Mado

1976 Director Claude Sautet

In a corrupt, ruthless, dog-eat-dog world, are the bonds of friendship and loyalty more important and reliable than the fleeting connections of passion and romantic/erotic love? That is the rhetorical question posed in Claude Sautet's Mado, a clear-eyed, sombre, yet surprisingly sweet drama masquerading as a sort of noirish thriller.

The film recounts the misfortunes of Simon Léotard and his unique relationship with Mado, a prostitute whose services he avails himself of, who also acts as his buddy, moral conscience, and advisor in difficult times. Simon is a real estate developer whose business partner has committed suicide after having irretrievably indebted them to Lépidon, a corrupt competitor who means to undermine their enterprise by any means necessary. A toughened, world-weary old hand at the vicious games of the business world, Simon finds himself in real need of Mado and her loose group of idealistic, unemployed or wage-slaving acquaintances who can offer him ideas, knowledge, and aid as he manoeuvres to save his business and turn the tables on Lépidon.

 

Sautet is remarkably successful at smoothly shifting our attention away from the obligatory material aspirations and dealings of his characters and toward their human feelings, the responsibility they feel for one another. He ends the film not with any resolution or reassurance that our dreams and ambitions can work out, but with a gentle, empathetic sense of half-hopeful resignation. The characters cannot even come close to doing all they would really like to, for themselves or each other; but despite that disappointment, they will do what they can, and there is some small, unspoken glory in that.

Le Pont du Nord

1981 Director Jacques Rivette

This nearly lost film captures the visions and moods of a nearly lost Paris and of a mode of thought that was also on its way out.

It starts as a whimsical urban riff on the theme of chance connections: Marie, a toughened woman of a certain age, heads to Paris after getting out of prison and is joined by Baptiste (her real-life daughter), a long-limbed and fiercely determined dark angel who travels by scooter. Marie reunites with her boyfriend, Julien, a pathological gambler whose mysterious briefcase entangles him in big trouble that Baptiste decides to unravel.

The women’s poetic excursions through the ruins of industrial sites and Impressionist landscapes morph into a spy-versus-spy caper involving left-wing terrorist plots and government infiltration. The labyrinthine city of recondite romanticism and the bloody ideals of revolutionary heroism appear fated to vanish together, even as the chill of rational order reveals another shimmery layer of ingrained authority.

All that said in deference to experimental cinema; this is a truly awful film especially in post production. The sound is unedited which is jarring when going from cut to cut. There are numerous continuity errors. The plot is needlessly convoluted. The acting is hammed and over the top and the characters appear to have no motivation whatsoever. Unsurprisingly the ending is predictable and inconclusive. Really one to avoid.

The Turin Horse

2011 Director Béla Tarr

This film, in some ways, is the most extreme of Tarr's films and yet the simplest. Co-written, once again, by novelist Laszlo Krasznahorkai, The Turin Horse is a minimalist distillation of Tarr's cinema: little more than a man, a woman, a horse, a house, some wretched weather, and very few words. The narrative content is so slender that it's barely even an anecdote, yet the film has the disturbing resonance of some ancient imponderable fable.

It all begins in darkness, as a narrator intones the apocryphal tale of how Nietzsche went mad – supposedly after seeing a horse beaten in Turin. After this incident, the German philosopher lapsed forever more into silence. The punchline: "No one knows what happened to the horse".
Thereafter, it's as if the film – indeed, the whole world – turns to near-silence. The story is told with few words but strong images, shot in long, sinuously executed takes.

This is a film of uncertainties – and because there's nothing solid to grasp in the narrative, what we cling to is the texture of the film itself. We become attentive to the ritualistic repetition of actions, to the prowling camera moves that map out the contours of this enclosed but oddly elastic universe, and to the eerie sound design – along with Mihaly Vig's creaky, dirge-like score, a ghastly three-note refrain has been mixed eerily into the sound of the wind itself, not just hauntingly but fit to drive you mad.

Shot in ascetically beautiful black and white by Fred Kelemen, this could almost be a documentary about 19th-century peasant life at its most challenging. But there's a mysterious metaphysical resonance about The Turin Horse that makes for the enigmatic numinousness of a Kafka parable. This is cinema so spare and silent it's on the verge of being Trappist cinema – and that is eloquence indeed.

Rebellion

2011 Director Mathieu Kassovitz

This film is something of a comeback for Mathieu Kassovitz, an intelligent political drama, part thriller, part war movie, and informed by something of the anger against established authority that fuelled La Haine.

Rebellion is based with some fidelity on a 1990 memoir by Philippe Legorjus, a captain in the GIGN (Groupe d'Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale), an elite unit of the armed forces charged with counterterrorism and hostage negotiation who took part in the brutal repression of an insurrection by inhabitants in the French overseas territory of New Caledonia. Legorjus, a man of probity torn between doing what is right and fulfilling his duty as a military man, is sensitively played by Kassovitz himself. Legorjus's book is called La morale et l'action, the film was released in France as L'ordre et la morale, and both titles are superior to the commonplace one under which it is being shown here.

At times Rebellion brings to mind Apocalypse Now (and, indeed, there are several references to Coppola's movie). It's an exciting, complex story about a government committed to realpolitik and convinced that national interest can justify any kind of sacrifice (including the truth) in order to retain influence. And it's about a man involved in a morally and politically complicated event that is ultimately beyond his control, but from which he doesn't believe he can escape. It's all the more interesting because the incident has been so rapidly forgotten, and indeed failed to become a cause celebre in its time.

Lemon Tree

2008 Director Eran Riklis

Based on a real story, "Lemon Tree" explores the painful human detail of life in a society warped from within and without by terrorism. It charts the plight of a Palestinian woman desperately trying to hang on to the lemon grove her family has tended for decades. As she tells us, she's suffered a lot in her life -- the loss of a husband, the absence of her children, the pain of loneliness and, as director Eran Riklis subtly suggests, the double disempowerment of being a Palestinian among Israelis, and a woman among Palestinians.

And now, with the Israeli defence minister moving in next door, she is about to lose her precious lemon grove, which thuggish security agents deem a potential hiding place for terrorists. Even the neglected wife of the minister, considers the order to chop down the trees arbitrary and unnecessary. But the two women live on opposite sides of the Green Line, in different worlds, and her sympathy from afar can do little to help.

Riklis has made a powerful film, but can a powerful film change anything about the fatalistic culture of powerlessness that is felt throughout Israel and the West Bank? Or does it merely clothe it in poetic garb, aestheticize it, render it as art, to be savoured as something deeply sad and tragic and beyond hope of repair? The irony of "Lemon Tree" is that what it achieves as film -- nuance, complexity, ambiguity -- only adds, in the end, to the sense that nothing can unravel this mess. That's a dangerous feeling to leave in your audience, when there are real lives and trees at stake.

The Apple

1998 Director Samira Makhmalbaf

Shot in 11 days, The Apple is everything a Hollywood film is not, and that’s a major compliment. This understated and poetic, yet refreshingly simple, exercise in filmmaking raises urgent and difficult questions, but refrains from giving us stereotypical and moralistic answers. Rather than making judgment calls, Samira Makhmalbaf challenges us to reflect on the contradictions emerging from the clash between traditional values and the ones propagated by a modern and civilized society.

In the near-iconic opening shot of Samira Makhmalbaf’s remarkable first feature, The Apple, a hand is reaching into the frame to water a dried-out plant. The futility of this simple act becomes evident as we see the life-bringing water miss the pot.  The hand performing this unavailing task belongs to Zahra, an 11 year-old girl who plays herself in this true-to-life film. The bars hindering Zahra from reaching the thirsty flower are the same ones that separate her from the outside world. For as long they can remember, she and her twin sister Massoumeh have been imprisoned in the family home by a righteous and protecting father.  In tying the fate of the flower to the condition of the twins, Samira Makhmalbaf manages to create a powerful and poetic metaphor for the condition of girls and women in an anachronistic Iranian society where archaic traditions can cause antagonism and modern-day tragedy.  In a central part of the film, the father is asked to justify his daughters’ captivity to a social worker. Defending his deed, the 65 year-old unemployed patriarch refers to a tattered copy of “Advice to Fathers.”  “My daughters are like flowers,” he says, “expose them to sun, and they will wither away.” Interpreting the “sun” to mean “boys”, the religious father, whose only ally is his blind wife, decides to isolate his beloved daughters in the name of dignity.  After learning about this real-life tragedy from Iranian television, the 17 year-old director Samira Makhmalbaf became interested in the fate and future of the twins. 

It is clear that the making of The Apple was a profound experience for both Zahra and Massoumeh -- a summary initiation into both the real and the reel world. As viewers, we are allowed to share in their joy of freedom and exploration, and in their enthusiastic appreciation of the small things in life. It is a rare gift to see something so authentic in such an artistic context.  I recently read that Samira’s younger sister has shot two short films. She is ten years old and will probably soon join the ranks of her sister and father. If Samira’s filmmaking is an indication of her sister’s talents, then the Iranian Film Revolution -- or is it Evolution? -- is set to continue.

Ikarie XB 1

1963 Director Jindrich Polák

This Czech film from 1963 – based on a book by Lem, and released in America in a dubbed and recut version as Voyage to the End of the Universe – is about a spacecraft, “a small cosmic town of 40 citizens”, setting forth to seek out life on the planets of the Alpha Centauri system 26,000 light years away. Boldly going where no man has been before – Soviet-style.

Which means taking the whole thing very seriously. There's little or no frivolity in Eastern Bloc SF. So instead of some nonsense about alien princesses, you get a thoughtful script that deals in a sophisticated way with the issues that would beset a crew in that situation. The trip will take 15 years, but because of time dilation it's only going to seem like about eighteen months for those on board. That's long enough though, and a large part of the film is given over to the boredom and petty annoyances of space flight. The dialogue is mostly the kind of ultra-civilised chitchat you would expect to hear at a science symposium, and the acting is of a quality that wouldn't be out of place in a classical drama. As for the trials which the crew face, don't expect any little green men in bubble helmets: the dangers come primarily from humanity's own past and from a bizarre new form of radiation which they encounter.

For anyone who has seen Tarkovsky's stately SF epics, all this is, in a way, only to be expected. What will come as a pleasant surprise, though, is how briskly director Jindrich Polak moves everything along. His elliptical approach to characterisation and use of brief, fragmented scenes is reminiscent of early Roman Polanski. The film is shot in immaculate widescreen black-and-white, and Polak takes advantage of spacious, well-finished sets to experiment with wide-angled lenses, handheld cameras and zooms. You can't help but suspect that the resulting look had a big influence on Kubrick, not just on 2001 but on the War Room scenes in Dr Strangelove.

Ikarie XB-1 is let down slightly by an episodic storyline and an abrupt ending, but otherwise it's an absolute treat, offering all the kitsch pleasures of vintage SF while still bearing up remarkably well to modern scrutiny. Anyone brave enough to check it out will be very glad they did.

The Wind will carry us

1999 Director Abbas Kiarostami

With a strange mission, a group of people from the city come to a small village in Iran. They are awaiting the death of a 100+ year old woman, while pretending to be communication engineers.

A subtle, deceptively simple and richly rewarding work of genius from Kiarostami, this film opens on a long shot of a car negotiating a dusty mountain road, with driver and passengers arguing about where they are. Once the car reaches the Kurdistan village of Siaf Dareh, the ambiguities and mysteries proliferate and interweave. Are the men in the village treasure-hunters, as they tell a boy, the telecom engineers as the villagers assume to be, or something more sinister? Why is their apparent leader curious about the boy's dying grandma? And why, when Tehran calls on his mobile and he needs to move to higher ground, does he always drive to the cemetery, where an invisible man sings from a hole in the ground?

This engrossing and beautiful film succeeds on many levels. As witty, almost absurdist comedy, it offers lovely visual and verbal gags. And as an ethnographic/philosophical study of the relationships between ancient and modern, rural and urban, devotion and directionlessness, it's intriguing and illuminating.

Once Upon a Time in Anatolia

2011 Direcor Nuri Bilge Ceylan

Murder mysteries rarely run as deep as this long, dark night of the soul from Turkish filmmaker Nuri Bilge Ceylan. He is a master of brooding stories defined by their wry questioning of human nature and often focused on men in crisis. He has an unflinching eye for the worst in all of us and for the black comedy and absurd banalities of everyday life.

For his sixth film, Ceylan has chosen his bleakest canvas yet: a murder investigation that begins in the dark wilds of the great Anatolian outdoors and ends in the cold light of an autopsy room. In tone, it’s Ceylan’s most epic and talky film yet. But don’t be fooled – it’s also his most mysterious and meditative.We meet a group of a dozen policemen, soldiers and others as they drive about on the steppes one night in search of a body with the two men suspected of burying it. It’s an ensemble piece, and for much of its 158-minute running time, the film itself feels like a painful, fruitless inquiry as it seeks themes, subjects and characters to latch on to. It’s a police procedural, yes, but you imagine that’s just an excuse to bring together a varied group of men in the face of a terrible event. It’s very far indeed from a traditional whodunnit and much more like a compelling, masterly journey.

The Arrival of Wang

2010 Director Antinio Manetti

This is a remarkable low budget Science fiction film from Italy, that is not exactly known for this genre. Set almost entirely in one room this could easily be a play.

An interpreter based in Rome, whose speciality is Mandarin Chinese gets a call about a very highly paid but mysterious job for a government agency. The money is too good to turn down, so within 20 minutes she is in a car wearing a blindfold being whisked away to a secret location. She is to work with an investigator translating his questions during the interrogation of a suspect. Such is the secrecy of the operation that the interrogation is to be conducted in darkness so Gaia cannot see the subject Senior Wang. She does not know what Wang is accused of, she does not know what agency Curti works for, and as the interview progresses she suddenly finds herself way out of her depth. Ultimately she is moved to seize an opportunity to take matters into her own hands leading to an ending which has a sting in the tail.

The Manetti Brothers’ The Arrival of Wang presents a challenge for a reviewer. The film has a central conceit that it is probably better not to know too much about. Francesca Cuttica is very good in the film as she has to carry the bulk of it, and does so admirably. Yes, the lack of budget shows and there are tacky moments, but as an overall experience I was both fascinated and surprised by the outcome.