Never Gonna Snow Again (Sniegu Juz Nigdy Nie Bedzie)

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.

A number of languages are spoken in the movie, including Polish, Russian and French. The movie titles pops up in the middle of the film in Vietnamese. Zenya speaks all languages in the world, we are told. Naturally his preference is his mother tongue Russian. He roots for Shakhtar Donestk, the football team of Russian region of the Ukraine. He comes from Prypiat, the ghost city in Northern Ukraine, next to Chernobyl. We are told that’s where he was born exactly seven years after the largest nuclear accident in history. Which is impossible, since the city was uninhabited then. But this isn’t the only wilfully preposterous statement in the movie. We are told that it will never snow again in Europe beyond 2025 without any explanation whatsoever.

Presumably, Zenya’s supernatural powers are related to his radioactive origins. Parallels between snow and dust are drawn. Dust is one of the most radioactive elements (and the reason why people are required to wear masks when visiting radioactive zones). Perhaps snow is radioactive. Or maybe not. Perhaps this is a film about the collapse of Europe. Or maybe not. Perhaps it’s about the fear of invisible, our symbiotic relation with foreigners, our strange relation with the East, or something . Interpret it as you like. Never Gonna Snow Again is the type of film that will keep you awake at night trying to put the puzzle pieces together.

The cinematography is also memorable. Eerie urban landscapes are blended with dark forests. The upper class district where Zenya’s clients live is straight out of a horror or a sci-fi movie: an entire neighbourhood made of barren, soulless, near-identical, enormous, American colonial style mansions.

Overall, a hypnotic and transfixing experience. Sexy and creepy in equal measure. Just like its protagonist.

Never Gonna Snow Again showed in Competition at the 77th Venice International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. It has been selected as Poland’s Oscar submission. It premieres in the UK in October, at the BFI London Film Festival. In cinemas on Friday, October 15th (2021). On Mubi on February 3rd (2022).

Mug (Twarz)

In a small rural town of West Poland they are building a giant statue of Jesus Christ. The Polish wonder (which does in fact exist!) is named Christ the King, and it’s intended to outshine the Christ the Redeeemer of Rio de Janeiro, at least in size. Unfortunately the builders can’t get its head in the right position. But this isn’t the only problem they’re facing. Jacek (Mateus Kosciukiewics) accidentally falls inside the statue while it’s still being assembled and his face becomes severely disfigured. He undergoes a full facial transplant, the first of its type in the country.

Despite the successful operation, Jacek’s life will never be the same again. He has to take large amounts of immunosuppressants so his body doesn’t reject the new face, he can’t do trivial activities such as swimming and drinking, plus he becomes partially blind and his speech hardly intelligible (at least in the beginning, before he gains control of the new facial muscles). His beautiful girlfriend Dagmara dumps him. His mother also has difficulties engaging with her “new” son, as she confesses to the local priest. Children and adults often describe him as a “monster”. He abandons his dreams of moving to London and instead becomes the face of very heterodox and un-PC advertising campaigns.

The film title in English acquires a double significance. A “mug” is a face, but it’s also British slang for a stupid person, which is exactly how people perceive the new Jacek. They forget that his mental faculties have not been affected by the accident at all, and instead judge him on his looks and speech. Ultimately, this is a satire of religion and small-town mentality, and their inability to embrace the different.

Mug has a lot of problems, too. The topics of religion and facial disfigurement don’t entirely fit together, except for a sequence when Jacek is exorcised (one of the best moments of the film). The scene when Jacek falls inside the Christ – which carries a strong symbolism and could fuse the two topics together – is extremely quick and you can hardly make out what happened. The surgery is entirely neglected, and his recovery is surprisingly quick, leaving the narrative a little implausible. Plus the make-up isn’t too convincing: it’s possible to clearly see the mask around Jacek’s eyes at least once. Some of the humour feels stale, with jokes about “kissing my arse” and sinning. To boot, the film is supported by a strange soundtrack blending heavy metal with Robyn, apparently in an attempt to contrast masculinity with femininity (Jacek likes metal, while Dagmara loves to dance to the Swedish singer). Once again, the result is a little awkward.

Mug showed the 68th Berlin International Film Festival right now, when this piece was originally written. It won the Silver Bear. It is available online with ArteKino throughout the month of December (not in the UK). It’s out in UK cinemas on Friday, December 7th. Out on VoD on Friday, April 5th (2019). On Mubi on Tuesday, May 10th (2022).