Nisimazine Cannes E-book 2014

14th - 25th May 2014

Nisimazine CANNES

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Content page

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Index Editorial Party Girl The Tribe Run A Girl at My Door Titli Lost River Les Combattants

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The Disappearence of Eleanor Rigby Snow in Paradise Darker than Midnght These Final Hours When Animals Dream Catch Me Daddy Gente de Bien

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At Li Layla

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In Focus The Female Push Leidi The Chicken Fragments Boa Noite Cinderela Invisible Spaces Safari Les Corps Etrangers The Last Ones Aissa

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The Bigger Picture Crocodile Moonless Summer The Execution The Revolution Hunter Torn Sourdough

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Credits

Editorial To a pessimistic few, the Cannes Film Festival is all about a perpetual state of queuing, a sometimes brutal accreditation hierarchy, a ruthless never ending search for its infamous parties and constant exposure to the harsh elements (there are only two possible weather conditions in Cannes: rain or incredibly hot).

These are the ones that usually tend to complain for a week and half failing to accept their privileged condition, envied by millions across the planet.

the lucky ones that squeezed into the few screenings of Damien Chazelle´s groundbreaking new film, Whiplash, bore witness to an arguably more delicate and impressive use of sound. It was perhaps inevitable, considering the plot itself revolves around music, in particular the resonance of a set of drums, but few would argue against the all important use and exploitation of sound in what soon become one of the biggest triumphs of the festival.

Fortunately the majority will eagerly recognize a little piece of film paradise in the South of France come springtime. For those, the festival is much more then the most influential display of the greatest show on earth, a honourable chance to rub shoulders with the stars or a chance to marvel at the international village´s incessant end of the day cocktail scene (a personal favourite). In May, Cannes is a festival where all your five senses are stimulated and provoked to sometimes absurd levels.

Yet, it was at the Miramar Hotel, home to the regularly daring Critics´ Week, that sound assumed truly epic proportions. Never mind the electrifying hipster-esque soundtrack of David Robert Mitchell´s It Follows.

If I was pressed to choose, in this 2014 edition the most stirred sense was unquestionably “Hearing”.

Sound is an often forgotten and neglected secret of great films. Time and again it can make or break a film.

Be it the extravagance of a soundtrack or simple and all revealing silence, the reverberation of what comes out from the screen is a vital part of the experience of cinema.

Throughout the Croisette this year, in both the side sections and in the main event, we witnessed the ever growing impact of sound in contemporary filmmaking.

As soon as Xavier Dolan´s Mommy premiered, all you could hear about was the young Canadian´s use of music in his latest film. Hearing Oasis´ Wonderwall or Dido´s White flag, which dyed his melodrama in unexpected tones to say the least, surely caught everyone by surprise and soon become the talk of the event.

Slightly further down the road, at the Marriot theatre,

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The true landmark success of this year´s selection was, ironically, the total absence of sound in The Tribe

by Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy, the Ukrainian director´s debut feature, that blew away all competition, “stealing” the main awards. Surely there is much more to say about this striking story of the illegitimate activities of a deaf-and-mute high school, but its greatest ploy was in forcing its audiences to embark on a desperate hunt for sound inside an universe where its non-existence it so overpowering. By forcing you to try and actually see sound, it took its use to new pinnacles.

In the following pages you’ll “hear” more about these as well as other examples. Already in its ninth edition, the Nisimazine Cannes special edition once again created the chance for a talented and tireless group of young film critics, photographers and video bloggers from Romania, Portugal and Britain, to show the world their staggering skills for dissecting film.

You know the ritual! The time has come to sit back, pour yourself a drink and really find out about Cannes’ greatest revelations of the year.

Enjoy!

by Fernando Vasquez (Portugal)

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review

Party Girl Marie Amachoukeli, Claire Burger, Samuel Theis, France

CAMERA D’OR WINNER

Un Certain Regard

Three young directors portray the life of Angelique and invite us to explore the memoirs of a girl that likes to party, a girl that adores life.

When we enter her world in a seemingly ‘God forgotten’ cabaret bar on the French-German border, inevitably the body is forced to follow the rhythms of the music - classic jazz, 80s top hits and contemporary hip hop swing down the road to signify the presence of a protagonist.

Angelique has learned to be the main character in a life full of joy, colourful nights, music, dance and love affairs. A bohemian woman, strong and self-confident, Angelique lives for the moment and seems designed to extract every drop out of it. She spends her nights in the old cabaret where she used to perform and attract powerful and wealthy men. Her last remaining client, Michel, who has fallen in love with Angelique, proposes her a marriage and for the first time the heroine is tempted to leave her old life behind.

In this unusual social realist drama, with touches of documentary, one of the three directors, Samuel Theis, puts in frame his mother, Angelique Litzenburger, rewinding her life and creating a web of memories mixed with a certain dose of fiction. With most of the cast acting real-life, the lines between reality show, documentary and fictitious extravaganza are blurry, though this detail rapidly fades away as the story starts to unfold. Angelique introduces her four children, her girls, her rich past, and enters the latter with strong determination to fill the gaps that have been left uncovered the first time. She failed to create a family, to be

the desirable mother and to stand by anyone else but herself.

Angelique’s dilemma takes her to unknown paths, and her psychological ups and downs are closely monitored in order to transfer the emotional crash she experiences. We witness her furious outbursts in the cabaret and her clumsily covered fear when she faces her four children. But at same time she desperately seeks compassion and support, though the way of requesting it definitely eludes her.

As she tries to recover and stabilise her relationship with her younger daughter who grew up in a foster home, the tones become slower, the party stops and behind the caricature of a glamorous persona, the human character is being pulled from underneath. The three directors unite powers to harness their characters, while at the same time pursuing a cinematographic style that fits realism without deforming it. Smart close-ups and travelling cameras that speak the body language create a joyful atmosphere and the eye follows the touching hands, the sparkles, and the feelings, and move from scene to scene with the almost unnoticed transitions.

Party Girl becomes didactic by not forcing deliberate messages but allowing them to flow and take personalized forms as we identify with characters or situations.

In an ephemeral and superficial reality, the story of Angelique redraws the guidelines of grown-up decisionmaking where conformities end up vague and outdated and dreams have no expiration date.

by Martin I. Petrov (UK) 5

The Tribe Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy, Ukraine

Critics’ Week

Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy’s The Tribe fascinated the audience, critics, and juries alike. Not only did it win the Nespresso Grand Prize, but also the France 4 Visionary Award and the Gan Foundation Support for Distribution. We met up with the promising first feature writer-director to discuss the challenges he came across while shooting a film about deaf-and-mute teenagers.

A silent film, without subtitles, featuring graphic violence, and an abundance of nudity and sex- don’t you think it could discourage viewers?

Review & Interview by Kathi Kamleitner (UK) 6

No, I actually just heard from our sales agent that we already have secured distribution in a number of countries. If you look at our Facebook page for example- before Cannes we had about 400 fans, but then a popular French deaf comedian made a video about the topic of deafness in Cannes and mentioned us. Suddenly we had ten times as many fans and I received emails

from all over the world from people asking about the film. They want to see it – I think that is a good sign.

Who did you make the film for?

I tried particularly to shoot a film for an audience that can hear. I wanted to give them a new experience with cinema and with storytelling. I feel like it’s closer to ballet than to a conventional film. I think for deaf people this would even be a problematic film. Of course they understand the complete dialogue of the film, so the experience is nothing particularly special for them.

You are both the director and the screenwriter – how can I imagine a script in sign language?

I hear this question a lot, but I can tell you that it was a script like any other - typed and copied in Courier font, 12 point.

review

In his first feature, The Tribe, Ukrainian filmmaker Myroslav Slaboshpytskiy tells the dark story of teenager Sergey (Grigoriy Fesenko), who enters a boarding school and gets caught in the criminal web of the school’s gang. He seems an ordinary teenager, struggling to find his place and the acceptance of others. But what makes this film so exceptional is that Sergey and his classmates are not ordinary - they are deaf-mute and communicate in sign language. Slaboshpytskiy’s decision to show the film without subtitles or voice-over makes for a truly unique experience.

Even though the course of action is easy to follow, deciphering the exact happenings is pure guessing. As Sergey moves up in the gang’s hierarchy he immerses in violence. He plays a crucial role in procuring the gang’s girls, but his interest in Anna (Yana Novikova) disturbs the plan of trafficking them to Italy. Their relationship takes on surprising dimensions - especially for her. For the first time she experiences selfless physical pleasure. The Belarusian first-time screen actress delivers by far the most impressive performance of the film. Her character has to endure humiliation and excruciating pain in shockingly graphic scenes, but she convinces with great determination. One moment she embodies a confident woman hoping for a better life, in the next a fragile soul lost in naivety.

The majority of the scenes are unconventionally long. There are very few cuts, requiring the audience’s participation, but also triggering observation. The long takes allow the story and characters to unfold naturally and the viewer to get used to the unusual cinematic experience. It is almost as if the camera rolls until even the last one got the meaning of a sequence. But it feels in no way slow for slowness’ sake - every image is laid out in exact detail. The movements of the

Of course we translated it into sign language to see what it looked like when it is played. Here and there we amended the dialogue to achieve more expressive gesticulations, but it remained meaningful. For somebody who understands sign language they are all normal dialogues.

It took you three years to develop the film.

Was the casting process very demanding?

Indeed, but it was also quite interesting.

Deaf people account for only 1% of the global population. Because of that, they have a very different way of communicating and connecting. They are probably the most excessive users of social networks. In the area of the former Soviet Union they use Vkontakte, but also Facebook and there are many specific websites and online communities. We used these networks to share information about the project and worked with the Ukrainian and Russian societies for deaf people. Eventually we got about

actors, their bodies and gestures, are neatly choreographed. Their interactions are characterised by awareness for themselves and others, their body language feels exaggerated almost like in a musical.

When the boys move across the playground like the Sharks of West Side Story you would almost expect them to break into song. It is a pleasure to see a crew of deaf-mute actors directed with such precision.

In its visual style, The Tribe is the perfect incarnation of «the moving image». Slaboshpytskiy and his DOP Vasyanovych frame every shot like a painting. Gracefully the characters flow in and out of sight, the action is visually multilayered. The static camera in the film’s most memorable scenes creates distance and allows the viewer to take a step back and observe what is happening. There are no close-ups to facilitate empathy, the gaze remains always on the bigger picture.

Without being voyeuristic, the camera’s detached perspective discloses a fatalistic idea: nothing can be done about the tragedy.

Adults, at least those who could serve as responsible role models, are completely absent. Everyone seems to be involved in the crimes committed. Their surroundings are made up of desolated houses covered in graffiti and the sparsely equipped barracks they call their school. Playing with gritty social realism Slaboshpytskiy presents a pessimistic view not only upon the Ukrainian society – for which our awareness surely increased in the previous months - but also of the universal state of forlornness this youth is in. With unusual and to the bone minimalistic means he creates a painting rather than a film, a piece of art that draws you in completely.

300 responses from boys and girls and chose several to visit us for test-shootings before we decided.

The Tribe is not your first experience with the deaf-and-mute community- your short film Deafness premiered in Berlin in 2010. How did one thing lead to the other?

It was a very long process. The work on The Tribe basically started in 2010, when Deafness won the prize at the Berlinale.

Winning granted us the support from the Hubert Bals Fund of the Rotterdam International Film Festival. We got some money and the opportunity to work on a feature film. We spent three years preparing the project and filmed last winter. Now we’re in Cannes.

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“A dog life...”

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review

Run

Phillipe Lacote, Ivory Coast - Un Certain Regard It’s not every day you murder the Prime Minister of the Ivory Coast, but that’s the mildly inconvenient predicament that our lead finds himself in. Run, the charismatically named stowaway, races onto screen with panache in this enigmatic drama by Phillipe Lacote. He appears on screen smothered in rags, gripping a gun and a few seconds later he is the most wanted man in the country.

The episodic narrative flits between Run’s past and present; we begin in the rural wilderness of the Ivory Coast, where a young Run is mentored in the art of rainmaking by the mystical Tourou. An altercation with the local community forces him to saddle up with Gladys, a one woman show who makes her money by eating obscene amounts of food in front of delighted audiences. When his luck runs out again, Run finds safety in the Patriot group, a politically motivated gang who seek to get rid of the ‘greedy’ foreigners that they believe are blighting the nation.

Everything in the film links back to the Ivory Coast’s political unrest, a place constantly teetering on the verge of another civil war. Gladys, a Liberian, is initially treated with goodwill as her circus-like performances draw the crowds, but they begin to turn on her when her greed becomes a bitter reminder of her outsider origins. The Patriot group, led by the ruthless Admiral, is an unofficial arm of the government, organised to control events on the ground. Much like the rest of the country, the group is riddled with power struggles and confusion.

Abdoul Karim Konate gives a dynamic performance as Run, a man tossed around like a doll by events he has no control over. He has little loyalty to anybody, seeking only a temporal haven wherever he finds it. There is also a quietly effective performance by Isaach De Bankole, who lent a macho gravitas to Claire Denis’ 35 Shots of Rum, as Run’s main ally after the 10

shooting. Gladys is played with uncompromising gluttony and relish by the full figured Reine Sali Coulibaly.

Run is one of the first films to enjoy funding from the Ivory Coast government, and this is evident in the sophisticated production values. Phillipe Lacote’s direction veers between breathless tracking shots and stately takes with a controlled ease, while Daniel Miller’s inventive cinematography is a high point of the film. There is a particularly beautiful cross fade shot as a silhouetted Run stands before a monotone ocean, while a sandy wilderness emerges in the background. Elsewhere we witness creative use of CGI; a flock of birds float like smoke in the sky, a thunderous rainstorm startles a village and an elephant stomps into government offices.

The film is an insightful portrayal of a vibrant yet troubled country, exploring issues of greed and paranoia without ever seeming worthy. The touches of surrealism and mysticism are a welcome reminder of the lush exoticism of Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethanul’s work, himself a past winner here in Cannes with Uncle Boonmee Who Can Remember His Past Lives.

In spite of all its triumphs, where the film falls down is in the lack of emotional investment in Run; the episodic nature of the film and its nomadic lead make it hard to participate in his journey. We feel like passive observers to each escapade, intrigued but never truly moved.

Despite this, Run is still a film worthy of attention, a beguiling mix of reality and dream, constantly shifting in tone and focus, always moving. While Run’s plight may not tug at the heartstrings, there is enough energy and invention here to keep the audience bedazzled.

by Rob Arnott (UK)

review

A Girl at My Door July Jung, South Korea - Un Certain Regard

July Jung’s intentions of avoiding exaltation deserve congratulations. The result is a slow-paced piece, short of an adequately exposition of its excess of characters and the problems they have to face.

All this leads to Bae giving an internalized performance very close to emptiness; fortunately, Kim Sae-ron is on hand with a turn that suitably brings to the screen the psychotic state of her confusing character. The film initiates with Young-nam (Doona Bae), a noticeably unhappy police officer who was relocated to a small town by the seaside. In order to recover her previous job, she tries to carry a secrecy until then. Nonetheless, this town is not as quiet as it appears to be and her past is about to haunt her as soon as she meets 14-year old Dohee (Sae-ron Kim).

The introduction of Dohee’s character produces a different feeling, before all else in terms of her mysterious inaugural presentation: Dohee is standing on the side of a street, staring vehemently at the officer before she starts to run away, slowly disappearing.

Once Dohee is established as a strange teenager, it does not take too long until her circumstances are further explained and illustrated. On the one hand she is bullied by her classmates, and on the other she often gets beaten up and verbally harassed by her alcoholic step-father, Yong-ha, and step-grandmother, resulting in Dohee developing a habit of punishing herself whenever she thinks she has misbehaved.

The girl’s emotional instability and physical unattainability is visually stressed through the camerawork. In the beginning,

Young-nam, who feels the need to protect Dohee, is only able to observe her from a distance which is made clear by capturing her fixed stare in long shots. Through this, cinematographer Kim Hyunseok emphasizes the feeling of loneliness gripping both characters. Once they get more acquainted with each other and are encouraged to open up towards one another, the camera perspective changes and the familiarity of the characters is highlighted by medium close-ups, especially during comforting scenes.

The socially critical challenges A Girl at My Door is trying to approach and explore seem to be exaggerated most of the time.

Besides the main issues, such as physical abuse, alcoholism, prejudice and intolerance, the film also tries to include several criminal sub-plots. In spite of all these aspects, A Girl at My Door only scratches on the surface of some of the overall mentioned issues instead of concentrating essentially on the most important ones that are relevant to the story and the personal growth of the two female characters.

The complicated circumstances do provide Jung with quite a few opportunities to either increase the drama and/or expand upon the wider implications of these conflicts in Korean society. Somehow, the writer-director persists in letting things flow: the moments of drunkenness and the screaming at each other only provide superficial separation, while problems and resolutions – including the discordant climax – come and go with a vague convenience. And although it may be a little uncertain how ingenious we’ve just been introduced to Jung, A Girl at My Door is a well-constructed drama with its admirable dose of sharp tension.

by Bernardo Lopes (Portugal) 11

Titli Kanu Behl, India

Un Certain Regard

Review and Interview by Robyn Davies (UK) 12

Indian director Kanu Behl came to make his first fiction feature film after gaining experience in the realm of documentary filmmaking. Such skills and history had unquestionably left an influence that certainly transpires in Titli, the only Indian production selected in the Un Certain Regard competition at this year´s edition of the Cannes Film Festival. With the ever growing rise of a new film discourse in the subAsian continent we could not let this opportunity go to waste. So we took the chance to ask the director a few questions about the process of making this very personal film, as well as about his journey as a young filmmaker.

to share. I started out wanting to tell a story about oppression, and a lot of what happens stems from my early, fractured relationship with my father.

As I was growing up in my teens, I had a difficult time trying to explain to him what I wanted to do, and he had his own ideas of what I should be doing… but when I sat down writing this film I realised I needed to address why things were like that, and that’s something I can do now.

Why did you want to make this film now?

You’ve said that Titli was the first film that really came from within yourself. Would you advise waiting for this kind of inspiration, or to keep writing until something connects?

It’s a really personal story that hit me at a particular point in time, and I realised there were things that were bothering me and angering me, things that I wanted to speak about. It also coincided with a time in India where certain subjects are in light, so it’s been relevant in that way, but it’s mainly just an incredibly personal experience that I felt ready

I’d advise people first to stop and ask themselves why they wanted to be filmmakers in the first place.

Look within, find the deepest layer of honesty and start from there. My filmmaking experience has been a gradual maturing of my own craft - I think when I started doing documentaries I was trying to create constructed experiences that weren’t

review

Indian cinema nowadays is comprised of so much more than Bollywood, and the rest of the world is starting to recognise it. The inclusion of Kanu Behl’s first feature film, Titli, in this year’s Un Certain Regard suggests so, anyway – a gritty and honest family drama that feels worlds away from the glitz and glamour of the more famous side of the country’s film industry, and all the better for it.

Titled after the name of the lead character, Titli centres on a young man and his desperation to escape from his environment.

‘Titli’ literally translates to mean ‘butterfly’, and he too dreams of flying to freedom, away from the poverty of the slum in which he lives and the oppressive family he shares it with. In need of money so that he can invest in a new business venture, Titli convinces his older brothers to lend him some under the pretence of it being the fee for a college class. But the family’s source of income comes from criminality, and when a carjacking goes wrong and the money is lost, Titli must find another way. So when he is forced to marry Neelu, a girl with her own plans for freedom, the two decide to work together for liberation.

While it may be Behl’s first feature, he’s an experienced documentary maker and evidence of this shines through in the film’s style. He certainly knows how to create a naturalistic atmosphere, to the extent that it almost feels as though we could be watching a real household: frequent family meals and arguments play out to a soundtrack of traffic and children playing on the streets, not to mention a repe-

titive (and cringe-inducing) shot of the men spitting loudly – which is about as intimate as anyone wants to get. The sense of realism is also heightened by the use of seemingly natural light and colours that aren’t over-processed. This makes the recurrent scenes of violence even more shocking, feeling less like a piece of art and more like images from a news channel. And when the weapon of choice is often a hammer, it delivers an uncomfortably hard impact.

The most immediate and intriguing message that comes from the film concerns the idea that traditional Indian family culture is not only outdated, but potentially damaging. It’s particularly powerful when addressing the treatment of women, especially after stories of sexual assaults in the country have dominated the headlines in recent times.

The woman’s voice is often ignored, and Neelu is regularly demanded to eat/drink more despite saying no. She’s also subjected to physical force and even attempted rape at the hands of Titli, made more shocking because of his usually gentle demeanour. It’s clear that he’s lived in a culture where such behaviour is the norm, but it’s also suggested that he (and the youth in general) is capable of change. Behl empowers his female lead by juxtaposing scenes of her mistreatment with those where she is in control: when away from the household she has no problem confronting men and embracing her sexuality, something which Titli slowly begins to identify and accept.

Kanu Behl seems to recognise that a cultural change needs to/ is already occurring, and that cinema is the way to reach people.

Titli certainly accomplishes that.

entirely honest. The more intrusive you make the process, the more it becomes real because there are more personal lives invested in it, and that’s how I felt with the first feature.

also getting to begin my career as a filmmaker, and that was invaluable in a lot of ways.

You attended the Berlinale Talent Campus. How important do you think workshops like this are for young filmmakers in terms of starting/ advancing their professional careers?

Next is a film called Agra, set in one of the most famous cities in India which has the biggest madhouse. It’s about a young guy who’s in love with a girl that exists only in his head, and it follows his journey in trying to prove that she’s real.

What’s next for you?

For any young filmmaker just to get as much input as they can about the work they’re doing is so beneficial.

It’s helped me massively, because one of my first documentaries was actually commissioned by ZDF/Arte at the Talent Campus. I got that film, and that pretty much provided a starting point for me.

So not only was I getting exposed to a lot there and gaining feedback, I was 13

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review

Lost River Ryan Gosling, United States Un Certain Regard

When it was announced that Ryan Gosling would be showing his face in Cannes this year, not as an actor but as a director, the questions on everyone’s lips were A) What does he have to say as a filmmaker? and B) Will he be any good? As the credits rolled following the afternoon premiere of Lost River, it’s safe to say that we’re still none the wiser.

Dripping with surrealism, it’s often difficult to decipher what’s real and what isn’t in this strange and somewhat sad fictional town to which we’re introduced.

A community that has long since been abandoned by all but a few, its houses are rapidly being demolished.

Single mother Billy (Christina Hendricks) is desperate to hang on to her own that she grew up in with children Bones (Iain De Caestrecker) and little Franky (who gives the most adorable performance you’ll see all year) to keep up with her loan repayments, she takes on a job at a fetish club, while Bones seeks out scrap metal to sell and becomes increasingly obsessed with a sunken city at the bottom of the reservoir.

There’s a constant sense of threat throughout the film that has quite a mesmerizing effect, and one of the main contributors to this is the character of Bully (Matt Smith). He patrols the town shouting distorted and bizarre statements (“look at my muscles, look at my muscles!”) through a microphone - at once bewildering and terrifying. Violent and unhinged, he keeps the characters and the audience on edge. Sadly, the threatening atmosphere is one of the only things that is constant. The narrative is incredibly jumpy and incoherent with scenes thrown together seemingly at random, and at times it’s abstract to the point of being

inaccessible, which will lose the attention of some.

We can never be sure of Gosling’s intentions or what the film is trying to comment on, despite some subtle inferences at the state of the economy, and it suffers from this lack of a solid focal point.

As to whether he’s any good as a director, there’s no denying that he knows how to make a film look beautiful.

His use of colour is masterful, contrasting bright neons against the gloom and despair, and the repetitive symbol of fire is totally hypnotic. He utilizes an interesting filming style that has an almost voyeuristic feel to it, often situating a shaky camera behind the characters to make us feel in uncomfortably close proximity to the action (and therefore the threats). The sound design is also hugely impressive, expertly contributing to the atmosphere with jarring juxtapositions and music that lingers long after the end.

It’s probably fairly reasonable to propose that had this film been made by somebody less high profile, it wouldn’t have caused quite as much of a stir. Gosling’s celebrity status, along with his recent association with Winding Refn, created a certain buzz that almost predetermined people’s expectations – good or bad.

And it’s this that has perhaps hindered the new director’s success, because it’s not a film that comes across as concerned with satisfying anyone. It’s self-indulgent and self-aware, a vision inside Gosling’s mind which lacks that concrete backbone to allow audiences to grasp onto it as well. But confusing as it may be, it’s an intoxicating trip that everyone should take at least once.

by Robyn Davies (UK)

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Les Combattants Thomas Cailley, France

Director’s Fortnight

As a romantic comedy with an action twist plus a couple of charismatic lead actors to boot, Les Combattants has all it needs to be a darling to audiences far wider than film festivals. We met up with first time feature director Thomas Cailley to discuss his learning process on this project and his expectations for his future career.

How was the experience of transitioning from shorts to feature?

Review & Interview Bernardo Lopes (Portugal) 16

Before Les Combattants I made a 25 minutes short film, called Paris Shanghai, with a tone that is very similar to this one.

The transition from short to long came quite naturally. The biggest difference is the endurance it requires. For a feature you have to work for a longer time, so it is a matter of maintaining the energy and the desire to follow through with the project through the writing process, the financing, the shooting, the editing...

On that short film, just like on this first feature, the director of photography was your brother. How is the experience of working with a family member?

It’s actually a great thing. We have the same cultural background, we grew up together watching the same films and series on television. We can understand each other without having to talk. And that is something that on a set is very useful. Every time that he proposes a specific frame, or a specific light, it is exactly what I want. And in addition I can exploit him as much as I want, because he’s my brother so he won’t say no to anything.

Unlike Kevin Azaïs, Adele Hanele, the main actress, already had some experience.

How did this help the film?

It definitely added a lot of value, because this created precisely the relation between the characters at the beginning of the story:

review

Life is a warzone and love is the trigger: it’s with this premise in mind that Arnaud (Kevin Azais) and Madeleine (Adèle Haenel) establish a self-exploratory relationship thoroughly focused on the desire of divaricating off society and the humanly natural trouble of emerging as an adult. Nevertheless, its wry humor combined with its smooth language make Les Combattants an extremely easy going and likeable romantic comedy.

Set in a southwestern village in France, Thomas Calley’s first feature film begins with Arnaud participating in a selfdefense exercise and being thrown down to the ground unexpectedly by local tomboy Madeleine. She is a rough, wildhearted adventurer who ambitions to become a survivor – in its most literal sense. Coincidentally, Arnaud starts working as a carpenter at her house, and becomes infatuated by this incipient woman who sways him into apply for an intense regiment special training course.

Their true grit is developed only in the last third of this hourand-a-half film. Since their arrival at the camp, we get the feeling that they switch roles as they fight for their autonomy and positive freedom. This happens mostly due to the fact that their discoveries reveal contrasting reactions, Madeleine becoming more vulnerable and Arnaud more confident and strengthened.

Adéle Haenel, a Caesar winning actress with her supporting role in Suzanne (dir. Katell Quillévéré, 2013) had a tough job ahead of her. Stereotypically molded to portray a cold-hearted teenager, Madeleine is strongly interpreted by this young

she has experience, beliefs, and this she is sure about. He, on the other hand, is more ‘permeable’ for the experience. So having a more experienced actress play the role of Madeleine and an unexperienced one to play Arnaud fitted very well with this.

Especially because we decided to shoot the script in continous order and that also had an impact in the way the two actors interacted. So as we went, we saw the character grow just as much as Kevin did, both as an actor, as well as on a personal level.

At the first screening in the festival the audience really liked the film. How do you appreciate the commercial appeal of Les Combattants?

I don’t have any specific expectations. I just hope that we will get a chance to meet our audience, because it is important for us not only to have them see the film, but also to discuss with them. So I’m hoping we will travel with this film in order to have the

starlet who gives us a partially over-dramatized but convincing performance. Surprisingly, the novice actor Kevin Azaïs absolutely proves his talent with a budding performance that deserves to be mentioned. In complementarity, their authentic affinity is the most appreciable factor in Les Combattants.

Although the film succeeds in its objective, it doesn’t actually deserve rhapsody when we analyze it from an artistic standpoint. Despite the scene where Arnaud and Madeleine are affectionately kissing each other in the woods, Cailley demonstrates a will to let go with his instincts. He was not particularly preoccupied by the film’s form, using the camera as an intermediate between the audience and the story, withholding us his sensibility and vision.

Its dullness, for better or worse, can be considered as the key element that sets the film aside. The flatly written screenplay makes us judge its feature-film length, when it could unquestionably work as a short. In addition, Les Combattants’s subject matter is exceedingly focused on the couple’s chemistry, when it could be better served if it had been purely concentrated on their personalities and instinctive reactions towards the situations they are confronted with.

This romantic comedy fails to urge as a work of art – not advisable for art house audiences. However, it’s unarguably a Hollywood-style promising feature, and having the crowd’s lauding reaction after the premiere as a valid argument, Les Combattants has all the reasons to become a commercial success and to make you fall for its charm, as its English title suggests - Love At First Fight.

opportunity to do that.

But do you envision any specific target, in terms of age, for example?

I think it is still a bit too early to define to whom exactly the film speaks. We have had positive feedback from people recently out of their teens, but also from adults in their fifties and sixties. They have not all seen the same things in it- some like its romance side, other appreciate its action component, or the humour. This a reaction that has to do with the fact that we play with different genres, going from a romantic comedy to an adventure movie, from a love story to anticipation. So this can appeal- or not- to a lot of different people.

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“Cocktail hour at the International Village may be a place for relaxation but the workflow never ends...�

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review

The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby Ned Benson,USA - Un Certain Regard

What happens when Harvey and Bob Weinstein see your double feature at the Toronto Film Festival? Ned Benson’s The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Them is what happens. Originally conceived as two separate films (Him and Her), writer-director Benson recut his first feature just in time for the Cannes submission deadline. The result is a smart, carefully-crafted romantic drama that looks at life and death through the lens of love.

Former anthropology student Eleanor (Jessica Chastain) and indie restaurant owner Conor (James McAvoy) are madly in love.

Whether they’re doing a dine-and-dash in an East Village restaurant or making out like teenagers in the front seat of Conor’s car, their romance is so intense, it verges on insanity. That is, until a tragic event splinters the couple, forcing them to question who they are when they aren’t within the confines of a relationship.

Benson tracks the rise and fall of Eleanor and Conor’s magnetic push-pull relationship, though it’s the moments of love rather than loss that work the best. One particularly tender scene sees the two lying in the grass of Tompkins Square Park, surrounded by tiny glowing fireflies. It is this attention to the details of their love story that makes their separation all the more painful to watch.

While both actors bring a palpable chemistry to their respective roles, it is Chastain who truly shines. A radiant vivacity lurks beneath her grief and sadness, Chastain’s wide eyes conveying a fiery depth that makes it easy to invest in her story.

For the most part, The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby is an accomplished first feature, though some of the film’s dialogue is a little clunky, with lines like “tragedy is a foreign country” spoken

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in earnest. The film is lifted by its strong supporting cast, which includes a roster of impressive names including William Hurt, Isabelle Huppert and Viola Davis. Davis in particular is a joy to watch, her straight-talking psychiatrist’s sharp cynicism cutting through occasionally po-faced script.

Benson lights the film using two distinctive colour palettes; Conor’s perspective is shot in shades of moody blue, while Eleanor’s scenes are characterised by a warm golden glow. This subtle shift in lighting enables Benson to represent both perspectives, allowing him to show how different people mediate grief and heartbreak. However, this technique hints that the original iterations of the film are two tonally different mood pieces – pieces that might work better individually.

Though Benson claims that it was his decision, not the Weinsteins’, to condense Him and Her into a shorter single film, it’s frustrating to watch it with the prior knowledge that we aren’t being given the full story.

Benson has revealed plans for two-stage distribution; a wide release for Them and an art house release for Him and Her. Sensitive, moving and eschewing saccharine, The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby: Them is a worthy addition to the American indie canon. However, while this two-hour cut is deeply felt, more commercially viable option than the original version, there is the nagging sense that the other, less polished versions might be even more compelling.

by Simran Hans (UK)

review

Snow in Paradise Andrew Hulme, UK - Un Certain Regard

It is the worst-case scenario for any film critic - it is nerve-wrecking and fills me with guilt, but in the case of Andrew Hulme’s directorial debut Snow in Paradise there is no way to avoid saying: facking hell that was awful, bruv. Pardon – but the characters’ tedious Mockney accent must have rubbed off on me. Protagonist Dave (Frederick Schmidt) is a picture-book loser from London. He tries to break into his uncle’s drug trafficking business, but when his Pakistani BFF Tariq (Aymen Hamdouchi) has to pay with his life, Dave seeks absolution in Islam. Director, co-writer and editor Hulme juggles an abundance of issues on-screen and tasks off-screen, but like a puppet master in despair he cannot control all the strings.

To find a place to belong, Dave endures the humiliation by his slimy uncle Jimmy (Martin Askew) and wallows in rival gangster boss Mickey’s (David Spinx) attempts to entice him away. As if he did not already have plenty of choices, he also plays family with a prostitute and her son, and gives Tariq’s Islam-thing a go.

The script, co-written by Hulme and Askew, is all over the place.

The various narrative strands are forced together like ill-fitting puzzle pieces - they seem to come from two different films.

The opening scene with Dave and Tariq arguing about the blankness of middle class life is completely irrelevant. The dialogues are flat, and culminate in artificiality when Dave encounters a mentor-like figure at the mosque. His speeches are so didactical and abstract, they would not convince a single sceptical atheist in real life. Loosely based on Askew’s family background, I hope for his sake that the true story was more compelling.

With characters as shallow as piss on concrete - pardon me again,

I remain true to the film - the actors are not left much to work with.

They are one-dimensional and stereotypical. Schmidt tries his best as a depressive wanderer, but even though he cannot seriously expect sympathy for his character, his performance desperately tries to trigger our empathy. Askew plays the gangster boss with a single expression on his face which was probably meant to say ‘cold-blooded’, but is in fact little more than a numb stare. And for most of the film Spinx’s Mickey feels like a serious attempt at recreating Michael Caine’s Nigel Powers.

Like the script, the cinematography fails to convey meaning in a subtle way. Dave is introduced with extreme close-ups, suggesting a certain complexity to his character. Often mirrors and windows catch his reflection, screaming out loud that we are looking at a man with multiple facets. We get it. Although he is an editor himself (The American, Control), Hulme fails even with that. One scene in particular, showing Dave on drugs, is assembled in an utmost stereotypical and meaningless way - far from the finessed editing of Akerlund and Söderberg (Spun) or Eckersley (Filth) that really makes you feel what it is like to be high. The film only occasionally shows interesting visual compositions and carefully set images.

Hulme surely had true intentions with this film. Deprived of all guidance, Dave struggles to find his place in society. Confronted with a vastness of possibilities and choices he does not know which way to go. I feel like I should be able to relate to that; all I see is a challenged puppeteer playing with a desperate puppet – but unable to bring it to life.

by Kathi Kamleitner (UK) 21

Darker than Midnight Sebastiano Riso, Italy

Critics’ Week

Sebastiano Riso´s debut feature opened the Critic´s Week competition. We sat down with the director to find out what lead him to portray the life of gay youth in conservative Italy.

What was that attracted you to this story in particular?

Because this age is really important. When you are fourteen, you are passing from childhood to another stage, you are not a boy anymore and every kind of emotion is getting then really strong. All the great auteurs like Truffaut and Rossellini talk about that age in their films.

Did you have any personal connection to the story?

Absolutely. I met Davide Cordova on a flight and we started talking. We lived in the same building in Rome but we had never talked before. I had just finished my film studies and the story about his transition from childhood to adolescence was exactly what I was looking for. I found there all the dramaturgic characteristics needed for a story like Davide’s. After that I interviewed him several times and I combined his story with my own experience so far, giving always priority to the first.

Review & Interview by Martin I. Petrov (UK) 22

I assume it was even more difficult considering the fact that he was born in Catania, Sicily, a com-

pletely different part of Italy and way too conservative at the time.

Sicily is like a different country, it was dominated by different nations and this brought such diversity to the land. People think that is actually a different world where open-mindedness can’t find its way through tradition and religion. It is true, but you would be surprised by the acceptance and understanding that many people have. During the Second World War the biggest homosexual community in entire Italy was the Catanese. My grandmother was telling me stories from when she was a teenager and there were men dressed in women’s clothes walking freely on the streets of Catania 75 years ago. This, itself, is very telling.

What exactly made you choose Davide Capone for the main character’s role?

It was a nightmare because in two years’ time I saw more than 9000 boys and no one seemed suitable for the role. Then when I saw Davide one day in a school, I just recognised him, I knew that it was meant to be him. The similarities were incredible, even the name and their passion for Nina Simone’s music is the same.

It was also very easy to explain the character because he was aware of the story and knew exactly what I wanted from him. Two months before filming we were working on his part for five hours per day, to make him feel more comfortable, to make him feel it, considering

review

Painfully tender and compassion-generating, Sebastiano Riso’s debut Darker Than Midnight powerfully rips the surface and reaches the core of sensitivity from its very first minute.

The film depicts the early adolescence of Davide, a fourteen year old boy who is confronted for the first time with his sexuality. Being bullied by his own father, who seeks in him a more manly behaviour, Davide leaves home and enters the dangerous world of Catania’s famous park Villa Bellini. There he finds the support he had always sought, in the company of youngsters living on the margins, ignored and mistreated by the local society.

Sebastiano Riso focuses on Davide’s transformation with the gradual loss of innocence and the abrupt transition to a dark and unexpected adulthood. The streets of Catania feel more secure than home for the young boy seeking liberation through his love for music and his overflowing need to share – feelings, dreams and visions for a future that always seemed blank and unknown.

The dark and mundane atmosphere of Catania, combined with the bursting youth and the perfectly accomplished smoothness, communicate the feelings through a constantly moving image that follows every step but simultaneously keeps the distance, leaving the characters to untangle their personalities.

The strength of choice and its interaction with independence and personal acceptance are the basic lines that cut through

that he is not even a professional actor.

We see the main character’s transformation and his feelings are not directly expressed from the beginning. Does his runaway represent the turning point in his way of interpreting social interaction?

When Davide leaves home he feels free for the first time and the street becomes his school.

He learns from his new friendships and gradually becomes wilder, stronger and more selfconfident. My personal story has contributed a lot to this choice in the film. I come from a very dangerous area of Catania. From my entire high school I am the only one who received higher level of education, but I always liked communicating with my peers there, they seem more honest, more sincere. Because I come from the bourgeois middle-class family, which is huge in Italy, in the lower social layers you can find something very powerful and motivating.

How easy it was to approach the local community in Villa Bellini and gain their trust and support?

It was an extremely interesting process. Some of them I actually found on the street, one of them was selling watermelons nearby and they

each other to build Davide’s enigmatic recreation. His mother, caring but trapped in the patriarchal conformities of her husband and La Rettore, Davide’s new friend and protector from the park, are the two main figures that guide his emotional metamorphosis running smoothly through the entire film.

The young boy’s apprehensiveness gradually finds a way to leak his feelings through the communication and the integration in a community, now becoming synonyms to his atonement.

Dealing with homosexuality and violence, Sebastiano Riso frames his characters in their day-to-day life and simultaneously does not expose them at all. Taking advantage of their uniqueness, the director digs into their personal desires, beliefs and even talents, making them look oblivious of the societal ignorance, but still brave and devoted in their rebelliousness. Following the paradigm of Godard, Riso decides to protect his characters, especially young Davide, behind the glass of morality and the angelic veil that surrounds his vulnerability.

Picking up controversies on its way, Darker Than Midnight is a strong statement of a parallel world that remained in the shadow for years and is now finding its way to the surface. Set in one of the most conservative regions of Italy, the story unfolds the past aiming to establish a connection with the vanity of modern society that seems to remain in denial of the difference.

are not very far from I wanted to bring out in the film. I worked with them for quite long in order to keep the balance between their personality and the part they had in the film, because I wanted both. It is not easy to show who you are when 65 people look at you on a set. It is amazing that they became a perfect group and they are even now in Cannes, although we were unable to cover their transportation here.

The sex scenes and the violence are not really explicit and they are balancing in the film. They are still powerfully emotional though. How easy it is for a 14 year old boy to approach them?

Of course all 14 year old today know much more about sex than before. The Italian television is rubbish; there is no need to show everything.

If you actually show everything, it comes really close to documentary. I decided not to push him, given that there are many ways to create emotion without exposing someone. We played a game, I wanted to be honest with everyone. It was absolutely funny because everyone was laughing after these scenes in a very natural way. Showing everything for me is immoral, not showing it at all is pretending. Like in Haneke’s Funny Games, you know, the viewer feels very involved and feels the violence, but at the same time it doesn’t feel insulting.

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review

These Final Hours Zak Hilditch, Australia - Director’s Fortnight As the title suggests, Zak Hilditch first feature film introduces us to the beginning of the end of the world. Despite setting itself in the present, the constant sunset hue – as if the film was shot through an orange filter – transports us to another ‘age’, revealing the cause of the world ending by its tone: high temperatures.

The story is set on a nameless town in Australia, where law and order no longer prevails, and obviously this opens the path for occasional violence. It works really well because it is mostly unexpected and the source of much humour.

The film is technically proficient, with the editing and the use of sound (soundtrack included) being the best elements, sustained with strong performances. However, this isn’t a particular end of the world film. It is relatively commercial, remind us of other films of the genre, such as the Book of Eli and The Road.

James (Nathan Phillips), the main character, is a young man who wants to solve his major conflicts in his life in order to feel good with his inner-self before the world ends. Once he meets a little girl (Angourie Rice) he gradually discovers how to accept the end and be true within. He needs to find compassion among the human life around him, something he achieves once he becomes responsible for the infant and learns to appreciate his own existence. At the same time he is a party boy, struggling with the responsibility of being an adult. Throughout this journey of self-discovery we figures out how human relations build up personality and a new perspective on life. Family values are a all important in this film, since everything that happens starts and ends with family members, providing extra meaning to the plot.

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Towards the mid-point a particular scene stands out, allowing the audience time to breath and relax with the intensity – a party.

A lot of young adults partying and doing everything that gives them pleasure and fulfilment – a clear contrast to the rest of the people who are scared and commit suicide. These party goers are strictly connected to the main character, making us understand his behaviour during the film.

These Final Hours is effective yet somewhat basic in its objective.

The sequences are rhythmically and active enough to portray all the necessary events in the short available time that allows the audience to be interested and curious about what will happen by the end. However the ending it’s so explicit that we would be better off not seeing it on the big screen.

The unnecessary ending is a real disappointment. Some will inevitably think it would have been better if the apocalipse would be left to our imagination. The audience would have had the space to breathe and accept the end of the world without seeing it. Nevertheless there are some interesting points in Hilditch’s debut feature. Technically the film works really well, despite lacking narrative strength which take this film to a common level.

by Amadeu Pena da Silva (Portugal)

review

When Animals Dream

Jonas Alexander Arnby, Denmark - Camera D’Or Competition Jonas Alexander Arnby has been working in the Danish film industry for more than 20 years, and like almost everybody else, started as a simple film crew assistant. He did several musicvideos, short-films and commercials, which, with all certainty, have contributed to the impressive visual character of his first feature film, When Animals Dream.

This film, mixing horror and fantastic elements, narrates the story of Marie, a young adult that faces a strange illness: she is turning into a werewolf. Marie has another dilemma- she tends to be a very sensitive and fragile person, which contributes a lot to the obvious personality of the character. At the very beginning of the film, just after she gets a new job at a fish processing factory, she becomes the target, apparently without reason, of strong bullying from her work mates. Unfortunately this is when the story becomes somewhat obvious. I don’t understand why in almost all horror films the women are the victims and we have to see them suffering awful abuses?

Marie’s mother also has the werewolf illness, the difference is that she is in a wheelchair, doesn’t talk and doesn’t move. Marie doesn’t know what’s wrong with her until the middle of the film.

At the same time she starts to understand her problem and the best way to deal with it. Her work mates play more and more grotesque pranks on her, which clearly raise the feeling that soon enough she is going to transform completely and kill everyone.

Why is Marie turning into a werewolf- why is that happening?

Why doesn’t she just quit her new job that only seems to bring her much unnecessary grief and in what context does the story evolve? One thing we do know, they are messing with the wrong

girl. From there we have a bit of everything in the plot, a romance, terror, human confrontations, soft gore; all that makes this film a horror. Unfortunately, it fails in one particularly aspect: it isn’t that scary.

Despite the fact that there is no real necessity for an explanation to why she and her mother are the only two werewolves around, or any context that clarifies the source of the disease, such lack of contextualization will most surely bother many viewers. I know it’s hard to please everyone, of course in these films the priority is the target audience, but that’s not an excuse for an evident narrative structure. Probably the main issue here is the lack of context, it’s possible to ultimately understand why all of it happened, but, in the end, it’s not original enough.

Either way it’s still an interesting film in many aspects, an easy one to watch, capable to entertain. It’s full of great acting and good moments of tension between some of the main actors. Jakob Oftebro is a name to remember - it wasn’t by accident that he was one of the youngest actors in the 2014 Shooting Stars edition in Berlinale. In this film he plays Daniel, the only colleague that tries to protect Marie from the others, and who eventually starts to empathize with her. But there’s one thing in this film that is undoubtedly the best thing- the cinematography. It has more power than everything else, including the scares. It portraits with great colours and gloom the fantastic side of that small island in Norway, by taking everyone easily to that world, helping them to empathize with the story and keeping their eyes fixed on the film. And just being capable of doing that is an amazing accomplishment.

by Pedro Almeida (Portugal) 25

Catch me Daddy Daniel Wolfe, UK

Directors’ Fortnight

Daniel Wolfe’s feature debut, Catch Me Daddy, which premiered in the Directors` Fortnight, has people talking about it in the queues.

We caught up with this well known music video director to find out the story behind his aesthetic choices.

limbo ending. We got a good response in early screenings so we ran with it.

Let’s begin with the ending, it has a lot of potential to frustrate. Did you consider the reaction of the audience?

To me, he’s one of the more interesting characters because he’s a classic case of people projecting their own notions and prejudices. To us, the taxi driver is a good guy, he’s a offering a way out, and for a moment she connects with him.

The boyfriend is paranoid, he overreacts, the guy is taking the right road. Some people will read the film and say “oh, he’s in on it as well”. And that’s interesting to look at how people respond to material really, but he’s the only help they get offered in the film.

Different people are reading different things into this ending. What I wanted to end up with was a father and daughter in a room, face to face. Leave people with the simplicity of that image but also it’s complexity, the huge gulf between them. And to posit some hope of reconciliation: the father, a broken man and the daughter, almost reduced to an infant.

Early on, I brought in friends to watch the film. I love the John Sayles movie, Limbo.

Review & Interview by Andrei Sendrea (Romania) 26

As the title suggests it leaves you absolutely in limbo... but I don’t think is too much of a

This is not a political film, but there is a hint in the taxi driver scene, that they all know these things happen and they look the other way.

Was narrative ambiguity a deliberate choice?

I don’t like much exposition in cinema, I like people to work stuff out, I like the audience to do some amount of work. We wanted to have a slow

review

Sometimes going to the movies is like going for a ride. Some directors will let you drive and let you choose which way to go and what you want to see. Others want to have total control and show you only what they want you to see. Catch Me Daddy belongs to the latter category.

While it is definitely a controlled experience, the driver in this case, Daniel Wolfe, certainly knows what he’s doing.

The film/car ride metaphor is very well suited for Wolfe`s debut feature because Catch Me Daddy is, as the title suggests, a game of hide and seek with an honor killing twist. A young Pakistani girl has run away from home with her white boyfriend and a gang of relatives and hired white thugs are combing the Yorkshire countryside in search of them.

The film takes its time, slowly building up momentum, collecting the characters one by one and skillfully sewing them into the plotline.

The lonely caravan-dwelling retired guy with a cocaine addiction, the dangerous looking very attentive Middle Eastern father carrying his young daughter, the young interracial couple living in a trailer park.

While the audience is busy trying to figure out who all these people are and what brings them together, they are unaware that their ride is building speed.

“I got to do what I love, running”, that was what the main actress answered when asked about her first filming experience. Everybody is running in this film, chasing or being chased, either in a car or on foot, and the physicality of their effort is an important point the film makes.

Their fatigue, flushed faces and shortage of breath are all transferred to the spectator through a skilled combination of hand held camera, naturalistic acting and lighting and an intense audio score.

build, and have people put in the pieces together. There are some clues of their situation, but also we wanted to show her naivety, she doesn’t fully understand the situation, she loves her father. It’s like their just playing and one day she’ll go home.

You spent eight month street casting, how did that affect your story?

The story massively evolved through street casting. These stories happen, they are minority stories but at the same time by meeting lots of people inevitably you come across these stories. We met a girl, she was much to old to play the lead, but she was on the run from her family and she was in a house with her white boyfriend. We spent the afternoon drinking tea with them, and getting their story. It helps with the dialogue, the authenticity, getting to know the world.

You don’t like to call it realism but there is

Daniel Wolfe has a lot of experience directing music videos and Catch Me Daddy stands out as a an unusual combination of realism (most of the actors were street cast, natural setting) and non-diegetic music.

Indeed, a car ride is not the same without some music playing in the background, and the director uses the soundtrack in two different ways: as a means for somatic transfer from the character to the spectator, and as a way of enhancing the performance of his, mostly, nonprofessional cast. The music sets the inexperienced cast in the right mood and they manage to deliver complex, strong, and very emotional performances.

After the screening the director shared his views on how the script was developed over time, the emphasis of dialogue as texture rather than information, working with non-professional actors and how the actual script was shaped on location. In short, improvisation played a major part, but every frame, action, words or audio score, is in the right place, nothing is redundant, contrived or shallow. The reason for this is that Catch Me Daddy has a very solid structure.

The structure is shaped and held in place by very smart punctuation techniques that give the film a breathable rhythm. The violent chase is paced by the music, hilarious sequences that work on the principle of comic relief and an almost surrealist animal imagery, matching the various characters to different animals (the sleazy drug dealer has a yellow snake pet for instance).

Wolfe’s masterful editing and choice of music makes the ride highly enjoyable and it feels like it could last for ever. The film does end though, and Wolfe’s choice of brutally throwing the spectator out of the car will certainly split the audience.

a certain authenticity to this movie. At the same time you use non-diegetic music. Is that a stylistic mark, something you put forward in everything you do?

No, and that is an interesting point, because a lot of the cinema I am drawn to doesn’t use non-diegetic sound and there was a kind of assumption that we would go that route. However, I worked with my brother, he did the film with me. He’s a musician, I direct music videos and listen to a lot of music. You see some music video director’s transition and the film looks like a music video, I didn’t want to do that either.

As we started to explore the locations, we played music in the car and then in the edit, we wanted to create a score, which my brother wrote with Daniel Thomas Freeman.

Certain songs really capture the feeling, it’s quite a mix but they are all kind of codeine induced music.

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Gente de Bien

review

Franco Lolli, Colombia/France

Critics’ Week

Franco Lolli’s debut feature, Gente de Bien, was a strong contender for this year’s Camera D’Or award.

While the audience and critics may be divided on the subject, which may seem boring to some (a drama without any real drama), there is one observation that stands a chance at unanimity: the film is flawless.

comes from Brayan Santamarià’s performance, that brings life and emotion to some very well crafted situations: the boy wetting his bed, trying to steal money from his wouldbe mother, having his dog taken away by the pound, riding a horse, or laughing hysterically while his friends talk about the disgusting but necessary aspects of kissing girls.

The narrative is a take on the classic slice of life form and style, detailing an episode in the life of ten year old Eric (Brayan Santamarià), a poor boy who has to move in with his poorer father when his mother leaves home to find work in the US. Trying hard to give him a home and a future that are beyond his means, the father (Carlos Fernando Perez) seeks help from one of his wealthy employers (the title translates as good/ well off people), university professor and mother of two Maria Isabel (Alejandra Borrero) who welcomes the role of surrogate parent. The boy and his father go on vacation at the professor’s family estate, where her family becomes more and more annoyed by her maternal instincts, making Eric fully aware of his status and the choices he’s faced with: either live like a pauper or betray his father’s love.

Having his camera set on young Eric at all times, Franco Lolli manages to recreate and frame with documentary feel and accuracy Bogota’s everyday reality and people, both rich and poor, as if it were an extension of the young boy’s perception. The camera doesn’t judge, it only records, and it does so without loosing focus on the story or becoming a political piece about class divisions and inequality.

The film rests mainly on two very well balanced elements: a very good script and an amazing child actor.

Gente de Bien is a subdued drama, that could only work with a child protagonist. Looking back at his life, an adult Eric might not even remember any drama, just your average childhood in a poor Bogota neighborhood.

He is a smart boy and his heart is in the right place – he leaves his adoptive family to come home to his father and the movie ends very optimistically, so we have no reasons to fear for his fate. The film’s magnetic pull

To be honest, Gente de Bien is a highly manipulative film, a tearjerker that manages to stir emotions from scratch, and that is reason enough to appreciate it’s craft even if you don’t take to this kind of mushy family drama. On the other hand, maybe the director’s refusal to go the extra mile, to give his character a heavier burden to bear should make us appreciate even more his fine tuning: when you’re ten, every burden is too heavy to bear, yet somehow, and this is one of the most endearing aspects of the film, you manage to get over everything after a good night sleep.

by Andrei Sendrea (Romania)

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“Around here, there is always at least one finger ready to press the shutter button at any given moment.�

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At Li Layla

review

Asaf Korman, Israeli

Directors’ Fortnight At Li Layla (Next to Her) is Asaf Korman directorial debut, but he doesn’t play it safe, choosing this not so audience friendly subject and splitting it to its most sensitive aspects: sexuality, sacrifice and the idea of institutionalization.

Deeply introspective of her past, the lead actress Liron Ben-Shlush wrote this sober and subtle, yet compelling, family drama describing the relationship between Chelli and her 24 year old mentally challenged sister, Gabby. Set mostly in a cramped messy apartment, Next to Her is a claustrophobic co-dependency tale depicting a reality from which it’s easy to turn a blind eye, being able to escape the trap of over dramatizing, as it happens often in films of this nature.

Chelli doesn’t really seem to know what she’s doing, breaking all boundaries of assumed motherhood and constantly reversing the roles of “need” and “be needed”. She’s nurturing a torturous, unhealthy and destructive connection and dragging in all aspects of her life of a socially awkward 27-year-old high school security guard. The relationship takes strange turns when Gabby starts going during the day to a home for special needs people and a man appears in Chelli’s life, bringing to surface and enhancing strange behaviours.

The editor turned director is likely to play a really significant part in the new Israeli cinema movement, as he gives us hints of a possible strong author and, to go even further, a possible strong duo, alongside his wife Liron. It’s a great talent to be able to create a suffocating environment and tension while taking one step back to avoid intrusiveness. Sexuality is depicted in a non-exploitative manner, enough so it stirs the always debatable questions: ‘should Gabby be allowed to masturbate, have sex, procreate?’ or ‘what is the real balance between urge, sickness and free will?’.

The editing and cinematography are in some parts documentary like but at the same time familiar. The

rhythm is usually a long exhale motion, interrupted and accelerated by Gabby’s outbursts. The image of this small delimited universe is grey, pale blue and gritty complements its edges.

Dana Ivgy delivers a great performance for this challenging role, after watching closely Liron’s sister, Natty, who inspired the story. It transpires from all layers (the story, acting, directing) that the entire process of the film was long, closely linked to recreating a real intimate and personal relationship. The film itself comes out as a natural continuity of a 5 year effort and this naturality and cursivity is what makes it stand out.

One issue with the film though, is the way that Chelli’s character has been constructed, making it hard to empathize with her or be sympathetic with her sacrifice, considering that all she goes through actually feels self inflicted.

In many aspects the film resembles A Separation, the Asghar Farhadi Oscar winning film about a married couple confronted with a hard decision: move to another country and try to make life better for their daughter, or to stay in Iran and take care of the grandfather suffering from Alzheimer. Both films are testing the limits of duty versus personal freedom, but mostly the grammar chosen, slow, non-intrusive, heavy, and the sobriety and subtle nature of a hard reality, make it possible to compare.

With this debut, Korman really manages to compel his audience and take it through this tumultuous journey, without allowing space for relaxation. But what really makes Next to Her special is the magnetic yet saddening relationship between the sisters, trapped by the bars that they built, forced to live in an emotional limbo of sweet desperation for most probably, all of their lives.

by Andra Gheorghiu (Romania)

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This year Cannes is making an active attempt to be more inclusive, with festival director Thierry Fremaux using the press launch as an opportunity to point out that 15 of the 49 films in the programme were directed by women. This, coupled with the presence of Palme d’Or alumni Jane Campion, who presides over a majority female jury (including Sofia Coppola, Leila Hatami, Joen Do-Yeon and Carole Bouquet), seems like a promising response to the accusations of misogyny levied at the festival.

However, much has been made of the fact that just 2 female directors – Naomi Kawase (Still the Water) and Alice Rohrwacher (The Wonders) – feature in the main competition. Does Fremaux’s statement mark a genuine effort, or is it simply a gesture of face? Could it be that this ‘female push’ is nothing more than a tokenistic attempt to placate the festival’s critics?

In an interview with Indiewire, Campion revealed that women directed just 7% of the 1,800 films submitted to Cannes this year. But what does this statistic actually mean? The figure that she cites might not be so shocking if it is proportional to the amount of films being made by women. There’s very little data on this subject globally, though an infographic created by the New York Film Academy, roughly 9% of directors in the US are women. However, while the US has a strong presence in Cannes (8 films across the programme), this is certainly not unanimously representative across the globe.

Indeed, one only has to look across the pond to the UK to witness the new wave of British female auteurs like Joanna Hogg, Clio Barnard, Andrea Arnold and Amma Asante that is taking the independent film world by storm. France itself isn’t doing too badly either, with Celine Sciamma and Katell Quilévéré following in the steps of Claire Denis and fast becoming household names.

We need more female directors; I don’t doubt that, but – and there is a but – I think looking at the festival in this way is doing the women of Cannes a disservice.

Perhaps a more productive, and certainly, a more encouraging way of measuring Cannes’ attitude towards women is by looking at the female stories present in this year’s programme.

One of the most compelling, fully-realised female characters I’ve seen this year is Winter Sleep’s Nihal (Melisa Sözen). Though Nuri Bilge Ceylan’s story is an intimate portrait of a man who has spent his entire life marinating in male privilege, his young wife Nihal is just as well drawn. With a bright intelligence that burns behind her eyes, Sözen brings a radiance to her role as a passionate woman who has sacrificed her own dreams to enable her husband’s.

in focus

Research shows that women support women. According to a study done by the Sundance Institute, films directed by women feature more women in all roles – be that on screen or behind the scenes in production and postproduction. The report’s findings show a 21% increase in women working on a narrative film when there is a female director, and a 24% of women working on documentaries.

The Female Push

With just 5 films in 5 years directed by women in the main competition (out of a total of 81 competition films), it’s not surprising that the lack of female representation at Cannes is a talking point that gets revisited every year. It seems unfair to single out Cannes as the sole perpetrator of gender inequality in the film world, when problems of representation pervade the industry as a whole. However, the burden of championing good practice is one that the world’s most influential film festival must bear, and after Le Monde’s damning open letter in 2012 (“At Cannes, women show their breasts, men show their films”), gender inclusivity is a responsibility that it cannot afford to neglect.

From Jonas Alexander Arnby’s smart riff on the monstrous feminine When Animals Dream, which screened in the Critics’ Week sidebar, to Ned Benson’s Un Certain Regard entry The Disappearance of Eleanor Rigby, which was inspired by and written for its lead actress Jessica Chastain, there are plenty of stories that treat their women with respect and reverence. Other honourable mentions include Celine Sciamma’s loveable Afro-Franco girl gang in Girlhood, the ageing eponymous Party Girl and a pair of brilliantly ballsy performances from Julianne Moore and Mia Wasikowska in David Cronenberg’s Maps to the Stars.

Last, but certainly not least, the talk of the festival doesn’t seem to be about who will win the coveted Palme d’Or, but whether or not Marion Cotillard will win the Prix d’interprétation feminine for her role as the plucky Sandra in the Dardenne brothers’ Two Days, One Night.

Women are at the heart of many of this year’s films, a pattern that feels more revolutionary than any sort of quota. The sheer range of women - complex, nuanced, flawed women - being championed here is something worth celebrating.

by Simran Hans (UK) 35

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“There is no walking the walk without talking the talk.�

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Leidi

review

Simón Mesa Soto, Colombia/UK Short Film Competition This year’ s main winner of the short film competition in Cannes is yet another brilliant example of the ever increasingly narrow line between fiction and reality. It is a trend that is progressively taking over contemporary filmmaking and the results could hardly be more exciting and mysterious.

Colombian filmmaker Simón Mesa Soto’ s Leidi shows us the somewhat limited and emotionless universe of a young mother called Leidi. Fully controlled and limited by her surroundings, a Medellin slum no different than any other ghetto that dots the Latin American urban landscape, Leidi’s day is spent searching for her apparently missing boyfriend, Alexis. After a hustler tells her he saw him with a girl the previous night, she embarks on a journey through the underprivileged hills of the Colombian city, revealing much more then you would expect.

Soto’ s winning short film plays an interesting trick on the audience. What at a first glance may appear to be a story about nothing, is actually a deep dissertation on the lack of expectations for the future, and the desolation that such perspective entails, by young people in Colombian slums.

There is not much excitement in Leidi´s life. The joy and innocence of youth were quickly stolen from her and replaced by the responsibility of being a mother.

Her own family and neighbours seem not to offer much relief, usually unable to provide the help that would allow her to focus on other issues troubling her mind.

Her relationship with Alexis, father of the child, is also everything but complete. In an identical situation, he appears to have found escape from his «prison» in his precarious work, cleaning public buses, overlooking his paternal and conjugal duties.

The main character is shown to us both as a target of sexual desire, as well as of one of neglect, giving us precious hints at how gender relations usually function in such environments. Her refusal of illegitimate propositions by other men is a sign she is resigned to her condition as an underprivileged woman in Colombia.

She accepts her role in life as a mother, yet continues to crave for the affection her partner discreetly denies to offer. This emptiness she so eagerly wants to fill in is the catalyst and cause for her expedition to desperately ensure her small and dysfunctional family survives, as if she has nothing else worth living for.

Pace is a vital factor for the success of Leidi. The character herself drags around throughout the film, as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

This slow movement reflects the absence of colour and will power in her life, forcing us to physically feel the quiet sense of desperation the haunts Leidi and those around her.

The filmmaker’s eye is both voyeuristic and discreet. It allows itself no judgement of the character’s actions, or perhaps more accurately, the absence of action. Most would fall in the trap the theme easily provides, yet Soto shows enough skills to avoid it. Instead, he preoccupies himself in presenting reality as raw as it really is. By doing so, the young Colombian filmmaker provides a sublime vision of the common struggles of a young mother.

It is no wonder that Leidi´s game between fiction and reality blew away Abbas Kiarostami and his fellow jury members, since in its perceptible simplicity it is a moving example of how voyeurism does not have to be neither exploitative nor manipulative.

by Fernando Vasquez (Portugal)

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The Chicken Una Gunjak, Croatia/Germany

Critics’ Week

Review & Interview by Kathi Kamleitner (UK) 40

With her film about a little girl and a chicken, Bosnian filmmaker Una Gunjak processes the past of her country and creates an insightful story from an unusual perspective. We met up with the charismatic editor-turned-filmmaker and NISI MASA alumnus to talk about her motivation to carry The Chicken through years of development and finally premiere it in Cannes.

Filmmaking in Bosnia seems to evolve a lot around the war. Why do you think that is?

First up, I think that a lot of young filmmakers are also moving on. But the problem is that even though it has been 19 years since the war ended, the Bosnian reality is still very much affected by the war. The current situation of the flood specifically shows that the country is impoverished and struggles very hard to actually survive. Many issues are deeply rooted in what happened in the 1990s, and also what did not. It is impossible not to reflect on the war. The film gave me the chance to express something I needed to say.

But I also think anti-war films help to raise awareness for how things are shaping and

happening, at least that is the case for me.

Let’s talk about a happier topic – how was it to shoot with a live chicken?

Good that you ask - I tried to minimise the chicken’s part in the script because I thought it would be hard, but then the chicken turned out to be almost the best “actor” on set. They are actually pretty tame – surprisingly it was harder to make them run wildly than to make them sit still. We had two chickens on set and the girls absolutely adored them. When takes would stop we would have to detach them from the chicken, because they were all over it. They cuddled and hugged it, even fed it – to an extent that the chicken wouldn’t eat on camera. So there were difficulties, just others than expected.

Your film is very special to Nisimazine, as you pitched this project in 2012 at European Short Pitch. How did this influence the process of making the film and how did it go on?

The experience with NISI MASA was really crucial for me and the scriptwriting workshop incredible. The feedback from the peers

review

In her 15 minute short film The Chicken, Bosnian director Una Gunjak introduces us to Selma, who is about to celebrate her 6th birthday.

Untroubled and joyful, Selma dances around the flat in a pink dress and is joined by her mother (Mirela Lambic) and sister. But often nothing is what it seems. The year is 1993 and the war weighs heavily on Bosnia’s civil population. Leaving the house means risking your life, only inside is a safe environment. By taking on a little girl’s perspective, Gunjak skilfully describes the feeling of what it was like to witness the war from a hide-out. As long as the family is inside, the war is something happening far away.

For Selma’s special day, a friend delivers a present from her father: a live chicken. Quickly, the little girl bonds with the animal. It is a source of life in the isolated world that war forced her into. Its brown, red, and orange hues create a strong contrast to the grey and desolate apartment building. The animal is a splash of colour in an otherwise greyish image. It is also a reminder of reality: with the chicken’s arrival the freedom so happily enjoyed just a moment ago is revealed fake and turns into an atmosphere of oppression and imprisonment. Suddenly the flat is not a playground any more, but a refuge.

While Selma gets excited about her new pet, her mother is already preparing its inevitable destiny. Convinced to save a precious life, Selma sets the chicken free - and thereby starts a dramatic chain reaction of tragedy.

Gunjak focuses on the burdensome reality of war. Selma is playing

so wonderful and helpful. We even won the award, which sparked a lot of attention.

Many applications and other awards later we finally won the Robert Bosch film prize in Germany and went straight into production last September. We basically took one step after the other, with only a little break over Christmas. It was good to keep the momentum after the long process of getting it going.

In the process, did you ever feel like you had enough of this rather dark experience in your past?

I found myself pitching the same project for a very long time. Although I knew I had to be patient, I also kind of got stuck with it.

It is such a personal story to tell and I just could not do anything else, practically and emotionally, until it was done. I needed to let it out because it took such a long time to become aware of what happened to my country, to my family and to myself. It was important for me to put an end to it and stop talking about the war. During the shoot there

with a home-made wooden rifle, shoots at imaginary targets outside her window and runs through the house with the gun tied on her back.

Subtly her play is surrounded by a brutal soundscape of gunshots. The beating wings of the chicken sound like a machine gun, every slamming door can be mistaken for an explosion. And although the every-day brutality is everywhere, Selma seems to hardly notice it. War became a natural part of this child’s life. The often hand-held camera reflects the characters’ emotional state of agitation. It moves hastily, struggles to focus on the playing child. The gaze remains always that of Selma’s perspective – with her we dance in the living room, we peek out of the window and we fear for our loved ones.

Although centred around a little girl, the film is beautifully led by Lambic’s performance. Her character is forced to balance pure survival and providing a loving upbringing for her kids. All necessary must be done, whether it sets a chicken’s or her own life at risk. It is her maternal instinct that makes the experience portrayed in the film so tangible.

When she hugs her daughter, Lambic somehow manages to unite the strongest emotions – love, relief, fear and anger – all in one moment.

In 2012 Gunjak’s script won a deserved award at the NISI MASA European Short Pitch and it was a long, but necessary process to make the film. By telling Selma’s story of vulnerability the director worked up her own childhood experiences during the Bosnian War and empathetically reminds us of the most helpless of all participants in war: children, who do not yet grasp the dimensions of their actions, but are fully hit by the consequences.

was this moment when, for the first time in my life, I had nothing more to say about the experience itself. It was such a relief, I feel like I can move on now.

Your film is very special to Nisimazine as you pitched it in 2012 at the Nisimasa European Short Pitch. How did this influence the process of making the film and how did it go on?

The experience with Nisimasa was really crucial for me in terms of finalising the last draft. The scriptwriting workshop was absolutely incredible and the feedback from the peers so wonderful and helpful.

After the pitch we even won the award, which sparked a lot of attention. After many applications and the Best Script award at ÉCU European International Film Festival we finally won the Robert Bosch film prize in Germany and went straight into production last September. We basically took one step after the other, with only a little break over Christmas. It was good to keep the momentum after the long process of getting it going.

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review

Fragments Aga Woszczyńska, Poland Short Film Competition This cold looking existentialist Polish diploma short by Aga Woszczynska resembles in many ways an absurd Nordic film. Set mostly in an Ikea style house, it reflects the breakdown of Anna, trapped in the pointlessness of her life.

She is a high class real estate agent, always looking dead-pan expressionless, constantly inert, even though she seems to have it all working for her: she is attractive, has a good job, a good looking husband and a great house. Still, she breaks down in tears whenever she gets a real moment of solitude and those are the only humanizing acts we see all throughout the film.

The feeling that follows around is of emptiness, as if Anna is living in a world in which food has no taste, people have no real emotions. She is a Sisyphus forever pushing the rock, never managing to escape her reality, dismembered by the artificiality of her world, suffering of this contagious generation disease and utter loneliness. Even the sex is numb and the passion is dead.

The cinematography of Bartosz Šwiniarski doubles, ever so appropriately, the feeling of emptiness and void with a very bright white image, wide shot and a clock perfect long panning shot in the end, that moves slowly away from the characters leaving in perspective the shiny perfect furniture. The sound design of Fragments is also compelling and creates the impression of void and desertion moulding and changing only with Anna’s mood, disregarding the world around.

Fragments is a minimalist personal drama in which dialog is restricted as much as possible, the characters don’t speak too much and when they do, they speak of the mundane, colourless words, 42

as inert as they themselves are.

The moments of desperation are linked to Anna’s sexuality, her need to exteriorize the little that has left of a once very vivid fire.

She and her husband go to a strip bar, Anna gets mesmerized by the woman dancing and when she approaches they kiss and touch in a quite obviously different way than she does with her husband. The second outburst, and the last probably till a true emotional collapse that we’ll not get to see, but feel that it’s impending, is at the end of a dinner party with another couple.

Anna proposes they all have sex together and takes off her dress making the other couple storm out in outrage. She and her husband start quietly, almost melodically cleaning up the table, in a sorrowed silence that is more loud than a scream would be.

The film can be seen as the feminine shorter version of Jens Lien’s Den brysomme mannen. Andreas, a 40 year-old man, tries to kill himself, ending up in a no man’s land, a purgatory not so different of the one Anna lives in. Unlike Fragments, Den brysomme mannen is truly a dystopia, but the Kafkaesque and Ikea lifestyle influences appear in both. Social interaction is an artifice, people have lost their humanity wondering like ghost between a tasks, being happy or discontent is tabu, leaving the last dreamer dismembered in the battle.

At points this short films has a text book quality to it, as if it was a recipe, leaving us wondering if Aga Woszczynska is just a very good crafter, not disclosing if she can develop a real voice. Nevertheless Fragments is powerful enough to make us eager to find it out to in her upcoming feature project.

by Andra Georghiu (Romania)

20TH SHORT FILM AND ANIMATION FESTIVAL 16 – 21 SEPTEMBER 2014, BRISTOL, UK GATEWAY TO THE OSCARS®, EUROPEAN FILM AWARDS AND CARTOON D’OR

EMERGING TALENT, INDUSTRY AND AUDIENCES ENCOUNTERS-FESTIVAL.ORG.UK

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@EncountersSFF

Boa Noite Cinderela

Invisible Spaces

Safari

by Bernardo Lopes (Portugal)

by Fernando Vasquez (Portugal)

by Fernando Vasquez (Portugal)

A class system where the proletariat is oppressed by the bourgeois: it’s with this Marxist premise that Goodnight Cinderella, a short light drama, tackles society. It uses the well-known fairy tale as the caricatural scene for Carlos Conceição’s subtle criticism and perverse language intrigue.

Unlike the tale, this is a satire that revolves around a lonely prince who keeps a shining heel that was left behind by Cinderella. However, he finds himself in an emotional dilemma: whether to search for the mysterious woman or to complete that hypnotizing pair of shoes.

Either way, Goodnight Cinderella isn’t a simple adaptation. Using a poetical speech, the Portuguese director uses the inner conflict of D. Luis and his emotional outbursts with D. Afonso to confront the audience with present-day social and political issues. Being set in the Romantic era, during the French invasion, the leading motto of this fable, as the director has described it, is:”we are who we eat, but we are also who eats us.”

Although the art direction could not shape the outdoor locations, the work done by João Rui Guerra da Mata deserves appreciation. It is the case for the wonderful selection of props- like the pair of heels, for example, that become almost a character in the story- but also because every element on the set is equally balanced with the histrionic dramaturgical conceptualization.

João Cajuda embraces with sheer determination the perversion and passion that his character demands.

An even though D. Luís’ triangle relationship with D. Afonso, Cinderella, and the pair of shoes can be considered anyway unrealistic and overacted, the viewers can genuinely identify themselves with the interaction between these figures, especially in the most grotesque scenes, where we can find, for example, D. Afonso delicately cleaning the king’s foot.

After three short films, including Versailles, which was selected for the Locarno Film Festival last year, and presenting us here with what looks like his most successful work so far, Carlos Conceição is already developing two feature film projects. This is totally understandable after the aesthetic and pictorial sensibility he proved to own. Even though representing an extremely difficult era to characterize, The Romanticism-inspired framing compositions and lower tone atmospheres remind us of Fuseli and Delacroix. That being said, the use of this style and the way it fully embraces the elements that define that period in history are the most valuable ingredients in Goodnight Cinderella.

With a linear and clear storyline, but nevertheless theatrically written, this feature-structured short film has its astounding beauty inside that shoe one woman formerly wore and D. Luís much desires. That shining shoe that reflects everything that a country sometime was and somehow still is. And with the coherent and relevant vision that Carlos Conceição presented us, we can say that there was a Goodnight for this Cinderella.

In a year where women issues seemed to be firmly on the agenda in Cannes, and even the main jury was headed by Jane Campion, it is no surprise that you had no lack of female directing choices in all competitions.

One of the most interesting cases was arguably Dea Kulumbegashvili, a young Georgian filmmaker who landed in Cannes with a film that has much to say about men as much as women.

It is hardly surprising school shootings have been repeatedly the focus of several films in the past years.

This sort of events not only dominate the news whenever they take place, but are also the source of much discussion on public debates arenas.

Lynn Ramsey´s We need to talk about Kevin, Gus van Sant´s Elephant and Ilmar Raag´s The class are notable examples, having covered the issue from so many different spectrums that you would think that there is little else to say about the theme. What is perhaps more astonishing is the delay with which the horror genre, usually first in line to portray such events, is taking to pick up on this. The wait is over though, with Spanish director Gerardo Herrero´s Safari announcing a first worthy foray into the sub genre, and with shocking results.

Safari narrates us an unfortunate day at an American high school, when a student armed with an automatic weapon, several gas canisters and a mask goes on a senseless rampage, killing students and teachers with equal gluttony. As in a real safari, he is ruthless and merciless, sparing not a living thing in his path.

The explanation does not vary from the standard. A particularly sensitive student, having been the target of humiliation in the past, losses his sense of perspective and seeks revenge and «justice» from his collective perpetrators. Surely it is not in the plot that Herrero stands out, even if it holds enough twists and cleverness, better left unspoiled, to make a film worth watching.

What really makes the film stand out are its cinematic qualities, raising much anticipation on what the filmmaker may have reserved for us in the future.

Safari is a filmmaking feast: exciting, exhilarating and frightening. It may lack the «reflectiveness» of Gun van Sant´s tour de force, or the insightfulness of Ramsay´s award winning film, yet, as powerfully as its predecessors, Herrero captures the horror of such a storm masterfully, making Safari stand on its own.

Jumping from claustrophobic close ups to wide angle shots that show us the extent of the massacre, the film is beautifully shot. The wide angles in particular are staggering, reminiscent of classic paintings describing horrific images. One in particular stands out, when the camera pans across the entrance hall of the school, where bodies lay around amongst dying gas canisters hopelessly still releasing whatever smoke they still hold. Herrero shows a keen sense for image composition, playing with the unique architecture of the school grounds to take the audience on a roller coaster of emotions.

There are downsides though, in particular the use of actors and narrator with strong accents. For a Spanish film trying to portray an American setting, the Spanish and British accents are more distracting then added value. Having said that, Safari is brilliant in how it plays with the horror of massacre with such splendour without ever resorting to exploitation.

Carlos Conceição, Portugal Official Short FIlms Competition

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Dea KULUMBEGASHVILI, Georgia Official Short FIlms Competition

Invisible Spaces sits us at a breakfast table of what apparently is an ordinary religious family. At a first glance there is nothing unusual. The children, the father and his wife share a discreet family moment up until tensions begin to surface. The patriarch, who is also an orthodox priest, quickly emerges as an oppressive figure, as soon as the wife attempts to restart an old negotiation related to her desire to study and work outside of the house. «The wisest of women builds her house» - says the husband, quoting some outdated religious text that to him is much more than spiritual guidance.

Regardless of his readily holiness he quickly turns things around by living her little option but to retire to their room for sex, just before living to comply with his parish duties. As she returns from her conjugal prison sacrifice, she tries to begin a singing lesson with her young daughter, who despite being too innocent to realize what goes on those walls, shows great determination in refusing to conform to her mother’s orders.

It is unquestionably a simplistically symbolic metaphor of the coming of a new generation of women who will most likely refuse to be as submissive towards men and authority as their ancestors were. Nevertheless it must be said it is terribly efficient.

As the mother is left crying in the same bed where she is almost forced by tradition to share with her oppressor, we understand her plight and lack of capacity to confront her pre-defined destiny. Kulumbegashvili is smart enough to create a genuine sympathy with her «martyrdom» and immense unhappiness, while at the same time it shows itself speechless towards the mother´s obedient and invisible nature.

Having said that, what perhaps makes Invisible Spaces a truly pertinent work, is how it opens the door exposing the hypocrisy of religious piousness, in particular of a man so apparently governed by a puritanical set of laws, and yet reveals himself as no different from most male sinners. By doing so the Georgian filmmaker shows us a keen sense of irony and a promising aptitude to deconstruct stereotypes, while at the same time is it shows us a piece of everyday life in the region.

Gerardo Herrero, Spain Critics’ Week

Les corps étrangers

Laura Wandel, Belgium Official Short FIlms Competition

by Alexandra Côrte-Real Almeida (Portugal) We are living in a time when image – projected or created - has a huge influence in ourselves as individuals; in the way we deal with it, knowing so clearly that we are constantly seen in so many ways.

Laura Wandel seems to be talking about this when she presents us an amputated man due to a war injury. We know right away that he is a photographer, and got hurt doing his job through a conversation with his physiotherapist. The plot is very clear and simple, and it almost seems to start by the end: everything has happened; now this man has to deal with the reflexes. And the drama focuses on this, on the daily life of someone who went through a certain event that changed his image and how does one recognize itself around others.

Set almost the whole time on a public swimming pool, where he exercises to evolve his capacities with these different possibilities, he doesn’t seem to fit in thought.

He is too self-conscious and himself is still learning how to exist as he is, rejecting and suffering with such change. How does someone who lived his whole life creating images and points of views finds a way to create a new point of view for himself, without hiding behind the camera?

It’s interesting and yet confusing how close the camera stands to the characters, almost every time showing only a small part of their body, or face, as if the director is trying to communicate a sensation rather than a story.

However, you can’t always choose a perspective of how such a man feels about his condition, nor an abstract look at body movements and their impact. In a way, when you choose to give such high priority to close shots you clearly are giving a much bigger relevance to wider shots when. That is why you feel disturbed in front of a long shot of the photographer slipping while going to the shower incrutches, in front of the physiotherapist gaze.

You feel the awkwardness and discomfort of the character, you see everything. And it’s almost like you didn’t have the right to be there - he is too exposed.

At the same time, another wide shot reserves enough symbolic and visual strength: a group of synchronized swimmers dancing in the water provides the first chance to see the beauty, as you know it, of the human body rising from underwater, with all it’s energy and vitality.

And it’s such a beautiful moment that you actually feel his pain, as you understand the context he’s in.

The fact that it all happens in the surroundings of a swimming pool is particularly important to the way the mood is set. The way the bodies move underwater and even outside, partially naked, exposed and slippery, has huge potential without being exploitative. The filmmaker is trying to raise questions instead of making assumptions. Despite the difficulties Laura Wandel is smart in the way she puts it all, although, for me, it’s still a little bit hard to be so close to the characters and, in a way, more than understand his problem, feel it.

The Last One

Sergey PIKALOV, Russia Official Short FIlms Competition

by Pedro Almeida (Portugal)

The Last One is the debut short-film of Russian director Sergey Pikalov, known in Russia for directing sitcoms and drama series. The short, produced and directed in Azerbaijan, tells the story of the last living veteran of the Second World War. Idris Rustamov, a distinguished Azerbaijani actor, plays the old man like he was born for the part, turning everything very convicting and touching.

Every morning the old man goes to the fridge, the only thing in his house that has some kind of presence. It works and it stops, it works and it stops, and that’s the only company he has.

The man lives alone, completely alienated from the rest of the world. Suddenly, when he is taking his bread and milk breakfast that a young boy brings for him every morning, he sees on his old TV that the last war veteran has died. Although nobody in the world is aware of it, this makes him, in fact, the true last veteran alive. But that doesn’t change anything for him, not even in his expression. The real problem for him is that the fridge, suddenly, stops working again.

The most important thing in this short film, without removing credit from its technical achievements, is the structure of the narrative. The Last One is not about the last veteran alive, but about an old man, living alone for several years, without talking to anybody for ages, that doesn’t do anything except laying down every night waiting to die. It just happens to be that he is really the last veteran alive and that nobody knows that fact- not even that kid that brings him food every day. It’s about a man and his fridge, about all those years that this object was the closest thing he had to companionship.

The Last One has a particular cinematography that adequately supports this simple but powerful narrative.

The interior of the old man’s house is shot in incredible tones of blue and brown that effectively create the proper atmosphere. The soundtrack is another essential element that helps greatly with creating and enhancing the mood. Alexey Aygi, the composer, is recognized as one of the most original composers for films of his time.

He already has a lot of notability in Russia, but also in Europe, where he works extensively alongside other famous artists.

The only problem that I find with this short film is that fifteen minutes pass by very quickly. With all these great components matching so well it’s inevitable to ask for more and to expect it. There are so many simple, but compelling things that we can take with us when leaving the screening room. Maybe extending the story to feature length would have given more space and time to show the strength of the director and would have better conveyed all his intentions. With The Last One, Sergey Pikalov manages to convince that he is one to watch for the future.

Aissa Clément Trehin-Lalane, France Official Short FIlms Competition

by Fernando Vasquez (Portugal) Considering the overflow of films on illegal immigration that are put out every year, you would think there is not much more left to reveal about the issue. If you agree with that you will be unquestionably surprised

by Frenchman Clément Trehin-Lallane´s new short film, Aissa, whose intimidating boldness took away a special distinction in Cannes this year.

Aissa could possibly be a young Congolese girl living illegally in an unknown area of France. At least that is her version of the story. The authorities obviously believe otherwise, and are eager to prove her real age in order to ship her back to Africa. It is a story we have heard over and over again. What few of us are aware of is how manipulative and intrusive is the process of discovering one´s real age, in particularly when we are conscious of the real implications of her expulsion from «Fortress Europe».

Disguised as a clinical analysis and diagnosis, we witness Aissa entering what first appears to be a common doctor’s check up. Soon forced to take her clothes off and analysed to the most uncomfortable and disturbing detail, she is objectified and transformed into a mere item for gaze and judgment.

There is much to negotiate amongst ourselves in Lallane´s film. The character´s embarrassment is distressing to say the least. Left with little choice, she is undressed off much more than her clothing. Her whole essence as a woman is exposed, not necessarily in a sexualized format, but unquestionably in a dehumanizing fashion.

The filmmaker chose to focus the screen solemnly on her figure. Behind it you hear the cold recording of the medic, numbering the several factors and particulars that lead him to conclude she is lying about her age.

In many different ways, his voice is our voice, the sound of society judging as it so often does, as if she was little more than a piece of flesh out there to be accepted or rejected. It is oddly reminiscent of behaviour we so often repudiate in far away cultures, yet it happens on a daily basis right on our doorstep.

Nothing is left to the imagination. Even the curves of her vagina is the target of exhaustive scrutiny. What first appears to be a dissertation on an illegal immigration is actually a film that refuses to be simplistic and straight forward, playing over and over again in mind well after you first watch it.

By exposing her on screen, Lallane´s camera is actually pointing the finger at us, exposing our lie and not hers.

As such, Aissa is a work of immense relevance and potency, an obligatory view that will force you to reevaluate many of the certainties you might have had regarding illegal immigration.

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“The beach in Cannes might be the biggest disappointment but that does not seem to deter all from a good read in the sun.�

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The Bigger Picture Daisy Jacobs, UK

Cinéfondation

Young British filmmaker Daisy Jacobs returned from Cannes with a major distinction at the Cinéfondation competition for her amazing The bigger picture. It is no particular surprise considering the strength of her animated portrayal of a family facing the hardest of challenges, staying together when death approaches. We had the chance to catch up with the filmmaker to find out the reason behind some of her decisions.

How did this production came about?

The starting point came when I had to write a script and I based it loosely on my family.

What I usually intend to do when I write a script is to work the technique into it.

The story is the most important, always, but I usually work on ideas and then build up from there into how the animation is going to work.

Review & Interview by Amadeu Pena da Silva (Portugal) 48

What can you tell me about the experience of making this film in your school´s context?

In film school they have several spaces dedi-

cated to students and I was lucky enough to get the largest base just for my film, for six months.

We had a massive stage and I was also lucky enough to win a BAFTA scholarship, so I got a motion control from my mentor, so we could use that in the film as well. It went ugly at one point, I nearly crashed into another set and it was quite scary.

Basically we had a lot of resources but I had to fight quite hard to get them initially. I had to convince lots of people that it was worth it.

Why did you decided to mix stop motion and painting techniques?

The reason why I did that was to merge the painted world into the real world, because if you do miniatures it creates a different texture and I also wanted to paint large. Then I realized that the characters needed to reach out into the space in order for them to be larger. And then I had to think how to do that, and that’s when the 3D arms came into play. Also I had to think about how would the characters stand in the middle of the room, so that’s when I painted the back

review

This year’s British National Film and Television School short film presence at the Cinéfondation competition was an animation that is as human as they could possibly be. The European institution has been consistently presenting successful shorts at major festival, capturing many awards and praise along the way, making it one of the most influential at the moment. This time around its presence in Cannes, The Bigger Picture, tells a story about the relationship between two brothers that changes after the death of their mother.

characters, gives this short film a powerful human touch as the story and the characters evolve.

The stop-motion animation with life-sized objects combined with painted characters, allows the difference between them to stand out, exalting them with human-like qualities. Adding to this, there is a real human story, which combined with the style of the characters, makes the audience maintain their sense of reality, without even realizing what they are witnessing is animation.

Both main characters represent an interesting contrast. One of the sons, the most caring and attentive, is particularly worried about the future of their mother, insisting on providing the best conditions he can. On the other hand, the other brother doesn’t seem to care that much and makes his best effort to avoid having to deal with it or to even be present at such crucial moment. They portray society and it’s responsibility towards «the other» in a simple yet very effective manner. The story does develop nicely around the fact that what at first looked as a growing separation, ends up being a unification in fact.

The Bigger Picture, as the title suggests, turns up being even bigger than what is shown on the big screen. The title also represents the particularly well crafted collective work achieved by all the members of the team, who combined all the different techniques and procedures.

Daisy Jacobs’s third short film, all of them animation, really succeeds in its own idea and objective. To tell a tale portraying the values of our society, using a humorous tone, while touching such serious matters isn’t that simple at all. The mixture of animation techniques, the life-sized sets and the painted

Taking all these factor into account it is not surprising at all that Jacob’s production was awarded the third prize in the Cinéfondation Section of this year´s Cannes Film Festival, in ex-aequo with Sourdough. The Bigger Picture is an experience that presents a pretty phenomenal result.

of the perspective, so they would look like they were actually standing in the room, so it was all about perspectives. We also had to match the lighting, which was very hard.

Then in the foreground we had actually the real set. Because of their life-size it meant we could put anything in, things looked more realistic, and also we could be much more experimental with the paintings.The main thing to me was this kind of need for the illustration to be real, so that’s where it came from.

What were your expectations while you were making this film?

Initially, I had drawings, some designs and miniature models, and from there we made some tests and they didn’t really work correctly. There was too much shading. While working with the team the lightning wasn’t exactly right as my set designer thought of it, so I had to work directly with her to get it back to how she wanted, so it could be consistent. I think my expectations were extremely high initially. That’s why we managed to get it how I wanted, but it did

To the success of this all important result, usually much easier to achieve with Live action structures, there is some kind of overpowering humanity flowing through the film. The script and the sets are intensely full of life.

take a lot of effort from everyone to do what I needed.

And now that you’re presenting it in a world class festival, what are your expectations?

Premiering at Cannes is wonderful because everyone gets to see the film and it’s a really prestigious festival. But the key for me, what I want the other people to get from it, is the sense of strangeness that this lifesized techniques add. For me, personally, the most important thing is to push this techniques further and I’ve got lots of ideas that I didn’t use on the short.

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Crocodile

review CANAL + WINNER

Gaëlle Denis, UK Critics’ Week

There is surely nothing more harrowing, heartbreaking, and ultimately more difficult to express than the grief of losing a child. It’s a subject no one wants to think about, let alone point a camera at and try to tackle artistically.

But that’s exactly what director Gaëlle Denis does in her BFI-backed short film Crocodile, a cinematic experience that seems to address the combination of wishful vindications and harsh realities that one must face when dealing with bereavement.

When school headmaster Simon (Michael Gould) is told that his teenage daughter has died while abroad on a gap year, he struggles to not only come to terms with life without her, but also with the reactions of those around him. The cause of his daughter’s death is not immediately revealed, allowing us to dream up all manner of horrors, but somehow none of them are quite so terrible as the truth: she was killed by a crocodile. As people try and fail to console him and tensions concerning blame surface with his wife, he slips into the confusions of his mind.

From there, Simon begins to realise that the only way he can cope with what’s happened is to displace his pain and confront the monster that caused it - by fighting a crocodile.

The 15-minute film is the perfect example of how time can be distorted by emotional attachment. Although Simon’s grief is undoubtedly endless, the minutes fly by due to the riveting story. We never learn how much time actually passes- perhaps a reflection of Simon’s own shut-off state of mind. But the film manages to address a number of issues with simplicity and poignancy: most importantly, the different ways that people approach loss. While his wife seeks to designate blame, Simon withdraws from society and into a somewhat surreal existence, only truly emerging when faced with a bizarrely frank discussion in which his colleague asks what happened to his daughter’s

body parts. His daughter’s friend who witnessed the accident expresses her sorrow via emoticons, which initially feels distasteful, but very quickly comes to feel like the most natural response for her (in a delicate nod to today’s generation and how we communicate).

Interestingly, it also touches on the strange idea of ‘jumping on the grief bandwagon’, a concept frequently seen on the likes of social media. People are quick to post their condolences online, and more often than not they didn’t know the victim well, or at all. Something about placing themselves in a position of grief, almost leeching off other’s legitimate pain, gives people a sense of belonging, and in Crocodile there seems to be a physical manifestation of that. A boy turns up at the parents’ doorstep desperate to confess his love for a girl he admits he wasn’t friends with, and a lady sobs into a tissue as Simon looks on bemusedly. It shows a real talent to inject humour into such a subject, and in scenes like these it’s achieved with ease.

Technically the film is beautiful, using wonderful light and colour contrasts to reflect both happier family times and the darker throes of depression. Sound is also used to great effect, and it delves much deeper than the haunting vocal harmonies that help to give the film its atmosphere. It’s particularly strong during the relaying of the accident- never seen on screen, it is imaginable all too well thanks to frightening soundscape. Even when Simon is alone, the relentless noise of water is suffocating, driving him towards his final confrontation.

The conclusion is vindicating and saddening, rounding off a very accomplished film that lingers in the mind.

by Robyn Davies (UK) 51

Moonless Summer Stefan Ivancic, Serbia

Cinefondation

Review & Interview

by Pedro Almeida (Portugal) 52

After a long development process, director Stefan Ivancic completed Moonlight Summer as his graduation film. He spoke to us about his journey so far, his directorial choices, but also the pressure of others’ expectations from a young director.

Where did the idea and purpose of making this film come from?

I started thinking about the script almost two years before making it, but the film is completely different from the main idea I had then. It was really difficult to write. I made another short-film, and only after that I went back to this. I did write it but, then again, the script is very different from the film. It’s kind of my way of working.

I think that you make a first film when you write it, a second film when you shoot it, and a third film when you edit it, and that’s your final one.

What about the actors? Where did you find them?

I prefer working with non actors. It’s difficult and it takes more time to find a good non-actor, but I work better with them. Two of them are acting students, and the main character, the young girl, a non-actor. The second guy was a camera student, and he had already done a feature film.

The main character, the girl, saw my previous film in a festival and she added me on Facebook.

After I decided who was going to play what, I gave them the script, they read it, but during the shooting I never had the script with me.

We discussed the scenes, and they just improvise on each situation. This works really well here, because all the actions are in one shot.

Why did you make this choice? Was it a specific style reference?

First of all it came from the making of this film, it doesn’t mean that I will always do it. Like my previous film, Moonless Summer is related to

review

Moonless Summer is the most recent short-film from the young Serbian director Stefan Ivancic, present in Cannes in the Cinéfondation competition. It was the fourth time in the history of the Serbian Faculty of Dramatic Arts that one of their students was present with a film in this selection.

Although it was the first time that their film was not awarded, Moonless Summer deserves unquestionably the highlight and the honor of being in this competition.

The film is about Isidora, a sixteen year old girl, who is spending her last days of summer with her best friend in a small country side paradise near the beach. Those are not just the last days of summer, but also Isadora’s last ones before she goes abroad. Everything is about to change, and these circumstances affect the girl emotionally, as well as psychologically. We see Isidora is a series of scenes having very personal and introspective moments, just going around from one place to another, thinking, crying, without much more happening.

When she meets a boy, we can see that a relationship between them would be possible. But at the same time, she is scared for what is going to happen in the future. Her friend insists, trying a subtle approach, that she must spend more time with the boy she has met. She follows the advice, but no matter

the way documentaries are made, by being associated with real life, especially because of working with improvisation. Imagine if in one scene I have 5 takes, one very different from the others; if I break the scenes and make more shots it would be impossible to work with improvisation like that.

What was it like when you found that your film was selected?

When they announced that the film was in this competition, I started receiving a lot of emails, but the feedback was especially from Serbia.

There is no money there for films, there’s no will for doing things. Of course we have some films, and things going on, but we almost don’t have cinema culture.

Being in Cannes is the only kind of news that can really help you. I hope being here now will help, let’s see..

how much time they spent together, nothing much happens.

The girl is still very young and she is still making her way though understanding everything that surrounds her, boys included. The scene when she asks the guy if she can smoke is a perfect example of that. All of these moments make the plot of Moonless Summer a very introspective, personal, and deeply observational one. The idea is there, but probably it needs to be more complex in terms of narrative to elevate the film to another level, to achieve more than meets the eye.

One thing that makes this short-film really appellative and gives it a unique touch is the way it is directed. The sequences are basically made in one-shot, without inserts of any kind, separated by pillow shots, or empty shots sequences of the environment that surrounds the action and the characters.

Due to this particular directing choice, the cinematography plays a really important role. It is one of the best-achieved aspects of the film, with a lot of beautiful wide shots. Generally speaking, Moonless Summer is technically flawless, which helps the audience to perceive it as not just a school film. Stefan Ivancic proves a lot of maturity in all his choices, whether they are good or bad, in the overall context they are well thought.

Is your goal to follow this short with a feature film?

Not really. I would like to make a feature film but I still don’t have any precise plans about that. I know for sure that I will do another short-film this year. I already have a script for a feature that I’m going to co-direct with a colleague, but I don’t see it like this big feature that I’m working on. It’s really low budget, only the two of us, two actors and that’s it. It’s the kind of film that you can do without any kind of pressure, and it probably will take more than two years. In a way by being here I feel more relieved about my future, but it also puts a lot of pressure.

Everyone wants to know when I will start making a feature. I will make things when I feel it’s the right time.

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“Cannes is all about not going unnoticed.

Wild hairstyles are definitely a winning tactic.�

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The Execution Petra Szöcs, Hungary/Romania

In Competition

Petra Szöcs is the woman behind one of the most striking short film on display at this year´s Cannes film festival, The Execution.

We could not let this chance pass us by without sitting down with the director to find out how an event such as the execution of Romanian dictator Nicolai Ceauscescu can be a launchboard for such a production.

How did you start thinking the story, and how did that turned into a film?

Review & Interview by Amadeu Pena da Silva (Portugal) 56

Actually, an image was the first to come up. I imagined the children dressed with the clothes worn in Ceausescu´s trial. That image moved the film further, and that’s how I constructed the story, an image after another. It was very fast. I just figured out a story in which children play the Ceausescu game and parallel to that exists a family drama, which makes you see the story in an elliptic way.

How difficult was it to make such a film?

It was with a small production company. We had some difficulties because all of us took more tasks than what we were supposed to. It was even more difficult because no one the production company didn’t speak any Romanian so we had to arrange everything, like telephones, booking the locations and so on. That was exhausting. And we couldn’t concentrate properly in our work but in the end we hired a lot of people to help out because we weren’t able to do everything. Yes, it was exhausting, a very hard shooting.

How did you feel directing such young actors?

It was very good and fun. I think we became really good friends and we still contact each other.

I liked it very much even though there were difficulties because they couldn’t always work twelve hours a day. But one of them was really very strong, the blonde guy, and the other two were sometimes very tired or not interested

review

This Hungarian-Romanian short film is presented to us with a very interesting plot and promising results. Set in Cluj, Romania, in 1990, three children play the re-enactment of the trial of Nicolae Ceausescu. This set up also portrays an elliptical aspect for the context of the country and the life of these kids through their relation with the family and their life at school.

Two of the children, Orsi and Örsi, are brothers with family issues. Because of their parents they have a big need for affection, the main reason why they choose to be together and stay apart from other children. On one side Örsi, the older brother, tries to be mature and deal with it, and on the other, Orsi, the younger sister, chooses bad behaviour. They take the re-enactment too seriously, leading them to put a third child, Roro, in a submissive position. By the finish line, the children end up hurting the boy with a pen inside the classroom.

Petra SzÖcs, writer and director of this short film, presents her third work with a very personal approach and non fiction feel. The story that’s told follows a real event and an important moment in world history. Almost documentary style, we are immersed in the locations and actions with great ease.

The way the film is shot ads a reality look-a-like feel to the characters and story, while the sound is used merely to help the flow of the film. The kids performances are extremely

anymore and we had to stop the shooting, choose to shoot with somebody else and then return to them. When you work with children I think the first or second takes are the best, because after that they get too much in the routine and the performance become less interesting. With the professional actors it´s the opposite, the fifth take was the best one. So it’s very difficult to manage this gap between professional actors and non actors children.

When I shoot together with both actors and kids it was very difficult because the kids became even worst and the actors even better. Those scenes were really very hard to edit because of this.

I took a great lesson from this.

Is there anything personal in this story for you, considering in the end you dedicated this film to your grandfather?

powerful, improving as the action progresses.

The Execution is a fragile short film though, because sometimes it’s difficult to understand the reason and the motif of why some things happen, requiring some knowledge and context in order to be fully understood.

Technically it is not particularly special. Cinematography and sound work are pretty standard, yet not in a bad way, even if occasionally one can find some failures in continuity.

The film triumphs on a well balanced personal development, as we can feel connected with its essence. There is something that catches the audience and helps making it through the film. The relations of the characters blended with the sets and the framing, gives the impression that something great might happen, with the actors standing out the most.

second shooting. So I decided to dedicate this film to him.

Was the final result what you expected from this film?

Well, it changed a lot during the film process. I wanted an elliptic film to give back the atmosphere of that period, 1990, after de execution of Ceausescu and I wanted it to be very natural.

Considering all the talk taking place here in Cannes regarding women directors, what do you feel about the increasing role women are playing behind the camera?

Well, I´m not very focused on this gender topic. But I hope gender isn’t a problem. I think if somebody is good it doesn´t matter if it´s a male or female.

Yes. The grandfather character is played by my own grandfather, which died in the 57

review

The Revolution Hunter Margarida Rego, Portugal - Critics’ Week

“There are stories that begin as if they already existed” - The Revolution Hunter is a poetic clash of generations between the present and the 1974’s Carnation Revolution in Portugal. Told through experimental means, it starts with a photograph from the revolution and a fictional dialogue between a young man, a revolutionist back then, and a young woman wanting to become a revolutionist now.

The man, whose will for revolution has faded like the strength of the ideas promoted, is handing over the responsibility to the girl. The structure is very simple, consisting of a suite of photographs from the revolution, narrated through voice over and sometimes interrupted by real sound recordings from 1974, although the questions raised are not simple at all.

Is the 25 year old girl living in a generation that lacks history? Is tragedy what the country needs to stand up for itself?

Through the journey in the midst of revolution, trying to find answers for herself, the director reaches briefly, but in depth, the malady of a generation, its inner voice and common limps, making a not so lucid but heartfelt analysis.

She brings out the idea that the Portuguese young generation, translated through her voice, can’t really be free because they cannot grasp the feeling of constraint. Tragedy can be the only true catalyst, and the lack of it leads to this heavy numbness. Today’s generation is abulic, floating from one situation to another, without real reaction. Perhaps the solution might be going back, finding in the past a motivation for the present, to hunt it down and make it their own.

The discovery, disarming, consuming,is that the words, transposed with no grounds, will never sund the same. so just add the second comma. The 58

chants of «fight”, “freedom”, “victory”, “united” have faded after 39 years and feel powerless coming out through her lips, even though they come from the same nation, same ancestral blood running through their veins, same heritage, same ground, same tragedies.

The starting point, the photograph that she wants to paint over and give it new meaning on an old foundation, embodies the essence of this introspection/discourse. On photography we can die repeatedly telling stories of the past or we can choose to act and write stories of our own.

The editing of the photos is very abrupt, giving a feel of uneasiness in connection with the narration. There are moments of total blackness that work very well, making the words really effective.

The idea of a revolution hunter appears from analysing the intent behind Picasso’s Guernica. The bull meant to represent the violence and suffering of the Spanish people during the civil war was meant to be hunted, but, then again, the bull, a repetitive symbol, transforms often into a man.

Animated by a feeling of nostalgia, she goes back trying to hunt that revolution, take it by its horns and inhale all the feelings, nuances and beliefs.

The 11 minute first short by Margarida Rego proposes an unconventional way of analysing a generation, even if a small aspect of it: the will to change, by an exercise of imagination, an exercise that brings out new truths, but still leaves one disarmed.

The circularity helps enhance the feeling of helplessness, beginning and ending with the same photograph of gritty buildings that once sheltered a revolution, it motivates with a hook the dedication to all the people that believe that another county is possible.

by Andra Gheorghiu (Romania)

review

Torn

Elmar Imanov-Engin Kundang, Germany-Azerbaijani - Directors’ Fortnight Torn waltzes into Cannes with a great pedigree behind it; co-director Elmar Imanov previously won a Student Oscar with his film The Swing of the Coffin Maker, while his latest is the first Azerbaijani production to enter into competition. It follows the dual stories of a father and son living in a city tower block in the city of Baku. The ‘Kid’ (Mir Movsum Mirzazade) is a curly haired, isolated boy who yearns to be a part of the neighbourhood football gang. Living alone with his father (Rasim Jafarov), the boy tries to enveigle his way into the posse through false bravado only to be humiliatingly knocked back by them.

While his father is absent he takes solace in the influence of one Travis Bickle, imitating his infamous mirror speech and shaving his effeminate locks off in an attempt to show his macho credentials. In the second part of the film, his father has a romantic rendezvous with a woman. The pair sit on the rooftop overlooking the night time city, sharing intimate stories and digging up old wounds. She recounts dressing up as a small child in fancy clothing, while he confesses an act of cowardice and the events of his wife’s death.

Initially the film comes across as a little cliched and perhaps even twee. The boy’s story is essentially a coming of age piece, where he learns to overcome his flaws and become one of the ‘guys’. It is in the second half of the film that things really click into gear, as we hear the father’s confessions to his date. We begin to see the fragility inherent in him, his doubts over his helplessness in

his relationship, and how this has clearly affected his son. This is where the film gains a quiet power; we see how one generation’s troubles has affected the next.

The acting is uniformly strong. Young Mirzazade manages to convey both an ebullient recklessness and a soft, timid centre as the troubled boy. Directors Elmar Imanov and Engin Kundag have succeeded in eliciting a naturalistic, nuanced performance from the young actor. Rasim Jafarov, as the doubting father, delivers a complex performance. In his dealings with his son he is tactile and serene, careful not to be too strict, yet with his date (Zulfiyye Qurbanova) he is open and emotional. We get the sense that she has many suitors to pick from, yet nothing substantial to speak of. The pair of them together seem like lost souls.

The film is a little reminiscent of the talky, confessional Before Sunrise trilogy. It has a leisurely and natural flow to it, and character and emotion are put at the forefront. The direction by Imanov and Kundag is unshowy, letting the actors and dialogue work their magic. There is no music and the shots are framed with an observational eye. While the film is enjoyably understated and nuanced, it lacks a real emotional punch to make it really linger in the mind. Many viewers might be attracted by the idea of getting a glimpse into the Azerbaijani way of life, but Torn feels more like a universal film than a distinctive representation of a lesser known nation.

by Rob Arnott (UK) 59

Sourdough Fulvio RIsuleo, Italy

WINNER 3rd prize cinefondation

Review by Martin I. Petrov (UK) Interview by Mirona Nicola (Romania) 60

Having your film selected in the Cinéfondation competition is a great accomplishment and boost for a young director’s career. The experience is that much greater when this is the first direct encounter with the film festival environment. It is the case for Italian director Fulvio Risuelo, who shared his experience of making Sourdough, as well as his thoughts on the short format and its influence on his future career.

Sourdough seems to revolve around the idea that “love goes through the stomach”.

The story is about a triangle, involving a woman, a man and the sourdough- which is the natural way to ferment yeast for bread.

Sourdough grows if you refresh it every day. In this story it does so, but in a different way- it starts to love the man, and he loves it back, creating problems in the couple. The sourdough becomes a supernatural object making the whole story surreal. But the way I chose to shoot the film is a very realistic one.

Why did you make this particular choice?

Shooting it like a fantasy film would have been an option, but for me this is something that is too big, that I can’t control. If I create a little story, centered on emotion and characters, with a small fantastic element, I can control it better. I don’t know about the future, but for now it was a way for me to be able to manage everything better.

Are you interested in continuing to make short films or do you see them just like an exercise to prepare for making features?

In the future I want to keep making shorts and features as well. Now with the web a lot of things have changed and there are a lot of opportunities, especially for very short films. When you make a short film in order to follow with a feature, you make a film that is like a showreel, because you don’t think about the story, but about its effect. Telling a story in a short film is a difficult thing to do. There is no time for a tale. So a short film is more like a poem- because it’s very short,

review

Short films have the power to transfer condensed emotions in a few seconds’ time, just like the best perfumes come in small bottles, they say. Sourdough is one of these small bottles that once opened, it consumes you in a world of feelings and starts a passionate intercourse with your senses. At the same time there is one single question that lingers around and needs to be answered: can we define true love?

Fulvio Risuleo depicts the story of a middle aged couple in an urban Italian landscape. They love each other; they adore exploring their relationship beyond the borders of contemporary conformities, in their pursuit of uniqueness and happiness.

Dino is a musician and one day, while clearing his piano, he discovers a small ball of sourdough stuck under the keyboard.

His partner, Anna, decides to preserve it in a glass jar in order to give joy to Dino who starts getting obsessed with his peculiar discovery. When on the next day he starts playing music, the sourdough responds to the melody and starts enlarging and bubbling in the jar, enchanting Dino with its unusual behaviour.

One of the thoughts that pass everyday through the human mind is: Am I loved? Do I feel alone, vulnerable or protected? In a game of instincts and feelings we try to find safe exits from insecurity and the maze of complexes surrounding it. Fulvio

Risuleo explains how small things in life can bring someone back in time, when joy used to be found in simplicity, love was measured with shared moments and people were not diving into the pool of materialism. As Dino’s obsession with the sourdough becomes uncontrollable and gradually transforms into a platonic love, passionate and dangerous emotions are being revealed, mixing with jealousy and spitefulness that poison his relationship with Anna.

In this surrealistic approach, the eternal esoteric discourse about searching for love in the wrong places takes central position and calls everyone on a personalised challenge. Both characters in the film are forceful incarnations of strong egos that collide knowing that only one can survive in the end. Basing the story on the perpetual fight between male and female is always a dangerous path, but Risuleo acts smartly and doesn’t pick a side in his attempt to show that maybe there can be balance and the winner does not always take it all.

Atmospheric, dynamic and extravagant with a uniquely traditional angle, Fulvio Risuleo’s graduating film from the Italian National Film School has a powerful long-lasting effect that won him the third prize in this year’s Cinéfondation section.

Sourdough generates laugh, anger, surprise and a sweet taste of freshly baked bread. Because after all love and food can equally control the mind and body like nothing else.

I like the idea of diegetic music, but it depends on the project. In this film, it changes the movement of the sourdough. So I could not add extra-diegetic music without confusing the spectators. I created with the actress the Song of the Bread, which in the Is that a path that interests you- experi- story is like a magical incantation making the sourdough move. I like to use music like menting with such formats of shorts?

I am interested in commercials more than a narrative element, not just with a decoravideoclips, because you are freer when you tive role. are not conditioned by the music. For me that is the problem, because I like the sound It is the first time you present a film in a to be realistic- when you have the music, festival. What do you expect from the experience of being in Cannes? you miss a part of the communication.

Commercial videos are a different world, I am Italian, and Italian film is very sick now. where you have little time, but you have I want to make a film in Italy, but I want it to a lot of resources- in the good cases- and be an international film. I have had a good you have the freedom to experiment a lot reception of this film, but also others, from of things. It’s nice to follow the new visual French viewers. I would like to collaborate with France to make a next film. So I am also language developed in that area. here to meet people to achieve that goal.

Going back to music, in your film you But I am trying to meet them in a natural only use diegetic music, which has a very way, not in parties. important role. you have a few elements and an accent on emotions. I like a lot the work of Michel Gondry or Spike Jonze, who created their careers on the short format- especially commercial and music videos.

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Credits Director of Publication Fernando Vasquez Editors Fernando Vasquez Mirona Nicola Writers Alexandra C么rte-Real Almeida (Portugal), Andrei Sendrea (Romania), Bernardo Lopes (Portugal), Martin I. Petrov (UK), Rob Arnott (UK), Simran Hans (UK), Pedro Almeida (Portugal), Amadeu Pena da Silva (Portugal), Katharina Kamleinter (UK), Robyn Davies (UK), Andra Gheorgiu (Romania), Fernando Vasquez (Portugal) Photographers Alexandra Fechete (Romania), Alexandra C么rteReal Almeida (Portugal), Fernando Vasquez (Portugal), Francesca Merlo (Italy) Design and Layout Francesca Merlo (Italy) Special thanks to Anna Smith, Lee Marshall, Christine Aim茅, Jean- Charles Canu, Dany de Seille, S茅bastien Lerique from Les Arts Graphiques and everyone involved in the production of the workshop and this ebook This is a publication of

With the support of

With the support of the Youth in Action of the European Union. This project has been funded with support from the European Commission. This publication reflects the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein.

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