Nisimazine
edition 1
review 5th September 2014
VENICE
the magazine by NISI MASA - European Network of Young Cinema
Loin des Hommes A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence Sivas Hungry Hearts Labor of Love 1 from Hungry Hearts by Saverio Costanzo
edition 3
Editorial
CREDITS NISIMAZINE VENICE 26/08 - 6/09 2014 Edition of 5th September 2014
The point of view I finally walk inside the room, after running up to the third floor press-room to ensure a spot for myself to have my daily photo-checking moment. I mostly notice that I’m surrounded by serious faces focused on screens, and I can hear the silent noise of fingers typing. The press conference is almost over. Just a few people in the room are reading. Some others are clearly waiting for their electronic devices to be fully charged in the short time between screenings.
The chats I had with the girls at the box office unfortunately confused me even more then the enigmatic info on the program, which i assume is written in a binary language. It came clear that the best way to find my way was to get up and walk around, exploring the festival corners with the same thrill and curiosity that kicks in when moving into a new undiscovered part of a city. Camera in my hands, badge on my neck and eyes wide open.
I walk around for a while before I can find an empty seat near two men. One of them is a big, well-dressed up guy. His folded tripod and huge black duffle bag fill all the space around to sit as comfortable as possible. He shows his impatience and hastiness when he retrieves all his stuff and loudly talks to someone on the phone. I can’t help but open up my ears and recognize a British accent that quickly disappeared out of the room.
The best way I found to light up the interesting side of the Festival is to take a lot of time to go around, indeed. The easy job lies around the corner over shots of guards, random people waiting for movie stars and colored badges around necks. But taking time, looking closely and changing eyes with a fresh new pair is an essential part of the job. And, at the end, you’ll surely have some stories to tell and some pictures to show for it.
Since I landed in Lido for the 71st Venice Film Festival, the number of photographers and cameras I came across while being around the event sites is incredibly high. As I’m experiencing the festival from a photographer’s point of view, questions easily started to pop up in my mind after realizing my cool blue badge is literally not an ‘open all doors’ scepter. Will that big guard in the corner allow me to go through there? Will I be able to enter the Sala Grande alone? Also, can I enter all the film theatres like my other colleagues?
My stories are about huge elegant guards that easily open the gate with a crooked smile behind their mirror sunglasses. Screening rooms that welcome me just if I hold my ticket high. Very kind press agents, even if they always have to hurry you up. Directors open to be photographed, especially if at the very end I show them their best profile and avoid to be the creepy girl that stands still with the camera, hidden behind a tree. Francesca Merlo (Italy)
EDITORIAL STAFF Director Fernando Vasquez Coordinator Mirona Nicola Layout Francesca Merlo Contributors to this issue Tara Karajica, Vassilis Economou, Lilla Puskás, Martin I. Petrov, Mirona Nicola, Francesca Merlo NISI MASA European Network of Young Cinema 99 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Denis 75010, Paris, France +33 (0)1 48 01 65 31 europe@nisimasa.com www.nisimasa.com www.nisimazine.eu A magazine published by NISI MASA in the framework of a film journalism workshop for young Europeans Special thanks to Michela Lazzarin and Alberto Barbera
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.
© Francesca Merlo
Picture of the day
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review
Loin des Hommes(Far from Men)
David Oelhoffen, FRANCE - Venezia 71 1954. The Algerian war, a fight for independence and decolonization opposing Algerian nationalists – gathered under the flag of the National Liberation Front – to France, had just started and David Oelhoffen sets his new film, Far From Men, precisely against this backdrop and at this moment in history. Loosely based on Albert Camus’s short story, The Guest, the film follows Daru, a colonial schoolteacher, tasked with transporting Mohammed, an Arab farmer accused of killing his cousin, to trial. Oelhoffen translates Camus’ story to the Western genre very craftily indeed. Although not as tense or energetic as most Westerns, his decision to approach his new work as a two-hander horse piece set in Algeria proved to be a highly inspired one. Nevertheless, he emulates very basically the Western genre, does not shift throughout the entire film, trying too hard to bring out comparisons to the genre and its humour, and gives his film a rather slow pace. Far From Men transmits well, yet insufficiently, the characteristic feature of Camus’ story, that of existentialism, even though it tackles the subject of (national) identity and the sense of belonging to one place or another. In addition, Oelhoffen deals with the main themes of his source material with sensibility and sensitivity. In fact, Daru chooses whether or not to turn the prisoner in while the condemned character, in turn, chooses between going to jail or remaining free. His choice can also be seen as a “damned-if-youdo, damned-if-you-don’t” type of situation. He makes his decision based on what he believes to be the right thing to do. The fact that he will be punished for doing the right thing does not make it any less right. Yet another theme is covered here as well, perhaps more than the others, one suggesting that complete neutrality is unattainable. This is evidenced by Daru’s attempt to avoid making a decision, one that Mohammed ends up making for him, thus forcing him to lose his neutrality. We should not forget however that Daru’s way of fighting is teaching and he does not want to play a direct role in this war. However present the dilemmas are, they are only so superficially. The inner struggles of the protagonists are there but, unfortunately, they are not conveyed strongly enough, which may appear somewhat problematic for a film based on an existentialist piece of writing.
Through the French and Algerian controversies, that at the time of the author’s writing, were at its climax, the fighting between these two opposite camps displayed Camus’s sense of freedom, and Oelhoffen certainly tried to make this come through, shedding some light, however small, on Algeria’s struggle for independence. But also, the film resonates with contemporary significance with the ongoing Israel-Gaza conflicting situation. As far as the acting is concerned, Viggo Mortensen delivers a humble yet dignified, subdued and very precise performance, showing once again his linguistic versatility (for those who follow, he also speaks Elvish, Spanish and Danish, among many others). We know Reda Kateb as the brutally tortured prisoner in Zero Dark Thirty, and here, his role is not very different; although he does get the opportunity to show a little more of his evident acting skills. It would definitely be interesting to see and know him beyond the role of a captive as he runs the peril of being moulded in this particular range of roles. Guillaume Deffontaines’ extraordinary cinematography is perhaps the film’s best feature. Through a contrasted and sharp lensing, he shows us spectacular vistas of sunsets and sunrises of the Algerian High Plateau. Oelhoffen treats them in a similar manner as John Wayne did Monument Valley and the Mohab in his own films, but succeeds in amplifying through them the moral concerns the protagonists face throughout the story as well as the dryness and dustiness of the setting. Khadija Zeggaï’s costumes are top-notch, while Warren Ellis and Nick Cave’s unpretentious yet evocative score contributes to highlighting the existentialism within Camus and Oelhoffen’s operas. All in all, Far From Men is an impressively shot, visually beautiful and moving film about existentialism, choices and dilemmas. Ultimately, life is about making decisions and choices. Tara Karajica (Italy)
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review
even meet King Charles XII before and after the battle of Poltava. As it is expected the plot is quite irrelevant to the final result since the film is so visually powerful and it could be considered as an act of Andersson’s perfectionist stylization. The austere picturesque aesthetic that is quite present in these 39 vignettes of the characters’ lives creates a parallel uniquely obscure reality. Everything is of course seen through an offbeat absurd prism that Andersson masterfully handles. The nearly eerie tableaux vivants host his pale almost dead-like coloured heroes that, with minimal dialogues and movements, are following a vagarious rhythm of acting. Pigeon could easily be an oeuvre to minimalism since this is the predominant characteristic of the whole film. It is present in every visual aspect and it even extends to the camera that always remains still for each of these one-shot scenes.
A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence Roy Andersson, SWEDEN - Official Competition Despite the fact that his career extends over almost 40 years, Roy Andersson still remains one of Sweden’s most sought after directors. He gained international attention in 2000 when Songs from the Second Floor was released. This was also the first part of his loosely connected Living Trilogy. He continued in 2007 with the second part of the series, You, the Living. Seven years later Andersson concludes his trilogy with the final part entitled A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence. The title, that could be interpreted as a bit pretentious, is actually a reference to the painting The Hunters in the Snow by Pieter Bruegel and should be taken as joke. Following the trilogy’s tradition the film doesn’t really follow any strict storyline since it is composed of 39 autonomous scenes, all taking place in small minimalistic boxed-shaped settings. Thematically every story could extend into different topics starting from everyday problems till philosophical questions on human existence, about life and death. For that reason there are no literal main heroes, at least not in the traditional way. Apart from some characters that tend to reappear in other stories, only Sam (Nils Westblom) and Jonathan (Holger Andersson) are really present for the whole film. They are working as salesmen and they are constantly promoting their novelty grotesquely funny items. During their routes they should deal with their own philosophical indigence and they will
For the connoisseurs, Pigeon is a pure “Anderssonian” film in the essence of all of his previous work and with that in mind the viewer should expect some real moments of drama, gruesome jokes and even comic strips of black deadpan humour. It is really hard to put a genre label over this kind of extravagant work of art. For that reason it is a perfect anti-hero film and the right place for the noncomedic duo of Sam and Jonathan to shine. Even if their goal is to make people happy and entertained, they themselves are the most depressing caricatures of this world. They act like a gloomy flipside of Laurel and Hardy, or, as the director stated, a modern day variation of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Their own existence is based on their mission and reflects on the others’ reactions even if their lives could unfortunately been taken as boringly granted.
A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence could easily be the best finale to a witty and extremely unpredictable trilogy. It doesn’t have either the bleakness of Songs from the Second Floor or the dreamlike sequences of You, The Living but it feels strangely closer to reality and is the most approachable and understandable of the whole series. Certainly Andersson doesn’t simplify his material and he is still exquisitely capable to offer the demanded awkwardness to his audience by capturing the most evident observations in the most unorthodox way possible. Vassilis Economou (Greece)
9° EDITION
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edition 3
review
inhumane blood sport appears as a form of entertainment and a popular, or maybe even unique, way to make money. As the village headman mentions in the film: “Fighting is the dog’s job”. Quite unfairly, the movie keeps avoiding emphasizing the danger of these fights, representing dogs as kind of immortal creatures, which are able to recover repeatedly.
Sivas Kaan Müjdeci, TURKEY/GERMANY- Venezia 71
Aslan’s character is very unconventional: he is not obedient like usual children protagonists in this sort of film, but headstrong instead. Uncommonly in Turkish culture, he is sometimes even disrespectful to older men. He is even more mature than most of the inhabitants in his village, whose daily activities don’t differ much from the children’s habits. Besides blurring the border between the generations, this way of representation also suggests the lack of chance for making any progress in the future. It is laudable that Müjdeci represents the Turkish community without judging it from a western perspective. He avoids the creation of the east-west opposition, which is often present in TurkishGerman movies.
As the only newcomer in the main competition, the Berlin-based Turkish director, Kaan Müjdeci already had the attention of the critics before the premiere. His promising debut, Sivas is a story of a little boy’s coming-of-age, assisted by his developing friendship with a Kangal shepherd dog.
Müjdeci shot the movie in Anatolia with non-professional locals, which helped him to develop the fresh and natural dialogues. The main quality of the movie is the acting of the young talent Dogan Izci, who reproduces the inconsistent behaviour of an early teen very genuinely. His vivid, accurate play fills the screen from the beginning until the end.
The story follows Aslan (Dogan Izci), an eleven year old child in a remote Eastern Anatolian village. Just like others of his age, he longs for the attention of his environment: adults, friends, and especially a certain girl from his class. After observing a dogfight, he finds a badly wounded dog, Sivas, and takes him home to help it to recuperate. Sivas makes him popular among his schoolmates, even the secretly loved Ayse (Ezgi Ergin). Soon the dog outstrips Aslan’s other interests and duties. When Sivas turns out to be extraordinarily powerful, Aslan’s elder brother decides to send it to the dogfights to make some money. Despite some strong factors, other elements of the script could be more elaborate. For instance, the disappearance of the parallel storylines all at once is disturbing, as it leaves too many open questions.
The plot and the visuals go hand-in-hand by focusing on the child. Armin Dierolf and Martin Solvang often shoot from Aslan’s eye-level, using his perspective. Memorable close-ups and unusual compositions recall the way a child perceives the world, just like admiring unimportant details of the environment under a magnifying glass. The portrayal of Aslan’s insecurity while looking for his place in the world is supported by the significant usage of a handheld camera. From time to time, the two camera operators let the auto focus work freely and make some elements temporarily blurred, giving the impression of intractability, but also playfulness.
The director already made previous research on dogfights, in particular in his short documentary Fathers & Sons. This time around, the
Despite the script’s mistakes, Sivas excels for its unique portrayal of such lifes and its courageous approach to cultural traditions, making these two factors a great introduction to a rising filmmaking career. Lilla Puskás (Hungary)
is confronted with lifetime decisions, where the whole family no longer stands on the front line.
Hungry Hearts Saverio Costanzo, ITALY- Venezia 71 An Italian girl and an American boy meet accidentally in a Chinese restaurant in New York. The amusement of the first conversation is a corny, light-hearted lead to their upcoming future as a couple. Giving you a plain dose of a typical love story, Hungry Hearts tricks you with its misleading rom-com opening, giving an under the belt punch with what is about to follow. Jude (Adam Driver) and Mina (Alba Rohrwacher) make a conventional New York couple, living the dream of being together and building a dream for the future. Mina suddenly finds out that she has to move away for work and the happiness is swiped away, only to find out some weeks later that she is pregnant and another unplanned event changes their common life forever. But thank god, in this case forever means just 9 months. Shortly after the child’s birth, Jude discovers that Mina is obsessed with the idea of cleansing the baby from the toxic environment it is raised in, by feeding it with oil that prevents its growth. Scared for the child’s health, he secretly consults a doctor and a social worker and
Costanzo builds a strong maternal figure, a character for which is hard to decide if compassion or resentment is the most accurate sensation to feel. On the grounds of overprotectiveness and love, the young mother develops an obsession which soon transforms her into a monstrous contemporary version of Medea, ignoring the stimuli coming from the world outside the apartment. Determined that she knows better her child’s needs, independently of the proof for its malnutrition, Mina establishes a barrier between her husband and herself, monitoring and interpreting every single move as a harmful attack. Alba Rohrwacher’s transformation from a girl next door to an utterly depressed caricaturesque figure, opens up the potential of the film’s quiescent tones. Although never explained clearly, Mina’s state seems like an intense form of postpartum psychosis, a condition when a mother suffers from severe depression and is unable to control her emotions, which might result in hurting the new-born. In terms of presenting the full potential of the illness and the psychotic behaviour, which occurs gradually, Costanzo fills up the linear diegesis with unpredictable details that happen to maintain the smoothness and give a conventional yet well-developed storyline. Some balanced indoor and outdoor shots, all in wintery and cold days, contribute to a moody, dark and depressive atmosphere, only disturbed by mostly silent dialogues. Clearly stating his intentions, the Italian director starts missing the point towards the end by integrating some wanna-be horror details, when Mina starts seeking her child, transferred to Jude’s mother for protection. Ended up with a sitcom/thriller effect, the result is hilariously off-putting, smashing the believability of the previous development.
Hungry Hearts scratches the surface several times hoping to find an interesting angle to catch on, but although the title finds an efficient explanation, the film hardly manages to feed the soul. Martin I. Petrov (Greece)
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Labor of Love Adityavikram Sengupta, INDIA Venice Days,Opera Prima competitions
edition 3
review
S
ometimes we don’t go to the cinema either to escape reality, nor to get immersed in it. We might sometimes want films that will entertain us without relying on humour; a ‘feel-good’ movie that approaches cliches kindly, building on them rather than just exploring their capacity as gimmicks that save the screenwriter from a dead end; a story that is simple without being simplistic. These films are definitely not easy to make, despite the fact that they are not the kind that push the limits of filmmaking or experiment with those.
There were quite a few viewers who couldn’t be bothered to sit through the entire screening of Labour of Love. For many, the film was maybe too straightforward in it’s destination in terms of story. For some it was undoubtedly too slow. Those who did sit put until the end were treated to a simple but powerful love story, told with subtlety, one that stands proof of the many crafts involved in bringing a film of such visual beauty to the screen.
Labour of Love is neither cutting corners, nor going to great lengths to go around them. The viewer is put in context as straightforward as possible: we are in India, where the economic recession has lead to mass lay-offs and sent people out on the streets to protest. For many, a job is presently their most priceless possession, one they feel privileged to have and are willing to go at great lengths for. While the two characters spent most of the time engaged in labour of some sort, the film is not about that, but about those precious few minutes when they don’t. What is at stake in the film is pretty clear in the first few minutes. She goes to work in the morning. At that point, he has returned from his night shift work (in a newspaper press, as we will later discover). As she goes about her work in a handbag manufacturing workshop, he rests, he goes about mundane chores such as lining the laundry or going for groceries, to ultimately start preparing to leave for work just as, on the other side of town, she’s waiting for her workday to end to head home. As light changes for dark, so does the presence in their house. She’s now there, preparing to go to bed and sleeping. She wakes up in the morning and does her share of house work- cooking, laundry, mending ripped trousers.
The mundane transpires in every image, familiarity and routine in every movement. It’s all very much like a conveyor belt, where every next worker tightens a little screw or adds a little part. But in his ably stylized images, camera movement, and editing, Sengupta manages to inoculate these activities down to particular gestures with a sense of affection. It is not exaggerated to consider the director’s merit in all these areas, as he also contributed to the camera work and edited the film. Arranging the groceries and cooking in particular gain an almost ritual connotation. Grains and spices are poured into jars and boxes like the sand in an hourglass, their colors and textures filling the whole screen, their rattling sound speaking not of bounty, but of gratitude. They are ultimately mixed in the right proportions in order to compose a meal that becomes a form of communication between the husbands. Sengupta doesn’t go out of his way to mislead the spectator building to some sort of plot-twisting reveal. With no dialogue (‘show don’t tell’ done by the book), but adequately complemented by mostly intra-diegetic sounds and music, objects and actions speak for themselves. The sounds of the neighbourhood barge in at all times, and while they are sometimes deliberately causing disruptions in the narrative, they are mainly there to keep us reminded of all the context around this bubble that the film focuses on. In addition to sounds, meaning is conveyed subtly through colors, or through the length of the shots- they are predominantly long ones, either naturally, or through the use of slow motion. The simplicity and visual beauty of the film are magnetic as much as they are refreshing. Emotion is created and supported not through the extraordinary, but through it’s opposite. It makes up for a slow buildup, without feeling like it’s dragging along. In style and in theme it reminds of both The Lunchbox and Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood for Love. While these and other influences are clearly at work here, Adityavikram Sengupta does not quote, but rather paraphrases, proving narrative and visual sensibility uncanny for a debuting director. Mirona Nicola (Romania)
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