September 19-27, 2014
Nisimazine SAN SEBASTIAN
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Content
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Editorial Picture by Mariana Mendes The Lesson The Lesson interview Chrieg Picture by Mariana Mendes Cain’s Children
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The Mother of the Lamb The Mother of the Lamb Interview Modris Not All is Vigil Picture by Mariana Mendes The Silly Ones and the Stupid Ones In Her Place
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Moonless Night Name Me
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Toto and His Sisters
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Limbo Picture by Mariana Mendes
38 - 39 Credits 40 - 41 Picture by Mariana Mendes
Editorial Politics and cinema have frequently gone hand-in-hand. Virtually all major movements in the history of cinema have some particular and clear political context. Filmmaking has always found a way of approaching key issues with surprising efficiency. This close neck relationship is traditionally more noticeable and prolific during times of hardship. For that reason alone it has always been surprising to me that the current financial crisis, that in many countries in Europe has fast shown itself as also being political, social and cultural, has not inflamed programs across the festival or commercial circuits. It is hard to believe that there are only a handful of films who have unashamedly faced the tough issue of the day.
vernment and the separatist group ETA. One of the loudest examples was Pablo Malo’s Lasa y Zabala, which brought to light the case of two ETA soldiers caught, tortured and killed by a government-backed loyalist group. Regardless of its effectiveness, or lack of it, the film generated several angry editorials and newspaper columns.
In fact it seems that the current crisis is actually having the opposite effect. A certain agonizing political correctness and shyness seems to be overwhelmingly the order of the day, with much of the discontent being diverted, and understandably so in many cases, towards other important subjects such as gender issues for instance.
But politics squeezed itself in other formats. Take Alberto Rodriguez’s La isla mínima for instance, a painfully conventional thriller set in newly democratic Spain following the death of General Franco. Rodriguez may have chosen to follow other paths, but for a while the audience got to know a little bit about the conflict between a newly freed generation and the criminals that lived and worked with them.
If there is one region in Europe that has been drastically politicized after decades of political instability and conflict, it’s the Basque Country. You’ll have no difficulty getting into a lively political chat in San Sebastian, and everyone seems to have a very clear and defined opinion. As such it comes as no surprise that its greatest public event can very quickly become an impressive arena for public discussion. Maybe it was unintentionally, but San Sebastian was the first major film festival to be brave enough to put politics back on the agenda in 2014. And perhaps even more interesting, it did so with great skill and discretion. It was literally a coup, so well done most did not even noticed until they found themselves talking about politics. The independence question was unavoidable, especially considering the festival kicked off during the height of the hype and despair of the Scottish referendum, that fuelled independence movements across the continent, and yes, of course the Basques are no exception. All across the program you could not avoid finding downright clear or hidden references to the conflict between the Spanish central go-
Still on the Basque question it cannot go unmentioned that Borja Corbeaga’s Negociator pressed all the right keys, by reproducing a parody of the peace talks between both sides. The way Corbeaga threaded lightly, and almost jokingly, with an issue that is obviously so controversial and emotional, is applaudable.
I could go on mentioning several others: there was a biopic on the American trade union movement icon César Chávez; a debut feature about two Russian girls who visit Crimea to reminisce about their Russianness; or Danis Tanovic’s take on the out of control methods of multinationals, even Ulrich Seidl’s In the Basement, where many Austrian inconvenient truths are so masterfully exposed. But what about the financial crisis? Well, it was impossible to avoid. Alongside a few glimpses in many other films, Isaki Lacuesta’s Dieing Beyond Their Means could hardly have been clearer. Its comedic ambitions (not very good ones, by the way) and the somewhat ridiculous script made it a disappointing view, but this comedy about a group of outsiders who begin a rebellion against those who created the crisis, and in the process launch many attacks on just about everything dubious, is a sign that the subject has immense potential. All we need now is filmmakers brave enough to exploit it. by Fernando Vasquez (Portugal) 33
“Another way to arrive to San Sebastian”
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review
The Lesson
Kristina Grozeva, Petar Valchanov, Bulgaria/Greece New Directors
Murphy’s Law is the principal player in The Lesson, a simple low-budget film directed and penned by Kristina Grozeva and Petar Valchanov. The film deals with the financial tribulations of rural Bulgaria and the daily struggle that the population has to undergo in order to live safely in their homes and off the streets. Indeed, anything that CAN, WILL go wrong. That is the axiom for tragedy when it strikes on an apparently perpetual basis. And it’s also what actually happens in The Lesson with Bulgaria slowly, subtly and simply overcoming the aforementioned witticism here. Beginning and ending in her classroom, the film follows Nade, an English teacher, who is trying to catch the culprit of a wallet theft between classmates. She is determined to find the thief and teach them a lesson, fearing that this petty criminal behavior will have further consequences on the guilty child’s adult life. Nade is honest, principled and has a deep-rooted moral and ethical compass, with a mild OCD. Moreover, times are difficult for her, her drunken and useless husband, and their daughter. Barely able to afford the bus fare and being owed a considerable amount of money for her translations, she arrives home one day to discover that the money that should have served to pay off a bank debt has been used to repair a trailer her husband has repeatedly failed to sell. She must make good on their debts within three days or else her family’s possessions will be auctioned. So, Nade sets aside her better judgment and gets into business with some very shady individuals in order to try to pay the money back, hoping to return order to her life in the process. The Lesson is a strong, focused, yet overly long film, with an interesting premise, but a rather slow and settled pace, shot in a documentary-like manner. The
film’s strongest feature is the writers’ ability to create a strong female character who does not need a cape or supernatural elements to convey meaning. Nade is the mater familias in a family where the roles have seemingly been reversed all along. Still, family comes first even if it implies that you sometimes cannot count on it. Moreover, the writers put forward concepts of responsibility, morality, principles, and ethics, making Nade question hers; at some point she would rather consider becoming a hooker in order to pay her debt, than asking her father for money and apologizing to his girlfriend. Ultimately, The Lesson does teach a lesson: tell the truth, be honest, be nice and don’t steal. Furthermore, the film offers a very truthful portrayal of Bulgaria, especially with Nade’s boss and his behavior, very symptomatic of today’s Balkans. The Lesson is held together by a terrific Margita Gosheva who plays Nade in a calm and collected manner. She is the film’s heart and soul, making the audiences engage. Even though she never breaks down in tears, her subtle trembling body is enough to convey the emotional toll the situation is taking on her character. The directors take their time to tell the story while the DoP opts for wide shots, lensed in light tones. Indeed, in that sense, The Lesson is a reminder that films do not need a lot of money to look good. Nade’s inner emotional breakdown is heightened by the lack of music and the mere presence of natural sounds and dialogues. All in all, The Lesson, is a calm and collected film with a resounding moral message, a strong account of the reallife tragedy that could easily plague anyone in a world of economic uncertainty. Indeed, the lesson at hand transforms Nade’s quest for clarity into a much greater journey of understanding, self-discovery and compassion. After all, it is a lesson… by Tara Karajica (Serbia)
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Interview with
Petar Valchanov by Teresa Pereira (Portugal)
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Kristina Grozeva and Petar Valchanov are co-directors of The Lesson- a social critique of Bulgaria with an emphasis on ethics and principles lead by a strong female character. After a great path through the Berlinale Talent Campus, they now won this year San Sebastian New Directors Award. Petar Valchanov spoke to us about the film and future projects, as well as about the process of co-directing The Lesson and the importance of having a dedicated producer associated to the project What was your inspiration behind the project? Four or five years ago we read in a newspaper the title “Teacher robbed a bank” and this title was the beginning. This was the base- we discovered the story and realized that this can happen to anyone. And qt some point we discovered that maybe we’re living in a world where every decision, every step that we make is not connected with freewill, it’s just a poor illusion maybe. Do you intend it as a social critic? Yes. This was one of the points, and not only in this story, because the idea is to build a trilogy, and The Lesson is the first film. Can you explain the three stories? The three stories are not biographical, they just use these sentences that are very strong. We have a script for the second film. It’s a story about the railway worker who finds millions on the tracks and he hands it over to the police. The third one is still in a very early stage. Do you think that you could send the wrong message with the end of the film, that it’s ok to steal? In every film that we did it’s important to have an open end, not because it’s modern but because it’s very important that the audience, after the film, continues to live with the problems, with the characters, their decisions, their questions. We didn’t want to do a moralistic story. It’s very important that after the screening the audience starts to think about it. This may be a very intimidating process but this is the beautiful thing, a lot of people can give different answers. How did you and Kristina work together? We are more creative, braver in deciding. We enjoy it a lot. It’s strange, because when you have another person next to you, you fell more freedom to work. You don’t care about this stress, I mean, to say “ok, I’m right or not”. Every time there’s an objective point of view, in the script, in the shooting, and
also in editing. Maybe sometimes she takes the lead writing the script and it’s worth it because after I have a more objective point of you. It’s the same with the editing for instance. How was producing such a film? Our film is a micro budget film, maybe no budget. For example, the shooting period, we did it just for fifteen thousand Euros. It was money for transport, for food, you know, we weren’t supported by the National Film Centre. We were supported only for the development of the script. And we took this brave decision to go on. It’s a co-production, from the Bulgarian part, the main producer is Magdalena Ilieva. She’s a young, very talented producer and she did a great, great job for us to feel free, comfortable. She presented the project at the Berlinale Talent Market and it won the Arte prize for best project, and this supported us and helped us with some small financing, and you know, with the feeling that we’re in the right direction. She presented the project in Sofia Meetings and again we won there. And yet again in Sarajevo. What you think about contemporary Bulgarian Cinema? It’s difficult, everywhere in the world, because of the financial crisis. This pressures us and nobody cares about culture. It’s not only with cinema but also with the theatre and music. With cinema, the problem is that there isn’t an alternative, only the state, through the Ministry of Culture and the National Film Centre. 9
Chrieg Simon Jaquemet, Switzerland
New Directors
Review and Interview by Matthew Turner (UK) 10
Teenage angst is taken to the limit in Simon Jaquemet’s debut feature. In his portrayal of a very uncommon rehabilitation centre lost in the Swiss mountains, Jaquemet created an extremely tough and violently graphic setting that will surely please and shock in equal measures. We sat down with the director to discover all the details behind his first feature. The film’s title Chrieg means war, right? What is the war of the film? I think it is all sorts of war. The most obvious one is this kind of small war that teenagers have with all almost everyone else. They don’t have a really clear enemy but they exist in a kind of state of being at war with everyone, more or less. But also it means an internal war. Did you change the actors’ look for a reason? I would say apart from Ali (Ella Rumpf), they
are very much how they are in reality, with the clothes that they wear, which is often their own clothes. Of course now they have changed a little bit. The main character, (Benjamin Lutzke), actually had the look that his character Matteo has at the start of the film, with the long green coloured hair and those clothes. With Ali, who is a very nice girl and very feminine usually, she had to change herself entirely for the role. What made you decide on these actors? I think in the end it just became clear. It was funny that Benji was the first person we spoke to on the street. Then we were casting a lot of other different people and then he didn’t come to the castings anymore. Eventually he showed up and I think we went to his home where he lived, and we went to the forest with him and had a walk. He told us about his own life and his struggles. For the others, it was clear when we met them that they were the most interesting.
review
Whatever the question, violence is the answer in Simon Jacquemet’s confrontational feature debut. Matteo (Benjamin Lutzke, 16 at the time of shooting and, like the rest of the cast, an unprofessional plucked from the streets) is uplifted from his dysfunctional urban home and dispatched to the Swiss countryside for a period of “rehabilitation”. When he’s roughly chained at the neck and caged in an outdoor kennel by his young co-residents (Ella Rumpf, Sascha Gisler, John Leuppi), Jaquemet seems to be setting himself up for a film more perverse and sadistic than the one that follows. Instead, the film takes a laudable about turn. Almost imperceptibly, after a series of tasks (milking, boxing and high-wire walking) that serve to reinforce his latent masculinity, Matteo moves from the status of prisoner to peer, and forges a new family - one still founded around blood, but not their own. This band of frustrated youths turn violently against the world that has wronged them with anarchic, hedonistic abandon in Jacquemet’s chilling revision of the ‘coming of age’ framework. Across a number of ambitious, if not always entirely effective sequences, the unifying principle is violence, Jacquemet is careful to not indicate too overtly where this violence comes from. The context he establishes for Matteo in his intro, and a scene where one character therapeutically lays ruin to her
The film is ultimately about violence. Do you think violence is in all of us? Yes, I think so. There are two approaches in the film. There is one approach that violence is imposed on us from pressure coming in, and that at some point when you’re confronted with a lot of violence you also react. It’s the other side where you can say that is a part of everyone, that if you arrive at the right or wrong situation the monster will come out. This is maybe more what I think is true. Maybe a bit more for men. but also for women. It is a part of us. Do you think this is particularly true in Switzerland, or just generally? I think it is general. What is interesting in Switzerland is that on the surface level it is a very peaceful country, but I think something is boiling in a lot of people. It is a repressed society and there are a lot of social rules on hot to behave. We see a lot of
old home, suggests that the violent tendencies come from external pressures. But there is plenty in the film to suggest that firstly, violence is a state present in us all, and also that there is an implicit seductiveness to it, which when awakened is impossible to suppress. The gleeful abandon with which the cast of Chrieg smash precious artworks and set fire to a Mercedes suggests a pleasure in destruction from both character and actor, something emphasised by Lorenz Merz’ functional handheld photography that follows the characters mostly in circling facial closeup. Indeed in a lacklustre script that Jacquemet wrote himself, more than a few scenes seem to be present largely for the fun of shooting them Jaquemet brings his narratively disparate scenes together through the suggestion that a father-son sexual battle is the core of Matteo’s anger, the boys’ most explosive outbreak coming out of his father’s seizing of a love interest. Indeed, Chrieg translates as ‘war’, and attempting to identify what sort of war (class? identity? state? gender?) Jacquemet is gunning for, is a rewarding if elusive endeavour in this unfocused but bold debut. Ultimately, his main message seems to be that violence is not only inevitable, but also inherently seductive. Troublingly, in Chrieg, the lesson learnt is that it also goes unpunished.
angry faces in the street. There is a Swiss expression, ‘to make a fist in the pocket.’ Sometimes there are outbursts of violence. How welcoming is the Swiss film industry to new directors? I think it is not bad. The funding situation is not that bad in Switzerland. The production costs are very high which makes it difficult. In general, on one side we have money. If you have a good script, you will get the money. Of course, the more established directors may get the funds as we all compete for the same funds. Some filmmakers try to defend their share of the money. For me it took a long time to make this first feature after film school, but maybe that is also my own fault because maybe I wasn’t good enough.
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“Behind the Show”
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Cain’s Children Marcell Gero, Hungary
New Directors
Review and Interview by Matthew Turner (UK) 14
Cain’s Children, a film inspired in a banned documentary made during the age of communism in Hungary, tells us the experience of a group of young people at a correction facility. Despite the fact the theme is hardly new and fresh, the director, Marcell Gero, managed to construct an interesting and impactful narrative. We sat down with him to figure out how he managed to do so and the context behind such a production.
from the age of fourteen/fifteen. They are expected to be released when they are around twenty five/twenty six. The film is based around these interviews of the inmates, and between the interviews you see images of everyday life in the prison. It depicts an inhuman, extremely brutal universe. It was banned at that time. I think the only way they were able to shoot it is that no one thought it would be made.
Could you tell me something about the original documentary? It was shot in 1984 in Hungary. At that time there was a Communist regime and that is why it is quite hard to believe they managed to shoot in a prison, especially a juvenile penitentiary. They managed six interviews with inmates, young guys aged between sixteen and eighteen who were all convicted for murder, and who were sentenced for around ten years starting
Was it hard to find the prisoners? It took around two years. It was a long procedure. It was some kind of private detective game for us, yet we are not detectives. We don’t have the techniques nor the knowledge. We only had a small amount of information and we started the game of finding these people. As we are normal civilians we don’t have access to police or penitentiary archives. No real information was available to us. We tried to find other ways.
review
Marcell Gero takes a searching look at the long term effects of youth incarceration with his follow on to cult Hungarian documentary Bebukottak (The Fallen). Made in 1985, András Monory Mész’s film shows six teenage prisoners in one of Hungary’s harshest prisons, and exposes the kind of conditions that can turn a one-time mistake into a life of delinquency. After coming across Bebukottak four years ago, Gero, a filmmaker whose short work had all been fictional, felt the immediate need to document the stories of these men some twenty years later. Gero selects three of the original six. Though this was fortune as much as selection, the three that return are a perfect contrast. The first, a man with a large family, seems so gentle that it would be plausible to think they convicted the wrong man. The second, a troubled vagrant, reveals his fragile nature between bouts of volatility. “You will never understand, no one ever will.” The last is the most openly psychopathic. He is fascinating because behind his Hannibal Lecter persona, almost everything he proposes about humanity and society, even at its most vehemently nihilistic, seems terrifyingly rational. Through a distanced approach to questioning, Gero manages to really earn the trust of his subjects, cleverly leaving the more provocative lines of questioning to the other characters in the film, family members deliberately introduced as a source of conflict. It’s particular interesting to compare the testimony of the adult men with their young counterparts.
How did you manage to gain the trust of the prisoners? It was very different with each one of them. In the case of the guy who has the children, it was very easy. He said yes the first time I asked him. He was in and the next day we were shooting with him. At the other end of the line, the guy in the psychiatric ward was very difficult. He was very distant for a long time. We met many times in different cities in Hungary. I didn’t want to convince him to participate; I wanted to convince him he didn’t have to be afraid of me in any way. I didn’t want to abuse or wrong him. It took a long time and it was a very tense relationship and remains that way today. In the film, some of the harder questions come from other people in the film, not your interviewing. Was this a deliberate attempt to step back and retain their trust? In the preparation for the shoot. We shot fifty days of principal photography and
Gero places the original footage against new recordings, repeating questions to see how memory and attitude alters with time. Though often rambling, the men are all finally willing to surrender some kind of perspective upon what it means to take a life and the effect of the prison system and culture on people so impressionable. Gero is impartial in essence, but in his selection of materials and the use of a leading piano soundtrack that kicks in at key emotional moments he reveals his position. Besides this aural manipulation, formally the documentary is strong. Gero, with D.P. Rudolf Kiss, frames the interviews stunningly. A key confessional occurs over firelight, bathing the cracks in the subject’s worn hands and faces in a stark, red glow as he talks of his errors. Another occurs beautifully in a field at the twilight hour as the same man talks warmly of family. The material could have been more tightly edited, and its hard to gauge the exact purpose of a number of non-verbal sequences where Gero observes the subject’s families at work or play, but a better eye for selection and sequencing will come in time to a director new to the documentary format. Without pushing any strong editorial line, Gero’s stance reveals itself in the end in the testimony of his psychotic third man. “If you expect someone to be bad, that person will prove you right in the end.” Every criminal is different, but the reform system is the same.
ten days of preparatory shooting where we tried to find the visual style of the film and I tried to find my method. I had never made a documentary before. In these first days there was a situation where I interviewed the guy with the children and the discussion stopped for some reason. I didn’t know how to continue. I asked him if it bothers him to invite his mother into the frame. As soon as they were together, speaking about the past, each other and the father who was killed, I saw the extreme tension in the image and the frame between the two of them. From then on we tried to create these double interview situations when two people speak about their past. It was important that they had to have something confrontational between them. This became the style of the film. It was deliberate to create these situations.
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review
Moonless Night
Germán Tejeira, Uruguay/Argentina - New Directors New Year’s Eve. Three separate narratives about three middleaged lonely men, that somehow find themselves trapped with people who are, or have become, strangers to them. Beginning with a convict who’s told he’ll be granted one day out, the action proceeds to a taxi driver preparing to spend the New Year’s Eve with his daughter and his ex-wife’s new family. The story ends with a magician whose flat tire obliges him to stay in a lost toll. Transversal to all the stories are the continuous blackouts that no one pays attention to until they affect them at unexpected moments. Germán Tejeira, in his feature-length debut, tells us a simple but well-constructed story about love and solitude. He does it in a very peaceful, compelling way. Introducing the story of every character the director lets them take their own time, by not mixing the narratives until the end. Being free, being a good father or being young - these are their inner issues. Although we don’t know much about them, they are not typical scary and mysterious outsiders, but rather men who want to overcome their fears. And we care for them. The film has a slight touch of comedy although never forgets the drama in each of the stories. The calm rhythm of the picture is amazingly contrasted with the men’’s struggles. Tejeira achieves this effect in a unique way, putting the characters in situations which make us feel exactly like they are feeling- like a fish out of the water. And while we keep waiting for them to give up or explode, when it seems they just can’t win and all there is to do
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is resign, Tejeira surprises us with a sudden emergence of inner motivation. The camera work gives us a notion of a natural and easy-flowing sensation, which matches the characters’ personalities. This character-driven film uses details to transmit the emotion without unnecessary words. The music gives us the comedy tone, assuming a crucial part at the end. The always present blackouts and the sound of fireworks do not let us forget that the similarities between narratives are built by exquisite details. We can’t avoid the feeling that the stories are not far from each other, especially at the end when things seem to be rushing a little bit to connect them all. Nevertheless, it’s impossible not to cheer for the characters. How many of us never felt alone against the world, trying to explain our ways but never listened? How many of us never decided to just keep quiet in front of a not understanding audience? This film represents all of that sensation, not resignation, but being used to the way things are. That’s what’s most powerful - quiet characters seemingly weak but actually never giving up. Just trying to discover their way out. Moonless Night is a quiet but a good and surprising film to see, that makes us put our problems in perspective and just be happy. by Teresa Pereira (Portugal)
review
Name Me
Nigina Sayfullaeva, Russia - New Directors Russians in Crimea! Now that I’ve got your attention, I will proceed. What we have here is no ordinary political film on the media conflict that makes run ink in several international press headlines. In Name Me, by Russian director Nigina Sayfullaeva, what we find is a psychological and conflicting drama that takes us to chaos as a driving force- a force motivated by volunteer, but not harmless, « identity trades». The plot follows two young Muscovite girls, best friends Olya and Sasha, going on a trip in the Crimea region to finally meet Olya’s father. But when the moment of truth comes, she feels insecure about that long-awaited meeting. Therefore, Olya asks Sasha to «trade places», seeing that Sasha is more spontaneous and less inhibited than Olya. This whole situation becomes amusing and rewarding at first, but soon, Sergey (the father) becomes suspicious and the consequences are so unraveled. It’s believable that Name Me wasn’t a movie with intended social and political critique invocation, but just like the supposed «innocent prank» of the main characters, the inevitable is something you can’t succeed, just like you can’t circumvent the consequences. So, there are two ways to read this movie: first as one of that million dramas about searching a missing father with coming-of-age tendencies; the second one, with the characters and their situations emerging as a mirror of the current situation in Crimea, and the respective conflict. It’s like exorcising ghosts and taking control over them.
Name Me is a breathtaking and emotional film, with a naturalism in narrative that only emphasizes these same feelings. The two main actresses- Alexandra Bortich and Marina Vasilievaprove to be an explosive duo in their performances, convincingly expressing the evolution that their characters are submitted to. In turn, Konstantin Lavronenko (The Return, by Andrey Zvyagintsev), presents us a very dark figure that the viewer finds difficult to interact with. However, the task is not impossible, and when we can do it, it is impossible to stop feeling compassion. These «three pedestrians» form an acute triangle which tends to gradually compress under a scenario that turns out to be cold and sometimes hostile to empathy. Name Me is a fascinating first feature film, which follows versatile characters in their construction and deconstruction of the dramatic emphasis, while weaving in a critical subliminal interrogation of the Crimean conflict, perceptible to anyone who wishes to see more than meets the eye. Not to be missed!
by Hugo Gomes (Portugal)
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Limbo Anna-Sophie Hartmann, Germany
New Directors
Review and Interview by Tara Karajica (Serbia) 18
Danish director Anna-Sophie Hartmann brought to San Sebastian an eerie story settled in her native town of Nakskov. Limbo talks about the particular situation of its location, but also about the strangeness of being a teenager in this place. We met with the director to discuss her motivation to return to her hometown for her feature debut, as well as her work process that involved working with non-actors. Can you tell us a bit about your background? I was born in Denmark and I grew up in the town where the film takes place [Nakskov]. I moved to Germany when I was twenty because I wanted to go out and I’ve been there ever since. What prompted you to make this film? How did the idea come to be? What is the message that you wanted to convey with Limbo?
In the last two years, I’ve thought a lot about what it is to be a woman and I’ve been confronted with it myself- how there are certain expectations of how to act, how to be and what is our place in society. I thought a lot about the history of feminism and I wanted to have a film that took place in the city I come from. This city is like a lot of other small cities and it’s dying out and has a lot of problems. The idea came because I am very curious about young people. The year before I started writing the script I went there to do a photo project – I like to do photography . As I did these interviews and took these portraits of these kids, I thought «Oh! They’re really easy to talk to!». And then, the idea came to have this young girl who’s finding out who she is and to have the teacher who is sort of my age also trying and figure out who she is. Why did you choose to shoot the film there?
review
Danish director Anna Sofie Hartmann’s first feature – that she also wrote – opens with a series of wide shots of sugar beets being processed in a factory in Nakskov. A small town in rural Denmark, it is home to a large sugar factory that processes about 12, 000 tons of sugar beet per day. This is the environmental backdrop to Hartmann’s story shot at her alma mater with the means of her film school in Berlin and the help of friends. Limbo follows teenager Sara and her young teacher Karen as they develop a connection that is doomed from the start and that ends tragically. This is essentially the premise of this confused, unfocused, void, dull, and cold film. In fact, it takes us almost the entire film to see the connection between the factory and the youths portrayed. The scattered shots of the factory and fields find the reason of their being an hour into the film, when the teacher takes a contemplative walk and later meets two young men from the factory. When Sara and her friends die in a car accident, the aftermath is never depicted nor discussed, almost as if they had never existed. We can only see that Karen shows remorse for not being able to requite Sara’s feelings after her death. Also, we cannot but wonder whether these boys and girls have parents. We only see them at their usual everyday tasks without knowing anything else, creating even more distance for the audience. At the end of the day, we don’t care about them. The only half drawn and sympathetic figure in Limbo is actually Karen. Even though Limbo is a study of youth in Denmark, it unfor-
I feel very connected to it. I know all the spaces and I really thought it was interesting to have a city that is very specific and has very particular problems but at the same time I really think they’re everywhere. It’s not explicitly negotiated in the film but this city had big economic problems and it’s a part of Denmark that’s always been talked about negatively. There are a lot of problems with unemployment and people are struggling to figure out who they can be now in the post-industrial age. You know, I’ve been away for so long, so for me where I come from has some sort of almost mythical dimension. I can imagine stories taking place there and at the same time it’s very concrete so I wanted to have this very concrete city, this very concrete space that has a very concrete history. That was the atmosphere I was interested in also. Can you talk about the casting and shooting process?
tunately does not stand out as a particularly inventive or gripping coming of age story and this is most certainly a pity, as a rural town in Denmark should surely provide interesting stories. It only does little else than reinforce the trademark of Scandinavian melancholia and coldness. Coldness on so many levels. Sometimes bordering the experimental, it is also hard to discern what Hartmann wants to do with this film and ultimately what her message is, effectively sending us into a true “limbo”, an experience that surely some will like. Nevertheless, the camerawork is excellent with clear and wide shots and close-ups, providing Limbo with an authentic, almost raw feel. What adds to it is the lack of music and a very strong presence of different natural sounds and dialogues. As far as the acting is concerned, the cast, composed of nonactors, delivers fairly good performances. The funniest – and perhaps the most absurd – figure in the film is a grandmother dressed in eccentric typical Danish clothes dancing and singing on a table. “Aya Ayaaaaaa; Aya Ayaaaaa”, she goes. With Denmark being the cradle of strong European filmmaking, especially that of female directors (i.e. Susanne Bier), and her evident talent, it will only be a matter of time before Hartmann learns from her rookie mistakes in Limbo. But, being selected in the Kutxa-New Directions section at the San Sebastian Film Festival without having even completed her graduation film, is truly a merit in itself and should definitely be a distinction to be proud of. She will possibly follow in Bier’s footsteps one day…And, I therefore look forward to seeing her upcoming graduation film and sophomore feature.
I had a friend from Berlin who is also a filmmaker come to Nakskov and we went together to meet the kids. We had a little thing posted on the school’s website that we were looking for people and we just sort of met with them and talked. I’ve been helping with castings for other people also and I always found that from a normal conversation you learn so much, immediately how people move... And that went pretty smooth. We cast two months before the film and it all went pretty fast and all the kids in the film come from the school. I didn’t make them act or anything. For the role of Sarah, we did some improvisations, and at one point they met with Sofia who plays Karen. What about next projects? It’s at a very early stage but I am still attracted to this island I am from and there are so many weird, interesting, curious faces. But, it’s so early to talk about it… 19
“By bus, car, bike or even walking, all roads lead to San Sebastian� 20
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review
The Mother of the Lamb Rosario Espinosa, Enrique Farías, Chile New Directors
Rebellion is something most commonly associated with teenagers, not ladies nearing fifty. There’s something about the idea of a middle-aged woman pushing against the constraints of her elderly mother that’s oddly compelling, and clearly Chilean directors Rosario Espinosa and Enrique Farías thought so too, because that’s exactly what The Mother of the Lamb is about. It’s a film that explores family ties and suggests that it’s never too late to assert your independence – but at what cost? 49-year-old Cristina’s life very much revolves around the needs of her widowed mother. Without a proper job or any peers, she spends her days caring for Carmen, never able to stray too far from the house and with her only form of social interaction coming from her mother’s friendship group. That is until she crosses paths with old classmate Sandra, a fun-loving and liberal woman who’s determined to teach Cristina to loosen up. As they spend more time together, the more she realises that her life needs to change. But with her mother as demanding as ever, achieving this looks increasingly difficult. While the title may focus on her mother, the film is all about Cristina – and rightfully so. María Olga Matte is captivating in her vulnerability, and it almost feels inaccurate to call it a ‘performance’ due to how grounded in reality the character is. It’s interesting that a film so concerned with aging and lost youth should be made by two directors who are barely out of school; in fact, The Mother of the Lamb is their graduation project. It’s
perhaps this that contributes so much to the success of Cristina’s character - they’re able to inject vitality and a perspective that makes her resonate with all ages. It’s a film that very much calls on the senses in order to express its themes, contrasting sights and sounds to showcase both Cristina’s desires and her reality. The absence of any real music until Sandra comes along is very telling, and the same applies visually: everyday life is devoid of colour, except when hinting at the things she longs for the most (the bright lights of a casino, her friend’s daring wardrobe, a child’s bike). The implications are subtle, but it makes identifying them all the more rewarding. The denouement occurs at a slow and steady pace, with enough small but compelling plot points to prevent the film from becoming too dull. At only 79 minutes it’s far from lengthy, though anymore and it would become a bit of a chore. The conclusion can be foreseen fairly easily, but it’s an ending that feels absolutely necessary; without it, there’d be no pay-off after getting emotionally attached to the characters. For some, its predictability might diminish its overall impact, but personally it feels like a vindicating and satisfying send off. The Mother of the Lamb is a reserved and mature piece of filmmaking, so much so that it doesn’t necessarily make for easy/casual viewing. But if you’re willing to dedicate the required attention, it’s a rewarding experience. by Robyn Davies (UK)
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Interview with
Rosario Espinosa & Enrique FarĂas by Teresa Pereira (Portugal) 24
Rosario Espinosa and Enrique Farías are the two Chilean new directors that co-directed the film The Mother of the Lamb. They talked with us about their film and their opinion on current Chilean cinema. What is your film about and what was your inspiration? Rosario: The Mother of the Lamb is a film about a woman named Cristina who is nearly 50 and has spent all her life taking care of her mother. They live in a little town, very religious, very judgemental... very old people live there. Cristina gets to meet a girl whom she used to know and who gets back to the town, called Sandra. Over the course of the story, Sandra teaches Cristina how to live differently. She shows her different opportunities, different ways to see the life. Enrique: My inspiration were the characters, in general, a person who takes care of their father or mother. I was especially interested in a mother-daughter relationship with an absent father. This film was done in a film school context. How did that work? Rosario: This is our project to get our degree in film school. Everyone pitched an idea and they chose one, which was Enrique’s idea. So... here we are! In the pre-production phase we tried to connect our ideas to do the best movie we can make. Later, during the shooting, he was in charge of the camera, the framing and stuff and I was in charge of directing the actors. It was difficult, of course. What was especially difficult was having to train people to say something that you thought of when writing the story; even if you think the same things, you have different ways to say them. That was the hardest part, but we managed, we made it and we are very proud of our job. You have worked together before. How is the process of codirecting? Rosario: We’ve been making stuff together since we were kids. Not only in filmmaking but also organizing and sharing an idea. We know each other very well, we’ve been friends since we were 14-15 years old. We have similar opinions on what the important things are, we have the same ideas, so it wasn’t that hard. What was your biggest difficulty while doing the film? Rosario: In personal terms, it was very hard to develop and sustain the confidence. It was very hard because we are young and we had these tremendous actresses and very
important names, so it was hard to build up the courage. But then, through the shooting process, we ended up gaining it. Enrique: For me it was difficult to dare to give the story it’s own way, to separate myself from it so that we all together could build one film. What do you want to do next? Are you planning to continue directing together? Enrique: We’re working on many projects but all of them are still in development. Rosario: We don’t have one idea, we think we can make everything. We’re now working separately. But for the moment we have to concentrate on the next steps in short-term. Now we’re going to Valdivia and then maybe some other festivals and then we’ll see. What do you think of the situation of cinema in Chile, especially for young directors such as yourselves? Enrique: At this moment there’s a very interesting panorama in Chile because they’re mixing what is happening with very prestigious directors from the 70’s (like Miguel Littín), or from 90’s (like Ricardo Larraín). Then there are Pablo Larraín and young directors who are making their films. All of these get together in the same place which nourishes and makes it so that we can all travel and know more and spread Chilean cinema more and better. There’s a very rich ambiance at this moment for making cinema. Rosario: There are also a lot of opportunities from a creative point of view- people dare more to tell stories that were hidden in our culture. So that’s interesting. Enrique: There was a lot of fear, for a long time, to tell stories, because people were denied the possibility doing that. I believe that this space begins to get free with films like Machuca or A Cab for Three that turn the Chilean production bigger. Do you want to continue working in Chile? Rosario: Definitely. We hope someday maybe people can live by making movies. In Chile you can’t, you have to do plenty of other things to live. We want to contribute to the growth of cinema in Chile. That’s very important for us. That’s why we are telling a story that’s very local but it’s also universal at the core of the film. We are very interested in that.
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Modris Juris Kursietis, Latvia/Germany
New Directors
Review and Interview by Bruno Guerra (Portugal) 26
Latvian director Juris Kursietis brought to light several social concerns from the daily lives of Latvian youth through his personal view of Modris, in his first feature film. We met the director to learn more about his film. How was it, premiering your debut feature in Toronto? Well, it just happened two weeks ago and it was amazing, the festival is ridiculously big. It is my first feature film and it is great that it succeeded like that. But we all worked really hard and I think I had a great team to lead me where I am now. When I first saw the film, the main character was introduced as an amateur actor, cooking is his actual his job. What was it like to work with an amateur actor? I call them non-actors (laughs). Because I think he was really professional when shooting. I actually took the time to find
the perfect actor to the role. It took us like half a year to find him. Sometimes, in the casting, we just needed ten seconds to find out that that person wasn’t the right one. On the other hand, with Kristers, it just took me ten seconds to realize that there was something in that guy that personified what I wanted for this character. So this is a movie based on true events. In the beginning of your career you started by filming documentaries. What is the difference? I started my career as a journalist, for five years. But it was kind of a coincidence, I was studying, I needed some money, so there was this television station that took me. I wrote current affairs stories so I was kind of influenced to filming social problems. It is hard to tell the differences, as I wanted to do my first film I read a lot about social problems and concerns and my next movie is actually about the same problems, based
review
When shooting a «based on true events» story, you can follow two paths. The first consists in «just» compiling facts into a fiction movie. Although the most «right» thing to do, directors often take the second path: pick up a story, keep its backbone (Hollywood kind of misses here frequently), but embellish the rest structuraly. There is nothing wrong with this method, and sometimes, it’s the best way to adapt a story, giving the director room to explore some unfinished or unproved subjects. Modris is a 17-year-old boy in Latvia. A normal teenager in some ways- he has a girlfriend, he goes to school- Modris has a game addiction and is constantly being reminded by his mother that he is like his unknown father, who is supposedly in jail, whose bad genes he has inherited.The trigger to this story is when Modris, to support his game addiction, sells his mother’s heater. Attempting to teach him a lesson, she files a complaint, which will get Modris a two-year probation, leaving him no space for mistakes- a quite difficult task. This is the first feature of Juris Kursietis, a Latvian director engaged in the growing local film industry. He started his career as a journalist and, therefore, was firstly drawn to documentaries. Kursietis started to make a statement in Latvia and, in three years (2010 to 2013), was able to produce and direct Modris. Despite it being his first film, we can already see the style that the director might adopt in his future movies.
on true events and set on a particular social context. My goal as a director is to raise awareness, to spread a social message, and this side of me comes, almost without a doubt, from my journalism background. What message did you want send with this movie? Did you find this story or the story found you? (Pause). I think there are several aspects. There is the parent/child aspect, which I think is real everywhere, be it in Spain, Portugal or Latvia. The relationships are changing, all the time. The message is to grow up, especially in Latvia. In Latvia they are throwing kids to jail for nothing, parents are working between multiple jobs just to survive and I think it´s so tragic but it´s our own fault, in a way. The movie still hasn’t premiered in Latvia and I really want people to watch the movie and look at themselves in the mirror. Latvia is still in transition, 20 years after communism, and the govern-
Kursietis is preoccupied with showing a political and cultural message that is present in Latvia. Modris is clearly an affirmation of a director worried with education in his country. «It all starts with the family», he said before. Modris is preoccupied with showing life through a personal view, what it’s like to be in Modris’ skin. The movie also adds his quest to find out who is his father, if he is really in prison and, if so, where. It clearly adds up to the concerns, the troubles and all the changes in life that can completely change a person. Technically speaking, Modris is a complicated movie. It has two layers. The first one presents the character, performed beautifully by the non-actor Kristers Piksa, who got the role in a school casting, and is the focus of all the attention. There are no wide shots (except the beautiful opening scene), just a long close-up of Modris, so that the viewer clearly understands who to empathise with. The stirring camera acts on purpose, so you can notice all the agitation behind the marvellously displayed calm and pale face. After this layer, there is everything else. It runs unnoticed to Modris, life is constantly punching him, physically and emotionally, and yet, he remains the same. In essence, Modris was a great start for Kursietis. It warns us about his concerns about youth problems in Latvia. The message that this movie transpires is quite relevant to nowadays society - It’s a cold yet real portrait of a teenager..
ment is making decisions that are affecting the younger generations, and you can still feel the footprints of communism. For us, we have to fight against it, to be a normal European country. We don’t want to be like Ukraine, for example, since there are many people saying that we are heading towards that. One thing I realized when researching about this movie, was the campaign behind it. You created a viral campaign that sets the target audience as teenagers. Did it work? We´ll see (laughs). It’s the modern way to do it. The budget for marketing is non-existent, so we tried to take advantage of the social media tools and try to appeal to everyone who uses it. It seemed a crazy idea to spend thousands on TV commercials when we have this functional and cool tool such as social networks, they give us direct access to the viewer. Let’s hope it works (laughs).
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Not All Is Vigil Hermes Paralluelo, Spain
New Directors
Review and Interview by Robyn Davies (UK) 28
Hermes Paralluelo is one of Spain´s most promising rising stars. He landed at the San Sebastian Film Festival with a daring look at the fear of death, called Not All Is Vigil. Casting his own grandparents is only one of many signs that his youthful approach can easily assume a more classic structure.
very weird quality for cinema: they don’t put on a show. All of us are so used to showing ourselves to others in a way that we want to be seen, but Felisa and Antonio have no need for that anymore. They are what they are, and that’s it. Filming that is very relaxing for me.
You used your own grandparents for the lead roles in the film. How did that decision come about? Well, the whole idea for the film started because I missed my grandparents. I had been living in Argentina, and then in Spain, and the long distance made me think that I wanted to make a film about them to feel closer to them. At first I thought about using actors, so I started writing the script and constructing the characters. But during this process, I realised that my grandparents had all the characteristics I wanted, so surely they can do a better job than any actors! I also realised that they both had a very good,
Was it challenging working with them? My grandparents had no experience whatsoever. The first acting they ever did was on day 1 of rehearsals! We began rehearsals 6 months previous to shooting and that’s when we started with the dialogue, but my grandmother doesn’t have a good memory so it ended up being useless trying to do things too early. That’s why it was very important to repeat, repeat, repeat! Obviously, there were a lot of takes and a lot of things we needed to reshoot. Is the film fictional, or is it essentially a documentary?
review
The inevitability of growing old is undoubtedly a fear that’s rooted within all of us. Losing your physical capabilities and your youthful good looks, loneliness, boredom – the list of worries is endless. At least, that’s what it feels like in Hermes Paralluelo’s stark debut feature Not All Is Vigil, a film that tackles all of the above in such detail that it has its audience experiencing the aging process too, each relentless minute feeling like a year. When Felisa, 82, discovers that her equally elderly husband has requested to go into a care home after his stay in hospital, she is concerned that her life will change for the worse. Upon the arrival of a letter from social services (perhaps granting his wish), she does everything in her power to keep him with her. Her dependency on Antonio is pushed to extremes, and it’s clear that the two yearn for days past - can their lifestyle and their relationship be maintained? Or is it doomed to deteriorate, just like their ancient house and their own bodies? It’s not the most light-hearted of subject matters – even less so upon learning that the couple on screen are actually Paralluelo’s grandparents in real life. This knowledge gives the already bleak documentary style of filming an even darker edge, and as we observe their laboured routines and sad silences we can’t help wondering just how close to reality the film comes. However, their relationship also provides some rather charming moments and is the source of much of the film’s comedy. Their constant bickering is amusing and relatable (expect to be fondly reminded of parents and grand-
Well, everything is real – they are real. But the things I see in them, their feelings and the way they make me feel, I view as a kind of fiction because it’s so intense. So I constructed fiction that is rooted in reality. My last film was a documentary, so that definitely affected the way I shot this one, and is why it looks like one. The most important thing to me is the person on screen, and trying to understand the complexity of that human being, and shooting in a documentary style allows you to be close enough to do that. Was there a particular moral message you wanted to get across in terms of how society treats the elderly? At times I found myself very frustrated with them, then felt guilty! Is this what you wanted? It’s not just about older people, it’s about society in general – we have a lack of attention. We don’t focus on anything, and I made sure that the movie had very few elements to it so that the audience would have to pay
parents), and Felisa’s increasingly dramatic attempts to keep Antonio at home - “I’m dying, I can’t take it any longer!” – are at times laugh-out-loud funny. It’s clear in these moments that the choice to use real people rather than actors was a wise one, creating the kind of dynamic that would be difficult to replicate were it not sincere. Paralluelo’s techniques in portraying elderly life are incredibly accurate and effective to the point of being flawed, and it’s really in this aspect that the film loses its footing. Shots of dark, deserted corridors and loud and isolating medical scans perfectly encapsulate a sense of loneliness, but so frequent are these sequences that sometimes it feels as if the viewer has been abandoned too – left to watch their lives with little concern for our own entertainment or enjoyment. Similarly, the acute attention to detail becomes almost infuriating when forced to witness the characters walk to the front door or climb the stairs time and time again, all in agonising slow motion. A repeated cycle of irritation and guilt doesn’t make for a very fun viewing experience, but it does highlight the film’s key themes: do we give up on the elderly too easily? Should we be more patient? Perhaps in this respect, Paralluelo is a more accomplished director than he initially appears. There’s no denying that Not All is Vigil stays true to reality, though ultimately this is more of a burden than a bonus. And if you weren’t afraid of getting old before the film, you certainly will be after it.
attention all the time. I remember when I was staying with my grandparents, and they were telling me stories, and I wasn’t listening! And I thought: “why didn’t I listen? Now that story is lost!” So in the movie, you’ll find several stories that can no longer be lost – because you’ll be forced to concentrate. Staying for a long time in the same place (with the same person) is a revolutionary idea to me, and I wanted the film to show that. What was the process of getting the film funded? I met the Colombian co-producers at a workshop in Venezuela, and it was there that they became interested. Financing was actually a matter of urgency for me. Obviously my grandparents are very old now, so I couldn’t really wait for the funding – I started shooting without it. This actually turned out to be a good thing. I feel much more comfortable dealing with images than with text, so being able to actually show what the film looks like helped convince them to fund it, I think. 29
“I think he’s a photographer and he was editing. I look at him and I can see myself in 50 years” 30
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The Silly Ones and the Stupid Ones Roberto Castón, Spain
New Directors
Review and Interview by Bruno Guerra (Portugal) 32
Roberto Castón is an example of how deeply the recession has devastated his country, Spain. However, between jobs and with lack of funds, Castón found, in the shortage, the virtue, directing a movie that homages Cinema and awards creativity in such hard times in filmmaking. What is the origin of the title? This movie is a fusion between two scripts, which I started to write a long time ago and worked separately. Eventually a common story was starting to develop into something more complete, I thought it would be a good idea to complement with another story, in order to make a full film. So, I mixed characters from both scripts, which consisted in two different ways of seeing life, of facing obstacles, in essence, two different points of view about life. This movie is divided by acts and presents
very incomplete sets and black backgrounds. Where the idea to make a movie like this came up? From need (laughs). This was a pretty common movie, it had a usual script, with outside scenes, as well. But after the first funds, in 2010, we were headed towards the right path to make the movie, the recession came in, and we couldn’t get production funds. So, in 2012, we barely had money. We had two options: not make the movie or reinvent the script in order to fit in our tight budget. Then the writing was hard (laughs). Rewriting and still keeping the cohesive story was difficult. So, the cheap way (laughs), was to deconstruct the movie. Despite the lack of funds, everything in this movie worked. It’s a clear example of creativity. The minimal sets allowed the viewer to focus on the script and in the important concerns and diseases that were introduced. How was it to work with this deli-
review
The movie begins in black and white, soundlessly, with just people arriving to a studio where they will spend their last day of shooting/rehearsing a play (that eventually becomes some sort of a movie). But as soon as they walk through the door, all the atmosphere changes, it becomes colourful, it becomes noisy, and with that in mind, between all the movements, the screen fades in black as the first act begins. It will explore several stories that evolve important diseases such as syphilis, Alzheimer’s and AIDS and how that affects and unites every character within the script, as each one of them fights their own interior battles and mirrors every single point of view and reaction to each disease and, eventually, to each story. The Silly Ones and the Stupid Ones, written and directed by Roberto Castón, is not a common movie; it is, instead, a movie within a movie with enormous features that makes it a distinctive one. There are no fully equipped sets, no music, only a narrator, the actors and their scripts. With all this minimalist details (and the absence of some of them), the viewer sees himself even more trapped in the flawless stories that are presented; the dark that covers the room gives birth to our imagination, creating, to each viewer, a distinctive set, a different world and multiple points of view since each spectator thinks differently, it creates a debate among viewers of how each others’ life experiences, traditions, costumes and beliefs completely change their interpretation of a clear story.
cate subjects? This movie talks without taboos. It is a tragic-comedy, clearly, at least to me. For example, the death of André made people laugh, a lot, even more than I expected (laughs), but still, it proves my point, the audience was laughing from a tragic event. And sex is the origin of life, but it can also be the origin of death. So I like to think that my movies raise a lot of political and social concerns, so I needed this matters to be present in the movie. Another interesting thing in the movie were the experiments, like a constant reminder that this was a movie within a movie. Was that the purpose? In my process of rewriting I had a clear notion that I had to insert comedy throughout the movie. Mixing tragedy with comedy always leaves you hope in the end. I love Lars von Trier tragedies, but I couldn’t make
In addition, it crosses stories, making each one affect the other. It is not a new concept but, however, it works pretty well. Each character carries enough layers that influence the next; they explore a panoply of feelings and themes as they tangle every single character (and viewer). In essence, we watch a day of shooting, with lunch and snack breaks all filmed in black and white as if they were not relevant, as if they were a distraction for the characters, and a “rest” to the viewer, in order to absorb all the information. The clear absence of music (until the last scene), makes itself a soundtrack, carrying heavy silences and deep breaths to drill even deeper into our hearts, while the shooting is perfectly simple yet relevant in order to contain every possible absence of details but always reminding us to think. In conclusion, despite the slow start, the key to this movie is in the meaningful importance of what it’s not there, making it more relevant than the things that actually are, developing marvellously into a profound story as if to end the same way as it started, black and white, but this time with music, and the clear feeling of an accomplished day. Roberto Castón proved that even without funds, there is always room for creativity and, eventually, made a quality work of art.
one. I prefer when the viewer leaves with a smile in the end, so I needed to mix the funny elements in the movie. What are the differences in making a film in Spain since your first film, Ander, in 2009, and this one? Everything (laughs). There are no public funds, people stopped going to cinema with the increasing price of tickets. The government doesn’t want finance culture and, unfortunately, is succeeding. So I can say that everything changed. Making films is quite rare and there are only a few directors with full freedom to do what they want. So, we do as we can. I can’t be a full-time director, unfortunately.
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review
In Her Place Albert Shin, South Korea/Canada New Directors
Ever found yourself wondering what would have happened if Reitman’s Juno had been filmed in South Korea? Well, fortunately you won’t have to anymore, because Korean director Albert Shin has sort of done that with In Her Place. The hamburger phones and ingeniously idiosyncratic banter of Reitman’s film are gone, but in their place has come an influx of gritty South Korean realism.
All the same, these depictions of women confined to oppressive roles in claustrophobic, interior settings, once again seem to hark back to the West too. In Her Place might even put you in mind of something like the dated wisdom of The Feminine Mystique. You shouldn’t be surprised to find all these North American influences in what is an otherwise very Korean film, either. Shin is after all Canadian, born and bred.
The end product is no way as depressing as it sounds! There’s still plenty of laughs, and it’s not like you have to be amused constantly by a film about surrogate babies, anyway. Despite the similarities in plot of an unexpected teenage pregnancy being “resolved” by adoption, Shin actually delivers an emotional experience.
In fact, Shin recently stated that he saw film as a medium for bridging cultures, starting with something specific and then forging something universal. Well, I think he’s managed that. And he’s done it by taking a well-studied look at Western cultural problems and marrying them with troublesome, entrenched beliefs in Korean culture. (In this case the importance Koreans place on having kids and maintaining pure familial bloodlines).
Shin’s distanced filming style almost manages to forcibly keep us from putting ourselves in the female characters’ shoes. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t because close-ups never take place, but because they generally only occur when characters menacingly move towards us. Characters are generally filmed from afar, from the hip up, impairing our desire to empathise. Buildings and walls even often sit before the camera, acting almost like lenses. These barriers create frames within a frame on the big screen, and always give us a lovely extralayer of distance to enjoy. These factures make In Her Place yet another film which suggests there are strong, problematic rifts in Korean society. We see dichotomies between generations, love and violence, and rural and urban values. These issues lead to jagged social wounds, and by the end of the movie these wounds are gorily rubbed right in our gawping, squeamish faces. But would you expect anything less from Korean cinema?
So when characters try to free themselves from these social impositions by relocating or romping around the countryside, their desire to escape is both local and universal. But the pastoral scenes that burst into view are not always beautiful. This is by no means an idealisation of rural life. Instead the land often seems to have brought forth only weeds, and this is yet another movie which suggests that something is rotten in the state of South Korea. In other ways, In Her Place seems to furiously penyet another Korean hate-letter to capitalism, accusing it of allowing some to exploit the crap out of others. So in answer to our earlier question, it seems that if South Korea had made Juno, it would have been a pretty deep, thought-provoking beast. A tricksy beast that is well worth tussling with yourselves. by Thomas Humphrey (UK) 35
review
Toto and His Sisters Alexander Nanau, Romania - New Directors
There were, for Plato, a group of prisoners deep in a dark cave. Their heads chained, they could only see dancing shadows swinging to the fire behind them, hiding the real people working along a corridor. One day, one of the chained men walked outside and saw by himself the huge world around him. The sun was shining too bright for the poor guy who never saw but the darkness of the cave. But soon the recently free man realized a new truth beyond the shadows, so he went back to release the others who, used to their own reality, accused him of lying and beat him to death. Nowadays, Toto and His Sisters tells the story of a boy living in a Roma ghetto surrounded by junkies, in the flat that used to be his home before his mother was imprisoned for trafficking drugs. His sisters, Andreea and Ana, look after him in the best way that two kids forced to grow up too fast are able to figure out. The first gets out of home as often as she can, pretending not to care about what she leaves behind. The other, as a reflection of the matriarch, chooses the easiest way to provide for her siblingsdealing drugs and using them as her own way out. The situation is bad as it is, but it gets worse when the eldest (but minor) sister, Ana, is also caught, condemned to repeat her mother’s pattern. A social programme reaches the community aiming to educate the ghetto kids. Toto discovers he can channel his energy by dancing. Despite not knowing yet what she really wants, Andreea realizes soon that she only has to keep one thing in mind: not to allow her life to be lead by drugs and self-destruction. Feeling
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real care probably for the first time and guided by professionals, she drags Toto and herself to a children’s shelter. Another hard decision not meant for a 15-year-old. Within these walls they get the chance to know a life different from the one they didn’t choose to live and they probably don’t deserve. Like Plato’s prisoner, Toto’s sight, used to the darkness of the ghetto, painfully finds the traces of new possible paths. Always surrounded by ghosts of the family’s unavoidable laces playing with the magnetic attraction of the cave’s abyss, the children will try to show the discovery to their mother after she is released. But, as Plato’s self-chained prisoners, she will try to kill any ideas of kind of intruders telling her how to raise her children. As the cave made us consider the world around as the capital foundation of our lives, Alexander Nanau challenges Western European society to reflect on this other reality that persists at the edge. With an uncomfortable but unpretentious approach, the Romanian filmmaker (self-exiled in Germany) forces the viewer to follow Toto’s routine among the ruins of his new life. Guided by a traditional feature narrative, the documentary lets life happen, the viewer too confused to believe the brutal, naked, natural image is real. The true power of the film comes from the strength of its characters, self-created, although well lead by a director who stands objective but firm, encouraging us to find a better solution for them. by Sara Martínez (Spain)
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Credits Director of Publication Fernando Vasquez (Portugal) Editors Fernando Vasquez (Portugal), Mirona Nicola (Romania), Ewa Wildner (Poland), Luisa Riviere (Colombia) Writers Robyn Davies (UK), Teresa Pereira (Portugal), Bruno Guerra (Portugal), Hugo Gomes (Portugal), Tara Karajica (Serbia), Matthew Turner (UK), Thomas Humphrey (UK), Sara Martínez (Spain), Daniel Martínez (Spain) Photographer and Videographer Mariana Mendes (Portugal), Marc Bhatti (Germany) Design and Layout Francesca Merlo (Italy) Lucía Ros Serra (Spain) Special Thanks to José Luis Rebordinos, Gemma Beltrán, Nekane Miranda, Matthieu Darras. This is a publication of
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With the support
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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“Everybody wants to take a picture like this and I’m not an exception. El Peine de Los Vientos is the symbol of San Sebastian” 40
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