This first feature film by the talented María Florencia Álvarez is a breath of fresh air: perfectly-paced, funny, kind, observant and sympathetic to the ways in which we play with different identities. Ms. Álvarez has a wonderful instinct for that fine line we tread between fearful and fearless, being and playing. Most of all, she creates a rich world of women from whom Habi derives her support and questions the workings of the world. The women – her friend Yaz, her neighbor Margarita, her landlady, her mother – can be seen to represent the many sides of the woman Habi will be.
Habi, La Extranjera. Dir. María Florencia Álvarez. Lita Stantic Producciones, et al., 2013. In Spanish.
A sophisticated piece of storytelling: Mr. Mosaffa shows us how it’s done. He has a sure hand, confident in his non-linear storytelling and in the rich emotional world his actors create. This film is a sophisticated meditation on the stories we tell ourselves and each other, whether to protect, to deceive, to harm, or to remember.
On the surface the film circumscribes the love triangle between Leyli, an actress; her husband Khosro; and their friend, Amin. Leyli’s current film project includes the ghost of a dead husband; concurrently, there are flashbacks to the events leading up to Khosro’s death. The entire film is narrated by the real ghost-husband. Through the clever linking of these narrative conventions, we construct for ourselves the truths which these three people hide from each other. But in parceling the story this way, Mr. Mosaffa deftly exposes the real story: we construct our own reality (and even others’ reality) at a great cost to preserve a sense of continuity and harmony. We have to keep our stories intact even when our motivations are unfathomable (or in Amin’s case, deporable).
The “last step” of the film is a particular place. But it is also the various attempts at closure which each character undertakes. To move beyond the past and repair the damage of their stories, they must each find that last step.
With an ever-compelling Leila Hatami (A Separation) as Leyli.
Liu Gang, from the Better Life series (2011). Pigment print.
Liu Gang, from the Paper Dream series (2008). Pigment print.
Wang Guangyi, Frozen Northern Wastelands (1985). Oil on canvas.
Wang Guangyi, Porsche (2005). Oil on canvas.
First-time filmmaker Mika Mattila did not intend to make a documentary “about China.” As a foreigner, and in particular as a Westerner, he did not feel comfortable making a film “about China,” even as he resided and worked there for many years. Rather, he was interested in the current state of contemporary art.
However, in focusing on the particular (contemporary art, and two artists in particular) Mr. Mattila illustrates the global/national nature of China’s ambivalence. In Chimeras, we feel the opposing forces of east/west, community/individual, communism/capitalism. Mattila, a gifted cinematographer, observes older people practicing tai chi in front of a Cartier store, the prevalence of faux-European living communities, westerners curating shows on local Chinese architects, and the hood ornament of a Jaguar contrasted with a Chinese dragon. It is difficult to tell a story about contemporary, urban life in China without reference to the external economic, global, and cultural forces that shape it.
What better medium than art to demonstrate these often-opposing forces? The featured artists in this film, eminence grise Wang Guangyi and emerging photographer Liu Gang deal with these forces in different ways which reflect their generational divide. Mr. Wang was born during the Cultural Revolution and was privy to the enormous cultural and economic shifts undergone by his generation. He was a founding member of an emerging Chinese avant-garde, an advocate for local artists, and a creator of works which question Western influences on Chinese culture. His crisis is one of patrimony and influence (what he calls “brainwashing”): his education has been in the western canon, but his artistic (and political) spirit is Chinese. On the other side is photographer Mr. Liu, born into the internet generation, fluent in the language of globalization and familiar with the allure of capitalism and western branding. His crisis is whether to continue to work on being an artist (which he associates with a western notion of individual utility) or whether to marry and raise a family (associated with local notions of community). Like Mr. Wang, he is aware that contemporary bourgeois ideals are tied up in western standards, and uses his art to explore the superficiality of those ideals.
I sympathize with Mr. Mattila’s insistence that this is a film about contemporary art, not about China. This strong and beautifully-filmed début treads into controversial, if fascinating, political waters. Nonetheless, the practice of art is political, whether it takes place in a public arena or a domestic setting. This is unavoidable: artists constantly question the world and its workings. Mr. Mattila himself acknowledges that in the making of his film he, too, started questioning his own Finnish identity. This is what makes for great and courageous art, one that both enriches us and encourages us to question. Chimeras. Dir. Mika Mattila. NBB Navy Blue Bird, Inc. 2013. In Cantonese and English.
Song Fang’s first feature film honors the most simple yet necessary of human endeavors: maintaining family ties. That Miss Song films her own family is both moving and familiar – by the end you start to feel like a part of her family. There are moments of startling and simple gentleness as we watch Fang grooming her parents (her dad’s ears, her mom’s eyebrows), and her mom cheerfully taking her dad’s blood pressure. These are no facile gestures of affection, but serious moments of care and love which seal the family ties even as the individual members go about their own lives.
This film also blurs the line between fiction and non-fiction. On one hand, non-fiction: these are real people going through the narrative of their life, with no regard to whether or not the audience might find it compelling. On the other hand it has the veneer of fiction, because of its domestic setting, the serene quality of its storytelling and the absence of a grand opinion or exposé which non-fiction films often have. What does it mean when we turn the camera on ourselves? Is it a portrait? An art-house home movie? A reality show?
Memories Look at Me. Dir. Song Fang. Xtream Pictures, 2012. In Mandarin.
In competition at the SFIFF (New Directors section) and winner of the Best First Feature Award at the 2012 Locarno Film Festival.
Enrique Rivero’s second feature film takes us back to Mexico, this time to the beautiful landscape and waterways of Xochimilco, where boats are the main mode of transportation. We are reminded of the river Styx and its ferrymen carrying people from the living world to the underworld; in the opening scene, Chavo is ferried on the river toward her dying mother.
But this is not a film about death. It is about life, continuity, transition and tradition. Chavo (Margarita Saldaña), goes home to take care of her dying 99-year old mother, but that responsibility is just one part of the litany of her days: fetching water, taking her children to school, planning a party for her mother’s 100th birthday, tending the garden. It’s not just that life goes on after death. The point is that life and death sit side by side, like the banks of a river, headed in the same directions. There is a transition, but not a boundary (like the River Styx) between life and death; further, that transition goes both ways – the living become dead, and the dead always come back to the living.
This idea is fleshed out in subtle ways, especially between Chavo and her mother. Her mother is ready for death, eager to transition into its placid joyfulness. In a lovely light touch of irony she talks to Chavo about the places in which she has buried her children’s umbilical cords – even the source of life has a death. Chavo herself has what she thinks are premonitions about death; dream sequences with beheaded dolls, bodies floating in the river, and her bare feet anchored to the boat with knives suggest her anxieties about death. But her anxieties are not about death but about her own life, her future, and what will happen when her mother’s death precipitates a sure change.
But the sweet and serene scenes around the town’s celebration of Day of the Dead fully illustrate Mr. Rivera’s intention. The Day of the Dead is a fiesta with food, celebrations, candles, and stories about the departed. The townsfolk sit with their ancestors’ images and pass on the stories of their life to their children. One of the best scenes in the film takes place at night during this celebration. Several boats filled with townsfolk and illuminated by candles glide smoothly across the river, the candles flickering in the dark. Over the rhythmic sound of the paddles and the undercurrent of water is the sound of the townspeople and their litany of Hail Marys. This perfectly-crafted scene makes it clear that life and death travel together, and there is much to be respected and honored.
In a brief but poignant scene, the urbanized Chavo observes that in rural Xochilimilco time passes strangely. While this is partly a nod toward the different rhythm of rural life, she gently summarizes the film’s theme: modern concepts of time do not apply to a place where death is neither a marker of time nor a signification of the end.
Mai Morire (Never Die) . Dir. Enrique Rivero. Una Comunión, et al, 2012. In Spanish.
In competition at the SFIFF56 (New Directors section), and winner of a Technical Contribution award for Cinematography at the Rome Film Festival, 2012.
The distinction between “form” and content” is not useful in this category. Which came first? Which informs what? Which is the story or the design? And indeed in several shorts (“The Deep End,” “Model Starship”) there isn’t a story – the form is the story. Narrative pleasure is disrupted.
I will set aside for a moment the technical prowess and visual language that this diverse group of films displays – I could write essays on the merits of each one. I will note, however, the number of formal styles, artists, genres, and other arts which they evoked: Edvard Munch (“Kali, Le Petit Vampire”), post-war animation (“Eyes on the Stars”), Dadaism (“Lumerence”), and Japanese anime (“Ceux D’en Haut”).
What these short animated films can do better than live-action features is to present a fully-realized gem of an idea, feeling, or a story in ten minutes or less. It is powerful. It is astonishing how much can be conveyed, like a well-crafted poem. In “The Event,” the daily routines of domesticity and love is a narrative which runs in one direction; a literal apocalypse (a meteor strike) is a narrative which runs exactly in the opposite direction, killing the other. In “Tram,” the giddy, humorous side of unexpressed sexual desire is expressed in lurid uses of color: peacock blue and hot pink. In “Lumerence” (a film I did not enjoy but greatly admired), the filmmaker presents a new view of the creation myth and blurs the the line between the terrestrial and the heavenly. In “Eyes on the Stars,” the personal is political – succinctly.
These animated shorts both look forward and honor tradition. The formal, narrative, and stylistic innovations give us a preview of what’s to come in film. The brevity and playfulness of the format recalls the short films and features played in movie houses at the dawn of the cinema age. We are reminded of where film has come from and see where it’s going.
Bite of the Tail (Song E. Kim, USA/South Korea, 2012, 9 min) In competition.
Ceux D’En Haut. (Izu Troin, France/Belgium/Switzerland, 2012, 25 min) In competition.
The Deep End (Jake Fried, USA, 2012, 1 min) In competition.
The Event (Julia Pott, USA/UK, 2012, 4 min) In competition.
Eyes on the Stars (for Story Corps, Mike Rauch, Tim Rauch, USA, 2012, 4 min) In competition.
Kali, Le Petit Vampire (Regina Pessoa, Canada/France, 2012, 10 min) In competition.
Lumerence (Miwa Matreyek, USA, 2012, 5 min) In competition.
Model Starship (Max Hattler, England, 2012, 1 min).
Ruckus Juice (Jennifer Deutrom, USA, 2012, 3 min).
Social Satan (Sculpture, Reuben Sutherland, England, 2012, 4 min).
Tram (Michaela Pavlçtovç, France, 2012, 7 min) In competition.
The bright spots: Nathan Filion as Dogberry; the Britanick guys playing Dogberry’s minions; a beautiful rendition (arranged by Joss Whedon) of “Sigh No More;” a fun, spontaneous and Shakespearean feel; and, wonderful, contemporary design direction – muted black-and-white, bossa nova, a quietly bourgeois house party, and an intimacy that feels right.
I generally enjoyed this film, but two weaknesses prevented me from truly being immersed in it. First, Much Ado About Nothing is not the best of Shakespeare’s comedies, and the awkward and ludicrous plot is magnified by its contemporary setting. I remembered why even the exuberant and highly polished Kenneth Branagh production could not hide the play’s structural flaws. Further, the actors, while game, have difficulty with Shakespeare’s verse – when some of them try for a relaxed feel, it comes out as intelligible. You miss many of the funny lines. The notable exceptions, however, include Alexis Denisof, who effortlessly brings Benedick to the 21st century, the Britanick guys, Ashley Johnson (as a wickedly witty Margaret), and Nathan Filion, who is the best Dogberry I’ve seen on stage or on film. Nonetheless, I am certain that this film will be successful this summer, regardless of whether you nerd out on Shakespeare or on Mr. Whedon; the latter has given us a film true to the Shakespearean spirit, full of cheerful romance, hilarious gags, and spontaneous theatricality.
Much Ado About Nothing. Dir Joss Whedon. Bellweather Pictures, 2012. In theatres 7th June.
