Global Film Initiative

Mutum

mandy — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Mutum is a coming of age, low-budget feature about a subsistence farming family living in the sertão, the hardscrabble outback of Minas Gerais, Brazil. The family is so dirt poor and isolated that nearly every meal is rice and a little meat, the roof leaks buckets in a rainstorm, and a person can die from lack of treatment for a minor scrape that becomes infected.

The protagonist, Thiago (Thiago da Silva Mariz), nine years old, is guileless, curly-haired, doe-eyed, a moralist, a storyteller, a profound questioner, and a favourite of his long-suffering mother (Izadora Fernandes). His innocence is broken by death, violence, and sexual betrayal, mostly played low-key or off-screen, except for a small amount of overt physical violence.

The household’s father, Bero (João Miguel), can joke with his kids, but has a hair-trigger temper, is subject to rages, and abuses his family—especially Thiago because his son is broodingly sensitive. His personable uncle (Rômulo Braga) treats Thiago well, but exploits the relationship to manipulate the boy. His older brother, Felipe (Felipe Leal Barroso), with whom he is close, suffers a disturbing fate.

Sandra Kogut, Mutum's director, takes chances that pay off. The temporal and thematic connections between scenes are not always immediately obvious. This method requires a viewer to actively engage with the scenes to connect their meanings—a good thing. Kogut’s actors are mostly non-professionals. All of them—kids and adults alike—do amazingly well in range and expression. One feels their authentic presence, undoubtedly because they are native to the locality. This casting creates the feel of eavesdropping on real lives, as well as foregrounding by comparison the artifice of so much Hollywood acting.

Contrary to the hyperkinetic editing fashionable in many studio films, Kogut establishes an unhurried rhythm using long takes that employ close-ups and extreme close-ups, often of people’s faces, which contrast sharply with telephoto landscape shots. This method and its results mirror the slow pace of the countryside and also allow the characters to bond emotionally in a convincing way, which big feature films often fail to do because those movies almost always restlessly move on to the next edit.

Example: Thiago and his mother must make a decision that will alter their lives forever. He comes to her, climbs in her lap, rests his head on her shoulder. Dialogue is minimal. Everything they feel lives in their faces and their hug. One keeps expecting an edit, but the camera is not impatient; it holds for about a minute—an eternity for most shots in movies nowadays—so they and we can feel the love between them. It’s a beautiful, simple, complex minute.

Finally, in this incomplete list of Kogut’s achievements with this film, Mutum eschews a music track. This tactic lets an audience experience on its own the emotions arising from those long, intimate takes rather than being coerced into those emotions by hammer-and-anvil leitmotifs. Sounds from the environment—the barking of dogs, a cow lowing, birds calling, insects chirruping—contribute to a scene’s tone, while simultaneously helping to create the sense of place.

I do have a major beef with Mutum. In the last few minutes of the film, with nary a scintilla of backstory, seeding, or foreshadowing to set this up, there occurs an extremely important revelation about Thiago. This sudden revelation is all the more jarring because it seems incompatible with what we have seen of him; thus the suspension of disbelief necessary to drama—indeed upon which emotional involvement in drama absolutely depends—is shattered. This flaw is not a dealbreaker, as there are so many pleasures and treasures in Mutum, but it sure is a clunky misstep in an otherwise excellent picture.

Written by: Neil Flowers, March 10th 2011

Sleepwalking Land

gwen — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Directed by Teresa Prata

Global Film Initiative

Based on the novel by Mia Couto, Sleepwalking Land showcases the bittersweet journey of an older man and a boy as they meander through the war-ravaged countryside of Mozambique. Initially, Muidinga and “Uncle” Tuahir are seeking the basics: food, shelter, and safety from traveling gangs. Tuahir had pretended to be Muidinga’s uncle when they were residing in the Xalala refugee camp. The boy was presumed dead until Tuahir noticed otherwise, and by claiming a familial bond, the man was able to take the boy under his wing. Now the two are seeking refuge from the refugee camp and are in a truly nomadic, transitory situation.

When Muidinga and Tuahir make a burned and looted bus into their temporary home, they find passengers’ belongings among the charred remains of the bodies. Muidinga finds and begins to read the diary of a young man named Kindzu to the illiterate Tuahir. This discovery transforms their day-to-day existence into a purpose-filled trip through the past and present, while helping them to develop a goal for the future.

The much-needed escape afforded by Kindzu’s stories reminds Muidinga and Tuahir that people will go to great lengths to find and create family despite the grips of a gruesome civil war. Along with the goat that Muidinga finds in the bushes, the pair decide to travel to the sea to find Kindzu’s love Farida, and complete the quest that Kindzu described in words but was unable to finish.

Along the way, Muidinga and Tuahir meet a variety of characters, both in reality and by way of Kindzu’s stories. All of these interactions help the two to create their own story, and to build their relationship to the point that Tuahir asks Muidinga to call him Father. At the beginning of the movie, Tuahir gruffly tells Muidinga that “In wartime, children are a burden.” His rough, realistic attitude is a testament to a life that has required him to harden himself to continual sadness. But the two clearly bring each other joy as well, as is apparent when Tuahir tells Muidinga to eat a piece of foraged fruit with care: “Eat slowly, so you can taste every color.” The old man gradually divulges information about Muidinga’s parents and past as their journey progresses, and it is easy to see the development of their dynamic from that of near-strangers to kin.

A few years ago, I reviewed the Cuban film, Alice in Wondertown. This film commented on the Cuban communist government through the lenses of psychological illusions and absurd humor. While Sleepwalking Land is not as explicitly political as Alice in Wondertown, both films vividly examine the mental processes of people who are coping with loss, oppression, and social alienation. They both focus in particular on how traumatized individuals create fantasies to handle desperate situations, and how these dreams begin to seamlessly weave their way into the fabric of reality.

Written by: Rachel Muzika Scheib, February 3rd 2011

Possible Lives (Las Vidas Posibles)

mandy — Sun, 23 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Sandra Gugliotta

Global Film Initiative

As a geologist, Clara’s husband Luciano often travels to Patagonia for work. After calling Clara from the road, he stops answering his cell phone. Once she’s confirmed that he failed to check into his hotel, Clara leaves a note and sets out to find him. Thousands of miles from home, she checks into the room herself. She meets with a police inspector and asks for help finding her husband. “When the weather improves,” he assures her, noting that in such inclement conditions, there are many accidents.

While biding her time in the middle of nowhere, Clara meets a real estate agent who bears a striking resemblance to her missing spouse. She feigns interest in buying property to spend time with him, despite the fact that he has a wife. She prowls around his house at night. She asks awkward questions about his personal life and, eventually, she even ignores information from the police about her husband’s actual disappearance.

Possible Lives, a sleepy eighty-minute film in Spanish with English subtitles, is an interesting concept but lacks suspense. Though pretty, it isn’t terribly eventful. Without much time to learn about the characters’ relationships, it’s difficult to feel connected to their problems, to Clara’s fright and grief; yet it’s always quite easy to discern what is happening in what could be an elegant mystery about losing one’s mind and losing one’s partner. It’s a perfectly fine film to catch along with a series of other during a festival showcase, but you shouldn’t rent it expecting a riotously entertaining drama.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, January 23rd 2011

What A Wonderful World

mandy — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Faouzi Bensaidi

Global Film Initiative

In What A Wonderful World, director Faouzi Bensaidi attempts to bring together the incongruities of Moroccan urban life with elegance and intimacy. The film features a set of diverse characters whose lives intersect either by coincidence or choice. Thus, throughout the film one notices several intertwined little stories. However, the film’s main storyline revolves around a mercenary assassin, Kamel (who is played by Bensaidi), who falls in love with Kenza, a traffic officer by day and a prostitute by night.

Kamel’s job is driven by the world around him. Everything he sees is a potential sign he will use in order to obtain serial numbers as passwords that enable him to log onto a secure website where he gets his assignment—his next victim. Following every murder, Kamel calls Souad, Kenza’s best friend and prostitute. They meet in Kamel's rooftop apartment, which has a panoramic view of Casablanca. After he is done with her, Kamel literally dumps Souad from his bed. This scene is repeated more than once, yet Souad continues to answer his calls whenever Kamel desires.

I found these scenes to be quite disturbing because the director projects the idea that women and prostitutes are mere objects used for the sexual gratification of men. In other words, Souad’s body is transformed into an arena where institutionalized violence is accepted, and hence constitutes part of the spectrum of (dis)embodiment that is inflicted, and not determined, by the cultural, social, economic, and political setting of her world. Whether Bensaidi was conscious of the implications that this had, I cannot help but argue that What A Wonderful World reproduced dynamics of objectification and dissociation.

On another note, from a gendered perspective, one can argue that Bensaidi positions women against each other given the fact that Kamel falls in love with Souad’s best friend. Thus, rather than creating a mutual bond between women who are economically, culturally, and socially ostracized and oppressed, he constructs a form of competition that makes one question whether or not ‘sisterhood’ is actually possible. What A Wonderful World demonstrates that to survive in a world where crime is widespread and unemployment is evident, people might end up resorting to violence.

Written by: May Abu-Jaber, January 20th 2011

I Am From Titov Veles (Jas Sum Od Titov Veles)

alicia — Sat, 11 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

Directed by Teona Mitevska

Global Film Initiative

The film begins with a visual icon of the industrial world: the factory’s spires rising like a cathedral, emitting billows of smoke into the sky. Then, a woman’s legs, wrapped like a present in ribboned slippers and a skirt of delicate fabric. She is walking quickly along a wall; she is hurrying. Behind her, out of focus, a man rides on a machine in the factory yard. It becomes obvious that she is surrounded by a workers’ strike, and she sits down and suddenly notices a tiny bug on her hand. She is delighted, in awe. Her absorption with this tiny creature drowns out the noise around her, and she tilts her head back, breathing deeply.

I Am From Titov Veles is a film written and directed by Teona Mitevska, a Macedonian artist who graduated from NYU Tisch and now co-runs a family film company called Sisters and Brother Mitevski with her sister Latina, actress and star of Titov Veles, and her brother Vuk, art director and painter/sculptor who studied at Bennington college in Vermont. The film has won over fifteen international festival awards, and they are well earned. This is a precious film, a rare work of visual intensity and beauty as well as infinitely rich content.

It appears obvious that Teona Mitevska loves this film, these characters, and most of all this place. The film is “patriotic” in the truest sense: it expresses joy at the joyful parts of the place, and horror at that which is horrible. It is truly a film which replaces patriotic guns with a camera, and goes forth with purpose.

The story follows the youngest of three sisters, Afrodita (played by the sister Latina Matevska) who has chosen not to speak since they lost their parents when she was young. She lives with the two older sisters, one of whom works at the factory and suffers from drug addiction, and the other who is obsessed with gaining a visa to leave Veles as soon as possible.

Their relationship is intense and tenderly erotic, full of love but first and foremost at the service of survival. Their bodies are fiercely controlled by boundaries: boundaries of their citizenship, boundaries of marriage and connections to men, boundaries of drugs and substance addiction. They push against these boundaries, struggling to transcend, but ultimately they have little to help them. They are middle-aged, single women, without a father or patriarchal lineage to sustain them. There is little hope to escape this city, whose factory is slowly suffocating the city’s inhabitants with menacing fumes.

This film is beautifully wrought from all directions. The direction is very fine, walking along the razor’s edge to elicit both deep visual pleasure and emotional turbulence. The soundtrack is stunning; at certain points, the music is allowed to soar and take charge of the film in a powerful way (original compositions by Olivier Samouillan). The acting is both controlled and absolutely joyful, the actors breathing fully in the space they inhabit, embracing the contradictions of their characters: especially Latina’s performance of Afrodita, which is simply unforgettable.

The painterly quality of the film undoubtedly comes from Vuk’s art direction, as well as Teona’s training as a painter. There are, throughout the film, fantasy sequences with color so stunning and forms so ghastly, that they will not be easily forgotten. Careful framing and composition is a constant: the collective eye of the creators is tremendously successful at creating not only a political, challenging film, but also a remarkably beautiful visual feast.

The film is not easy to watch. The assertion of bodies is sometimes gruesome: the painful sexual encounters, the splitting episodes of drug withdrawal, the suggestion of rotting odor and burning flesh, the omnipresent suggestion of the oppressive fumes from the factory. However, the tenderness of the sisters in certain moments undoubtedly triumphs. The beauty and love that somehow prevail despite their chaotic context allows the film to float out beyond its difficulty. This film absolutely hovers in the mind at the same time that it is physically daunting to experience. There is a balance between pain and love that is completely real and completely felt. Beautiful.

Written by: Beth Fagan, December 11th 2010

Masquerades

admin — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Lyès Salem

Global Film Initiative

The first feature film of Lyès Salem, Masquerades is a lighthearted and quirky comedy about an Algerian gardener, Mounir Mekbek, who dreams of a life beyond the confines of his sleepy village. His arrogance combined with his “responsibility” for a narcoleptic younger sister, Rym, make him the laughingstock of his community. He is a misunderstood dreamer who has aspirations, but can’t quite seem to pull himself together to meet the goals he has set for himself. He blames his humiliation on his sister’s illness and dreams of using the prospect of finding a good match for her to improve his standing in his village.

Following an incident at a wedding, an inebriated Mounir declares to the entire village that he has promised Rym to the wealthy foreigner. As a means of damage control, the family leaves town, in order to return and state that Rym was not interested in the gentleman. However, in order to motivate her sweetheart, Khliffa, to propose to her, Rym declares her intentions to marry the stranger.

Thus, the entire village becomes involved in the exciting lie as everyone wants to be a part of, not only planning the wedding, but the new fortune of the Mekbek family. Salem does a great job of portraying the views and reactions of the village, as well as the aspirations of the other villagers. It becomes evident that Mounir was not ridiculed for his sister, or lack of material wealth, but because of his haughty attitude towards his neighbours. Mounir is swept away in the newfound respect that he earns for commanding the regard of such a highly regarded foreigner. The introduction of the wealthy foreigner is an effective device to show the hypocrisy, but ultimately the desire Mounir has to make a better life for his wife, son, and sister.

The female cast definitely makes the movie more powerful. The character who shines the most is Habiba, Mounir’s wife, played by Rym Takoucht. She sees right through Mounir’s cocky façade, and brings him back to reality from his schemes to gain respect from the village. Her relationship with Mounir represents the realities that she has had to face, despite having been very in love with him at the time of their courtship. I was grateful that the film did not depict her as a bitter hag, but as a woman who is discontented in a sense, but keeps her family grounded in reality. Their relationship provided an interesting parallel to the courtship of Rym and Khliffa. I became disappointed towards the end of the film, because the lie about the wealthy foreigner simply goes away, and Rym ends up with Khliffa, thus providing a clean and happy ending.

Overall, I really enjoyed this film, and I thought it was a great depiction of the restlessness that comes with wanting something more in the face of socioeconomic hardship—something that I feel that many can relate to. It was also refreshing to watch a film in which an Islamic community was not depicted as the barbaric site of oppression of women, but rather showed the complex nuances of life in a small village in a changing world.

Written by: Sara Yasin, August 15th 2010

Adrift (Choi Voi)

admin — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 01:00:00 +0000

Directed by Bùi Thạc Chuyên

Global Film Initiative

At last year's Venice Film Festival, Adrift won the FIPRESCI (International Federation of Film Critics) Prize. With its lush scenery, layered characters, and startling soundtrack, it’s not hard to see why the film stood out to an international panel of jurors.

The film is in Vietnamese with English subtitles and is set in various Vietnamese locales, including Hanoi, Quang Ninh, and Hoi An. Jam-packed streets filled with tiny tuk-tuks and motorcycles are juxtaposed with lonely, gorgeous beach campfires at sunset. The sights and sounds of Vietnam play a large role in the film, but the characters and their ambiguous, conflicted emotions take center stage.

Our female protagonist Duyen (Do Thi Hai Yen) is a beautiful and happy newlywed. She admits to her friend Cam (Linh- Dan Pham) that she is content to have “settled” on a life that makes her happy. Cam is unable to hide the myriad of negative emotions that she feels in response to Duyen’s union with Hai (Duy Khoa Nguyen), a boyish cab driver. Cam’s physical expressions paired with her vague verbal musings make it hard for a viewer to discern the root of her negativity. Is it because she is ill? Jealous?

Tho (Johnny Tri Nguyen) is introduced when Duyen makes a delivery to him as a favor to Cam. The relationship that ensues between Tho and Duyen is chaotic, lovely, and not quite right. Likewise, Hai embarks on a friendship with a young neighbor that blurs the line between right and wrong, appropriate and inappropriate. In both cases, there is a power dynamic at play, in which the female has been or could be victimized by one or multiple men. Cam seems to be exempt from this rule, as her character straddles the continuum of masculinity and femininity.

If you are seeking clarity, tidy conclusions, or even an a-ha moment, Adrift may leave you disappointed. Feel like spending the afternoon in a rain-soaked relationship kaleidoscope? Then this is the film for you.

Written by: Rachel Muzika Scheib, August 14th 2010