T goes cinema

On being forgetful

2011-06-30T23:57:00.003+02:00

I have been taking a break from this blog for a while now, but I never thought I will forget to post on it the one thing I've done - what WE have done, as it was a real team effort, no doubt! - related to film that I am actually proud of.

A magazine.
A film magazine.
A Croatian film magazine, at the moment only the second of that kind - as movie magazines seem to have become extinct here...

More info here and here.

If you happen to come across it, lemme know what you think - it will make me a very happy person :)

Fascinated by...

2011-04-15T22:25:00.004+02:00

...the list of names in this year's official Cannes competition.

Seriously: the Dardenne brothers (I know, I know, it doesn't sound very promising, the film - but they will always have extra credits in my book...), Lars von Trier (who is feeling very melancholic, apparently), Aki Kaurismaki (!), Terrence Malick (after...how long has it been again?), Nanni Moretti, Nuri Bilge Ceylan...andsoonandsoon...

But quite frankly, only one movie and one name comes as a complete surprise to me.

Well, who would have thought?
Good luck to you, Nicolas.

:)

Thinking about...

2011-04-14T19:05:00.008+02:00

...invisibility*.
in all its forms.

Images:
1) Patrick Tierney as the ignored Peter Foster/Bedros Deryan in Atom Egoyan's wonderful 'Next of Kin' (1984) (M, thank you for reminding me of it...)
2) Cristi Puiu as the lost Viorel in his own 'Aurora' (2010)
3) Andrew Garfield as the fragile Anton and Lilly Cole as his object of gentle desire in Terry Gilliam's 'The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus' (2009)
4) Vincent Cassel as the sad Kirill in David Cronenberg's 'Eastern Promises' (2007)
5) Mads Mikkelsen as the subtle Lenny in Nicolas Winding Refn's wonderful 'Bleeder' (1997)

*and about how I always seem to go to the same films and same directors for comfort.
*and about how I hope the Spiderman role will not ruin the career for the wonderful Andrew Garfield, as it did for Maguire...
*and about...

On being emotional

2011-04-10T22:26:00.007+02:00

I am no great analyst - not that I don’t wish I was...Even when I was little, there was always a desire in me to be smarter, more insightful, more creative with the ideas I get from everywhere; yet I never quite managed to internalize these desires into my perspective on things; In time, I hardly became more clever and constructive. No magic came to be, even if I hoped that one day I would wake up a changed person, or at least that all the books I’ve read will change me significantly. It simply never happened.

I did, however, become more emotional in my view on things – or rather, I learned to accept that my perspective is primarily an emotional one, and make it a part of my ‘style’ (if not an advantage), instead of carrying a feeling of shame, almost guilt, because of that single mark of my personality. it has not been an easy thing to do, and it still isn’t – to say that you want to discuss things, but you have very little to offer but your subjective, emotion-driven perspective, often feels like having nothing to say at all, and it still often makes me blush when confronted with perspectives more insightful, academic, marked by more knowledge (and the fact that I somehow managed to surround myself with a lot of people officially belonging to the academia hardly makes it easier for me) than the one I can offer, substantiated by nothing more than my quiet inner voice. Yet sometimes...sometimes I let go and enjoy it. As, on certain rare occasions, I lose the shyness and the feeling that I need to be ‘smart’ in order to enjoy things the right way, and I simply let go.

This week, I tried letting go a lot – and it led to me realizing that all the films I’ve seen recently seem to deal with one topic: the need to belong. What is even lovelier, the belonging always seems to be of the most private, intimate kind possible: the belonging to one individual, one human being, one partner. Sometimes it is the dominating topic of the film – but mostly not. To belong, it seems, is often presented as a need less ‘visible’, but constantly present. And it is often a symbol, a sign marking the finding of another kind of ‘normality’: in ‘Boy A’, which I saw the other night, belonging to one soul meant being able to live at all (sadly, it also depicted how fragile the illusion of belonging is); also – and just as in ‘Never let me go’, which left me crying in a public space, making my sadness as much an experiment as a humane reaction – it is a mark of having a soul: to be loved, to belong, is a visual, practical (oh how clumsy and inadequate all these words sound) confirmation that to ‘me’ there is something deeper than what I appear to be; I can be important enough to someone enough for that person to take me as I am, so there must be that ‘something’ to me that cannot be seen by the naked eye, but that IS indeed there (I know, in any other situation this sort of theory is just completely false – as one can love the most terrible of monsters, for love has a strange way of choosing its objects; tho in these movies, it seems to fit perfectly somehow). I CAN love, even if everything that is surrounding me may indicate otherwise (and it does, which is why both these movies are so unbearably difficult and sad, but also tremendously beautiful – and worthy of far more thoughts and words than they sadly get from me). And sometimes...it is the idea of belonging to someone that is a sign that everything still can be all right, even if the elements of ‘everything’ bear so little attachment to the potential bond between two people, no hugs and closeness can ever really make all of it right, and it is all simply a matter of destiny/fighting/universe, or whatever other explanation you choose to believe in...

...just like in ‘Onda vidim Tanju’/’Then I see Tanja’, the movie I saw last night. Done by a young Croatian director Juraj Lerotić, ‘Tanja’ is a movie both unusual – made together not from filmed material, but from a wonderful set of photographs – and very ‘usual’ – telling a story of a budding teenage romance in a surrounding filled with personal tragedies. Yet even if the story – overloaded with sadness – can seem a bit over the top, the beauty of the movie comes from the writer/director’s openness towards accepting emotions, instead of hiding away from them in any way. ‘Tanja’ is an example of truly courageous filmmaking in the way it treats the souls of its protagonists: it allows them to be delicate, fragile, gentle, even when it might seem that, in the ‘real world’, that sort of gentleness could be misunderstood, frowned upon, avoided as something that goes over the top, beyond what is acceptable in everyday relations (and boundaries there are indeed: me shedding tears to ‘Never let me go’ was completely ignored by my co-travellers – two ladies, one younger, one old – who, not knowing why I am crying, and obviously not wanting to intervene, continued talking to me or ignoring me just as they did before it happened, pretending not to notice it at all; showing too much emotion made them not more sensible towards me, but simply uncomfortable to the point of trying to ignore it). Lerotić allows his characters to feel and to love, and he allows himself to observe them with love through the eye of the camera – which makes his film incredibly endearing and gentle, even at its most humorous moments (and there indeed are many, some of them painted dark, some lighter). The end result is a movie that is both ‘emotional’ in itself, and tremendously emotionally engaging; one that reminds us of how sometimes, no matter how old (or young) you are, life is just so much easier when you are not going through it alone; and even if the world is confusing, and people can be confusing too, to be emotionally courageous can be rewarding (tho there are no guarantees, any cynic or a passionate Mike Leigh fan would have to conclude), and one person really can bring with him/herself all the hope in the world, and all the strength. In the words of Barry Egan, P.T. Anderson’s gentle loser of whom Lerotić’s teenage hero probably would never even hear of, “I have a love in my life. It makes me stronger than anything you can imagine“. Which is, I guess, all I want to hear on some days...when I too get particularly emotional.

Sometimes...

2011-03-26T01:49:00.009+01:00

…life throws an unbearable amount of sadness on you, without any warning.

Sometimes, cinema does too.

Completely unexpectedly, I saw two movies today: ‘Biutiful’, the last work of Alejandro González Iñárritu, and (finally, almost a year after failing to catch it at TIFF!) Florin Serban's award-winning 'Eu cand vreau sa fluier, fluier'. And while I need to keep my thoughts and words on them for elsewhere (I promise, I will share the news here when the time comes, if it does...), I simply cannot help noting that I probably couldn’t have picked two sadder movies playing in cinemas today than I did. Not to make any confusion – they are two very different films. Yet both are about suffering in a way, and what unifies them (among other things) is that a certain source of their suffering – the main one, in case of Serban’s Silviu, and the ‘final’one, death, in case of ‘Biutiful’s Uxbal (wonderfully embodied by the ever-versatile Javier Bardem, who seems to never disappoint, and only gets better with time...) – is simply outside of their hands, outside of their power to meddle with.

While both films have their ‘issues’, they are nevertheless worthy of your time. Serban’s film, while not one to be labelled predictable, suffers from some incoherence, both in terms of characters and plot ‘odds’, and it owes a slight lack of charm to its over-insistence on being ‘Romanian’: in a while I haven’t seen such usage of certain long takes just for the sake of it. Yet it was Iñárritu’s film that eventually left me colder, less drawn by its story. Iñárritu is a director who cares for his characters; yet he cares much more for the grand-ness of his topics and the ‘importance’ of what he narrates. This leads to his films often feeling a bit overly cold, distanced, calculated – and thus hard to relate to, even if the stories he tells are often so overloaded with human suffering it seems almost impossible not to sympathize with the characters. And ‘Biutiful’ is no exception: a movie so filled with sadness it is difficult to watch, yet so loaded with stories coming together in predictable ways that it left me even a tiny bit bored at moments. And in the end, it was 'Eu cand vreau sa fluier, fluier' that felt more devastating in its depiction of suffering: not because Serban directs it with more grace or makes it more convincing (actually, it might be the other way around), but because of the ‘type’ of suffering he imposes on his main character.

In ‘Biutiful’, the suffering imposed by one human being upon another (or in this case, others) is more strongly related to side characters, while the main suffering comes from, to frame it somewhat rudely but in the end accurately, ‘natural causes’. Uxbal suffers ‘for’ the others (his kids), due to his life circumstances and terminal illness, and less ‘due to’ others (tho in the case of his wife, there is a combination of the two, as he is obviously torn by own stance on her, yet can’t help it as she poses a threat to what he loves the most). And if Iñárritu hints to us the humane characteristics of his side character, so that we would feel strongly for them as we normally would for the lead(s), he makes sure to still leave them one-dimensional enough for us not to get too carried away (this refers primarily to Lilly, who is given decent space, but is reduced to a dimension the Western world likes to sympathise with the most when it comes to immigrants: a single, suffering, struggling mother, as if being an illegal immigrant is not in itself enough). Serban, on the other hand, ties all his main character’s suffering to people: he is a victim of his mother’s carelessness, and once he is old enough to understand this, and ‘wise’ enough to try to prevent it from happening again to one person he really loves (his little brother), his good intentions find so little understanding in the deaf impersonations of the system that the only thing it can do proudly in response to his mission is to stomp on him with a heavy special police forces boot. And while in any other case such framing of Silviu’s position might seem as avoiding responsibility for own actions, he is amnestied by his young age, and a lack of responsibility of others for him (as a child/young teenager).

To make things even sadder, while Iñárritu recognizes the inherent weakness to human beings, and compensates for it slightly to its miserable hero by assigning him a friend to listen to his heartfelt stories and provide for some physical gentleness that requires nothing in return, thus saving him from walking through at least some parts of his personal hell completely alone, Serban brutally deprives Silviu of all real accomplices. He gets sympathetic glances and eventually cheers from his fellow inmates, but is left alone by most – even the sympathetic prison director quickly loses interest when the ‘normal functioning’ of the system he is running seems to be brought to question. This is not to say that Silviu’s method is good in the end – but when observed as a consequence of his previous complete inability to find any allies, it becomes, if nothing else, less of an instant reason for his condemnation. What is impressive is that Serban never decides to change his course when this is concerned; where in a Hollywood movie a passionate kiss would close the cafe scene between Silviu and the girl, in Serban’s interpretation the kiss is only one-sided, as even sympathy is still masked by fear on the other side. Emotionally, he simply has no real support in anyone, which underlines his suffering even more. He is tormented AND abandoned by people (and people as parts of systems - but let us leave that for some other time, no matter how crucially important it is), not 'the world', 'nature', 'destiny' or any other concept vague enough not to be pointed out so easily - which is probably the saddest of available combinations. And had Serban been brave enough to explore the fragility of his character, the inner breakage which is depicted much too quickly and too vaguely, Silviu could have been a character truly amazing. This way, he seems like a semi-finished drawing of an interesting idea. But on that – in some other places, hopefully. For now, this post has seen enough, if not too much sadness framed in words already.

The late night 'I love you' - to Hoffman, and to the one who is my measure of fragility...

2011-01-31T23:10:00.005+01:00

Jack: Don't worry. I'm a good swimmer.
Connie: I know...
Jack: Yeah.
Connie: I knew you'd be a good swimmer. When we talked about summer, l knew you'd be good at it.
Jack: Yeah...I am for you.
Connie: I knew you'd be good.
Jack: I am for you.

(Connie and Jack, Jack Goes Boating, Philip Seymour Hoffman 2010)

If there was ever an actor who was the embodiment of courage, it must be Philip Seymour Hoffman. There are people who can act. There are those who are nice and loveable. There are those who cross their boundaries for every single task that comes up ahead of them, be it for adrenaline or for any other reason in the world. But Hoffman...Hoffman is all of this, and so much more. For every single role he does, he doesn't (just) change physically (ironically, his biggest 'official' recognition he won for one extreme of pure physical disappearance – stealing up that Oscar for the role of Truman Capote in Bennett Miller’s film, which will probably remain memorized in my thoughts as a living oil on canvass, an amazing painting, a lifeless masterpiece...and he was at the same time most laughed at for the other – the role of the transvestite Rusty in ‘Flawless’; yet he is mostly always the same, with the same hair and the same look and the same recognizable invisibility); he strips naked, completely, down to the bone. To the heart. To the soul. He fights battles with every single one of known emotions, conditions and states of mind, and he wins every time, whether it is cruelty (‘Mission:Impossible III’, ‘The Red Dragon’), subtle evilness (‘Cold Mountain’), confusion (‘State and Main’), despair and humiliation (‘The 25th Hour’), coolness (‘Almost Famous’), sadness (‘Love, Liza’), addiction (‘Owning Mahowny’)...just literally anything. There is simply nothing he cannot do, and his ability to let go is always the most captivating detail in all of his movies, no matter who he was directed by, or what his role is.

But it is not (only) his versatility that makes Hoffman so unique – it is his fearlessness in showing fragility that I love so much. In a fiction world of cinema where men are courageous avengers, fearless defenders, flaming lovers and calculating gamblers (or otherwise exist mainly in comedies, as losers and ‘weaklings’ who are to be laughed at, or miraculously transformed into ‘real men’ by the end of the movie), often stripped bare of all fear, fragility and gentleness (or, if they do exist, they are only catalyst for courageous deeds – with the fear of loss transforming an average father or husband into a fearless fighter; not to mention one who looks like Christian Bale or Tom Cruise, just waiting to show off his muscles under the ‘ready for office’ everyday outfit), Hoffman embodies a gorgeously humane precedent, without ever crossing over the boundary of being laughable or tacky. Even when Todd Solondz turns him into the ‘creepy guy next door’, or when P.T. Anderson strips him down and humiliates him as the quiet, gentle and shy Scotty (whose existence we barely notice, and who is reduced to one ‘marking of time’, one historical symbol), there is still so much authentic warmth to him, it is sometimes difficult to watch, but always touching on so many levels. And even if it sometimes seems that he is the embodiment of loser(s), it is almost never so: for as much as I am not fond of Jacob (Elinsky) as he whines about his privileged life to Monty to hide the fact that he doesn’t have a clue about life’s difficulties, and all the literature he teaches has taught him nothing about the real-world dialogue, the look in his eyes after an unexpected (and forbidden!) kiss shows him off not as the predator, but as a scared man in search of some freedom, which he can’t find because he’s trapped in his own world of ‘culture’; and even if his Wilson – after the loss of Liza – may seem at first as someone who’s given up on himself, understanding his reasons will only make him more humane in any attentive observer’s eye: for what can be more humane, more sad and more worthy of my understanding, than the grief caused by the loss of one’s life embodied in love? These characters are ‘shameful’ only if sorrow is shameful; only if being weak is in some way unnatural, and learning to deal with our emotions is something easy, irrelevant and so futile, that we shouldn’t ever dare to bring it out to the open, in front of others. And maybe this is indeed so in Hollywood dreamland – but in real life, fragility is not something to hide, but a proof that our hearts are indeed more than a part of the perfect body machinery, a gentle beauty in itself. And Hoffman radiates that beauty with every move, and every word.

‘Jack Goes Boating’ could be the gentlest, most stripped down work of Hoffman’s so far. For Jack is not only his character to play with, but – with the movie being Hoffman’s directorial debut – the decision of how much of his inner world to show was also left up to Hoffman himself. In the end, Jack is a man so gentle, it is almost unbearable. And while he is often uncomfortable with himself and with others - clearing his throat obsessively when feeling threatened or overexposed in any way – the tiny glimpses of courage he shows (embodied so poetically in the swimming lessons, which were funny and sad at the same time) come off as feats worthy of praise much greater than the acts we award and praise in everyday life. And they are. For no physical challenges, no successes in sports and medals won can ever compare with the courage of saying ‘I love you’; and no Oscar shine for the greatest performance can ever top the amount of soul given in the act of the first kiss. Hoffman, as an Oscar winner, knows this; judging by this role, he knows it well. And he makes Jack so kind to the world, you would think the world will crush him with all its sorrow. But it doesn’t, for he wiped away his tears – in front of us, the observers, reminding us there is no shame in demonstrating weakness, even if it makes both his and our cheeks blush – and has learned how to cook, and how to swim. And even how to row a boat. And how to love...well, that he has known all along...

Thinking about...

2010-11-28T11:42:00.005+01:00

...sensuality.

Les Amours Imaginaires (Xavier Dolan, 2010); Fa Yeung nin wa (Kar Wai Wong, 2000); Irreversible (Gaspar Noe, 2002).

On loving innocently

2010-11-21T19:31:00.004+01:00

Kim: You're here... They didn't hurt you, did they?
Were you scared? I tried to make Jim go back, but, you can't make Jim do anything. Thank you for not telling them that we...
Edward: You're welcome.
Kim: It must have been awful when they told you whose house it was.
Edward: I knew it was Jim's house.
Kim: You... you did?
Edward: Yes.
Kim: Well, then why'd you do it?
Edward: Because you asked me to.

(Kim and Edward, Edward Scissorhands, Tim Burton, 1990)

The biggest Thank You goes to lady R. for reminding me of this, unintentionally...

On how towards people, we have double standards sometimes - and love's no exception

2010-11-14T14:33:00.005+01:00

Christy: Why does your status say 'single' on your Facebook page?
Eduardo: What?
Christy: Why does your relationship status say 'single' on your Facebook page?
Eduardo: I was single when I set up the page.
Christy: And you just never bothered to change it?
Eduardo: I...
Christy: What?
Eduardo: I don’t know how.
Christy: Do I look stupid to you?
Eduardo: No...calm down...
Christy: You’re asking me to believe that the CFO of Facebook doesn’t know how to change his relationship status on Facebook?
Eduardo: It’s a little embarrassing, so you should take it as a sign of trust that I would tell you that.
Christy: Go to hell!
Eduardo: Take it easy!
Christy: No, you didn’t change it so you could screw those Silicon Valley sluts every time you go to Mark!
Eduardo: Not even remotely true, and I can promise you that the Silicon Valley sluts don’t care what anyone’s relationship status is on Facebook. Please, open your present...
(...)
Open your present. It’s a silk scarf.
Christy: Have you ever seen me wear a scarf?
Eduardo: This will be your first.

(Eduardo Saverin and Christy, The Social Network, David Fincher 2010)

Was away for a long time. Maybe I will still be away, dunno...sometimes my ideas just don't want to find their way into becoming letters.

But sometimes...an unexpectedly beautiful thing appears, just asking to be shared.
Like this one...
Saw 'The Social Network' the other day - and was, as always, mesmerized by Fincher. But that feeling of adoration deserves at least a post of its own.
This tiny little sequence, however, had to be shared now - as it made me re-think our expectations of our partners, and the dlusion we so often grow up with, that the person we share our life with should be of the kind that satisfies a form, a shape, a pre-designed model we desire of them.
Eduardo Saverin is certainly the most loveable character of the movie; there is a certain traditionality to him, a very moderate sense of politeness, and a sense of 'human'-ness and gentleness that the other characters lack. He is instinctively almost impossible not to like.
Yet, this is what the viewers - us - see from the outside. Christy sees something else: a confused character, unwilling to share much, and probably unfaithful too; 'cause, what else would he be doing not answering her calls, than spending time with another woman at the time? And the silk scarf? In the viewers' perspective: a clumsy, but thus even more endearing attempt of showing affection which perfectly matches his confusion. In her perspective: an act of a careless man, who probably wasn't even thinking of her when buying it; a generic present from an unfaithful man.

The point?
People come as they are. And they can be the kindest, nicest, most endearing personalities - but they are rarely as we imagine them to be. But our inability to see that, to be open to exploring how they really are, instead of expecting them to be 'just as they should', can sometimes mean missing a tremendous much. Or maybe not. But without trying, we'll never know.

Or maybe I am just sentimental, and not so much hating the idea of silk scarves.
Or maybe, just maybe, it's just Sunday...

On how, in life and love, we have choices

2010-06-20T18:04:00.003+02:00

"I fell in love with her, Alice."
"Oh, as if you had no choice? There's a moment, there's always a moment, "I can do this, I can give into this, or I can resist it", and I don't know when your moment was, but I bet you there was one."

(Dan and Alice, Closer, Mike Nichols, 2004)

On how cinema and life clash inevitably, and so often tragically

2010-06-11T11:50:00.008+02:00

This morning, one of the major dailies in Croatia published an article under the following title:

'Father kills two underage daughters, then takes away his own life/Otac ubio dvije maloljetne kćeri pa si oduzeo život'

In the article, it was stated that the man, D.G., was separated from his wife, who he wanted to get back with, but she apparently didn't feel the same way. He came to her in the early morning, they had an argument, and the whole thing ended as it did, tragically...

Instantly, the images of Cristi Puiu's 'Aurora' came back to my mind, together with the feeling of shame and - at the same time - compassion it envoked in me as I was watching it, and as I was writing about it here the other day. Sure, in Puiu's film, the children stay OK - Viorel is too gentle of a person to be anything less than loving as a father. But besides that, the story looks so familiar...And while it was so easy to be compassionate with the gentle, soft-spoken Viorel once the spotlight was on him, and it was only him we were getting to know, how do I show any compassion with the father here? And (why) should I?

I oh so wish feature film fiction movies could be a little more fictional sometimes...

As all good things have to end...

2010-06-06T22:35:00.003+02:00

...TIFF, too, ended today...and my visit to it ended even a tiny bit earlier - and it is already missed. And yes, I have been gathering courage and will to dedicate to it a few lines, like a nice wrap-up of all the beautiful things left behind. However, I can't seem to stop thinking of a question so insanely complex, it seems almost ridiculous to ask it at all...

It all started with two stories.
The first one? Well...C - my beloved partner in crime - and I recently went to see György Pálfi's latest film, 'I am not your friend'. We took lovely company, and, in the dark of the cutest little cinema, enjoyed a film that was - to me - more interesting than good. A hyper-realistic chronicle of relations between a few odd (to say the least) couples in contemporary Budapest, it felt (and indeed was, as we later found out) highly improvised, raw and very authentic in a way. Yet, to my amateur-ish eye and an ear resilient to any sounds in Hungarian (and it is not that I am not trying - but it is just a language incredibly complex, and unbearably rich in words for a poor beginner), Pálfi's movie didn't seem like something so 'new' and remarkable as it could have been - it felt almost 'overdone' at times, and I would have, in my occasional attacks of smugness (of which I am not at all proud, but I am learning to face and control their existence), probably labeled it as an interesting experiment, but nothing previously unseen, before moving on to enjoying something more appealing and exciting to me in its novelty and depth. Yet C's reaction to it made me confused, almost embarrassed: he related to it completely, proclaiming it to be brilliant not because of its style or visual beauty, but because of how authentic it is, and how precise in capturing the decadence of the Hungarian capital; Yet, as the dialogues were untranslatable in all their colloquial glory, and the feel of the city was foreign to me, it was obviously something that I cannot understand or relate to - and the sad truth was that he was right, I really couldn't. And while we were talking after we exited the cinema, for moments it would seem to me like we had seen two completely different films - and the loss, it was obvious, was all mine...

And so, for the next two days, I was haunted by the idea that I will never, even if I really try, be able to understand some things about not only Hungarian, but foreign cinema in general; the topics, the small cultural references, the subtle insinuations to actual political or other happenings that marked the lives of locally rooted heroes, even the fine nuances related to how they spoke (with language transferring all sorts of messages, from their social status to general manners), were just simply 'untranslatable' to my world, and therefore out of my reach - putting me in a position similar to that of an anthropologist doomed to always observe a 'foreign' culture without ever being capable of 'understanding' it. And 'Aurora', the movie I wrote about recently, seemed to be the sole peak of my horror caused by ignorance: the loooong takes depicting details of everyday life which must have had a deeper meaning that was just invisible to me, the football references that mush have had a story behind them, one of which I obviously had no clue about...There must have been - I felt - so much more to those three hours than I ever could have spotted, and that made me tremendously sad in a way. But was this really so? 'No', said the unlikely voice of my newly acquired Romanian friend, a passionate follower of the Festival and a film critic; According to him, there was nothing that I was really missing - most of those references were completely irrelevant for the story anyway, or were not really references at all (for instance, for him, as he doesn't follow football, the football 'sparks' were no less confusing than for me, only he took them as far less relevant) but only 'time-fillers'; besides, the general idea of 'Aurora' was just as understandable to both of us, and it was its universality that made it a really great film.

From that conversation on, I've been thinking a lot about the universality of cinema, and of the 'transferability' of ideas across different cultures and language barriers. How much do I lose when watching a movie in a language I don't understand, and how much of it gets - literally - lost in translation? If a certain story is indeed focused on being a study of something 'locally' rooted, how valid and meaningful can it be at all, when taken out of its original context? And is it really true that the marking of a really good movie lies in the universality of its primary focus(es), or is this just a misconception, based on the ignorance towards the problem of 'translatability'?

Very raw, naive questions, I know - and ones that have to do less with movie-making, and much more with philosophy than I would like them to. And, no, I don't (yet) have a satisfactory answer to share. But I am open to readings, opinions, attitudes - anything that might get me a step closer to my own personal answer(s)...

And this would be...

2010-06-04T14:20:00.005+02:00

...the place for a quote. But this time I have none - somehow it always turns out that I forget the Moleskine when it would be of most use...

Finally saw Cristi Puiu's 'Aurora' last night, as the last movie I managed to 'catch' so far at the TIFF; and in a way, it was disturbing and moving enough for me to still think about it today, and it caused in me a need to write a couple of quick lines about it, even tho I really didn't want to in a way...and yet, it wasn't what I expected it would be.

'Aurora' is a tremendously sad film, one about a man who has lost love in his life, and will do anything in order to 'improve' that - but his choice of 'improvement' is just unbearably wrong, tho, it seems, it is the only one he can think of, a sort of a last attempt to make things right, by making them completely wrong.

The topic in itself is beautiful; and so is Puiu as the understated, silent, not-really-existing-anymore Viorel. But all this still doesn't amount to a beautiful film. The biggest problem is, paradoxically, the movie's length; In his previous film, 'Lazarescu', capturing the slowness of time passing was necessary as a way to illustrate the slowness of the system. 'Aurora', however, has no intention of dealing with the system - it is a film so tremendously private, it made me feel like a voyeur on occasions; and as much as Puiu tries to root it in the contemporary Romanian society (and he does so through a number of amazing little details, conversations, nods and looks; unfortunately, while some of them were visible to me, I was painfully aware the entire time that most of the finesse is just slipping through my fingers like fine sand - as a foreigner, it is hard to relate to little everyday things that are, to me, completely unknown, and for which I just have no interpretation, or even feeling. But this is always the danger of film as medium - its narrative is never quite translatable, and a lot of it gets lost in between layers; luckily, some of the messages are universal - were they not, it would make watching foreign films completely impossible...), its story is universal in a way that allows it to re-play itself anywhere and everywhere. The pacing of the movie thus becomes a decision, rather than a necessity derived from its intention - and Puiu makes a somewhat bad choice deciding to observe his (anti)hero with such a lazy, drowsy cinematographic eye, as the final 'finding' just isn't 'big' enough to justify for all the seconds spent in waiting for its revelation. But it is definitely sad enough, regardless of whether one perceives the poor Viorel as insane, tragic, or just unbearably lonely (and, as one of the characters of the movie labels him, 'a big softie'). Puiu's film might be viewed as a study of human nature, and our capability of committing a crime (in that view, it shares an overlapping territory with another amazing film I've seen recently, Bong's 'Mother') - and seeing it like this, pulled through the filters of morale that places the biggest value on the the life of a person, feels 'right' somehow. But for me, it is more a study on sadness of an individual, who is only 'crazy' when thought of as of a number, a general Someone, and not an individual with emotions and dilemmas - as much as saying this makes me feel shy, almost embarrassed for my moral drift. Whether the director's decision to shoot it in a slow pace was 'programmatic' (keeping his reputation of the 'initiator', if not the ideologist of the Romanian New Wave cinema) or purely instinctive is maybe less important. More important is his tremendous arrogance in titling the film - 'Aurora', he explained after the screening, means the beginning, and every beginning is a good in itself. For Viorel, however, there is no real beginning anymore - nothing that opens before him promises a field of opportunities, only a prison cell and some more loneliness, just of the kind he was trying to escape in the first place. And only someone completely insensitive of his suffering could play on him such a cruel language trick. But knowing that Puiu and Viorel, for the three hours of the movie, become one (literally, as the latter is both created and embodied by the former), one should maybe think of it only as of self-irony, and not an offense. In any case, 'Aurora' is not an easy experience to live through for sure, but also not an easy one to watch.

Or maybe I just got it all wrong again?

A short one from the road...

2010-05-26T17:52:00.002+02:00

"Massimo je vrhunski glazbenik koji svoje emocije prenosi publici, a u njegovom izražaju nema nimalo agresije, samo ljubavi prema glazbi./Massimo is a top class musician who transfers his emotions to the audience, and in his expression, there is not a bit of aggression, only love towards music."

Gabi Novak, a singer, on her colleague Massimo Savić, in Jutarnji List, 26.05.2010

I was reading the newspaper on the train today, and I ran into this quote...quite honestly, at first I thought it doesn't belong here, as it is not at all about cinema, and it is most certainly not a movie quote either; However, it somehow stuck with me, and I decided to bring it to this page of the universe because, for me, she so perfectly summarized (speaking about music) the things that I have been missing in cinema recently - the love of the art of film, instead of the need to conform to the financial restraints or, in the case of what we label as 'festival' or 'art' cinema (both misleading and wrong tho, but that's besides the point), to the taste of the festival juries and the trends in movieshooting at the moment. I am not a fan of either of the protagonists, but she gave him the most beautiful compliment she could have given - no aggression, just love. Absolutely mesmerizing.

Have been missing a lot of great cinema recently, much more than I have actually seen...but on my way to here, and we'll see where that will get me in terms of visual pleasures...but with Radu Muntean's latest film on board, the Cannes-complimented 'Tuesday, After Christmas', the expectations are high...

On things too mesmerizing not to be shared

2010-05-12T21:05:00.006+02:00

"Do you have a lot of friends?"
"Not really..."
"Do you ever wish you did?"
"Yeah"
"When?"
"Well... like... now, for instance."
"Why?"
"Well... I just met you. And I feel like telling somebody about it."

(Christina and Eric, Exotica, Atom Egoyan, 1994)

I should make a promise to myself, and everyone who might read this, that my next quote will have nothing to do with love, or human relations in general...it should be a happy thought, but one of a completely different kind...

On sparks, desire and just letting go

2010-05-11T00:51:00.005+02:00

"I'm having trouble sleeping. I keep dreaming about you."
"You don't even know me."

(Sissi and Bodo, Der Krieger + Die Kaiserin, Tom Tykwer, 2000)

On how people are unexpectedly beautiful on so many levels sometimes - if we look at them closely, and with the desire to see and understand...

2010-05-08T21:05:00.000+02:00

"You know, you're taller than you look."
"I hunch."
"Don't."

(Peter Parker and Mary Jane, Spider-Man, Sam Raimi, 2002)

I was never much of a Spider-Man fan, I admit. And when I first saw this scene, it seemed just as cheesy and dishonest to me as most of the movie's somewhat schematic love story. Yet, in time (and after meeting some people, who have passed through my life in one way or another, or have even decided to stick around) I realized how beautiful it actually is: the idea of seeing in someone all the things he (or she) is, but that he himself is unable to see, and is thus completely unaware of his own beauty (here nicely summarized in height) and worth - and is even shy about them - is just fantastic to me. And the process of watching people 'grow' to become aware of and accept their complete gorgeousness is simply amazing on so many levels - as cheesy as it might sound...

As two are always smarter than one...

2010-05-08T20:25:00.001+02:00

...it took my 'special other' to remind me that I should actually share the film that I have written such honest expressions of love for. So, here it is, 'C'était un rendez-vous' by Claude Lelouch, in all its glory.

Thank you, C.

Random notes made during long journeys - or some personal memories disguised as issues, or how much may I imagine when imagining meanings in cinema?

2010-05-07T21:13:00.000+02:00

Sometimes I become quite fascinated by simple things I learn about people – the small but significant nuances in opinions we have, but which I would never have guessed, or even supposed, on my own; their unbelievable insights on what seem to be the most irrelevant of life’s details, or complete ignorance towards what I would suggest would be things of particular importance to everyone and anyone. And in the past few days, one of those things, which might seem completely unimportant in any real life context, has been hunting me – our ability and ‘habit’ to attach meanings to cinematic experiences; but not in the sense of attaching emotional value to, for example, a film screening that we’ve seen with a dear person – but strictly having the need to ‘add’ to a film we’ve seen that certain ‘extra something’ that seems as though if it were its ‘connotation’, a hidden (or less hidden) message, a moral ‘extra’ or a theoretical implication that can be generalized from the brief celluloid encounter. I am having my doubts whether to call this an interpretation: while in most cases to add to the film narrative such an ‘extra’ in meaning definitely would mean interpreting it, it’s the teeny but still important percentage of those films to which I am completely unable to attach such an ‘interpretative addition’ that bother me; maybe it is indeed just an issue of me sometimes being a really bad interpreter, but I still do, occasionally, stumble upon those films which just seem to be completely emptied of meanings, like sets of pretty images, but without a common interpretative tie of any sort...

The problem of meaning came to me through two completely unrelated events. In the first event, T clashed with a blockbuster – and was left puzzled. I have recently been lucky to get a chance to do some travelling to one of my favourite, calmest getaway places; My getaway is, however, often also a film-related one: while being far from my usual setting, I tend to adapt to someone else’s taste in movies as well, which often results in seeing films that I would have probably otherwise skipped. For me, it is a game of sorts – the letting go to someone completely, allowing him to lead in a field that I sometimes take perhaps a slight bit too seriously - often with lovely unexpected results: in previous ‘rounds’ I have discovered the beautifully naive cuteness of the last ‘Star Trek’ movie which probably would have passed next to me without me ever spotting it on my own, have laughed at the horrendous acting of Nic Cage, and almost ruined a tie of our mutual adoration when I have expressed my dislike towards ‘Avatar’ (luckily, the tie was saved with some charm invested...). This time, we made a mutual agreement to see ‘Iron Man 2’, a movie that would probably never found its way to my list of must-sees, but which had a couple of instant pluses (one being the charm of Robert Downey Jr. for sure) which made it a-OK in my book. However, as we came out of it two hours later, I was completely puzzled: the movie seemed literally like an empty slate, one that had nothing to say about anything important in life. OK, so there is a superhero; he’s rich and lonely and cynical, and the sole rescuer of world peace. But, when we forget about only the film for a while, and start thinking about a broader image, in which (ours and others’) actions have consequences, we find them to be morally right or wrong; in which there is a starting idea that everything that is done is somehow related to a ‘wider’ field of narrative, is talking about something not necessarily drawn on the screen...’Iron Man 2’, it seemed, had absolutely nothing to offer. This was further strange because it was a superhero movie, and those usually do come with a morality/justice story. But it could have been anything, any sort of ‘message’ that was encrypted, or that I could have ‘written’ into it by catching glimpses of ideas and seconds of symbols on the screen. And yet, nothing. Absolutely nothing came to me.

The other event was a complete reverse. My partner in crime and I swapped roles for an evening, and in a reversed game, went to a meeting of a film club. It was a small group of enthusiasts, with a projector and a lot of good will, and shown for the evening were two films: ‘Blast of Silence’ by Allen Baron (1961) and the short&sweet ‘C'était un rendez-vous’ by Claude Lelouch (1976).The feature film of the evening was admittedly good, but as I have never been a noir lover at heart, it gave me things to think about, but no real tingles. But the short film won me over instantly. A story without a story, it is a little experiment with technology of sorts: a one-take 10-minute rush down the streets of Paris, all shot from the car. But if the visual footage of the ‘race’ itself was not so particularly captivating for me, the layers and layers of beautiful ideas that one could inscribe into it were simply fascinating.

On one level, it is a 10-minute transmission of creative energy – and one that immediately awakes in the viewer the desire to see more from a director who has so wildly, almost instinctively, let go and embraced the idea that gorgeous results can come from ‘action’, rather than from ‘philosophy’ of storytelling developed in details. It also tells something about the period in which it was made: although the French New Wave was in no way as unified as it is sometimes sloppily presented today (compare the meditative Resnais to the loudness of Godard and the naive softness of Truffaut, and it shall be visible instantly), it had a certain stream of creative energy which came far beyond just moviemaking, and the braveness of the period can be felt from the wilderness of the chase, almost as if it were its paradigmatic example of sorts (tho, truth be told, it came too late, historically).

But what struck me as really special about the movie is that it can be read as the most beautiful love story: the speed, the turbulence, the risk, all the rushing through red lights, all of this undertaken only to be in time to meet ‘your’ lady – and what a lady she is indeed. And what if, in itself, it is also a metaphor for a relationship: it is one of constant turbulence, in which both have crossed the rules of the boring normality so many times, both emotionally and sexually, and the intensity of the mutual sparks could at the same time be their biggest mutual high and an invite for destruction; and yet, all the wilderness of their emotional rollercoaster and verbal duels cannot blur the fact that it is in the arms of the other that the calmness comes, and they belong to each other fully, naturally – as a model couple, the one that always re-strengthens its ties in the end. Finally, what if it says something about women in a manner less nice – if it is a male confession on the firmness of the female grip, the mocking of the usual stereotype in which no evil is worse than the woman you’ve got at home, and it is simpler to break the rules of the system, fight the speed limits and making an occasional wrong turn, than it is to deal with her dissatisfaction if you are late to pick her up – the horror of which would have started only after the camera stopped shooting, but which is in a way present by evoking the stereotype silently? Or, what if...?

Of course, it is highly unlikely that the author had all these ideas in mind when he decided to play with a bit of equipment and a nice car; he was probably completely uninterested in any of them. But it is wonderful how his film just invites us to ascribe meanings to it, to interpret its consequences, and push it further and further on. My cinematic partner was impressed by the engine sounds, finding the ‘technical’ details of the film amusing; I was at the same time dreaming of the greatest love story ever told in so little time, and was fascinated by his lack of need to attach additional meanings to the shots, when he so simply could have done so. Yet, we were both ‘right’ in a way, I think; and the fact that the film had left so much space for interpretations didn’t make it at all ‘weaker’ – but amazingly good and interesting. Which is what I lacked with ‘Iron Man 2’ – beneath all the shine and famous names, it was amazing how there was no story to construct. And I wanted to: I wanted to think about loneliness; about the monopolization of world peace and its consequences; about the image of the army; yet nothing felt quite right, and the movie just felt empty.

What should one do with such ‘empty’ films? Is it the problem of the films, and the fact that they should offer more to its viewer? Or is it the problem of the viewer – in this case, me – who expects something, and is yet unsure of what that ‘something’ should be? Is my ascribing of potential meanings to Lelouch’s film somewhat unfair – in the way that I allow myself the liberty of ‘imputing’ so much, that it almost makes it seem like I am trying to find a meaning for a film I didn’t initially understand, but want to make something out of? Or is it just a part of reviewing a movie, the arguing for multiple levels of cinematic text without any shyness, as long as they can be somewhat argued for convincingly?

So many questions, so little answers, I know...but felt like sharing some thoughts, and maybe getting some in return...

Sweet exceptions

2010-04-29T10:31:00.000+02:00

I have a general rule of not posting links, videos and art from other sites here. But, as every rule is designed to be broken eventually, not sharing this would have been a crime, really...

Oh, the layers and layers and layers of texts that we forget to read sometimes - so gorgeous...

Acquired from C (thankyouthankyouthankyou) who found it here.

On love unconditional...

2010-04-28T19:24:00.000+02:00

You know what I *did* to get back to you? You know what I did?

Sam Cahill (Brothers, Jim Sheridan, 2009.)

*Have been awfully sloppy in writing on these pages in a while, and in a way, a part of me really regrets it. It is not that I haven't been thinking about cinema...In the past weeks, I have had some beautiful cinematic experiences, tho not as many as I would have liked to; I have had the chance to listen to people who really know and feel how one should write about cinema, and to admire the beauty of their words and ideas; I have started to write for a lovely little portal too, and have learned in the process how much easier it is for me to write about film in English - perhaps it is because my thoughts seem less 'mine' when I do somehow, and each word doesn't resonate as strongly with me as Croatian does, so it all seems - superficially, somehow - to make a little bit more sense in the end...and in a strange way, it all lead me to a place completely new...I have learned that at the moment, I am more interested in morality than ever before, and particularly in morality in love, in the way we see, treat and take care of those who we are so quick and free in calling our companions. And cinema, cinema is so full of these stories and narratives. But as obsessions are never good, sometimes it feels that mine isn't either - and that, on a strange level, I am ignoring everything else I can find in cinema to explore these things, which could, to a reader more confident in his ideas and less interested in these notions, just seem plain and boring, uninteresting or even repetitive and overly dramatic in my own stories and narratives. This has been, partially, the reason why I have abstained from this blog for a while - and if there are still those who drop by here sometimes, I apologize to you all in advance if I overdo the same explorations here in the future. But maybe somewhere, sometime, someday I will find the answers I am looking for, and I do hope that a bit more exploration - together- can't do any harm...*

On loneliness

2010-03-11T17:58:00.000+01:00

I really do have love to give! I just don't know where to put it!

(Quiz Kid Donnie, Magnolia, Paul Thomas Anderson, 1999)

On understanding oneself

2010-03-10T00:33:00.000+01:00

"I don't know if there is anything wrong because I don't know how other people are."

(Barry, Punch-Drunk Love, Paul Thomas Anderson, 2002)

On things we take for granted (inspired by 'Selo bez žena/Village Without Women' by Srđan Šarenac, 2009)

2010-03-09T21:44:00.000+01:00

There's been so many topics I've been thinking about the past few days, and that I really felt like I should write about, and yet I somehow never managed to get past the first couple of lines: everything that seemed so inspired and interesting while sneaking around the corridors of my mind would suddenly become so bland and uninspired when taking the form of black letters typed up on paper. I guess I was once again reminded of the fact that the only thing worse than knowing you have nothing to say is thinking you actually have quite a bit to share with the world, only to be refuted by the reality.

And then...then came the darkness of the other night. And this one film...

In all honesty, it wasn’t even such a good film. If I was to review it on any other day, I would have given it a proper three out of five, with possibly a half-a-point raise for the sole fact that I got to watch it sitting on the floor, dressed up as if I was going for a night out: for some reason, I’ve always loved taking different perspectives when watching films, and having the freedom to sit down and relax on the floor of a multiplex provided for one for sure – both literally and figuratively. And while I am normally a queen of politeness – properly raised to stick to my civic (citizen-esque) manners even when the situation would allow for less courtesy – there is something about film festivals that makes me forget that part of myself for a while, and just simply relax and ‘find my place’, wherever it may be. And sometimes some smiles in the crowd, some curious eyes and eloquent semi-strangers eager to share impressions, and a carpeted floor of the passageway (+ a box of Skittles!) are all it takes for happiness. Seriously.

But yes, the film...

I love running into things simply by accident, and then catching myself completely surprised by the effect they have on me. ‘Selo bez žena’ (‘Village Without Women’), a movie by a young Bosnian director Srđan Šarenac, was definitely one of those random, accidental surprises. It is a story about three brothers living in a small village in the south of Serbia. The village resembles a bit the end of the world: old houses, mostly empty and forgotten, left to be hugged by moss, grass and wild flowers before they collapse from the firmness of the embrace - and seven men of different ages, living in the nothingness and isolation, yet still dreaming of something...And one would guess, seeing how they live and where they are, that they would dream of the city, of bright lights and numerous opportunities, of good jobs and easier lives; instead, they dream of – women. The dream of someone to keep all ends of the house and the land together, even if they’ve learned to do everything on their own; and – though not once they will ever mention love – of some sort of closeness with another human being that is different from what they know, and what they have today. Yet, most of them have given up on ever finding a partner, seemingly having made peace with the fact that the only women in their lives are and will be the beauties cut out from the pages of old Playboys. But one of the brothers is still convinced that there is some chance of not staying alone, and he is willing to ‘work hard’ to find someone. And since there are no women ‘available’ in his surroundings, he takes upon a ‘logical’ next step, a journey: he gets himself together, gets all the papers straight and – like many Serbian men before him – takes upon a trip to Albania, to look for a future Misses among the women in the poor Albanian villages, whose families are usually willing to let them go in what should mean a better life. Of course, the mission could be a bit ‘tricky’, but no national tensions can stop our hero – when it comes to looking for a partner, everything other than things strictly personal (if she is young, pretty and willing to come and marry) becomes less relevant.

Šarenac’s film is shot and edited to resemble a documentary comedy, attempting to show also the sadness, but primarily the black humour surrounding the brothers’ lives. And it is true, to someone coming from the city, what they do, how they live, even how they communicate - with their complete lack of ability to speak of themselves as subjects of their own lives, who deserve something more than what they’ve ended up with; but also to communicate their quest for women as an emotional, engaging one, instead of just making it seem like a thing of practicality and comfort – could indeed seem somewhat odd, even entertaining on occasions. Yet what struck me as odd was the fact that, to me, even though I smiled at moments, and cheered for the persistent hero with the rest of the crowds, it wasn’t the humour that was the strongest line of the movie; nor was it really sadness I felt in the end, when everybody including our hero is confronted with the fact that his quest has once again been unsuccessful, his dreams once again destroyed. It was completely impossible not to share a sense of compassion, not to be touched in a way. Yet, even if I didn’t find anything in the story to really laugh about, the feeling that came over me as the movie was – slowly and painfully, as if preparing all of us for the final disappointment - approaching its end was not the one of sadness, but of gratefulness; Sitting there on the floor, with the ‘special someone’ closest to my heart constantly on my mind (and another of my favourite people on earth being right next to me), I felt grateful for the possibility to love – and in a way, the director’s choice to turn this simple thing, which should be so normal to everyone but so often ends up being a privilege, into a laughing matter seemed almost offensively rude to me.

Of course, I don’t really believe Šarenac meant any harm; young, eloquent and seemingly well educated (and talented), he was probably just looking for a story that seemed worthy of being told, and once he found one, he didn’t want to make it into the usual heartbreaking ‘lack of love’ tale, which people accept as a scheme for soap operas and sitcoms, but that are just unconvincing, and even irritating, as real-life stories. And even if he did go a bit overboard, he was neither first, nor the ‘worst’ one. Comedy, particularly American contemporary comedy, loves to ‘extract’ the comic out of people’s inability to find love (or even a simple physical connection, relation to another human being, for that matter): we are to laugh at nerds who can’t score with seductive blondes, to giggle at middle-aged shy virgins, to find humour in ‘uncool’ teenagers’ inability to go on a date and poor fat guys’ complete lack of self-confidence in front of breathtakingly beautiful women (at least until they learn the lesson of another ‘uncool’ fictional character, but a TV-one, and start thinking of themselves as of the ‘Barry Whites’ when foreseeing a romance). Literature is even far more cruel to ‘the outsiders’ of the love battlefield: thus, in the mind of Houellebecq’s hero, Michel, the only salvation for his colleague, Tisserand, from his grotesque, saddening and simply ridiculous state of complete loneliness (determined primarily by his physical appearance, and obvious in the eyes of every woman that looks at him, and then goes away), is a merciful death, for no other thing could ever do any good. In the edless layers and forms of popular culture that we are surrounded by, many, on a daily basis, strive to remind us of how there are numerous conditions for love (thus even Arctic Monkeys’ singer will admit that he would ‘still take her home’, because although she’s ‘just probably allright’, under these lights she looks beautiful), and how some are meant to score, and others can do nothing but to learn from them and try again over and over (just think of that MTV show in which the ‘cool guys’ compete over who will teach his ‘loser’ better to win over the girl). But all this is not at all what I am interested in at the moment (even if all of these are absolutely fascinating topics)...

The thing that ‘Selo bez žena’ inspired me to think of was the fact that we often take love as something that we – each one of us as a deserving individual, the big 'I' – are entitled to, and it is the problem of others if they are not willing to adapt to us, to understand us (the ‘me’ within everyone of us, the tiny little voice that sometimes can become surprisingly loud and dominant), to deal with the great ego that each one of us carries. In a culture that is more and more individualised on a daily basis, the question of finding someone to call a ‘partner’ becomes a question of finding one’s perfect fit, a person who should adapt to ‘my’criteria, my character, my desires...and if there is ever a problem, it is always the other’s fault - and I should just let go and keep searching, because it is just so self-evident that finding another partner is my given right, and therefore easy.

The real beauty of Šarenac’s film for me was that it served as a kind of reminder of the simple fact that, even if each one of us is indeed worthy of love as he or she is (and this is exactly how it should be; the phrase ‘not deserving of love’ has always been an enigma to me, as if love was something to work for, to earn, something one is entitled to because of what he/she has achieved, instead of what he/she IS: a human being, capable – and in need of – giving and receiving affection), realizing that ‘right’ is not always so easy; and we should be tremendously grateful for the fact that we have been given the chance to have this kind of relationship with someone (when this is the case), and do whatever is in our power to show that, to make that clear to the other, to take them as they are instead of simply imposing our own right to be ‘who we are’ under any cost. This is not to say that our expectations should not be high: perhaps the saddest thing about the brothers in the movie is indeed the way they talk about women and marriage, in a manner transforming not only the women, but also themselves into ‘objects’ of their own stories, in which the bride and groom, in their imagined roles, take the shape not of people who have the need to grow and change together, to take a joint ‘attack’ on the world, but one resembling much more the two figurines on the wedding cake, stereotypical in their roles and appearances. And no ties between two people which are empty on the inside should ever be kept just for their shell, no matter how polished it is. But in a world in which the biggest fortresses mankind has built disappear in a day, cities get wiped away by the rage of the earth and financial empires crash, destroyed by the same greed which helped them rise so high, the value of the possibility to have someone so tremendously close to ourselves that the boundaries between us get wiped away is something that should never, even for a moment, be taken for granted.

On why one should always listen to Rage Against The Machine, no matter what.

2010-03-08T09:24:00.000+01:00

Yes, they have said it. And they have said it a long time ago - long enough for me to have time to process, memorize and learn it. And yet I failed to obey...

Know your enemy!

In all honesty, I never cared much about the Oscars - I am just not at all into the fake glamour and glitz, and I refuse to believe that it is good money instead of a good film that can win you recognition and the golden statues. But somehow the Best Foreign Language Film category is my little exception: being an European film buff, I like to follow my favorites, and the idea of some of them actually winning, with their low-budget philosophies set against the gigantizm of the home ground allstars right in their shrine, is amusing to me. And this year I was sure to have my winner, finally! True, the best film I've seen last year, Corneliu Porumboiu's spectacular and subtle 'Politist, adj.', ended up without a nomination. But Michael Haneke's 'Das Weisse Band' was, for sure, the next best thing - gorgeously shot and acted, it was one of those films that had something for everyone, but in a positive way; 'A Haneke with a love story', as we would often joke about it, may not be his best work so far, but it still is no less than fantastic. And it seemed a definite winner too: the American critics loved it, it seemed to have gotten praise from whoever got in touch with it, from the indie nerds to mainstream moviegoer's advisers.

Yet last night, something happened. An Argentinian film, 'El Secreto de Sus Ojos', won. Why? I have no idea. I've never seen it. I was so convinced there was no competition unbeatable for the marvelous Austrian (sure, I too loved 'Un Prophete', but as good as it was, it wasn't THAT good!), that I never actually took the time to watch it and see what it has and the 'Ribbon' maybe doesn't...Is it more commercial? Easier to understand? More nicely shot (oh, come on, that sounds barely possible!)? I don't know. I have broken the rule that Rage have set so long time ago, and now I have to take the consequences: complete disappointment and disbelief, for a start.

And the next step? Well, if anyone finds a way to see the winning Argentinian horse somewhere around the Zagreb city, just let me know. After all (with a nod to my N. at the EC intended), it is always a good time to learn...

On modern-day generosity

2010-03-04T22:38:00.000+01:00

I am like a modern-day Robin Hood. I take from the rich...but I don't give to the poor. I give to myself.

Fabrizio Corona ('Videocracy', Erik Gandini)

p.s. Yes, I know this blog deserves much more attention than it has been getting recently. But throughout history of mankind, some resources have always been scarce. In my case, sometimes it is the lack of time that is the problem, sometimes it is the scarceness of inspiration...But I always promise myself that I shall improve. And I shall.

Actually, the movie roughly quoted above (in the dark of the movies, I was too lazy to look for a pencil to write it down word by word, and the poetry which followed Gandini's masterfully crafted documentary - that of the works of legendary Croatian author Ante Babaja, who deserves at least one post of his own - made me forget some of the details of it, including the word-by-word quote of great wisdom said at least twice by the great Italian 'businessman' and 'celebrity') was part of reminding me how great it is to be able to speak freely, to write, to have a medium of your own, and how crazy I am not to exploit it more. Caught the film today at the ZagrebDox by sheer accident and some luck (and some help of wonderful friends), and I must say I am extremely happy that I got to see it, and would recommend it to almost anyone - with the exception of those few people I can imagine who could actually find the story (and even more the ideology, the moral ground) it follows appealing. It is not that the story of the film has been completely unknown to me - au contraire, Berlusconi is a figure impossible to escape, and, while his presence is usually depicted in the Croatian media as 'entertaining' in its banality (almost as in 'we could never have it this bad' manner), the influence he has on the media in Italy is not any kind of a secret. However, sometimes a good, straightforward reminder of how much it takes to be able to say that one lives in a democratic society can have a sobering-up effect, and 'Videocracy' should really come as an unexpected slap on the face to an unprepared viewer.

What can I say about yesterday...

2010-02-23T00:19:00.001+01:00

...that won't be heartbreakingly sad or nostalgic (as thoughts of remembered yesterdays tend to be), and will be in no relation whatsoever to the Beatles song?

Yesterday, we shot a film.

Well, we shot something; a bunch of takes in colour and with some beauty to them that will one day – with a lot of work and some smiles in the breaks well deserved – come to resemble a form of a short amateur-ish film. It will never be an excellent film – it will be no more than a beginners’ attempt to capture some everyday reality of characters who exist only in our fantasies, comprised out of our imaginary worlds and inner lives, and give it a structure, a narrative line and some sound. But an exercise in beauty can be an inspiring thing in itself sometimes, and mine was an experience most beautiful, since it taught me that I love strange angles and long takes, am completely unorganized and chaotic, have no ability to give orders to people even when my ‘duty’ obliges me to do so, hold in myself neither patience for nervous cats nor love for old-fashioned deer decorations – but also that teamwork is tremendously fun, and that people are sometimes much more than you expect them to be. Plus, I am convinced that our little film is the first film shot in full by a soon-to-be rising star of Croatian cinematography, so it might one day be viewed as somewhat of an odd rarity. Have no pictures from the shooting yet, but hope to have some in the near future – and would love to share some of them...

Reading Susan Sontag’s ‘On Photography’, occasionally enjoying myself re-reading of ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead’ by Tom Stoppard (both courtesy of amazing friends). Thinking about how it is high time to finally see ‘Crnci’, and about how lazy I am to write, and should write more often, or this blog will turn into a stream of short thoughts – everything I never ever wanted it to be.

A slow note on sadness on a rainy day

2010-02-20T10:09:00.000+01:00

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

1
WHEN we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

2
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow —
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

3
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me —
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well: —
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

4
In secret we met —
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? —

With silence and tears.

George Gordon Byron

Been having so unbearably little time to write about film, but have spent days and days thinking about it. Making my first step into the cinematic playground these days, but I must admit I am missing tremendously the time to indulge myself with some of others’ sand castles and fortresses of visual beauty. But time for everything will come, I know.

An unrelated note on passion, strangeness and sadness

2010-02-15T02:05:00.000+01:00

In your room, your burning eyes
Cause flames to arise.
Will you let the fire die down soon,
Or will I always be here?

Your favorite passion,
Your favorite game,
Your favorite mirror,
Your favorite slave.

I'm hanging on your words,
Living on your breath,
Feeling with your skin.
Will I always be here?

(Came home from a Depeche Mode concert in Zagreb...had it been a film, it would have suffered from some weak directing and a lack of visual(s) beauty; but it would have been so beautifully scripted in poetic sentences, carried out so easily by its two actors - out of which the performance of the ‘shadow’, the supporting part, would have been Oscar-worthy – and so full of genuine emotions, that I would have embraced it with joy and excitement at first sight anyway...)

On what we (should) talk about when we talk of cinema

2010-02-13T19:05:00.001+01:00

Sometimes the best, most interesting ideas come to us when we least expect them...

Yesterday, I met up with a stranger, but one who I share interests common enough to make our ways cross at some point – and our ‘point’ was a place near my home, one of those far-from-the-city, slowed down locations where you don’t expect much to happen, and certainly don’t believe you could find much there but maybe some good coffee...We were to talk of work, but as soon as we came close enough to say 'hello' without yelling, we started chatting randomly, as if to try out the territory we will –in just moments, and without any way to go back unharmed - be stepping on and make sure that it’s no marshlands, or a frightening dark forest. And somehow, through the storms of words and expressions we poured onto each other, a melody of conversation developed around a topic completely unexpected: what one should speak of when one speaks about film.

He’s an educated man, my partner in the word-duel, with a degree in philosophy in his pocket. He’s also an insider to the world of cinema in a way that I shall never be – one that’s been on both sides of the camera, and on the screen as much as in front of it. Yet, when he speaks of the miracle of the ‘7^th art’, he takes upon a stance of a technician, a craftsman almost. The world of critique, he explains to me, used to be a lot better before: people used to observe attentively the frames, the sequences, the cuts and the director’s decisions; the length of the sequence, the angle of the camera, the light and the fantastic depth to the mise-en-scène were admired, the pace of the film discussed at length, the different approaches recognized. Nowadays, it seems, no one cares about these things anymore – everyone is so busy trying to interpret the story, they’ve lost all interest in the ‘shape of things’, and only go for the characters, plots, emotions...and it’s a shame, really, for everyone has their own interpretation anyway, isn’t it so?

I listen to him attentively while the rebellious little lover of storytelling and interpreting within me wakes up and gathers courage to speak. True, I note with some shyness, all these things are quite fascinating – after all, what is directing if not finding your own way through the immense possibilities of shaping things, forming them and getting them together to create a unique visual experience? And were we not to think of these ‘technicalities’, how could we ever decide, even approximately, on the greatness of one director and the irrelevance of other? Yet, there’s so much more to cinema than just the ‘form’, the structure – and the social scientist in me simply cannot resist the possibility of taking all those beautiful images and looking in them for signs of value systems, traces of social structures (and their successes and failures), reading them through as if they were books, in hope of finding locked within them contributions to ongoing moral debates, cheers for ideological standpoints, citations & love letters and dedications to famous writers, thinkers or other wise men...If I was to give up on all of those and decide that film shall, for me, from now on be observed as a structure, a medium with its own logic and own rules to follow, debate and bend sometimes, how could I ever again write on the sadness, gentleness or joy of it again?

A conclusion was, of course, never reached – we only held onto this little thought war for as long as it was considered polite, then moved – with our bright smiles on - to other topics; but the thought of this has been following me ever since...And as complex of a question as it is, dividing scholars and amateur enthusiasts (who approach it with much more attentiveness and care than me, probably) alike into clans and paradigmatic fortresses, its basic dilemma still comes down to a matter so simple, it is almost ironical: when we think, write, talk of films, should we refer primarily to the ‘form’, the structure, or is it OK to treat film as being in the first place a story, a message, a note on values, ideas and concepts, with the form being only secondary to the contents, which are there, waiting to be ‘read’ from different perspectives?

So, what should we do, then?

On life

2010-02-13T18:45:00.000+01:00

...morning chaos, eternity chaos, noon chaos, eternity chaos, evening chaos, eternity chaos, midnight chaos, eternity chaos, morning chaos...

Julien Donkey-Boy (Harmony Korine, 1999)

(there are many things predictable and repetitive about me, and my love for 'Julien' is certainly one of them...but about 'Julien', there is very little predictability...)

Thoughts

2010-02-11T22:40:00.000+01:00

Thinking about sadness, sadness, sadness...Nicolas Winding Refn and father-son relationships in contemporary cinema. All the things about which we should talk more, yet we so rarely do...

...but luckily, there is time for everything, right?

And what are you celebrating on the 14th?

2010-02-11T22:00:00.000+01:00

Love?

You should celebrate it every day, not think of it only once a year...

Can you celebrate talent, for a change? Promise, no red roses or heart-shaped boxes (and candies) needed...

Blank, the 'film incubator', or simply a place where people with interest in cinema like to gather, has a special place in my heart – but for now, why that is so shall remain a bit of a secret. What should not be a secret is that on Sunday, February the 14^th, at exactly 20:00 hours, they are holding a public screening of their latest production of short films – including the new one by Dario Juričan, whose 'Grand Prix' has gone into my little black film notebook as 'that film with the prettiest clouds ever shot!' (Dario, if you ever get to read this – it's the truth....OK, aside from maybe Tykwer's 'Heaven', or 'Days of Heaven'...). There will be real angels present, an exhibition opening an hour before, a cute little concert and – as the story usually goes – a bit of drinking and partying too. And for those who are curious, but are still not sure whether to go or not, here’s a link to my second-favourite of Blank-produced films: ‘Pekmez/Jam’ by Jura Troje. What do you say now?

Oh, and the location? Cinema Tuškanac, one of the most gorgeous cinemas in town, and my second home for a long year or two of my student days...

But, but...what about love?

Well, you never know what might happen in the dark of the matinee (sorry, I know that's not funny, but I just had to). But even if nothing out of the ordinary takes place, there are still many days left for celebrating the beauty of human emotions...Valentine’s Day is overrated anyway – any day of the week will do just as well...

Yet art is so much more than just cinema...

2010-02-11T19:07:00.001+01:00

R.I.P Alexander McQueen
one of the rare real heroes of our time...

On politics

2010-02-11T00:15:00.000+01:00

"Politics is the art of controlling your environment."

Hunter S. Thompson

(no, not yet turning this into a political blog, tho I am getting a strong urge to; just saw Alex Gibney's “Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson“, and I felt like it deserved a recommendation. And yes, a confrontation with Thompson made me feel overly polite somehow – but I guess not everyone can be a proper Gonzo after all...)

Random notes on the awkwardness of the human body

2010-02-11T00:02:00.000+01:00

“They flung their clothes off and climbed into the huge mahogany bed. It was the first time that he has stripped himself naked in her presence. Until now he had been too much ashamed of his pale and meagre body, with the varicose veins standing out on his calves and the discoloured patch over his ankle. There were no sheets, but the blanket they lay on was threadbare and smooth, and the size and springiness of the bed astonished both of them.”

1984 (George Orwell; chapter IV: 165)

I am currently – and for the first time, as much as I am ashamed to admit it (if I was ever to write a list of all things I have never read, seen, listened to, although I really should have by now, it would be endlessly long, which makes me feel really small on occasions) - reading Orwell’s ‘1984’. And I am absolutely loving every page of it. However, I was hoping it would re-awaken in me my love of political theory, make me crave for re-reading Hannah Arendt, remind me of my childhood fascination with ‘Logan’s Run’ (and, as funny as it sounds now, Michael York), or at least leave me wanting to see the film made after the famous novel, which I have not seen either. And it did, at first. Until I came to the crucial words.

“I love you.”

From that moment on, I realised that the most relevant (and most beautiful) of the many layers of Orwell’s novel is the romance. I can barely remember the last time I so enjoyed discovering the complex routes of the heart among pages and pages of written material, and what struck me as particularly beautiful is the innocence of the protagonists – or, it is the innocence to Winston that is particularly endearing in a way; for, unlike Julia, who has a certain ‘edge’ to her and is still relatively young, he is an adult male by all ‘measures’ (as if one could ever measure such a thing), yet his feelings seem so new and unknown to him. There is no doubt that the innocence is at the same time saddening – it is not a matter of choice, but a result of political decisions and restrictions. Yet this makes Winston as a character no less loveable.

The 'awkwardness' against 'beauty'

But there is an ‘awkwardness’ to Winston – one described beautifully in the quote above, which I instantly embraced as an extremely lucky find, since of this particular one there is still too little mention in literature; and - as I realised while walking home through the thick layers of fresh snow, trying to bring to mind all the cinematic depictions of the same kind – even less mention in contemporary cinema. Winston, a grown man of thirty nine, finds himself feeling awkward about his own body when compared to that of his young lover. There is a genuine sense of shame he feels when with her, and, tho it goes away rather fast, it caught my eye right away, as it somehow unveiled a tiny fragment of his soul that I could sense, but have never caught explicitly stated before. And while it had instantly brought a compassionate smile to my face (while it will take some time for him to realise it, Winston is without a doubt the most humane of the characters; even more than the proles, whose simplicity of life, tied to his own memories, made him re-discover what it was that was and remained the distinctive mark of humans – feelings, the ability to ‘bear’ emotions), it made me wonder why this awkwardness about oneself, about one’s physique, the ‘shell’ of our souls, was so rarely a motif in cinema, when it is a feeling so widespread and so known, that I was able to reconstruct his emotions in my head perfectly.

Cinema likes to deal with shyness – yet shyness is much more complex, and has so many more dimensions that it can barely compare. It also likes to deal with insecurities, depressions, fears, or base its plot on exaggeration, imposition upon its characters of severe physical disabilities and conditions...Yet it has very little understanding for the simple discomfort we occasionally cannot escape, faced with the ‘plain-ness’ of ourselves when compared to the sheer beauty of that particular ‘other’ standing completely exposed within our reach. It is the kind of feeling that makes our cheeks slowly change their colour, becoming with every new second a tiny bit more similar to that of rose petals, while our eyes cannot find a calm spot to focus on, nervously switching from the site of naked gorgeousness to that of the dirty floor and our shoes firmly glued to it, unable to make even a tiny step forward. And yes, maybe it is just me, but my obsession with human emotions constantly leaves me with craving to find more of it shown in cinema, making it at least as common of a topic as it is in literature, where fragility and discomfort still seem to be less of a taboo.

A Hollywood (im)perfection?

Or maybe contemporary cinema is just unable to depict this kind of awkwardness, even when it really tries? After all, in the imaginary world of Hollywood, where all the bodies are carved to perfection, it would seem like there is no reason for anyone to feel any discomfort about him- or herself: all the housewives, lawyers, unemployed fathers and single mothers of three are portrayed by the same prefect faces and same great figures, and it is highly unlikely that any one of them would ever experience any sense of self-doubt when confronted with the same perfection embodied in the partner – right? But the truth is, the awkwardness is a subjective feeling, as is the ‘perfection’ of the other which our eyes see – and no amount of ‘objective’ beauty (what would that be anyway?) can be big enough to overcome it sometimes. It seems more like the big factory of cinematic dreams is still too embarrassed by the ‘private’ weaknesses of humans to bring them to the open safely; as if they’re making us ask ourselves: really, if Winston was indeed a character in a major production, one that relies on the beauty of its image and the deep pockets of its financiers which are paying for the substantial post-production, would we really want to see his moment(s) of discomfort, the traces of age and life’s footprints all over his naked body and the gray shadow of shame in his eyes, when we could – in those same minutes – witness the marvelous, detailed depictions of the world he belongs to, a picture much grander and more impressive than the delicate nuances in the feelings and moods of one tiny existence? For teenagers, it’s OK to feel awkward – many films and TV shows targeting this particular audience deal precisely with this issue; even for women it is somehow not so uncommon, it seems. But for a man, it becomes almost impossible: in the world of McConaugheys, Clooneys and Pitts, why would there ever be any room for discomfort? And even if there is, do we really want to see it?

The Europeans still seem to be more courageous – yet, even in contemporary European cinema, facing the awkwardness one is confronted with simply by being ‘locked’ in his or her body on screen seems to me to be somewhat rare. While the notion of physical beauty and the pleasure that comes out of it appears to be treated much more ‘democratically’ than in American (mainstream) cinema (which is no wonder when you think of it, since ‘Europe’ is a term that covers a variety of different national cultures, and that’s only a start to diversification), awkwardness related to one’s body still rarely takes center stage. One could suggest here that, overall, female directors have an easier time depicting it – just think of Catherine Breillat’s ‘A ma soeur!’ or Lucile Hadzihalilovic's amazing 'Innocence'. Yet both films, once again, place little girls at the centre of attention. What I was hoping to find was not found there either (tho they are both marvellous films indeed).

The beauty of Phil

There is, however, one film that is extremely dear to my heart because it is not afraid of its main character's sense of awkwardness. In Mike Leigh's 'All or Nothing', Timothy Spall's Phil Bassett is completely uncomfortable with himself, and we, the audiences, are aware of this. And not only that – we are made to watch his suffering, his complete breakage and loss of all inhibitions, all caused by a strong lack of love, of feeling loved (a state/feeling rarely depicted as bravely in contemporary cinema), while we know the whole time that he is, even while admitting all this to her, embarrassed of himself in front of his wife. Funnily enough, Leigh's film involves no nudity, no gentle encounters or love scenes; yet that only makes Phil's agony worse, because it is literally prolonged to hours, ending up in an open confession, which in itself is a source of shame and awkwardness. Yet Phil is lucky to find understanding at the other end, and although the future remains open, his discomfort will hopefully disappear eventually.

Of course, Leigh's film is not the only one of the kind, but it is among my definite favourites. And, other than a handful of others (does Reygadas' marvellous Japon count here? Or should the audiences in that film be more uncomfortable with the bodies of its characters than the characters themselves?), I don’t really know many films that deal with the topic so shamelessly. But I would like to know – I really very much would. So if there is anyone who could offer me some ‘to watch’ suggestions, or offer a fresh perspective on some of the films I have already seen, but have never really thought of them in the light of the topic, I would be more than happy to hear them.

On communication

2010-02-09T19:50:00.000+01:00

"When I say something which deserves consideration and you respond without thinking, how does that make you feel?"
"I feel fine."
"I thought you might feel stupid."

The Adjuster (Atom Egoyan, 1991)

So you're going to Berlin?

2010-02-09T18:29:00.000+01:00

No?

Me neither. But I wish I was.

I've always had a bit of a fascination with Berlin, tho I haven't had the chance to visit it (yet). And, even though I am generally not a fan of either prizes or 'major' film festivals, the Berlinale – with its combination of Hollywood-visiting-Europe glamour and real cinematic art – is (alongside Cannes, but that deserves a post of its own), and has always been, an exception to that rule. Somehow, in the (over)inflation of film festivals of all kinds (which is mostly good, but sometimes I still do sense a twitch in my semi-conservative soul telling me it might have all gone a tiny bit too far) I still perceive it as relevant, meaningful, and not completely losing its voice when it comes to giving out signs to film buffs and addicts (such as yours truly here) everywhere on what should be 'compulsory viewing' for the year (which, when you live in Croatia, still means making long lists of 'to watch' films which you shall than proceed to catch for an entire year or more, but that's getting a tiny bit better too...). Venice, with its affection for mainstream and stardom, has long lost its relevance in my eyes (tho I know many would disagree); Karlovy Vary still has its tradition, but not a voice loud enough...

Yet Berlinale is still there, standing – and is, which always adds a couple of point when the observer is a social scientist to the core like me, never afraid of being openly political. Yes, sometimes this means that the main prizes go to films societal relevance of which is higher than the contribution they make to cinema as art. But in the end, awards are not the main part of the festival (at least not when you're an idealist outsider like me, someone who has no gains or losses if the movie doesn't do well, just simple feelings of content or disappointment, depending on personal views and preferences); and it is not all about visual beauty or technical improvements either. The introduction and spreading of ideas, opening of new debates, bringing new issues into the (policy or other) spotlight are just as relevant, and Berlinale, with its strong tendency to 'give voice' to people opening complex topics, is a good contributor to that. And since film is a medium so complex and so versatile, sometimes the balance between all these elements gets just right in some of the works shown, which is about as good as it can get for me...

Whether this year would be a 'good one', it is hard to tell – but with the 2010 edition of Berlinale just around the corner (starting February 11, and ending February 21), I couldn't resist making a short list of films (from the In competition section) I expect a lot from this year. The awards don't really matter that much (and with the character as versatile and unpredictable as Werner Herzog heading the International Jury this year, even making hints seems completely unwise, even a bit crazy); but in the hundreds of titles we're to get confronted with throughout the year, here are some, premiering at Berlinale, that I have high hopes for in terms of quality, beauty, entertainment, or all those combined.

Submarino (Thomas Vinterberg, Denmark)

After three long years of absence from our lives and screens, Thomas Vinterberg makes a comeback with what is said to be another one of his family dramas, set in modern Denmark and involving two brothers. I've always had a soft spot for Danish cinema, and Vinterberg – with his amazing 'Festen', the first and arguably the best of all that would eventually came out of the Dogme 95 movement – is extremely dear to my heart. While 'Festen', however, was undoubtedly a major (even if not commercial) success, none of his latter films have, in all honesty, had the same impact, or the same greatness as the multi-layered masterpiece (with the exception of the last one, 'En mand kommer hjem', which I have not yet seen and therefore cannot judge), and I certainly hope that 'Submarino' will be a step ahead. Unfortunately, it also marks the ending of Vinterberg's constant collaboration with Thomas Bo Larsen, the charismatic actor who has appeared in all of his previous feature films, leaving a particular mark as Festen's torn-apart, violent and sad Michael, and who is still one of my favorite Danes to watch on-screen (tho, I admit, not as excellent as Mikkelsen, Thomsen or Albinus, or fun as Søren Pilmark). The trailer for the film has been out for a while now, and it looks promising even without English subtitles – but I really can't wait to see more, and if I were in Berlin, this would be my No.1 to watch.

Eu cand vreau sa fluier, fluier (Florin Serban, Romania)

A 'mystery film' by a ‘mystery director’, a Romanian debutant Florin Serban, the film about a teenager faced with tough choices is my ‘blind pick’ out of the Berlinale’s basket, based solely on one fact: in the past couple of years, literally all films I have seen coming from Romania have been at least good, if not excellent. If I had to choose a personal favourite for 2009, again it would be a Romanian film, ‘Politist, adj.’ by Corneliu Porumboiu, beating such amazing achievements as Audiard's 'Un Prophete', Andrea Arnold's 'Fish Tank', and even Michael Haneke's 'Das Weisse Band', the Palme d'Or winner at last year's Cannes and, much more importantly in this case, probably my all-time favourite director. While I am still not sure whether we can talk about a unified phenomenon of a 'new wave' of Romanian cinema, bound by common style marks other than those resulting from the conditions (or lack of conditions) the Romanian filmmakers face in their work as well as some originating from similar background and education, the fact remains that the vivid, but also high quality Romanian cinematography of the moment is impossible to ignore. And if Serban has anything good to add to the long list of fantastic films it has so far produced, I am really really looking forward to it.

The Killer Inside Me (Michael Winterbottom, United Kingdom)

Already having premiered at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, where it has caused a lot of controversy with both its topic and the director’s brave treatment of it, this ‘bad sheriff’ story seems like a predictable pick. Yet while Winterbottom has done a fair share of good to excellent films in his career (his ‘Road to Guantanamo’ actually won the Silver Bear in Berlin four years ago), he’s also known for stepping into forbidden territory of badly scripted, low quality experiments from time to time (with ‘I Want You’ being particularly of interest in my book, having one of the major roles delivered by the then unknown Luka Petrušić, who went on to become a relatively successful actor in Croatia), so with him, no bet is ever safe to make. Yet it is Casey Affleck who I expect a lot from here: after seeing his performance in ‘The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford’, I went on to watch every single movie I could find with him in it, only to discover that the mesmerising delivery in the role of the famous, yet hated ‘coward’ was no one-time luck; Once you manage to get over his last name and family ties, Affleck comes off as an extremely talented young actor, and I hope to see great things from him in this one – a hope underlined by some critiques already available.

Kyatapirâ (Koji Wakamatsu, Japan)

No great story here. If there is one weak spot in my love for cinema that I am embarrassed of, it is my serious lack of knowledge when it comes to Asian cinema; sadly, even the fact that I use the expression 'Asian cinema' tells enough about it to make me blush. But after seeing the trailer (at Twitch) for this particular film, I was shocked, amazed and tremendously saddened at the same time. And even if the story of a man who comes home from a war as a multiple amputee doesn't sound like a particularly happy ride, I expect the film to provide for just as gripping of an experience in its 85 minutes running time as it did in the two-minute preview.

Na putu (Jasmila Žbanić, Bosnia and Herzegovina)

Jasmila Žbanić is not a new name to the Berlin audiences: her first feature film, ‘Grbavica’, won the Golden Berlin Bear in 2006, getting hold of two other Berlinale awards before starting a rather successful world festivals tour as well. ‘Grbavica’ was a film bound to be adored by critics worldwide: a serious take on a serious topic (women raped in wartime, a question that contemporary cinema really does keep ignoring, or treats inappropriately), but with just enough of the ‘exotic’ Balkans to make it interesting. To me, however, as much as I appreciated her attempt (and the exemplary acting from Mirjana Karanović), the entire story seemed like an underdeveloped construct of tragedy, choke full of stereotypes and illogical steps. But while I disliked Žbanić as a writer, I liked her as a director: she managed to find her way through a bundle of hard issues rather elegantly, and make a film that was festival-designed, yet was embraced by people – and women in particular – who were interested in raising awareness, not gaining any cultural praise or sympathy. Her new film deals with no less controversial topic: it is a story of a young couple whose life turns around when he decides to turn to (radical) religion in order to fix his problems-ridden life. In post-war Bosnia, where the issue of religion is more political than everyday institutionalized politics, Žbanić once again takes a bold chance. The film stars two Croatian actors, Zrinka Cvitešić and Leon Lučev, neither of whom would have been my primary choice – but it still, judging by the trailer, looks promising, and if it takes on the path of ‘Grbavica’, but with a stronger story, it could be another success.

and finally...

Žuti mjesec (Zvonimir Jurić, Croatia)

Jurić’s film is an exception to the rule here – it’s a film in competition, but not in the main, but the short programme. It is, however, an exceptional piece of work, and should not go unmentioned. Originaly released in Croatia as a part of an omnibus ‘Zagrebačke priče’ (‘Zagreb stories’), ‘Mjesec’ is a two-character story about the kind of isolation and loneliness that is often attached to living in a big city. I’ve had the chance of writing about it before (for a Croatian bi-weekly cultural magazine), and – about the same time - meeting its director, a gentleman in his mid-thirties who I was mildly unimpressed by until he started discussing literature with me, purely by accident, at which point I was blown away and amazed; I was also amazed by his method of working – the entire film was born out of a handful of sketches and ‘starting points’, and hours and hours of rehearsals, improvisations and character development by the two young actresses. If the method reminds you somewhat of Mike Leigh, the film might also strike a familiar note – to me it brought back the memories of Leigh’s earlier film works (leaving out the ‘Play for today’ series), both in the mood, colour, and the “naturalness” of the directing. But ‘Žuti mjesec’ is no copy or reinterpretation, it is a little gem of its own kind, and thus well worth the attention.

A note on reality

2010-02-08T17:12:00.000+01:00

"Aber die Fiktion ist doch wirklich."
"Wieso?"
"Na du siehst sie doch in dem Film."
"Na klar!"
"Dann ist sie genauso wirklich wie die Wirklichkeit, die du genau siehst, oder?"

Funny Games (Michael Haneke, 1997)

On gentleness (David Gordon Green's All the Real Girls, 2003)

2010-02-08T01:20:00.000+01:00

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams.

W. B. Yeats

I must admit, I had huge dilemmas about what to choose as the topic for my first post. News? Not revealing enough – how could anyone tell what this blog is to be about, if all it gave to its first readers was a bunch of info they could read anywhere? Best-of lists? Yeah, those seem to be rather popular recently, with everyone seemingly believing that 2010 actually IS the first year of a new decade. But unfortunately, I don’t like lists much – I get so much competition and need to order things by preference in real life that I am trying my best to avoid it when it comes to all things I find beautiful. For rankings, in short, I don’t really care much. But what do I care for?

Emotions.

There are two things I find beautiful about art. One, it is a way of constantly pushing intellectual limits, re-questioning ideas, thoughts, even ideologies; of permanently asking new questions, reflecting on events, offering new stances on old dilemmas. Two, and often completely different, art is a way of channelling emotions. Sadness, happiness, loneliness, love, confusion...and cinema in particular is perfect for this – some of the best movies I’ve seen are built on the idea of depicting layers and layers of complex human emotions (from the Dardenne brothers to the amazing poetry of Carlos Reygadas’ Japon, the list is endless...), and making us, the viewers, feel what the characters are feeling and understand their dilemmas, choices and regrets. And what emotion is there that is more beautiful – and at the same time more complex to depict, to understand - than love?

I love love :) as much as everyone does. And I love its various depictions and captures in cinema. But there might be a ‘thing’, a line of character, a mysterious ‘virtue’ of a kind, that I am even more addicted to – gentleness. I love all things gentle, but it is the gentleness in people that fascinates me, fills me up with a combination of sadness and adoration, mesmerizing me completely. Yet sometimes it seems that gentleness in cinema is somewhat rare. There are ‘gentle’ directors – ones treating their characters with a lot of warmth and sympathy, no matter who they are and what they are like. Indeed, who could say that Linklater (think ‘Slacker’ or ‘Before Sunrise/Sunset’), Van Sant (‘Gerry’, ‘Idaho’...) or Wong Kar Wai (‘In the Mood for Love’) are not of the kind? And there are gentle characters, from Emily Watson’s unforgettable, heroic Bess (‘Breaking the Waves’), over Mikkelsen’s soft-spoken, kind, almost unnoticeable Lenny (‘Bleeder’) to Ribisi’s fragile, child-like Filippo (‘Heaven’). But when I think of films that would deserve the attribute of gentle – ones which speak of their gentle characters in a poetic manner - not many come to mind.

I have recently seen an amazing attempt of cinematic gentleness all the way – ‘Alle Anderen’, a film by a young German director Maren Ade. Yet as beautiful as her story is (and it is indeed one of the most honest, authentic and warm stories about how hard it is to be honest to yourself and your ‘beloved other’), there was something about it that made it feel one-sided, biased, very ‘feminine’. In Ade’s world, it is the male character, Chris, who is the gentle, idealistic counterpart to his stronger partner. But Chris is also the one who is the cheater, the betrayer, and the ‘conformist’ of the two – and it is the partner’s, Gitti’s, broken heart-perspective that we as audience take upon when looking at him. We sense his awkwardness and insecurity, but we feel her pain. Yet, ‘Alle Anderen’ brought to mind another piece of cinematic poetry, in which the roles are completely reverse – David Gordon Green’s ‘All the Real Girls’.

Green’s film is not so new – it was made in 2003, as a follow-up to his mildly successful, but beautifully poetic ‘George Washington’. It stars Zooey Deschanel, the princess of American indie cinema, as Noel, a teenager who comes back to her small hometown after spending her youth in a boarding school; Noel falls in love for the first time with Paul (Paul Schneider), the town’s young womanizer. Their sweet, somewhat naive relationship is not without problems, as Noel is not only the ‘girl of the moment’ in the small town where nothing ever changes, thus attracting the attention and courtship of all the guys around (including Paul’s close friend, Bust-Ass), but also the little sister of Paul’s best friend, Tip, who is not overly thrilled with his sister dating a known heartbreaker. Yet somehow they manage to make it work, at least until the point where one of them experiences the infidelity of the other...

If it sounds like a cliché love story, don’t be fooled – Green’s amazing film is anything but. In fact, it is not really a love/relationships film at all – but a tender, wonderfully nuanced story about one’s ability to feel, and to change. Furthermore, while Deschanel is the biggest-sounding name involved, it is Schneider’s Paul who is the real star of the film – it is his process of self-understanding and change the director is actually interested in. And – what makes the film the most special for me – unlike ‘Alle Anderen’, ‘Girls’ is a strangely ‘male’ film: other than Noel and Paul’s mother, there are no relevant female characters in it; the script was written by Green and Schneider (and a lot of the character of Paul is based on Schneider’s own experience), and thus the perspective should be definable as a ‘male’ one. Yet, it is so unbelievably delicate it becomes hard to watch sometimes.

Paul is an amazing personality indeed. We learn from the characters’ conversations, random chats and his encounters with previous lovers that he’s had pretty much every woman in town, and he’s left most, if not all of them heartbroken. He has not, in his past, been one of the romantic characters, and it is doubtful whether he ever really loved any of the women he’s been with; and his background, his job, his friends, even his language should all be a way to signalize to the viewer that Paul ain’t a particularly poetic character either. Yet there is something about Noel that seems to make him change his ways: with her, he becomes the most attentive listener, the most caring friend, and the most patient, gentle – even shy – lover. But while it seems that it is her purity and sensitivity to things that triggers the change in him, it is actually not so – it is he who is the more delicate, attentive and kind-hearted part of the couple. While Noel is endearing and craving for warmth, she is also very childish, and incapable of grasping her newfound emotions. In a way, the emotions are the same for both – neither of them have previously been in love; yet while for her the game of seduction, attraction and discovery is in a way indeed that – a game – for him it becomes a path of self-discovery, of understanding his previous actions and re-thinking them in the light of a newly found purity that’s his to hold and keep. What used to seem as games, now seem as human experiences; what used to seem like ‘trophies’ now became human beings, souls; and what used to be something to brag about, now became a source of shame, of embarrassment.

The most difficult way of learning is by experiencing on your skin the things you are capable of doing to others, but are not capable of grasping in their damage potential. Yet what is wonderful about Paul is that he doesn’t need to get his heart broken to completely understand what breaking someone’s heart means. He is so moved by the idea of possession, belonging with Noel, that it somehow all begins to make sense to him. Yet, once he naively begins to believe that he actually can change because he has found someone who ‘makes him decent’, she will pull the same kind of cruel trick on him that he has pulled on many before her. While the scene of Noel’s ‘confession’ is probably not the saddest one of the film (I am still unable to decide whether the ultimate sadness is condensed in Paul’s ‘coming to the door’, captured in the notorious bar scene, or stretched in the beautifully poetic long collage of people, landscape and music that closes the film, followed by one of the most touching fails at simple life philosophy ever seen on film), it is the most terrifying: her immaturity and guilt reflect in her attempt to proclaim love, which she is completely unable to grasp and is thus confusing it with possession, while his question – What is wrong with you? – comes off as a desperate cry of a person who’s done nothing wrong this time, but is at the same time aware of all his previous wrongdoings of the exactly same kind, which he tried fixing for once, but has not managed to avoid the ‘punishment of destiny’ for what was ‘wrong’ with him all along, but of what he’s never been aware of until now.

There’s tremendous beauty to Paul – the way he talks, acts, thinks comes off as much different than the behaviour of his friends (and the physical appearance of Schneider – who manages to radiate tremendous fragility in both his walk and facial expression – helps in making him believable as such). Yet, the power of Green’s storytelling is in the fact that he, slowly but surely, manages to show all of his characters as much more sensible then they would ever be willing to admit. And as gentle as his story and characters are, he wraps it all up in a visual style just as gentle and poetic. He is ‘at home’ with the film’s dreamy landscapes, and sketches the slowness, sadness and simplicity of the small town impeccably to underline the slow lives of the characters.

The magnificent camerawork and the usage of landscape to underline emotions has often earned Green comparisons to the early works of Terence Malick; yet his gorgeous little film somehow feels a lot less epic than any of Malick's masterpieces, and a lot more like a story that could be found in well-hidden memory boxes of each one of its viewers. And the fact that he is not afraid to underline the gentleness and vulnerability of his protagonists only makes his message come across more strongly - and convincingly. 'All the Real Girls' is a shameless film in its depiction of human emotionality, craving for warmth and occasional weakness. But while weaknesses are something we reveal only to those 'chosen ones' we find worthy of our trust, the beauty of Green's (and particularly Schneider's) work should be visible to anyone who's ever suffered from a broken heart.