The Bone Breakers (Spaccaossa)

The scene you’re most likely to remember comes right at the start of The Bone Breakers. Inside a warehouse, bodybuilding weights are packed into a suitcase which, once sealed, is carried up some scaffolding. Below, men hold another man’s arm so that it rests on two blocks, one at each end, then the man on the scaffolding drops the case from the scaffolding onto the man below’s rested arm, painfully breaking it. You’re immediately wondering what’s going on, possibly assuming the men are gangsters and the man whose arm has been broken has upset or crossed them in some way.

However, the man is compliant and even though his fractured arm clearly causes him considerable pain afterwards, he goes along with and and doesn’t appear to bear the men who have done this any ill will. They get him to the hospital where his arm is put in a sling, then take him to another building in which he’ll live in the short term, presumably to recuperate.

Beyond that, it isn’t entirely obvious what’s going on although, in fact, it’s very simple. Although the glowing term ‘inspried’ sounds far too optimistic and pleasant, this is inspired by an insurance scam in Palermo whereby people’s bones were broken to enable them to claim on the insurance money. Or rather, to enable to claims of the people whose bones were broken and the criminals who set up this scheme, who take their not inconsiderable cut even as they claim in good capitalist fashion to be providing a service that people want. All this (and the exact purpose of the house) is explained in a brief title at the close of the film.

To tell this horrific story, co-writer and director Vincenzo Pirrotta weaves a complex network of characters who prove really hard for the audience to keep up with. Chief among these in Vincenzo (played by Pirrotta himself) who, it quickly becomes apparent, isn’t really suited to this or any similar line of business. You need to be ruthless, make threats and be able to see them through if people using the service try to bend the rules, but Vincenzo is too likely to listen to people and try and help them.

Moreover, he’s completely smitten with black-clad drug addict Luisa (Selena Caramazza), despite his being told she is unreliable, and after having sex with her tries to help her by getting her arm broken. It’s fairly obvious that this has the potential to go bad and poison their blossoming relationship pretty fast, alongside various other broken bone situations with other people who develop all sorts of complications. Towards the end, we even get into faked, fatal road accidents.

There’s another gang member much more ruthless than Vincenzo – and therefore much more likely to get the required results – who starts taking work off him. Vincenzo’s Catholic mother (Aurore Quattrocchi), meanwhile, alongside verbalising piety, seems to know exactly what’s going on and constantly tells him what to do, even though her admonitions may be beyond his essentially compassionate nature.

In addition to its overly complicated storyline, perhaps the narrative’s problems lie in showing its hand too early. After that devastating opening, it’s difficult to imagine anything else having quite the same impact. And although the film presses several scenarios into play in the hope of achieving that end, nothing quite tops it.

Nevertheless, as these gruesome and immoral events play out, there’s a compelling fascination to them, particularly with a central character who lacks what it takes to make such things run smoothly because he possesses a basic humanity that flies in the face of what all those around him are doing or encouraging. Altogether, an incredibly bleak and depressing vision, definitely not recommended for the faint of heart, which nevertheless carries within it the seeds of optimism: things are bad, but some people are striving, even if unsuccessfully, to make them better. Or, at least, less bad.

The Bone Breakers plays in the Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. Watch the film trailer below:

El Topo

My first encounter with the films of Chilean-French filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky was a complete accident. Stumbling around Bestival on the Isle of Wight as a young and impressionable teenager, I walked into a tent at midnight just as The Holy Mountain (1973) was about to begin. I had absolutely no idea what to make of the movie; all I knew was that I was in the presence of something completely unique and utterly brilliant. The random nature of this encounter felt Jodorowskian in and of itself, a bizarre coincidence that later left a huge filmmaking impression.

The deranged nature of Jodorowky’s films almost invites the viewer to be somewhat under the influence (like I was then, although just rum and not psychedelics!) when watching them. His breakthrough hit, El Topo, is no exception, a bizarre romp through the Mexican desert that shocks and beguiles in equal measure. Filled to the brim with endless rituals, symbols, animals, dwarfs, deformed people and highly mannered performances, it can be a difficult film to interpret. Seen with an open mindset however and El Topo is a highly cathartic experience, an expiation of sin through brutal violence.

Jodorowsky stars at the eponymous hero, a black-clad gunfighter wandering the desert with his naked son (played by Jodorowsky’s own son Brontis Jodorowsky). He is on a mission to defeat four gun masters to become the finest fighter in the land. With just this basic description El Topo sounds like a traditional Western, or at least a Spaghetti Western — violent deconstructions of the genre filmed by Italians directors like Sergio Corbucci or Sergio Leone — yet Jodorowsky has a completely different aim in mind, using the power of the desert’s almost endless plains to investigate the nature of human morality.

El Topo

It’s ultimately a deeply religious film, albeit one that explores ideas of spiritually and faith through extreme violence. El Topo can easily be read, like the star of The Holy Mountain, as a type of Jesus-like figure, especially when he finds himself in a cave filled with outcasts who have become deformed through incest. He even quotes New Testament scripture when he asks “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” right before his hands are shot, forming wounds like that of the stigmata. Both blasphemous yet oddly affecting, it foreshadows the intense exploration of Christianity found in the films of Martin Scorsese, especially The Last Temptation of Christ (1988).

Yet the film cannot easily be interpreted as a one-for-one Christ allegory. As Roger Ebert mentions: “He makes not the slightest attempt to use them so they sort out into a single logical significance.” Unlike the similarly mannered films of Sergei Parajanov, which can probably be interpreted correctly with a degree in Eastern European studies or specialist knowledge of pre-Soviet Ukrainian, Georgian and Armenian culture, Jodorowsky’s films cannot be solved through specialist knowledge as many of the symbols more or less contradict each other. This is the key pleasure of Jodorowsky’s films and what makes them such iconic Midnight Movies. You just simply have to go with the flow, bring your own perspective to what they offer, and enjoy the experience. Intoxicants are optional.

A restoration of El Topo is in selected cinemas across the UK on Friday, January 10th.