Tag: Slow

Slow (Tu Man Nieko Neprimeni)

Posted on by victorfraga

It is likely, as mainstream thinking goes, our perception of asexuality is rather binary and inaccurate. In a world fixated on sex and sexual desire, it is unfathomable to think of its absence; an internal drive deemed so intrinsic to our being. In a rare offering by Lithuanian director Marija Kavtaradze, Slow challenges this ignorance, suggesting that asexuality isn’t a complete lack of sexual desire, but gradations of it which fluctuate over time.

Asexual portrayals are almost non-existent in film, admittedly an impossible disposition to showcase unless specifically stated. One example comes to mind, the animation character of Todd Shavez of Bojack Horseman fame, where after much soul-searching the stoner slacker concludes to being asexual. In her second feature, Kavtaradze goes beyond just depiction, deliberating on the intricacies of a relationship between Dovydas (Kęstutis Cicėnas) an asexual man and Elena (Greta Grinevičiūtė) – both exceptional performances – a typically sexually straight woman.

An incredibly subtle and stylish endeavour, Slow is predominantly centred around Elena and the love of her profession as a dancer, the impetus for meeting Dovydas, a sign language interpreter, requiring his services to teach a dance class of deaf teenagers. Elena is an alluring figure, emotionally intelligent, free-spirited with a strong sense of self. Pursuing a career in dance despite her mother’s brutal childhood criticisms of her body; a body which now in adulthood she loves and nurtures, one which appeals to many men. The film’s opening sex scene has a lover she just met requesting she tells him she loves him so he can get hard. She contemplates at first how insincere her words will be, but then utters the words anyway. A signifier of what is to unfold; the correlated entanglements of sex and feeling.

Dovydas is charming, tall, beardy handsome, endearingly goofy. There appears to be an instant mutual attraction between the two, with an ease in conversation and a chemistry palatable to the viewer, it signals to something more substantial. Prompting him to disclose his asexuality early on, temporarily putting the brakes, only for their strong connection to bring them back together. There are attempts at sexual intimacy with Dovydas wanting to, but failing to consummate, where overthinking proves to be a mood killer. As the relationship develops despite their emotional closeness, their physical dissimilarities become more apparent. Elena is having to compromise her own physical desires, while Dovydas is plagued by feelings of inadequacy. A suggestion for other sexual partners, predominantly for the sake of Elena, is marred by jealousy and for it all reach a somewhat dead-end.

Kavtaradze’s soft and understated approach paints a tender and intimate portrait of this coupling. There is a refusal to judge, refraining from rendering either Elena and Dovydas as victims nor as perpetrators, but more as individuals naturally reacting to the peculiarity of their situation. And this is where the crux of the story lies, not so much in the predictable outcome, but its the recounting of this ever-evolving relationship dynamics which prove most interesting. Whilst remaining sensitive to Dovydas’ sexuality, Kavtaradze is unafraid to ask the big question, which reverberate for many, even outside the remit of asexuality. What does happen to love when the emotional and the physical simply do not coalesce?

Slow premiered in the Baltic Competition of the 27th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. Also showing at REC, Tarragona International Film Festival. In cinemas on Friday, May 24th.

Sententia (Sentensia)

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM TALLINN

[dropcapT[/dropcap]error and tedium coexist in Sententia, charting the last moments of the censored Russian writer Varlam Shalamov. A slow and studied film in the manner of classic arthouse Soviet film, it is a poetic and forbidding work that rewards close attention and strong willpower.

Censored in his time — and forced to spend 17 years in the gulag for his support of Leon Trotsky and praise of emigre Ivan Bunin — Shalamov (Aleksandr Ryazantsev) is at the end of his days in Sententia, visited upon by two young men who want to preserve his work and smuggle it out of the country. Barely able to move, they help him to compose the last words to his final poem, shot in an endless long take that is likely to test the patience of audiences.

Shot in black-and-white 16mm, with plenty of crackle in the frame and abrasive hissing sounds, the film feels like a lost Soviet classic by someone such as Larisa Shepitko or Alexei German. Its lost-seeming nature suits the work of Shalamov, which was preserved through samizdat, otherwise known as the Russian literary underground.

Yet, like the poet himself, who came up with the strange word as a mantra for his character to stay awake in the forest, audiences must try and fight against the slowness of the film in order to stay invested. Words and sounds are just as important as the images, with the pronounced sound design using far-off sounds, such as reverb-heavy banging evoking prison cells, without drawing too much attention to itself. It reminds us that the authorities, who surveilled Shalamov until the end of his life, were never too far away…

Lovers of classical Russian cinema will find a lot to love here. It’s no surprise that Dmitry Rudakov trained at the Russian State University of Cinematography — home to everyone from Andrei Tarkovsky to Yuri Bykov — which often produces an instantly recognisable “Russian” style. Yet, Dmitry Rudakov’s style comes through strongest when he escapes from these parameters and uses other more interesting techniques. For example, a montage of still images blends together family heritage and surveillance photos — reminding us that that even the most personal moments during the Soviet Union were never far from governmental control.

Rudakov, born after the collapse of the Soviet Union, goes deep into its history, trying to dig at the very paradox of producing poetry in an authoritarian system. In one particularly ambitious moment, Shostakovich’s Jazz Waltz is played at a slowed-down tempo, stretching out an instantly recognisable tune and making it feel strange. This sense of slowness pervades almost every scene, of which there are very few across the film’s 100 minute runtime.

Diversions into romantic territory and spliced-in-documentary footage betray an ambition beyond the initial subject matter, creating an interesting tension between miserablism and tenderness. Can beauty and love exist in such a cruel, often monotonous and depressing place? Sententia doesn’t provide us with any answers, taking a (very) long hard look at Soviet repression and creating a dark and distressing piece of cinema in the process.

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