Arts: Film

A Chernobyl: 1986

JETHRO ROBATHAN | CONTENT WRITER

It is somewhat inevitable the papier-mâché model that is society’s effort to tackle the Climate Crisis led me to my binge of environmentally oriented disaster films recently. At the forefront was Danila Kozlovsky’s Russian-language Chernobyl: Abyss (2021) – also titled Chernobyl: 1986 on Netflix UK. Unlike the press coverage of the COP26 summit, Kozlovsky’s film manages to avoid being derailed by entirely predictable political dialogue. That should really stay in parliament’s playground. Instead, there is a refreshingly tragic emphasis placed on individualism that reignites the forgotten flame of human emotion.

Chernobyl: 1986 follows Alexey (played by director Danila Kozlovsky), a cockyturned-lovesick fireman who encounters ex-girlfriend Olga (played by Oksana Akinshina) during a trip to the barbers, where she conveniently works. What ensues is a mishmash of romance and drama, naturally, where Alexey to and froes between a sense of familial duty to protect and a desire to rekindle a lost love. It’s mostly to-ing though, as Alexey repeatedly abandons Olga with an estranged son. Sidenote; I would have thought that screenwriting duo Aleksey Kazakov and Elena Ivanova wouldn’t empty their arsenal of narrative cliches in a single script but, clearly, I am mistaken. Chernobyl: 1986 is perhaps better classified as a tearjerker given how often romance sidelines the titular event, Chernobyl. There are welcome overtures to the radioactive footprint of Chernobyl; a particular vivid scene of a dead bird falling from the sky is faintly reminiscent of Hitchcock’s 1963 film The Birds. Kozlovsky even alludes, via assorted characters’ dialogue, to the onus of Chernobyl being in the hands of the Soviet-Russian government. This figurative game of Russian roulette (sorry, not sorry) points the barrel at Soviet authorities, thus undermining much of the pro-propaganda criticisms levelled at Chernobyl: 1986.

Kozlovsky’s picture has largely been met with scathing consensus against the backdrop of the critically acclaimed HBO miniseries Chernobyl (2019). Citing the lack of recognition to Soviet state blunders, one could easily dismiss Chernobyl: 1986 as an exercise in glorification. Further, it being partially funded by the Russian state certainly seems like a public relations narrative.

Yet, this interpretation is a disservice to a film that reminds us that at the heart of every mistake there are real people with real lives who are impacted. To focus solely on the - dare I say - ‘objective’ happenings serve to dismiss the human nature of error. Despite their shared subject matter, comparing the two productions is misguided. HBO’s Chernobyl pivots on the docudrama motif of non-fiction, following real life public figures in the wake of the disaster of 1986. Kozlovsky’s take instead operates on a fictional basis; Alexey may have roots in the tragic sacrifice of Chernobyl’s liquidators but the romantic tension throughout teeters on the cusp of eye-rollingly cheesy. Whilst not for everyone, the AlexeyOlga dynamic mimics an awkward fumbling for normality. Not unlike reality itself. Chernobyl: 1986 is, at heart, an emotional romance-drama. It traverses the borders of a tearjerker, benefitting from the microcosmic focus on the Savostina family. While Kozlovsky undeniably succeeds in jerking the audience’s tears, both as director and lionheart liquidator, he doesn’t quite manage to capture our hearts. Chernobyl 1986 ticks all the boxes expected of a familydriven cinematic epic - the distraught but driven mother, the sick son and the sacrificial saviour.

But that’s all it is. Box ticking.

Gunda: The Big Reveal

DEVESH SOOD | CONTENT WRITER

Spoilers are included in this review.

Directed by Viktor Kossakovsky, Gunda is an hour and a half, black and white film, documenting the lives of a family of pigs, a few chickens, and a cow, all living on a farm. Most would predict it to be dull, others may call it boring, and the possibility of strange is also likely. Throughout the runtime, I ran through all three of these emotions, each at different stages. Yet, there was one emotion that absolutely caught me off guard: empathy.

Source: IMDb The film had been released for months before I was able to see it. I had heard that it was a raw tale of nature, and the ending was sure to leave any audience member certain to adopt the ideals of veganism, though not knowing the specifics. As a lifelong vegetarian the idea of the film left me extremely cautious, especially with a topic as sensitive as dietary. Additionally, I had my predictions about the film’s end, one of extreme gore and unpleasantness to fulfil the message of the film, with the fear of horrors being treated not dissimilar to a lecture.

Hence, the first hour and twenty minutes were bizarre. An absolute painting of a film; a shot portraying almost a silhouette of the mother’s head causing my jaw to drop. Yet, for about 90% of the runtime, the audience is surrounded by the squeals of new-borns and the sights of what seems like a dozen pigs tackling each other in order to receive a seemingly never-ending supply of milk from their mother.

While the argument of this just being ‘natural’ can be made, it doesn’t make it any less pleasant to watch. A later scene with the one-legged chickens could be inputted into The Lighthouse and would be equally as effective in building the sense of unease which that film was already so successful in achieving. At that point, I was ready to label the film as a visually delightful bore. But that 10%... that final 10% changed everything. All the confusion of everything before suddenly made sense. Knowing the ending to be upsetting, my assumption suggested a violent, graphic end to Gunda, one that demanded emotion. Yet, the ending that exists actively rejects this, instead opting for a much quiet ending with no blood, a few squeals, and circles. Ultimately, Kossakovsky’s ending was mature, and his ending was far more effective than any of my ill-conceived ideas. While I questioned the choice for most of the movie, titling the film ‘Gunda’ is absolute perfection. Though present throughout most of the film, the main focus always seemed to be on the piglets, seeing them grow up with their continued demand for milk. As the sound of the tractor fades away, we are left with a confused, grieving mother. One who we witnessed go through the pains of childbirth, the one going through the struggles of raising her young. Left alone, walking, trotting, and running in circles around her pen, going through the stages of confusion, panic, misery and finally acceptance, bitter acceptance. Stunned, as the credits rolled. Those ten minutes achieved the impossible, something so bizarre yet heartfelt; it made me empathise with a pig.

Source: IMDb

Spencer

DEVESH SOOD | CONTENT WRITER

Spencer finally helped me understand. Telling the story of Diana during Christmas 1991, the film seems oddly timely considering the state of the monarchy today. My personal thoughts on the Royals are… complicated, and having never shared the earth with the Princess, hurdles were already in place when I sat down to watch this film. When looking back at recent films based on real people, many rely on the achievements of the subject rather than creating something interesting around that subject. Yet, this is not always the case, one of those examples being Jackie (2016) from Pablo Lorraine, the man behind Spencer. Unlikely that most, if any, of what’s portrayed is of truth, this melancholic, bitter tale taught me more about Diana than any one of the numerous dull BBC documentaries on her. Firstly, Stewart shines. While it may take some a few moments to register the accent, she quickly settles into the role. Long gone are the days of the ‘spider-monkey’ (though this was known to anyone who watched Clouds of Sils Maria or Personal Shopper) and will likely require the equivalent of an Emma Stone ‘La La Land’ performance to dampen any chance of a Best Actress nomination and even win at next year's Oscars. Speaking of Stone, be ready to expect both the costume work and the hair and makeup to be credited alongside the likes of Cruella next year, with many accurately replicating the designs of the past. Demonstrating a woman trapped within an outdated family, one scared of the threat of modern journalism, a common theme as seen from the sign in the opening shot of the film labelled ‘Keep noise to a minimum. They can hear you’, to the idea of words being weaponized and labelled as ‘currency’. This sense of dread exists throughout the entire film, reinforced with the haunting score that shook my seat and the flat, misty look that was equally stunning as it was depressing. In a surprising way, the film has several moments of levity, with a joke relating to ‘pleasure’ completely stunning the audience, and at least one pop song being a very pleasant surprise. Strangely, the film I kept finding myself associating to this was Rocketman, my favourite film of 2019, and one scene on a beach almost mirrored one of the best moments in that film, though while that one was more the slight misconstruing of a friendship, here it is a more cemented, accepted look at one. Yet the ending made this film. In avoiding spoilers, I will say, compared to most biopics which end with a description of everything that happened after the films end, this one finds the best place to leave these characters, and absolutely uses it. For the first time in the entire film, that sense of melancholia is gone, leaving the audience in a conflict of emotions; one from the ending these characters face and the other knowing what the real people had to endure in the future. And with that feeling, as the credits rolled, I finally understood why those events in 1997 were so important to so many people.

The French Dispatch: Anderson’s Iconic

Cinematography Inspiring Relevance Yet AgainTILLEY BENNETT | FILM EDITOR

On the 21st of October Wes Anderson invited audiences into his fantastical, ironic and, at times, dark depiction of France. Having been postponed due to the pandemic, The French Dispatch was a long-awaited return to cinema from Anderson. The film is undeniably Anderson from its slightly ambiguous plot to the star-studded class. It seems Wes Anderson is unable to cast any minor actors/actresses, and some may argue part of the joy of his films is finding famous actors in unlikely roles or places. Spearheaded by Bill Murray who plays Arthur Howitzer Jr, leader of the fictional magazine Liberty, viewers join the team as they are compiling their final issue.

Anderson is so memorable as a director due to the intricacy of his worlds; the world of the liberty is no stranger to this. The film is split into three different sections mirroring the different articles in the final issue, it is in this way that each character and storyline is given the attention it deserves. The anthology structure was a brave choice from Anderson and has been critiqued for being hard to follow at times. However, when it comes to Anderson films simplicity of plot is probably not the first concern for the director or the notable thing that springs to mind for viewers.

The first section is narrated by Tilda Swinton, who was made for the role of eccentric art correspondent.

Source: IMDb

The whole first section is entirely removed from reality, from Owen Wilson’s initial cycle around an almost caricatured idea of France to the notion of prisoner Moses Rosenthaler (Benecio Del Toro) as a ground-breaking artist. The standout of this segment is the way Anderson combines comedy with emotion, it is the most moving installation. The second segment, which was also my favourite, follows journalist Fabien (Frances Mcdormand) and spunky student Zeffirelli (Timothée Chalamet) as they revolt against the system. Admittedly, it lacks some substance in comparison to the other two ‘features’ and perhaps relies too heavily on the pastiche. I believe it captures the essence of youth evocative of French New-Wave cinema and its representation of France. Anderson closes with, ‘The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner’ an engaging crime story focused on the culinary industry. The final section feels the most unique perhaps because of the mesmerising animation that matches the fast-paced narrative, allowing viewers to admire every side of Anderson’s film making. This film is a visual masterpiece and a feast for the senses. It has everything viewers have come to love and expect from Anderson as an esteemed director. Although it feels at times like the focus is purely on aesthetics and less on the cohesion of the plot, it is still a whimsical and peculiar delight for audiences, not just your tweed wearing, film school hipsters that worship Wes Anderson’s every move. Arguably, Anderson has used this film to showcase his unique ability as a cinematographer to indulge in the bizarre yet still create a picture that is enjoyable for the masses. This film is worth watching even just for visual pleasure and a deeper understanding of Anderson’s technicoloured brain.