Nisimazine Venice 2014 #1

Nisimazine

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review 1st September 2014

VENICE

the magazine by NISI MASA - European Network of Young Cinema

Birdman She’s Funny that Way Melbourne The Look of Silence

from Melburne by Nima Javidi

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Editorial One common theme seems to be reoccurring in many of the films on display at this year´s edition of the Venice International Film Festival.

Everywhere you look you find older characters in search of new meaning to their lives, new beginnings and, perhaps more important, a quest from recognition by his or hers pear.

In the opening film for instance, Birdman by the Mexican superstar director Alejandro González Iñárritu, we witness the incessant and sometimes neurotic attempts by an actor, haunted by its past success, to assure a sense of legacy and artistic recognition. Perhaps even more notoriously, Al Pacino, who came to Venice to represent no less than 3 films, embodies this hunt in many different ways. First in Barry Levinson’s The Humbling he performs the part of a retired actor who finds some sort of love in the harms of a much younger lesbian, while in David Gordon Green’s Manglehorn he is an old man troubled by a failed and long lost love affair that stops him from engaging on any real meaningful relationship.

With so many such examples it is hard to not find parallels between these films and the festival itself.

Venice is the oldest film festival in the world. For over 70 years it has been at the helm of a circuit that has kept the film flame alive through many

CREDITS NISIMAZINE VENICE 26/08 - 6/09 2014 Edition of 1st September 2014 crises and golden eras. With an ever-increasing and powerful competition coming particularly from across the Atlantic Ocean, it is now struggling to maintain itself as one of the most relevant and essential film events on the planet.

Yet, just like Al Pacino, despite some bad scripts and not so creative set ups, it still pulls off quite an impressive show. There is no substitute to experience and character, and Venice has more than enough of both to distribute it around and shine like few others. That is what makes this the ultimate survivor of the film industry. Companies, events and trends come and go, but Venice stays strong.

It may have recently felt the need to change its paradigm by finally creating a film market 3 years ago, but despite a change in logic and attitude, it maintains its essentials: a profound and unlimited love for great cinema and a focus on the films itself.

The film industry is not exactly famous for recognizing value soon enough. Perhaps in the case of this “old lady” it will be quicker to understand how the festival circuit has always been and it will always be in debt to Venice.

by Fernando Vasquez (Portugal)

EDITORIAL STAFF Director Fernando Vasquez Coordinator Mirona Nicola Layout Francesca Merlo Contributors to this issue Martin I. Petrov, Elena Aya Bountouraki (photographer), Marta Tudisco, Fernando Vasquez, Mirona Nicola 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.

Picture of the day

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Birdman

review

Alejandro González Iñárritu, US - Venezia 71

On the huge screen a girl named Sam (Emma Stone) yells at her dad’s face (Michael Keaton) the truth about his pointless, miserable life. On the row behind, a man shouts “Bellissima, bellissima”. Drums are banging, Broadway theatre lights are falling from the roof and Edward Norton gets a hard on onstage. If you need time to decide whether you’re feeling puzzled or not, you’re not the only one.

Mexican director Alejandro G. Iñárritu opens this year’s Mostra with an out-of-his -watersloud, hilarious and utterly extravagant insight on the psychedelic world of a Broadway actor who performs an ultimate attempt to revive his career from the ashes.

Michael Keaton is Riggan Thompson, the lead of the successful Hollywood hit «Birdman», his only professional moment fondly remembered by the crowds. Some decades after, Riggan still struggles to escape the shadow of being “Birdman”. Convinced that the last play he’s trying to get on stage will reboot his career, Thompson finds the perfect match for his protagonist in the face of Mike (Edward Norton).

As the final days before the opening night roll out, the long kept fierce and desperation starts kicking in the most grotesque way. Not afraid to attack openly the multibillion film and theatre industry, Iñárritu sets up an incredibly humorous comment on the “lost in translation” lives of his Broadway players, with a simultaneous dramaturgic approach infiltrating the storyline. He builds up an interaction between the story performed on stage and the one behind the curtains that is always more shocking and bizarre. Blended in a hurricane of suppressed personalities and hidden dreams and desires, Iñárritu unfolds all the shiny wrapping and artsy glamour, discovering his characters’ inner reality, which includes the same, if not wider, palette of feelings and emotions with ours.

Riggan is followed on every step by his “Birdman” alter ego, which being ‘Deus ex machina’ and his death sentence at the same time guides him towards the desired rebirth. Mike is strongly suffocated by his attempt to balance his character’s life with his own, thus he actively prefers living the dream than wandering in reality. Riggan’s daughter Sam (Emma Stone), an ex-drug addict is her father’s personal assistant representing a new generation of social independence seeking youth, and Lesley (Naomi Watts) as Norton’s ex-wife and co-star are the strong

female presences, adding a glorious dose of kick-ass emotional outbursts, used to dress up the complexities and vulnerability of their sensitive nature.

Apparently Iñárritu’s most visual film so far, Birdman is his console for experimentation. The protagonist’s vivid imagination demanded unexpected visuals, which apparently need to be there. Although creatively mastered, they seem an unnecessary part of the attack against Hollywood, already tailored with priceless dialogues and well balanced performance comments. The glorious extravaganza of Hollywood and Broadway gathered together, create on their own an atmosphere of a boisterous manifesto, where dimensions become blurry lines. On a marathon of madness we jump from the stage and the theatre corridors straight in the vastness of New York City, where the loneliness can be so easily underlined.

Whereas some years ago we would talk about a division between Hollywood and indie cinema, today we can easily set the scope on the battle between Hollywood and those who unscrupulously point out all its faults and inadequacies. In terms of joining this war zone, Iñárritu does it through a more sophisticated perspective than Cronenberg did some months ago with Maps to the stars. Using Broadway as a stage, he puts Hollywood in the epicentre of his smart, direct and boisterous humour. Both directors, though, build a plot around a single character, surrounded by a complex web of parallel stories, important for the flow but unable to stand out on their own.

Experimenting with self-reflexivity in cinema, Iñárritu exposes his full star-cast without being exploitative or humiliating, but rather compassionate. The strong criticism and cynical black humour is omnipresent and at times exaggerated, but is definitely one of the strongest elements of Birdman’s formula of a film based on the interaction of the authentic with the imaginary.

Giving way to vanity and social madness in contemporary New York of glamour and unlimited chances, Birdman is about the perilous games of the human mind, about recreation and sentimentality in times when we tend to “confuse love with admiration”, as the dialogues tremendously remind us.

by Martin I. Petrov (Greece)

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obsessed with her to the point where he has to hire a private investigator, none other than Josh’s father.

Bogdanovich leaves no room for unpredictability in bringing back to the top the old-fashioned american comic genre from the 50s. Throughout the entire movie, you can take a deep nostalgic breath and have a look at contemporary time which is nonetheless still imbued with the magical taste of the old american dream inspired by Audrey Hepburn.

The coloured opening credits, reminding of 60s American TV shows, immediately suggest a melancholy scenario: the story itself is told in flashback. Isabella sits in front of a journalist, giving a detailed interview about her successful path that has brought her to be now the muse a famous Hollywood director, who stars here in a surprisingly unexpected cameo. Yet, there is a good balance between male and female roles, quoting back again to the typical frickleness of the 50s comedies, where it was actually normal for men to hang out with escorts and for their wives to get mad at them.

She’s Funny that Way Peter Bogdanovich, USA /Out of competition Do good and forget about it. There will come a time when all chickens come home to roost. And it will cause you some funny troubles. Venice International Film Festival signals Peter Bogdanovich’s return to the big screen after his last feature, The Cat’s Meow (2001), with She’s funny that way, this time to give the audience a handful of laughs, in oldschool Hollywood style.

In this twisted game of glitches and misunderstandings, we are thrown inside of New York’s magical and intimate atmosphere, where the destinies and the lives of his protagonists mix in the strings of a sophisticate comedy about second chances, or better, about how to take advantage of the rare lucky four-leaf clover, in order to chase your dreams and find the right place in the world.

The story, told in flashback, revolves around Arnold (Owen Wilson), a Broadway play-writer with the small vice of taking to heart the unfortunate stories of young call girls. Occasionally moved to pity by their miserable condition, he asks them what their biggest dream is and then makes this come true, by giving them a large sum of money that will help them achieve it. The story could end there, but it is not what happens with Isabella (Imogen Poots) an escort whose dream is to become a major star in Hollywood. Her path crosses not only Arnold’s, but also that of the whole crew that includes his wife, Delta (Katherine Hahn); Seth (Rhys Ifans) the charming main actor who is madly, but not too secretly, in love with Arnold’s wife; Josh (Will Forte), a romantic scriptwriter involved in a destructive relationship with Isabella’s hilariously neurotic psychiatrist (Jennifer Aniston) who is treating also an old man

The key for this comedy is: “laugh for the good sake of laughing”, and not for the lame sake of vulgarity. You can consider it either a conventional comedy- for its brilliant and easy-to-chew plot- but also an unconventional one, when compared to today’s Hollywood comic movies based on a strong taste for two-bit vulgarity.

In fact, the dialogues are sharp and crisp and each line is well within the logic of each character, without ever looking inappropriate, also thanks to the brilliant interpretation of each member of the cast acting in New York’s living set. The only flaw was in photography and set design, at times figuratively poor, not actually suggesting much more information about the characters and their backgrounds. But maybe this is because the whole story is a product of Isabella’s memories and she is recalling what she knows about these people: basically nothing, except that, in a way, they have changed her life for good.

Owen Wilson plays a rough-sketch role: he is a benefactor who finds the spark in every woman and tries to feed it with trust and self confidence.

He should have had more space to motivate the need for his actions.

On the other side, there is a strong sense of positiveness about turning your life upside down in search for a second chance. After all, we are all looking for a place in the world, a place that makes us happy. And, to quote Coney Brown together with Bogdanovich: “If it makes you happy to feed squirrels to the nuts, who am I to say nuts to the squirrels?”

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by Marta Tudisco (Italy)

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necessity for the opposite- talking- if this deep wound is ever to heal.

The Look of Silence Joshua Oppenheimer, DENMARK, FINLAND, INDONESIA, NORWAY, UK / Venezia 71 In 1965 in Indonesia, after overthrowing the government, the military took over. They brutally tortured and murdered ‘communists’, a concept with no exact (or in any way politically correct) definition. These were acts of pure violence, the kind that quenches the thirst for any form of power over other people. The Act of Killing unorthodoxly chronicled the murderers, being seen by many as a revolutionary documentary. But the film also received a great deal of criticism mostly based on the accusations that it trivializes the atrocities for the sake of flamboyance in style and form. It’s been deemed by some as unsubtle, inappropriate, or even down-right offensive.

Oppenheimer’s follow up, The Look of Silence, can be seen as a response to that criticism, albeit not coming across as repentance; the director stands by his first film, scenes of which are repeated here. For a change, it follows the other side of the story- that of the victims- seeking some much needed closure. It is debatable whether it really achieves it, as it can only do so much to answer the many questions raised. The ‘silence’ in the title speaks about that, while at the same time reaffirms the

Melbourne Nima Javidi, IRAN/ International Critics’ Week, Out of Competition Numerous plastic bags filled with clothes and personal objects are drained until the very last airdrop is lost and their entire content appears withered, even more soulless than in its actual state. As the opening credits roll down, this stylistic symbol unpacks an array of thoughts and interpretations.

We are transported in a simple, but modern apartment in Tehran. A couple is packing. Amir (Payman Maadi) and Sara’s (Negar Javaherian) belongings, their lives, and their future are about to move away, to Melbourne. Counting down their last hours in Iran, the young couple already plans a new life in Australia and greets friends and family. Sara even decided to do one last favour to their neighbours by taking care of their baby while the nanny is absent for outdoor work. When Amir accidentally discovers that the child hasn’t moved at all in its sleep, agony and fear suddenly clouds the couple’s happiness. Is the child still alive? Was it their fault or the nanny disappeared deliberately, unable to take the shame and responsibility?

Director Nima Javidi, who counts many short films and TV commer-

The central character of the film, Adi, an optician, is the brother of one of the victims. He was born in 1968, living all his life in a post- military coup Indonesia. The narrative constantly juggles Adi’s present and this past that he was not there for, but now has to live with. His parents have obviously been deeply scarred by the loss of their son. More importantly, his children are also affected. At school they are taught to glorify the killers and their actions. Adi is on a mission to set the record straight, meeting the killers and challenging them to take responsibility. Literally and conceptually he tries to fit on lenses that offer the clearest possible image, despite the fact that some stay blind by choice. But even those can feel the uneasiness of silence.

Without being explicitly violent, Oppenheimer makes this a pervasive feeling throughout the film in the confrontational situations it depicts.

Adi is often told to ‘let the past be the past’ (by the killers, but also, indirectly, by his mother). He is warned to avoid going too deep into ‘politics’. Sometimes quite plainly, he is told that all will happen again and forcing to break the silence will only make it happen sooner. Violence is lurking around all corners, in the detached attitude of the killers, in the explicit threats, as well as in the camera work which gives a sense of uneasiness, of intrusion. Every scene is a build-up, with no actual release point. The camera lingers long on faces, searches for grimaces and expressions that make those faces talk even when their mouths are silent.

The entire journey is soaked in fear. It’s felt strongly both by the killers, as well as by the survivors and the victims’ families. For the first, it’s the fear of facing responsibility and having their power contested. For the others, it’s about still feeling in danger. Adi’s endeavor makes up for a documentary that stylistically impresses less than The Act of Killing, but despite that is even stronger in its message.

by Mirona Nicola (Romania)

cials in his career, makes his feature debut with a contemporary Iranian drama, set entirely in an apartment, without bringing in any interactions with the outside world. Sara and Amir communicate with their friends over the phone and on Skype and receive some last visits before their departure, but the closed environment of the apartment creates an additional way of expressing their agony and asphyxiating fear. At the same time, the absence of purely original Iranian landscape is somehow a minus, making the character’s origin and destination indifferent.

Javidi does not give many details on the characters’ background and we never find out the reason of their departure from Iran, a fact that is not essential for the storyline but that could possibly establish a stronger psychological connection with the viewer.

As we follow the two characters moving around the flat like mice in a maze without real exit, they are confronted with each other’s weaknesses and trapped in a game of guilt transfer. The sudden transformation of the atmosphere as if a shadow has risen upon their unprotected figures increases the tension, also kept by the emotional dialogues, the bold close ups and the persistent silence, disturbed only by the doorbell or the ringing phone.

Quite far from the latest samples of social realist Iranian cinema seen from Panahi, Ghobadi or Farhadi, Melbourne shows another perspective of simplistic, low-budget filmmaking. It gives some important details about the lifestyle in contemporary Tehran, which is not much different from the western type. Touching upon serious aspects of family traditions, immigration, and relationships, the film does not explore much of these in depth, focusing mostly on the monotonous dramatic moment in Sara and Amir’s life as they observe their dreams’ suffocation.

Nima Javidi’s feature debut features a constantly moving image and well performed parts. Considering the traditionalism in Iranian filmmaking, the recent and ongoing socio-political movements against many contemporary Iranian artists, and the shortage of resources, the film shows a talent with certain potential for future development.

by Martin I. Petrov (Greece)

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interview with

Nima Javidi director of Melbourne, Opening Film of Venice 71 Critics’ Week Director Nima Javidi opened this year’s Critics Week at the 71st Venice Film Festival with his debut feature Melbourne, telling the story of a couple in contemporary Iran whose planned migration to Australia is prevenated by an unfortunate event a few hours before departure. Javidi is not exactly a beginner, having directed six short films and two documentaries, yet he has created a name for himself in Iran for his extensive work on television commercials.

With help from his lead actor, Payman Maadi, widely known for his performance in Asghar Farhdi’s widely internationally praised A separation, the new Iranian director explains how his personal experience became an inspiration to create his first feature film, showing a different side, often unknown and secretive, of the life in contemporary Tehran.

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INTERVIEW

Where did you find an inspiration for the story? Is there a personal connection?

It was a personal experience, indeed. Five or six years ago, I was with friends on a vacation in the mountains and I was left alone with a baby. At some point, I noticed that he wasn’t awaking. I panicked but fortunately in the end everything was alright. Then I imagined what could have happened if something had gone wrong and that’s how I wrote the story.

The opening titles start with the images of clothing bags that are being drained of air and shrank. Is this a symbol you wanted to use for the story in the film?

It was a collaboration of the credit designer and myself. We actually wanted to give the idea of suffocation, of this asphyxiating atmosphere that is present all throughout the film.

Why did you choose to use a couple that was in the process of migration to Australia?

The element of immigration is not the main point, of course, but it increases the tension and gives a better flow to the story. It is like having a countdown, a clock ticking somewhere in the background.

The staging of the film reminds me a lot of a theatre play. The characters do not exit the apartment and the only thing we see from the outer world is a view from the window. Did you plan this from the beginning or it came out during the filming process?

The main issue was the budget, which did not allow us to be very flexible.

Apart from that I thought that it’s better to keep the characters mostly isolated, because this served the storyline in a better way.

The relationships and the communication between the characters, as presented, is very typical for an eastern society. Do you think the same storyline could potentially work within the western lifestyle?

I hope that it can work everywhere, mainly because it’s a humane story and it has several ecumenical values and themes like fear, decision making and responsibility which we all share.

In the latest Iranian films we see mostly traditional and considerably poor living conditions. Why did you decide to focus on a more modern side of the life in Tehran?

Many people do not believe it but the lifestyle for most people, especially the younger, is not much different from Europe or the US. Everyone has a normal flat, an iPhone and all the similar amenities. It is not probably a matter of misinterpretation; just different directors make different stylistic and aesthetic choices. But I wanted to be honest and show how I see the life in my country.

The soundtrack is not really present in the film. Did you came up with this decision in post production or it was an initial idea?

I had prepared some songs in the beginning but then I thought that they don’t match perfectly the atmosphere that I wanted to create so I dropped the idea of a soundtrack.

If this incident happened to a couple in real life, would it discourage them from having children? How about you, considering that it’s a personal experience to some extent?

While writing the story, it was extremely hard to think about it. I doubt that it would affect my potential plans of having children, but certainly, if you’d asked me back then I would say that it’s a stigmatizing experience. ® Elena Aya Bountouraki

by Martin I. Petrov (Greece)

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