics the idea of the Second Coming of Christ. Christ flies over his “eternal” city and what does he find? He finds paparazzi in the Via Veneto with rich, aimless people, he finds two children in a field pretending to have visions of the Virgin Mary, and a beautiful woman in a clinging dress climbing up the steps of the cupola of St. Peter’s, wearing what looks like a cardinal’s hat. The images of La Dolce Vita linger in the mind long after you have seen it.

The secular world he depicts is just as ridiculous and, perhaps, crueller. The one person who has any pretensions to intellectual insight is Steiner (Alain Cluny) and he shoots himself and his two children. The paparazzi wait until his wife gets off a bus and is told that her husband and children are dead and hope to photograph her reaction. The paparazzi are quite happy to run around a field in a downpour while two children pretend to have visions. It doesn’t matter to them. It’s all news. If it’s fake news, it doesn’t matter. It still sells. Even glamorous Rome is not that glamorous. The down at heel prostitute Maddalena (Anouk Aimée) whose flat Marcello Rubini stays at with a girlfriend lives in a depressing housing estate on the edge of Rome. You can’t get into her sitting room or bedroom except by walking over planks because the floor is flooded, and no one has come to do the repairs.

This film heralded the beginning of the 1960’s. Besides its teasing of Catholicism, it also featured openly gay characters. It was the beginning of the modern age which is still very much with us. It is a world of trivia, diversion and pointless celebrities. It believes nothing and knows nothing. The great fish that ends up on the beach right at the end of the film with its huge vacant eyes symbolises this. It could well be a metaphor for modern life, large, bloated and meaningless. The only aspect of today it lacks is poisonous politics.

The only people who seem to do an honest day’s work are the police and a beautiful young girl running a beachside restaurant and her busy, little brother laying out the plates on the tables. At the end of the film the girl tries desperately to communicate with Marcello, but she cannot be understood because the gap between her world and the world of the rich and spoilt people Marcello inhabits is too vast.

The film was loathed by many at its first screening in Milan. The Vatican hated the film and it was banned in several Catholic countries. Yet abroad it was immediately greeted as a masterpiece.

The 4k restoration of La Dolce Vitta was in cinemas across the UK on Friday, January 3rd. The BFI are holding a centennial celebration of Fellini’s work in 2020. On Mubi in June.

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (Les Parapluies de Cherbourg)

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The BFI are featuring a season of musicals on film which continues to January 2020. One immediately thinks of the great Ginger Roger/ Fred Astaire song and dance Hollywood musicals of the 1930s. These were followed by those of the 1940s and 1950s dominated by Gene Kelly who worked so successfully with Stanley Donen to create a series of outstanding movies – On the Town (1949), and Singing in the Rain (1952) among them.

However, there is a lesser known gem of the French cinema in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg directed by Jacques Demy, a director associated with the French New Wave. It was released in 1964 and won the Palme d’Or at Cannes in the same year. Now, after all these years, it is still distinguished by all the dialogue being sung by the characters. The film was the joint creation of Demy as director and Michel Legrand. The sung dialogue seamlessly unfolded the poignant tale of the course of young love. The combination of sung dialogue and beautiful backgrounds lends itself to creating an unique nostalgic quality; the theme tune is haunting and reflects the tone of the bitter sweet relationship between the lovers.

I saw The Umbrellas of Chebourg when it first came out in the 1960s. It contrasted completely with the song and dance musicals produced by Hollywood which were fast and full of movement. However, so much was changing with the French New Wave, one just enjoyed the originality of the sung dialogue and the provincial setting of the story. It was a departure from what one was used to but a delightful glimpse into French culture. Seeing it now, one is almost overwhelmed by the colour, the carefully co-ordinated and constructed interiors and the realistic filming in dark, wet cobbled streets. It still retains a magical quality with something of a fairy tale in its gorgeous use of coordinated colour, the simplicity of the story and the haunting melodies.

Earlier in 1961 Demy had directed another now almost forgotten film, Lola, which was much appreciated at the time with Anouk Aimée as the central character. For those interested in film, it provides an excellent preparation for The Umbrellas – the music shares certain themes as does the story and provides a link to the back story of the diamond merchant in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.

Demy supports the sequence of events by dividing the narrative into three parts starting with Departure, followed by Absence with the concluding Return. The story begins with an engaging young couple, Guy and Geneviève who are very much in love. Their total absorption with each other adds a new dimension to their mundane lives; each living with family in a port seemingly largely populated by French sailors. The hoped for future of marriage with children is disrupted by Guy being drafted to serve abroad in the army for two years.

While the story line is very much of its period – a couple separated by the Algerian War, with the forlorn girl facing pregnancy without the face-saving possibility of marriage and its economic security – the poignancy of the situation is as powerful as ever. Geneviève’s predicament is beautifully realised with her gradual recognition of the difficulty of sustaining a powerful relationship at a distance.

The final part depicts the challenges experienced by Guy on his return to Cherbourg as a veteran of the war in Algeria. While reflecting on his earlier life with Geneviève, he gradually realises he needs to establish a new life for himself. Rain sunshine and snow all reflect the mood of the characters. Many images and themes are repeated – the Mercedes car brings Geneviève back to Cherbourg where there is a bitter sweet reunion. Not a Hollywood happy ever after resolution but perhaps one with which we can all recognise and identify.

It is stunning to see the beautiful Catherine Deneuve as a 20-year-old at the beginning of a lifelong career. The supporting actors are equally strong in conveying the poignancy of the situation and the working port of Cherbourg creates the gritty realism of every-day life. Much to be recommended – a truly memorable film.

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is back in cinemas on Friday, December 6th

Our top 10 dirty picks from the 2019 BFI London Film Festival

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The 63rd BFI London Film Festival, the biggest and the oldest film festival in the UK, takes place between October 2nd and 13th in a number of prestigious venues in Central London. The event will showcase 225 films from both established and emerging talent from every corner of the planet. This year, the Festival will host 21 world premieres, nine international premieres and 29 European premieres. In total, there will be 46 documentaries, four animations, 18 archive restorations and seven artists’ moving image features.

So where to begin? Below is a list of 10 dirty movies that you shouldn’t miss. We have seen the majority of these films (as they premiered in Berlin, Cannes and Locarno earlier this year), so we can vouch for our list, which is teeming with thought-provoking, innovative and downright filthy gems. Don’t forget to click on the film title in order to accede to our exclusive dirty review (where available). The films are sorted alphabetically.

You can click here in order to purchase your ticket now!

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1. Adolescents (Sébastian Lifshitz):

Charting the lives of two girls from thirteen to eighteen, Adolescentes is an immersive documentary depicting the vicissitudes of youth. Five years in the making, filmed twenty-four days a year and composed from 500 hours of rushes, it has the flow of a fine naturalist drama, standing nicely alongside Young Solitude (Claire Simon, 2018) and Belinda (Marie Dumora, 2017) as yet another brilliant French documentary about the complexity of growing older.

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2. Bacurau (Kleber Mendonca Filho, Juliano Dornelles):

The little town of Bacurau has been erased from the map. Literally. Locals can no longer locate it on the various online applications. Someone (or something?) is killing the locals. There have been seven murders in one day. Small UFOs monitor the town from above. The locals are prepared to fight back for their survival. They also wish to protect their their identity and cultural heritage. They cherish the Bacurau Museum, a small building where town’s invaluable artifacts are stored. The local doctor Domingas (Sonia Braga) is some sort of matriarch. Men, women and children are ready to take arms. Bacurau is a resistance movie against the rise of fascism in Brazil.

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3. By the Grace of God (Francois Ozon):

Francois Ozon is best remembered for his psychological dramas, psychosexual thrillers and twisted comedies. He has now moved into an almost entirely new territory: Catholic faith and paedophilia. The outcome is nothing short of magnificent. The director paints a profoundly humanistic portrayal of the sexual abuse victims of real-life priest Father Bernard Preynat (Bernard Verley), thereby denouncing the silence and the complacence of the Catholic hierarchy.

By the Grace of God follows the steps of 40-year-old father-of-five and respectable professional Alexandre (Melvil Poupard). He decides to confront Father Preynat, who abused him 30 years earlier, upon finding out in 2014 that the priest still working closely with children. The problem is that the crime took place in 1991 and it has now prescribed (exceeding the 20-year threshold for legal action), and so Alexandre searches for more recent victims of Father Preynat, in a Goliath versus David battle against the extremely powerful and millenary Catholic Church.

By The Grace of God won the Silver Bear prize for Best Film in Berlin earlier this year. It shows in a thrill gala as part of the BFI London Film Festival.

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4. Ema (Pablo Larrain):

“Every new Pablo Larraín film is a miracle of imagination, invention and insight into human behaviour. And Ema may be his most lyrical and poetic yet – a character study of a beguiling woman who is ruled by heart and impulse. In a vivid collage of scenes shot by Sergio Armstrong, with an expressive score from Nicolas Jaar, Larraín paints a picture of talented contemporary street/reggaeton dancer and teacher Ema. We learn of a recent trauma and her fiery relationship with her slightly older husband (Gael García Bernal), who is both a choreographer and her creative collaborator. Their recent adoption of a troubled child has gone badly, for which they are harshly judged. They, in turn, blame one another. Writing with Guillermo Calderón and Alejandro Moreno, Larraín’s film intersperses explosive, intoxicating scenes of dance within dramatic moments that are fractured in time.” (Tricia Tuttle)

Ema shows in strand gala section of the BFI London Film Festival.

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5. The Invisible Life of Euridice Gusmao (Karim Ainouz):

This is as close as you will ever get to a tropical Douglas Sirk. Karim Ainouz’s eighth feature film and the second one to premiere in Cannes (after Madame Satain 2001) has all the ingredients of a melodrama. The 145-minute movie – based on the eponymous novel by Martha Batalha – is punctuated with tragic relationships, epic misfortunes, fortuitous separations and untimely deaths. All skilfully wrapped together by an entirely instrumental and magnificent music score.

The film, which is also pictured at the top of this article, won the Un Certain Regard award for Best Film in Cannes earlier this year.

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6. The Irishman (Martin Scorsese):

In Martin Scorses’s latest movie and ninth collaboration with Robert de Niro, a labour leader and the infamous head of the Teamsters union, whose connections with organised crime were wide ranging, his career ended with a conviction for jury tampering, attempted bribery and fraud, but he was pardoned by President Nixon in 1971. Not long after, he disappeared. Declared legally dead in 1982, various theories have circulated as to what happened to him. Few are as convincing as that told by Frank ‘The Irishman’ Sheeran.

Written by Gangs of New York collaborator Steven Zaillian (Schindler’s List), Scorsese’s The Irishman weaves an engrossing and intricate web of connected events, audaciously cutting back and forth across decades. It is the closing film at the BFI London Film Festival.

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7. Maternal (Maura Delpero):

hat constitutes motherhood? Is it something that is hereditary or something that can be earned? This is the question wrestled with in Maternal, which slyly reimagines the story of the Virgin Mary for modern times. A deeply Christian tale, both in its sense of empathy and its themes, Maternal is a precise chamber Italian-Argentinean co-production that wrestles with the meaning of motherhood, finding no easy answers yet imploring the viewer to bring their own faith and meaning to each scene.

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8. Piranhas (Claudio Giavannesi):

Adapted from the eponymous novel by Neapolitan writer and Camorra expert Roberto Saviani (who also wrote the screenplay), Piranhas follows 10 adolescents in Naples who set up a gang in order to make money and enjoy an unbounded and hedonistic example.

Fifteen-year-old Nicola (Francesco di Napoli) is the gang leader. He convey a very disturbing type of masculinity at a very young age. He takes “protection” money from locals in order to buy drugs, attend expensive clubs, buy branded clothes and posh furniture. Thousands of euros flow like water. He smokes marijuana and snorts cocaine, and circulates locally with the confidence of an adult. He loves to show off his newly found power and wealth. He has a beautiful girlfriend called Letizia, and he also hire prostitutes. He terrorises the narrow alleyways on his scooter.

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7. Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Celine Sciamma):

The he story takes place in 1770 in rural Brittany. An Italian aristocrat (Valeria Golino) has found a wedding partner for her beautiful young daughter Heloise (Adele Haenel), who just returned from a convent to live with her mother is her enormous estate house. Her husband-to-be lives in Milan, and Heloise has never met him. Her mother commissions Marianne (Noemie Merlant) to paint her daughter in secret because Heloise would never consent to it (presumably because the picture will be sent to her prospective husband). Marianne pretends to be Heloise’s mere companion, working alongside the housemaid Sophie (Luana Bajrami). Heloise’s sister has recently committed suicide, likely due to the prospect of a similar marital arrangement. This means that the burden on Marianne is enormous. Could Heloise too attempt to take her own life?

This is a film almost entirely made by women. The writer director is female, and so is the cinematographer (Claire Mathion). Virtually all the characters are female, too. Men are only seen in the end of this 119-minute movie, in entirely secondary roles. Yet this is a film about men and the subtle ways that they oppress women. Heloise regrets having to marry a man whom she has never met, while Marianne is not allowed to become a fully-fledged painter because the artistic establishment prohibits her from studying male anatomy.

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10. So Long, My Son (Wang Xiaoshuai):

Across four decades of turbulent Chinese society, Wang studies a married couple, using the death of their son as a focal point around which to subtly explore the single-child policy and the impact of the Cultural Revolution.

The unconventional structure zips back and forth through different time frames, gradually moving along a central timeline. The story occurs in episodes which each have the feel of their own short story, but which fill in the details of the other things we have seen. Wang leans heavily on dramatic irony, raising the tension as we wait for truths to emerge. One wonders if he couldn’t have found a way to cut 15 minutes or so from the run time, so languid are the first two hours. It isn’t until the final 50 minutes that So Long My Son really pays off every beat he’s set up. Like a Koreeda film, revelation is piled upon revelation, disarming you with one bombshell and then slapping you with another. Wang even uses the flashbacks to abet this by undercutting the outcome of one scene with the reality of the past or present.

Midnight Cowboy

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On May 12th 2019, the New Hollywood era – arguably the greatest epoch in cinematic history – categorically entered its fifties, for it was on this day in 1969 that Dennis Hopper’s Easy Rider premiered at Cannes. Bonnie and Clyde (Arthur Penn, 1967) and The Graduate (Mike Nichols, 1967) may have preceded it, but Easy Rider would become the initial bookend of the era.

However, just 13 days later, on May 25th 1969, John Schlesinger’s Midnight Cowboy opened in New York City. It had neither the indie micro-budget nor the free-spirited zeitgeist of Dennis Hopper’s film, but it still seeped transgression from its every grimy pore. Five decades later, the BFI’s stunning 4K restoration reminds you that Midnight Cowboy’s coming-of-age story retains much of the wit, sadness and visceral squalor that makes it a foundational entry in the New Hollywood canon.

Very much a New York film, one is hard-pressed to remember a colder, bleaker depiction of the city, even after The French Connection (William Friedkin, 1971), Serpico (Sidney Lumet, 1973) and Taxi Driver (Martin Scorsese, 1976). This is because Schlesinger took the stark realism of the kitchen sink movement and applied it to this decidedly American context. Indeed, it may not have captured the pan-cultural moment like Easy Rider, but Midnight Cowboy certainly preserved the zeitgeist of 42nd Street – a shifty, sleazy place before the gentrification of the early 1990s.

This gritty aesthetic, however, is also imbued with surreal dream sequences that are sometimes eerie, often ambiguous – always sad. We first see them as Joe Buck (Jon Voight) begins his cross-country trek; he brims with enthusiasm and ingenuousness, yet the recesses of his psyche reveal a sinister, withdrawn family and a terrible assault upon himself and a young girl – the consequences of which are unknown.

The best of these sequences occurs when Joe and Ratso Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman) are established hustling partners dreaming of Florida – it’s a bittersweet joy. Their dank, desperate gamble in a New York hotel is juxtaposed with the ethereal Florida scene that they hope will result from it, but as Joe’s presence causes a ruckus in the hotel, the vision in Ratso’s head also tumbles in a crescendo of snappy edits aided by the quirky tempo of John Barry’s Florida Fantasy.

Indeed, it is John Barry’s hauntingly evocative score – along with Harry Nilsson’s wistful Everybody’s Talkin’– that leaves the largest impression on many viewers, and rightly so. However, I hope that the BFI’s deft re-mastering of Midnight Cowboy will remind audiences of just how absorbing Joe and Ratso’s relationship is, of how the layers of pathos and humour pepper their abject condition with hope, albeit a mere semblance. After all, Voight and Hoffman deliver some of their finest work here, and Waldo Salt’s screenplay is laced with wit and free of narrative baggage. This, teamed with Schlesinger’s realist yet experimental style, causes Midnight Cowboy to be a defining, resonant classic of the New Hollywood period.

The 50th anniversary 4k re-edition of Midnight Cowboy is in cinemas Friday, September 13th. Below is the original film trailer from 1969:

A Clockwork Orange

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Violence in cinema has always been the source of endless debate. When depictions go past the fairly anodyne — such as a climactic shootout in an action movie — and into the realm of the genuinely provocative, such as the horrific world of Cannibal Holocaust (Ruggero Deodato, 1980) or Irreversible (Gaspar Noe, 2002), they can provide a genuine shock to the system, provoking outcry and even calls to be banned. Such was the fate of A Clockwork Orange, adapted from the novel by Anthony Burgess, in which its protagonist Alex DeLarge wreaks ultra-violent havoc upon London with his fellow “droogs” without a single care in the world.

Now enjoying the status of a classic movie, it was met with fury upon its release in 1971. The Catholic Church rated it Condemned, meaning the faithful were forbidden from seeing it. Roger Ebert called it “an ideological mess” and “a paranoid right-wing fantasy” which only exists to “celebrate the nastiness of its hero” while Pauline Kael called it “an abhorrent viewing experience.” It was even blamed for copycat violence, including the murder of an elderly man and a rape where the accused sang Singin’ in the Rain as “Singing in the Rape”. Kubrick himself withdrew the film from public ownership, making it difficult to see in his native UK until after his death in 1999.

Balancing obsessive production design, kooky frames and a generous wide-angle lens, Kubrick drops us into a world that feels both alien and still contemporary. The boys talk in a strange dialect known as Nadsat — a mixture of cockney slang and mispronounced Slavic words —and roam around raping girls and getting into fights. Crucially, the root of Alex’s problems are never explained, Kubrick initially treating it all as a lark. He is never meant to be a psychological character, instead a case study for Kubrick to show off his unique and abundantly self-satisfied style. Additionally, the soundtrack, courtesy of huge classical hits such as Beethoven’s Ode To Joy, Rossini’s The Thieving Magpie and Moog Synthesiser compositions by Wendy Carlos, gives it a sheen of the sublime, making Alex’s actions feel rather seductive.

If A Clockwork Orange only consisted of its first half, it could easily be dismissed as Kubrick depicting violence only for the mere sake of the thing in itself, pushing the limit of what can be seen on screen. Yet the second half takes us into deeper philosophical territory, with Alex, now a convicted felon, treated to a brutal bout of reprogramming. He is forced to watch horrific acts, including endless rape scenes and even clips of Nazi Germany, all scored to his favourite songs. Once he is let free into society, he shows no interest in violence or sex or even music, eventually becoming a similar victim to the violence he once released.

These two halves of the film, almost perfectly centring around the iconic cinema scene, are in direct contradistinction with each other, showing Kubrick’s fondness for bifurcating films between two distinct parts (most clearly seen in 1987’s Vietnam drama Full Metal Jacket). In its second half, A Clockwork Orange becomes a commentary upon violence in cinema itself — its meta quality stressed by those horrific film clips Alex is forced to endure — and how context can change the meaning of violent acts completely. The violence in the second half is nearly just as shocking and brutal as the first, only this time, we’ve finally identified — despite his numerous faults — with the former monster. He may be a terrible person, yet the way he is treated — unable to fight back due to his reprogramming — makes us pity him, like a once violent dog that’s been completely neutered and drugged into a shadow of its former self.

Of all Kubrick’s major films, A Clockwork Orange is easily his less subtle — with a broad (and perhaps simplistic) philosophical point about the horror of the state being worse than any one individual — but its more interesting for the ways he can so easily manipulate the audience’s sense of empathy. It seems he was only too aware of the easily-drawn message of Anthony Burgess’ original novel, Dostoyevskian in the way it starts with horror before moving towards a classic Christian message of redemption. Instead Kubrick famously lets Alex off, ending with a fantasy of him raping yet another naked woman, totally surrounded by adoring spectators in bizarre Edwardian gear. It’s as if to remind us of the artifice of his creation and cinema in general. Sandwiched between the sublime 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and the beautiful Barry Lyndon (1975) – films that both end on more purposeful and enigmatic notes – it can feel like somewhat like a relative low-point. But the lessons it teaches us about violence in cinema seem to have come to the fore the last year, especially when it comes to the world of violent arthouse film.

Take Climax (Gaspar Noe, 2018) and The House That Jack Built (Lars Von Trier, 2018), both films made to provoke and push buttons by indulgent auteurs relentlessly plundering from their own filmography. Two similar yet crucially different scenes stand out for me. In the former a child is locked away and left to die, while in the latter the eponymous Jack shoots a child in the head and uses the body for taxidermy. Both feature a young and helpless child dying, yet I laughed at the former and nearly left the cinema in protest at the latter. Pitting the two cases side by side makes one reflect that its not the act itself that has any meaning. It is the way it’s presented — brutally funny in Gasper Noé’s case (presented off-screen) and unrelentingly awful from Lars von Trier (shown in all its horror)— that makes us view it in a particular way.

Likewise, I thought I was done with serial killer narratives after The House That Jack Built, but found Fatih Akin’s The Golden Glove (2019) – a film some referred to upon its Berlinale premiere as a complete abomination – to be an utter delight, showing how complicated the relationship we have with violence can be. Watching A Clockwork Orange – a moral quagmire or a mess depending on how you look at it – once again reminds me that context is everything. Whether its style, personal feeling and experience or how much we are or aren’t shown, the way an act is presented or the way we look at an act can change its meaning entirely. Forty-eight years later, A Clockwork Orange still remains the ultimate case in point.

A Clockwork Orange is back in UK cinemas on Friday, April 5th, almost five decades after its original release, thanks to the BFI. Watch the film’s brand new trailer below:

Sorry to bother you, BFI and Picturehouse!!!

Posted on by victorfraga

So London Film Festival closes out its 62nd edition tonight, having boasted a thrilling programme of festival favourites from the year alongside tiny films begging for eyeballs and distribution. Queues snake around Leicester Square for a preview of new films by Steve McQueen, The Coen Brothers, and Yorgos Lanthimos, while evening screenings attract huge crowds fighting for a glimpse of Timothee Chalamet in his latest Willy Wonka outfit. But yet again there is a sour note to proceedings, as the BFI’s relationship with Cineworld, and particularly its Picturehouse chain, grows ever tighter.

I’m sure you know Picturehouse is having an ongoing dispute with its workers over union recognition, the London living wage, ansod maternity, paternity, and sickness pay, all essential for staff on zero-hour contracts. Even a campaign has been launched. With other cinemas like Curzon and ICA both paying the living wage, it’s clearly manageable for Cineworld to do the same, since they have posted increasing profits year-on-year. There is no big strike this year, certainly nothing on the scale of last year’s Three Billboards inspired stunt. This article explains how difficult the law makes it for strikes to go ahead, and the legal threats that organisers have received over last year’s demonstrations. This may explain why there is so little visible action this year. Instead, workers have actively discouraged people from seeing films at Picturehouse, which is difficult when that’s knocking seven screens out of your schedule. But as your ticket is scanned and admission is granted into the Picturehouse walls, the painful undercurrent of exploitation can be felt.

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The shoemaker’s wife is always worst clad

Sorry To Bother You (Boots Riley, 2018; pictured just above) played a couple of times during the BFI London Film Festival Festival at Picturehouse, which might give you pause. You see, Boots Riley’s debut feature is a satire about unionisation. In it, LaKeith Stanfield plays Cash, a telemarketer who uses his ‘white voice’ (literally David Cross) to climb the corporate ladder, and while his stock rises, his low-level colleagues strike for better pay, with increasingly violent results. The film details individualist corruption, one that underwhelms in the final act in favour of a rousing fight against the system; more Mike Judge than Putney Swope. In satisfying its audience though, Sorry to Bother You ends up like an unfinished essay, perhaps because it would require more than 90 minutes for a fully coherent deconstruction of modern corporate capitalism.

But watching it at Picturehouse felt bogus. This is a film about individual vs collective responsibility, about sacrificing your own inflation in favour of making things slightly better for your community. And that part rang truest to the situation at BFI London Film Festival. I went, desperate to see one of the year’s most talked of movies. But it felt hollow. And I’m far from the only person who noticed this. Almost everyone is aware of the dispute, and yet, we are all happy to continue to support an establishment that hates its own workers. What’s interesting is that after last year nothing has changed. Because most people I speak to talk like they care and want to make a stand, but its apparent futility has caused the inverse effect: I gotta see these films, so why not just use the Picturehouse? And if you need a coffee while you’re in here, then why not?

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The heart of the capital

Desperate not to spend any money inside, but in need of caffeine, I found myself stalking Shaftesbury Avenue for somewhere that wouldn’t feel exploitative. McDons… be still my liberal heart. Starbucks… forget about it. But there’s a queue growing for the next movie, so God damn it, I’ll go without, I thought, before going to sit in the gigantic screen 1, and think about how everyone in here is a scab! But I at least, am aware of my hypocrisy, so I can enjoy Sorry To Bother You without self-immolation. Wrong.

Thing is, it’s easy for me to sit here and spill words about the situation, as many have done, but I’m still using the Picturehouse’s snap up chairs, willingly complicit in the entire system. You can understand my bind. This is my first LFF as an accredited press member (for which I had to pay £45, another pressure on the freelance journalist economy!) so it’s in my best professional interests to see as much and meet as many people as possible. Filmmaker receptions take place in Picturehouse, so guess where you need to go if you want to schmooze with the industry. Once you’ve decided to go to the Picturehouse, you’re locked in. You might as well be like Cash, selling slaves over the phone.

This might seem like fatuous complaining about The Way of Things. We like to think of film festivals as a Utopic escape from commercial interests, where ideas can be shared freely and the art is king. And of course this isn’t really the case, they’re all just one big conference/networking event where corporations can showcase the next year’s worth of product. But that product is usually overwhelming enough to make us forget (ignore?) the negative sides of it. But when it’s put so close to us, it’s hard to continue the fantasy. It’s like the Tessa Thompson character, Detroit, from Sorry to Bother You: a radical afro-futurist artist who chides Cash for giving in to the system. But when she wants to sell her work, she is revealed to also use a white voice. She both plays the game, and manages to seem outside of it.

It’s hard to make taking a stand matter, because there are 100 adept Twitter users waiting to swoop in and earn their accreditation by doing the PR work for the festival. The queues around the block must do half the work for Picturehouse, they’ve never seemed so alive (pictured above)! That’s the real economy here. A swathe of cultural capital: to have seen the big film before your non-film friends, or even better, to skip the big movie for a masterpiece first feature. But the films are so good. The swooning, muscular direction of Roma (Alfonso Cuaron, 2018), the romantic gazes of If Beale Street Could Talk‘ (Barry Jenkins, 2108; second picture above), the incredible, art-historical provocations of Make me Up (Rachel Mclean, 2018)… The quality of the films on show are the romantic notion that stops us from taking action. Is a rare chance to see Roma on the big screen before it disappears into the Netflix void as much of a defiant act as it feels, if the circumstances that enable that opportunity deprive others of obtaining economic agency?

Again and again, Cash is reminded to ‘STTS: stick to the script!’ That’s what the nebulous, Festival bubble wants us to do too. They want us to see Roma (pictured below) and If Beale Street Could Talk, films that already have a life outside of the festival. Like so many people I spoke to, you go in thinking you’re going to reject the Oscar fare, in favour of panning for the gold in the margins, but the buzz swallows you up and before you know it you’re sat down for The Sisters Brothers (Jacques Audiard, 2018) Complain all I want but my presence, and especially my acquiescence to this system speaks volumes.

Our individual’s guilt means nothing in the face of the festival’s BFI’s culpability by continuing to use Picturehouse as a key location. While the Leicester Square Odeon undergoes reconstruction, the red carpet premieres are all taking place at Empire (also owned by Cineworld) this year. So it’s clear that BFI doesn’t see it as their responsibility. And the fact that they pay the living wage themselves would appear to acquit them. This week, the BFI also announced ‘measuring class and socio-economic background in their funding and staffing’. Coinciding with their Working Class Heroes season, this is a great step forward, and the BFI should be praised for this commitment. But in the midst of this conversation, one worries that this shifts the focus away from Picturehouse.

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Who’s gonna say it out loud?

At the start of the festival, Charlie Lyne posted a great thread about boycotting the Picturehouse, and even pulled his own film from screening there. But he is in a certain position of influence as a popular young filmmaker/critic. He is one of the only filmmakers to have made such a stand. I couldn’t get Boots Riley or anyone from his team to comment on the situation, which is funny for such a vocal director, and a film of such radical ideology.

The Picturehouse can change their position, but it may take a stronger act of solidarity to do so. These films nourish us. But, if they don’t change us, then what does that nourishment mean? What exactly, does it feed? And if that means skipping a movie like Sorry to Bother You, and all the clout that comes with being a part of that conversation as it happens, then perhaps that is a price that is worth it for a cinema culture that’s worth keeping.

Our 10 mega-filthy picks for the BFI London Film Festival 2018

Posted on by victorfraga

The largest film festival in the UK is about to begin. The event programme has already been announced. There are 225 feature films from 77 countries being shown in 14 cinemas across the British capital in just 12 days (from October 10th to October 21st). It’s difficult to decide where to begin. That’s why we have done the homework for you, and unearthed the top 10 dirtiest gems. That’s because we caught these films earlier this year in Berlin, Cannes and Venice, and so we can recommend them to you with confidence!

Don’t forget to click on the film title in order to accede to the review of each individual dirty gem on the list below:

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1. Touch Me Not (Adina Pintilie, 2018):

his is as close to a tactile experience as you will ever get from a moving picture. Touch Me Not starts with the extreme close-up of a male body, so close you could even count the body hairs. The camera navigates through the unidentified entity: legs, penis, stomach and nipple. This is a suitable taster of incredibly intimate and human film that will follow for the next 125 minutes.

Romanian director Adina Pintilie establishes a dialogue with several real-life characters, in what can be described as a documentary with flavours of fiction, in a roughly congruent arc. Laura, Tómas, Christian and Hanna and Hanna have a very different relation to their sexuality and bodies, and they are all working together in order to overcome their fears and and claim control of their lives.

Touch Me Not premieres in the Festival and it’s out in UK cinemas immediately after on Friday, October 19th.

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2. U: July 22nd (Erik Poppe, 2018):

On July 22nd 2011 500 young people attending a summer camp in the idyllic island of Utøya, near Oslo, were attacked by 34-year-old right-wing terrorist Anders Behring Breivik. The attack claimed the lives of 77 people, left 99 severely injured and a further 300 profoundly traumatised. It shocked a nation not used to crimes of such dimension. It was the deadliest event in the wealthy and pacific Scandinavian country since WW2.

You would be forgiven for thinking this is an exploitative film trying to reopen painful wounds and to capitalise on fetishised violence. But it’s not. This is an overtly political film, and the Norwegian director Erik Poppe sets the tone in the very beginning on the movie. Kaja talks with her friends, immediately before the shooting begins, and after they hear about the explosion in Oslo. They speculate that the bomb may have been planted by al-Qaeda in response to Norway’s involvement in Afghanistan. They have no idea that the attack is in fact being conducted by a white Norwegian man.

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3. What You Gonna Do When The World’s On Fire (Roberto Minervini, 2018):

They have been neglected and abused throughout the past five centuries. They are men and women of various generations and with all types of professions, and they share the same burden. The government and the society intended to protect them instead scorns them. They have been hunted down by neo-Nazis, the Ku Klux Klan and other white supremacists. Their walls have been graffitied with the N-word, swastikas and calls for ethnic cleansing. But they’re still alive! Italian filmmaker Roberto Minervini captures the apocalyptic scenario that many Afro-Americans from the Deep South have to confront daily.

What you Gonna Do When the World’s on Fire? is shot in black and white using with an Arri Alexa camera with a large depth of field (deep focus). In other words, the images in the foreground, middle-ground and background are all in focus. In a way, this is reminiscent and nostalgic of the neo-Realism aesthetics.

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4. Yomeddine (Abu Bakr Shawdry, 2018):

This is probably as close as you will ever get to a leper. Leprosy has been eradicated in most parts of the planet, but still persists in some of the most impoverished countries. The highly contagious disease is immediately associated with removal from society and seclusion. Yet you won’t regret you came into contact with these adorable human beings. Yomeddine gives you the opportunity to embrace, look into the eyes and deep dive into the hearts of these outcasts.

The story starts out in a colony of lepers somewhere in South of Egypt, where Beshay (Rady Gamal) was abandoned 30 years earlier as a child by his father. He has a wife and lives happily with the other members of the colony. There is a real sense of community, and they seem to lead a relatively peaceful existence despite their condition and the abject poverty. Their main source of work and entertainment is a nearby landfill, which they nicknamed Garbage Mountain. Just like the contents of the site, these people have been discarded by society.

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5. Daughter of Mine (Laura Bispuri, 2018):

Vittoria (Sara Casu) is about to turn 10, and she lives with her doting mother Tina (Valeria Golino) in a happy and and stable household. She befriends Angelica (Alba Rohrwacher), a dysfunctional and promiscuous alcoholic who’s about to be evicted from her own house unless she can raise 27,000 to pay off her debts. At first, it’s not entirely clear what bonds the adult and the child. They seem to have very little in common except for a vague physical resemblance.

Daughter of Mine is set in the barren and oppressively hot Summer of Sardinia, one of the poorest and most remote areas of Italy. Their fishing village looks very precarious and primitive, and untouched by tourists. The houses are old and most of the buildings are derelict, few roads have been paved, and a heavy and brown cloud of dust is lifted by passing cars and motorcycles. The landscape is very arid and golden-hued, just like Vittoria’s hair. This is a sight many people would not associate with a European country, but instead with a developing nation in Africa or South America.

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6. Pixote (Hector Babenco, 1980):

Possibly the dirtiest Brazilian film ever made, Pixote is now nearly 40 years old.

Pixote isn’t just a denunciation of poverty. It goes much deeper, revealing the sheer cruelty of a system that legitimates and perpetuates violence. Drug lords hired minors to sell drugs or rob banks because they would not face criminal action. If caught, they would spend some time in a police or a Febem reformatory, being freed at the age of 18 without a criminal record.

Pixote opens with intense music and no imagery. The symbolism of darkness continues throughout the film. Nothing is lighthearted: boy rapes boy, prison wards are corrupt, Pixote smokes, sniffs glue and kills. The colours of life in the margin are not bright. Even the brothels are somber. There are no red neon lights. The prostitutes Silvia and Debora are unstylish and downtrodden. They are cheap.

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7. The Image Book (Jean-Luc Goddard, 2018):

The Image Book was shot for almost two years in various Arab countries, and it is being marketed as “an examination of the Arab world”. In reality, the film is a collage of film and political references, some easily recognisable and others completely random and bizarre, with some voice-over. You will see extracts from Todd Browning’s Freaks (1932), Pasolini’s Salò (1975), familiar faces such as Joan Crawford and Gérard Depardieu, allusions to the Bolshevik Revolution, to Rosa Luxembourg, and so on – all in line with the director’s left wing convictions. There is no narrative whatsoever, and the Arab theme is only addressed in the final third of this 82-minute movie.

The jump cuts, the faux raccords, the cacophony and the many other devices crafted by the director himself half a century ago are used in abundance. English subtitles suddenly disappear, and often don’t even entirely match the original in French. Dialogues in German, English and Italian are entirely devoid of subtitles. Text on the screen is illegible, very much à la David Carson. Colours are inverted, and negative footage is conspicuous. The image size switches back and forth to various shapes and formats. The French film itself (“Le Livre d’Image”) is a pun suggesting that the image is free. It all makes Alexander Kluge seem square and boring. Exactly as you would expect from Godard.

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8. Happy as Lazzaro (Alba Rohrwacher, 2018):

The story starts in the impoverished and aptly-named rural town of Inviolata (Italian for “inviolable”), where a group a group of peasants work as sharecroppers in conditions analogue to slavery for the pompous Marquise De La Luna and her son the eccentric Marquis De La Luna. The decrepit buildings and working conditions suggest that the town is in the South of Italy, although its exact location is never revealed. Lazzaro helps both the peasants and the bosses without drawing much attention to himself. He’s prepared to do anything for this people. He will offer his very blood is asked to do it.

Suddenly, De La Luna’s “great swindle” is uncovered. She’s arrested and the farm abandoned. The peasants move to the city in search of pastures green. Then the film moves forward several years. The actress Alba Rohrwacher, who happens to be the director’s elder sister, plays different characters at the different times. Everyone ages. Except for Lazzaro. He looks exactly the same; even his plain clothes remain unchanged.

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9. The Angel (Luis Ortega, 2018):

Carlitos (Lorenzo Ferro) has the face of Macaulay Culkin, the lips of Angelina Jolie and the hair of an angel. Yet he epitomises evil. He’s a staunch robber and serial killer. He doesn’t believe in ownership of goods, and so he will steal anything that comes his way, ranging from cars and posh mansions to a gun store. He also has a profound disregard for life, and so he will kill just about anyone who stands in his way. The action takes place in 1971.

Carlitos befriends the dark-haired and also extremely good-looking Ramon (played by Chino Darin, son of Argentinian über-actor Ricardo Darin), who soon becomes his partner in crime. Ramon’s parents also become enthusiastic accomplices. Angel’s parents Aurora (Cecilia Roth) and Hector (Luis Gnecco), on the other hand, suspect that their son is up to no good, and do not approve of his behaviour. But there’s little they can do in order to stop their deviant and untrammelled angel.

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10. Dogman (Matteo Garrone, 2018):

In some unnamed and extremely impoverished coastal town in the South of Italy, Marcello (Marcello Fonte; pictured at the top of this article) runs a small dog grooming business aptly named Dogman. He is also a part time coke dealer. He befriends a Neanderthal thug called Antonio (Edoardo Pesce). Together they engage in a life of petty crimes and nights out. They seem to complement each other in s very strange way: Marcello is puny, ugly, calm and with a squeaky voice, while Simone is bulky, considerably better-looking, extremely irascible and with a hoarse voice.

Dogman is in cinemas on Friday, October 19th, immediately after its premiere at the BFI London Film Festival.

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and a last minute addition to our list, no less dirty:

11. Mandy (Panos Cosmatos):

Mandy exists as a headfuck, a hallucinatory trip, but it’s one worth taking and experiencing in all its lucid glory. The action takes place in 1983 in the Pacific Northwest of America that seems devoid of people, at least normal people. But we know this is no alternate reality, however much Mandy believes in the supernatural or the otherworldly. President Ronald Reagan appears on the radio rallying against drugs and pornography. If Mandy had been released at the time of Reagan, the moral majority would have flipped at its bent vision of religion and God. Still, the woods, mountains, and lakes are bathed in a fog of dreamy light and aura that offers a sense that weirdness is a norm in these parts.