Tag: film

Safe Place (Sigurno mjesto)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

The name is ironic. Bitterly so. There are certainly no safe places in Safe Place, a realist, grim and unrelenting exploration of man’s inner darkness and the difficulty of lifting up those who succumb to it. A confident debut from director Juraj Lerotić, it’s a harsh and unforgiving experience, all the more brave for tackling its central tragedy straight on.

The opening expresses the universality of the topic. The film starts on an inauspicious Zagreb housing block, with kids playing in the car park and other people going about their day. Suddenly, a man bursts into the frame, runs across the car park and breaks the door down. In one of many rapid shifts in this film — which toys with temporality, reality, and our sense of space to excellent effect — we see Demir (Goran Markovic) on the floor, just about clinging on after a suicide attempt. He is cradled by his brother (Juraj Lerotić himsef), who waits until the ambulance arrive.

This is the start of many intense and dark scenes, as we follow Demir being moved between hospitals and police stations, going missing and returning again, unable to express his trauma and refusing to get any better. Played with total passivity by Markovic, he is a man on a mission to die. Neither a veteran of the war or, as he puts it, “a starving child in Africa”, he nonetheless seems unable to see the positive side of life. It doesn’t help that the doctors, police officers and other officials seem unbothered by his problems, creating a further feel of total alienation.

There is a Romanian New Wave feeling to this movie, both in its exploration of bureaucracy, and its moments of pitch-black comedy, as well as the way it always keeps us in the moment, closely observed by the camera, which rarely goes for flashy movements or extraneous gestures. The most obvious similarity in its depiction of an uncaring state is The Death of Mr Lazarescu (Cristi Puiu, 2005) as well as Aurora (2010), where Puiu, like Lerotić maintains complete auteur control by playing the main character. Meanwhile, its unrelenting one-thing-after-another approach brings to mind Pilgrims (Laurynas Bareiša, 2021), and might even be able to match that Latvian film’s moderate success.

Despite these Eastern European influences or similarities, there are certain breaks that feel like Lerotić’s own, including a willingness to toy with the reality of what we are watching, inserting purposeful breaks in our understanding of the narrative and moments of gentle surrealism. Some many find this a frustrating and slow watch, but I found mesmerising and hypnotic moments within the unremitting darkness. Suicide is a terrible thing and disproportionately affects young men, who are often unable to talk about their feelings. Sometimes someone has to tell it like it is.

Safe Place (Sigurno mjesto) plays as part of Concorso Cineasti del presente at Locarno Film Festival, running from 3-13th August.

Fragments From Heaven

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

The desert, in its bleak, existential emptiness, offers man the chance to discover his destiny. There’s a reason Moses didn’t travel through lush vegetation and rolling hills for 40 days. There’s nothing, nothing, nothing before suddenly something. Something quite remarkable indeed. Perhaps the origin of all human life.

My opening oversells Fragments From Heaven somewhat, a poetic, if slight, documentary from Morocco with two complimentary strands: firstly, the story of Mohamed, a nomad who pursues the desert for meteorite debris, believing it has the power to change his life, and Abderrahmane, a scientist who is exploring the origin of these rocks in order to answer questions about the Big Bang itself. Combining long takes with ambient sound design, and heated discussions with Terrence Malick-style voiceover, this documentary takes you on a quest, touching on topics both scientific and existential.

There are shades of Werner Herzog’s recent geographically-minded documentaries here, such as Into The Inferno (2018) and Fireball: Visitors from Darker Worlds (2020) — looking at the physical world in order to understand the man-made one. But Adnane Baraka’s film — which he shot, edited, and sound-designed himself — has no conventional talking heads and a much smaller scope and budget, keeping its perspective relatively close. It begs to be seen in a cinema, considering the experiential duration of the desert-set takes, following characters around as they look for these rare meteorite fragments. At home on a computer screen, your attention may easily wane.

We learn back in Abderrahmane’s research centre, that not only are these fragments potentially millions of years old, but they actually pre-date the sun itself. At one point, we even learn that some fragments have organic matter on them, briefly begging the question that there may be life elsewhere in the universe. In one discussion with his students, he even argues that understanding these fragments could be the key to understanding how the universe began. Given the importance of the work, someone needs to give this man more funding right away!

He is the classic scientist, speaking French, while Mohamed, speaking Amazigh, working on the ground with his wife and children, is far more religious-minded. And while the two subjects never meet, they do seem to be in dialogue with one another, creating an interesting tension between faith and science. Perhaps the final answer still resides in the stars?

Ending with a Tree Of Life-like (Terrence Malick, 2011) evocation of the sun burning and lights flaring and fire piercing the cosmos, Baraka finally aims for profundity and awe — reminding us of the infinite potential of the universe around us, small shards of which are more likely to collect in the Moroccan desert than almost anywhere else on earth. Nonetheless, these moments do come after plenty of ponderous takes. There is a lot to think about, but a lot of wading through the desert is needed to get there.

Fragments From Heaven plays as part of Concorso Cineasti del presente at the Locarno Film Festival, running from 3-13th August.

Before I Change My Mind

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

We never find a genuine answer to whether Robin (played by non-binary actor Vaughan Murrae) is a boy or a girl. It begins with them walking into their new classroom during a sexual education class: boys on one side, girls on the other. They sit purposefully in the middle, prompting derision from their peers.

The year is 1987. The country is Canada. The state is Alberta. Robin is an odd USA transplant adapting to a new life across the border. And while non-binary and trans people have existed since the beginning of humanity, schools in the era of homophobic John Hughes films and the weird homoeroticism of Top Gun (Tony Scott, 1986) don’t quite have the language to make Robin seamlessly fit in. When they join the saxophone ensemble, the teacher kindly says they can be whoever they want before handing them yet another saxophone: that’s the only instrument the school has.

Thus begins a coming-of-age story that is fresh in its representation but mostly derivative in every other aspect, a curious Locarno inclusion that would’ve felt much more at home in Berlinale’s generation section. Robin meets both boys and girls, develops intense crushes and gets into fights and gets bullied and fights back and sensitively draws the world around them. This is all shot in pastel colours with a handheld camera, sometimes inserting grainy VCR footage to immerse you in the era. The music is suitable synth-heavy too, although none of the needle cuts (Canadian bands?) are particularly memorable, probably due to budget issues.

And while some films might use their 80s setting of a way of easing you into a particular vibe, from Stranger Things (Duffer Brothers, 2016-) to Call Me By Your Name (Luca Guadagnino, 2018), Before I Change My Mind embraces its 80s tropes to the point of parody. Take West Edmonton Mall — the coolest 80s place on earth, a land where you can buy your multicoloured hairbands and leggings before going on a rollercoaster. Later, in perhaps a meta-commentary on the film’s music royalty budget, we are treated to a knock-off version of Jesus Christ Superstar — Mary Magdalene Video Star, an irreverent mash-up of 80s tropes that’s painfully cringe while actually surprisingly well-composed.

But this 80s vibe also allows for generic depictions of youth as well: the tree house in the forest, cycling around the suburbs, reading through porno mags, watching a VHS, and other tropes that have been played out hundreds of times. It’s certainly a pleasurable watch, thanks to solid performances from the kids in the film and the sensitivity with which their issues are handled, but nothing ever felt quite urgent or particularly intellectual. Non-binary and trans kids might welcome a film that is finally about them — especially at a time when schools report more children comfortably not slotting into a gender — but on an emotional and aesthetic level, there is nothing too special here.

Before I Change My Mind plays as part of the Concorso Cineasti del presente section of Locarno Film Festival, running from 3-13th August.

Arnold Is a Model Student (Arnon pen nakrian tuayang)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

Schools are paradoxical places: you learn about the benefits of democracy in a place which is essentially a dictatorship. The virtues of free speech and debate are praised in a world where you have to stick to a strict regimen and follow the rules otherwise you will be suspended or expelled. Additionally, as a young person, you are not even allowed to vote yet, meaning that while you learn about the freedom of the world around you, your impact on it is severely limited.

But in countries with an authoritarian bent, such as Thailand, which is a constitutional monarchy that allows no criticism of the King whatsoever and was ruled by a military junta until 2019, school doesn’t necessarily seem to contrast against the government itself; in fact, it compliments it. Within an authoritarian system, teachers are able to wield strict control over their students while the rot of corruption quickly seeps in.

It’s within this world that we meet the titular Arnold (Korndanai Marc Dautzenberg). Recently returning from an exchange in the USA, he is both a smart student — recently winning a maths olympiad — and a smart-aleck, feeling himself above and beyond the rest of his Thai contemporaries while sometimes toying with the idea of making of a difference. Like many coronavirus-set films recently, his rebellious streak is best complimented by the fact he rarely wears his mask, as well as taking naps in class and talking back to teachers. Think Max Fischer with a bald head and a passive attitude to life.

Director Sorayos Prapapan eases us into the material, giving us a great sense of school life — from the girlish games to the minutiae of classroom lessons to the boys sneaking in drinks in the backyard — before weaving in two distinct plot-lines: the rebellion of the students against corporal punishment in school — inspired by the real Bad Student movement in Thailand — and Arnold’s new job working for an exam-cheating service. Armed with exceptional talent, Model Student asks whether it’s worth trying to make a genuine difference within the system or to try and exploit it for your own ends.

If the two plot-lines don’t intersect as satisfyingly as they should, it suits the distanced, often-resigned tone of the film. Using static, planimetric frames, allowing the angles of the school building to intersect with the camera at 90 and 45 degree angles, the film has an ironic detachment that recalls the work of Aki Kaurismäki and Roy Andersson more than South Asian cinema. But Prapapan isn’t a slave to his own style either, knowing when to move the camera, switch to handheld, or insert some comic sound effects (which shouldn’t work but somehow do). The final result is an easily watchable satire that shows great confidence from a first-time feature director, as well as the kind of raw sincerity that often gets smoothed away by someone’s second and third films. It will be fascinating to see how this style is developed in further features. I hope there will be many.

Arnold is a Model Student runs as part of the Concorso Cineasti del presente section of Locarno Film Festival, running from 3-13th August.

Fairytale (Skazka)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM LOCARNO

Adolf Hitler. Benito Mussolini. Winston Churchill. Joseph Stalin. Between them they were responsible for the deaths of over 100 million people, before, during and after WW2. Great men in the traditional sense, casting a wide influence over Europe that persists until this day. If you put them all through a live-action Dall-E generator and had them talk to one another, you might have something approximating Fairytale, the latest film from legendary Russian director Alexander Sokurov.

This hybrid live-action/animated film — somewhere between the compositing tricks of Forrest Gump (Robert Zemeckis, 1994) and Zelig (Woody Allen, 1983), the uncanny valley of the deepfake WOMBO app and the foggy mysticism of Hedgehog in the Fog (Yuri Norstein, 1975) — is a strange, philosophical wandering through the minds of the 20th century’s most influential and evil men. Equal parts fascinating and beguiling, frustrating and ponderous, it shows Sokurov is still a director unafraid to innovate while moving into the late period of his career.

It begins with Stalin waking up in a black-and-white nether-zone, next to none other than Jesus Christ himself. God’s own son lies in a somnambulant posture, unable to get up. One suspects he took a look at the world after the Second World War and believed a long lie-down was necessary. Stalin instantly tells him to get up, making a nebulous comparison between Christianity and communism. It’s the first of many one-line statements in a film jam-packed with odd aphorisms. Don’t expect genuine insight, but a sustained mood — a universe that is uncanny and provocative, asking the viewer to bring their own feelings to the world Sokurov creates.

Using archive footage of these dictators and placing them in a composited landscape that feels equal parts William Blake and Hieronymus Bosch, we are treated to a world that moves in endless circles. Dante and the opening lines of the Inferno are invoked — as well as the deep dark wood his protagonist finds himself in — but his Purgatorio feels like the bigger influence here, a world where forward or backward movement seems impossible, characters locked in an endless stasis. These men wait and wait for God to provide judgement, seeing if they finally make it into heaven or hell. They make their case in oblique ways, often talking past each other and wearing different uniforms, realising the kind of odd “what-if” situation you never knew you wanted.

The inclusion of Winston Churchill might be puzzling to certain Brits, due to the fact that he helped win the war and is considered a legend by most in the nation, but when you actually reckon with his vile white supremacism — condemned at the time by members of his own party! — and the legacy of the Bengali famine, his inclusion in the film amongst these tyrants does feel warranted. Either way, his British stoicism and endless pining for the Queen — remarkably still alive — provide a neat and humorous counterpoint to the ramblings of his fascist and communist contemporaries. Interestingly, no Americans feature, Sokurov keeping his perspective fully on the European perspective.

Conceived before the Russian invasion of Ukraine, there are echoes of modern times throughout. Boris Johnson failed to capture Churchill’s brio, while Vladimir Putin is bringing back the Stalinist era. There is always a problem when the man becomes a symbol of the nation itself, and pursues more and more depraved imperialist goals in the pursuit of endless power. It’s interesting that the masses themselves never seem to fully come into view, morphing together into shadows and waves and making lots of noise while lacking definition. It shows that dictatorial ambition, regardless of political affiliation, only works by seeing the people as a mass, never as individuals, despite the need for a god-like figurehead at the top. But there is only one God, and he has the power to decide everyone’s ultimate fate.

Rejected by Cannes for misguided political reasons — after all, simply being Russian is not a crime — Fairytale is too bizarre to resonate with viewers around the world, but for those interested in WW2 history and the legacy of great men, as well as films that pursue unique cinematic forms, this is certainly a film worth checking out.

Fairytale plays in the Concorso Internazionale as part of the Locarno Film Festival, running from 3-13th August.

What to Look Out for at the 75th Locarno Film Festival

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

The Locarno Film Festival returns once again for its 75th edition, providing its characteristic and eclectic mix of arthouse cinema and crowd-pleasing fare. Whether you’re an arduous cinephile or someone just looking for a good time, the cinemas alongside the Lago Maggiore — stretching from the magical Piazza Grande to more intimate indoor theatres — have a little something for everyone.

If 2021 was testing the waters within strict coronavirus protocols, 2022 promises to be even more relaxed, fully returning to the traditional hustle and bustle that characterises the joy and discovery of in-person film festivals. Giona A. Nazzaro returns as artistic director for a second year, providing a steady hand to an event steeped in tradition but still committed to pursuing new and exciting art forms.

Consider the contrast between the opening film and my most anticipated competition inclusion. The opening ceremony is yet another American action film, David Leitch’s unavoidable Bullet Train. Starring Brad Pitt as an assassin on a high-speed Japanese rail-line, I have been subjected to the trailer at least 100 times in cinemas; so many times in fact, that it gives off the impression that it simply won’t be very good.

Meanwhile in the Concorso internazionale, legendary Russian director Alexander Sokurov returns after seven years with Skazka (Fairytale) — pictured below. It’s a mysterious hybrid effort blending archive and newly-shot material that comments on both dictators and the fate of the planet. Rejected by Cannes due to political reasons, it sounds like a fascinating experiment that is sorely needed as the Russian state is slowly collapsing.

Skazka

If Sokurov is the big name on the arthouse scene, the other directors in the competition are unknown to me, stretching from Italy to Brazil to Indonesia. All promise fascinating perspectives: there is a COVID-19 immigrant drama in the form of Mahesh Narayanan’s Ariyippu; a study of toxic masculinity in Bowling Saturne (Saturn Bowling); sea-bound drama in Human Flowers of Flesh; and a look at modern faith in the Austrian Catholic boarding school film Serviam – Ich will dienen (Serviam – I Will Serve).

More populist efforts can be found back on Piazza Grande with the Daisy Edgar-Jones starring Where the Crawdads Sing (which I’ll save for streaming) and My Neighbor Adolf, which, yes, sounds exactly like its title suggests. For those more interested in cinematic history, Douglas Sirk’s exquisite Imitation of Life (1958) plays on 35mm (as part of a wider retrospective), while New Wave-heads can get their kicks with Laurie Anderson’s 1986 Avantgarde concert movie Home of the Brave.

It’s usually around the edges that a festival truly comes to life. (Last year, my most notable experience was a Peter Greenaway film that didn’t even play officially at the festival.) For first and second-time directors, Concorso Cineasti del presente provides a chance to discover emerging talents, while the truly out there Fuori concorso section promises a zone where cinema is set free from any expectations or tradition.

I never try to read too much into what is playing, enjoying the thrill of the new upon walking into a cinema with little idea of what to expect; making the Locarno Film Festival such a unique experience. I shall be attending between 8th-12th August to report from the frontlines, providing reviews and insights from one of the best film festivals in the world.

The Locarno Film Festival runs from August 3rd to August 13th.

Babysitter

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

The Quebecois Babysitter starts at full gallop and never goes down to a trot throughout its entire 90 minute runtime. It begins with men delivering dialogue out their mouths like they’re firing semi-automatics, annoying women in front of them by asking them inappropriate questions. They’re drinking, shouting, almost screaming, the camera cutting between them in a chaotic, oppressive fashion, cinematographer Josée Deshaies favouring intense close-ups and avoiding wide shots. They’re at an MMA match, which is bloody, two men on the floor almost killing each other. We’ve been airdropped in the land of toxic masculinity. No one will get out unscathed.

Cédric (Patrick Hivon) is living in the land of misogyny, so he doesn’t think it’s a big deal to harass a TV reporter outside the match with a hug and a kiss. But he lands in hot water straight away; suspended from his job, he has to do some soul-searching, 8 1/2-style (Federico Fellini, 1963), taking us on a surreal, overwhelming and frantic comedy that I found more irritating than thought-provoking.

It’s clear that Cédric is not a monster, but he’s definitely an asshole. The question you might ask yourself is: where does the asshole end and the monster begin? It’s worthwhile for all men, and women too, to do the necessary work to see how they might be misogynists, overt or otherwise. In a clever bit of plot-development, Cédric decides to write a letter to the aggrieved TV reporter, which he later develops into a narcissistic memoir. Masculinity is toxic, but its also a hot, marketable topic. Everyone loses under capitalism.

Meanwhile, Sonia Chokri, also directing, stars as his wife, refusing to fit into any conventional category of oppressed womanhood. Nonetheless, she is also taken on a journey of confused identity when the titular babysitter Amy (Nadia Tereszkiewicz), appears, tasked to help the two exhausted parents take care of a baby that simply doesn’t sleep.

22, big hair, and cleavage always on show, she is a parody of flush, young and readily available sexuality, provoking Cédric and his journalist brother while also defying conventional stereotypes of women as mere victims. Tereszkiewicz plays the part particularly well, imbuing porno clichés with uncertain menace.

It’s ripe for a clever and biting farce, but the overbearing atmosphere, replete with chaotic sound design and rapid cutting, makes for an experience as intrusive and as unwarranted as Cédric’s drunken advances. This is an all-woman show, with Chokri working alongside playwright Catherine Léger to make fun of both men and women alike. But the final result is all over-the-place, unable to corral the material into the deconstruction of masculinity the premise deserves.

I guess the #metoo movement and the surrounding debate over male norms is due a good satire. But they need to be a lot sharper and funnier than this. Babysitter starts with a clever enough idea and boasts a fresh enough style, but the movie never does enough in the first place to actually make this a satire worth sitting through. Don’t book a babysitter to go see this one.

Babysitter plays in Competition at TIFF, running from 17th-26th June.

Inferno Rosso: Joe D’Amato on the Road to Excess (Inferno Rosso: Joe D’Amato Sullva Via Dell’eccesso)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TRANSYLVANIA

In a strange moment of serendipity, I caught Eli Roth’s Hostel (2005) the night before on my hotel television. It’s that weird mixture of boobs and gore that feels like it comes out of the imagination of a fourteen-year-old child, hitting me very definitely than when I was entranced by the movie as a teenager. But some directors never grow up, attracted to both eroticism and gore right until the very end.

It’s serendipitous because Eli Roth is also an executive producer and interview subject in Inferno Rosso: Joe D’Amato on the Road to Excess, a workmanlike documentary about the ultimate cinematic workhorse. Before his death in 1999, Joe D’Amato directed soft-core and hard-core porn, grotesque horror movies, adventure films and historical films; films for Italian cinema, films for foreign distributors and films in America starring big actors. He had his own production company and mentored others as well, making him the “Roger Corman” of Italy. All in all, he was involved in over 200 films, making him one of hardest working directors of all time, a man who made movies as if he was merely breathing.

He’s a fascinating character, his forays into the smartest risk-to-reward genres, telling typically low-budget porn and horror, making him worth of his own deep dive. We are treated to clips from his classic films, including mutilations, sexual violence, body horror, sacrilegious elements and lots and lots of topless ladies. In one of the few stylistic flourishes in the entire documentary, we are treated to rapid-fire montages of naked bodies in all their writhing, sexy glory, showing off just how far D’Amato was willing to push the boat out in the name of entertainment.

Despite all of this titillation, this film is oddly incurious. Only 70 minutes long, it feels made for television rather than the big screen. It’s curious how a director that made so many films wasn’t captured more often in archive footage, making me wonder if the team behind this didn’t do enough research or there simply wasn’t enough to go on. The same goes for the interview subjects, who are incredible knowledgable about distribution details or the technical details of filmmaking, but betray little emotion about the man himself. His daughter tearily tells us about how he was misrepresented as a mere porno director by the press, or how he put the house up as collateral so he could continue making movies, but the camera doesn’t linger, and we move on to more platitudes, reducing the emotional impact of the moment.

He is obviously a complex figure, but the complexity feels flattened by this tribute film, introduced by Nicolas Winding Refn. In one major misstep, we are told an actress tried to sue the crew of one of his films after she felt traumatised on set. This moment is basically treated as a joke by the men who remember it, who say it was all part of the way films were made back then. That might’ve been true, but a more interested documentary would embrace the different aspects of filmmaking back then, instead of just going down memory lane. If you’re just interested in a primer on a legendary filmmaker, then you’re in the right place. But there’s no genuine interrogation here, making for a flat experience. Horror and eroticism can benefit from a childlike perspective, but documentaries need to be far more grown up.

Inferno Rosso: Joe D’Amato on the Road to Excess plays as part of the Larger Than Life section at TIFF, running from 17th-26th June.

The Hole (Il Buco)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

Scriptwriting instructors love the cliché: “Show, but don’t tell.” They say it’s better to convey information visually as opposed to leading the viewer by the hand. Il Buco takes this to the nth degree, creating a film which is all glorious show, while telling us very little. Audiences left my screening frustrated, debating what it’s all about. My simple answer: does it actually matter when when what’s on screen just looks so awesome?

I learned a new word from this film: speleology. Simply put, it refers to the art of descending caves and figuring out their depth. Clambering through tiny cracks and wading through stagnant pools with only a searchlight for company, The Hole is freely inspired by a true story of speleologists who reached the bottom of the third deepest cave in the world in 1961, located in southern Italy.

For anyone who has been to southern Italy, it’s a place where time seems to move just that little slower. Director Michelangelo Frammartino captures the beauty of the area in great depth before taking us into the cave: rugged roofs that cats scamper across; people huddled together watching the only television in the village; trains appearing occasionally in the mist; vast mountains and vaster valleys; luscious greenery and a fine sense of mystery. It seems like the natural place for a massive cave.

Eschewing almost any dialogue whatsoever in favour of a documentary-like approach, featuring no music, and actually recreating real cave-diving sequences (probably with a higher level of health and safety than in the 60s), this is a film that demands a cinematic viewing. Particularly impressive is the immersive sound design — water perennially dripping and huge echoing sounds — and the use of light, men often seeming to descend into almost complete darkness. It looks absolutely terrifying. Like fighting in the army or going into space; it’s definitely the kind of job I’m glad someone else is doing. I’ll stick to writing film reviews in the sunshine.

Meanwhile, an old man sits on the side of the hill. He makes strange sounds to call his flock; sheep, cows, horses; all freely grazing. As the men descend the cave, his health deteriorates. He’s a symbol of the old-world, filled with an acceptance of mystery, the likes of which the others want to eliminate. It’s up to you whether or not this is just the mere passing of time, or a critique of man’s need for exploration.

And if there is any direct commentary, it comes from a short documentary we see on TV. Two men are climbing the highest building in Milan on a lift, commenting (in the only sequence that was subtitled) on all the people at their office jobs. They quote a window cleaner, who is enjoying the voyeurism so much, he forgets that he’s working at all (perhaps he’s Daniel Day-Lewis from The Unbearable Lightness of Being! (Philip Kaufman, 1988)). Perhaps the descending, silent men are the same; simply loving the joy of discovery, even if the bottom of the cave is just yet another dirty pool of water. If we don’t know why or what it’s all for, does it actually matter? This is a film that expands our sense of wonder, even if final meaning is elusively out of our grasp.

The Hole plays in the Supernova section of the Transylvania International Film Festival, running from 17th-26th June.

How I Learned To Fly (Leto kada sam naucila da letim)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TRANSYLVANIA

A pre-teen comedy in the vein of Diary of a Wimpy Teenager (Thor Freudenthal, 2010) or Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging (Gurinder Chadha, 2008) that also manages to talk about the Balkan conflict in the 90s, How I Learned To Fly is a perfectly enjoyable film from Serbian director Radivoje Andric that tackles both serious and lightweight themes with ease.

Apart from the rocky beaches (I prefer sand) and the annoying British (myself included) and American tourists, there are hardly any better places to spend a summer holiday than the Croatian island of Hvar. For Serb Sofia (Klara Hrvanovic) however, she’s devastated that she’s not able to go camping with her best friend and her brother, who she has an immense crush on. Instead, she is saddled with her grandmother Marija (Olga Odanovic), who is returning to the island for the first time in 25 years. Odanovic plays the part well, constantly nagging the poor child to put on sun cream and wear appropriate clothing.

Sofia’s dreams and desires — kissing a boy for the first time, finding a crew to hang out with and avoiding her pestering “hitman” grandmother — are represented in an extremely broad style, with endless selfies, wipe cuts and whip pans, dream sequences, dodgy CGI insects and animated text overlays. It’s the kind of hyperactive style that seems in vogue today, with little separating it from the recent Ms Marvel (Bisha K. Ali, 2022) series. It’s fine for kids, and funny at times, but I found it mostly overwhelming.

Hrvanovic plays the part well, mixing voiceover and physical reaction comedy to convey the well-spring of emotions that pre-teen girls can feel, slowly coming to terms with both the world around her and her own intense maelstrom of feelings. Yet she remains more or less oblivious to the real reasons her grandmother moved to Belgrade all those years ago — or why she still refuses to talk to her brother, who remains on the island. From the perspective of a child, the conflict seems absurd; for her grandmother, these are old wounds she finds it intensely painful to re-open. For all the silliness, Andric manages to find a subtle way of navigating the pain of war without making it seem trite in the process. Playing here as part of the EducaTIFF programme, its the perfect introduction to this topic for young children.

Given how broad the comedy was, I’m easily the wrong demographic for the film, which is highly unlikely to play over in the UK. But judging from all the laughs from the children around me, this definitely has the potential to be a breakout hit in the Balkans (it’s already topped the Serbian box office) and other regions of Eastern and Southern Europe.

How I Learned to Fly plays as part of the EducaTIFF programme at TIFF, running from 17th to 26th June.

Amira

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TRANSYLVANIA

Amira (Tara Abboud) is a daughter of the revolution. She has never hugged her father, who has been in prison as a Palestinian political prisoner for as long as she remembers. She is also a skilled photographer, fiddling around with photoshop and placing her image next to her father’s on fake holidays to Hawaii. It’s a handy metaphor for the film as a whole, which explores in great depth the true meaning of family, home and the impossibility of living under occupation.

Her father is a beatific man, oddly resembling Zelensky in his demeanour with a saintly look and a neatly trimmed beard. He is considered a hero in Palestine, married to Amira’s mother despite not being legally able to attend his own ceremony. But if he lives in a literal prison, Palestine is the biggest metaphorical open-air prison in the world, a place where secrets never remain that way for long and everything is pervaded with an ever-increasing sense of dread.

The setting is ripe with dramatic potential, which director Mohamed Diab exploits to fine effect in this smart and sensitive film. It’s based on the real phenomenon of semen smuggled out of Palestinian prisons by its forever-inmates; her father used this technique to aid Amira’s birth and he wants to do it again so she’ll have a companion. (It’s worth pointing out that there has been a backlash to the exact depiction of this process in the Palestinian press, leading to some calling for the film’s removal from the festival circuit). Yet when things start to go awry, her very identity is put into question, creating a smart metaphor for Palestine itself, a country that exists and doesn’t exist at the same time due to Isreal’s unending occupation.

There is a touch of Asghar Fahradi to the way the plot progresses, putting an oppressive society and its attendant patriarchal structures into conflict with one another through well-observed dramaturgy and naturalistic touches. But there is solid flair in the filmmaking as well. A reverse mirror shot is deployed twice in the film, showing you someone from one angle before turning around and showing them from the other side; it’s as if to show you that there’s always a different way of looking at things, and how nothing is ever clear cut. In another stand-out shot, with Amira and her father engaged in a crucial conversation, her face is superimposed against the window of her father in prison, evoking previous photographs in the way it creates intimacy in an otherwise alienating setting.

The biggest flaw is with Amira herself. Abboud is playing a 17-year-old, but oftentimes she doesn’t quite act like one, with far more conviction than a confused teenager would otherwise have. It might be necessary for the dramatic arc of the film — which bends to an absolute bitter and savage irony by the end — but it makes her unconvincing. This isn’t the fault of the actress herself, who carries both betrayal and determination with ease, but the way that she’s pitted against both the brutality of the Israeli’s and the patriarchy of the Palestinians. It’s a fine line to tread: with a third act that can’t bite into the awfulness of the situation and the impossible ways of fighting against it, Amira certainly gives you a lot to think about, but doesn’t quite land with the devastating impact that such a clever set-up deserves.

Amira plays as part of the Supernova section of the Transylvania International Film Festival, running from 17th to 26th June.