Split in two loosely connected chapters – Mirza (directed by Veriou) and The Chest (directed by Pița) – Lust for Gold is an entrancing period drama which slyly mirrors the circumstances behind the Iron Curtain, all the while exploring the human predicament in a way that renders it timeless. Light on dialogue, but heavy on poetic, beautifully composed images and inspired camerawork (Iosif Demian), as well as on idiosyncratic score densely interwoven with premonitory folk songs (Dorin Liviu Zaharia), this little known 70s gem is one of those films that reinvigorate and elevate your love for (arthouse) cinema, locking you into its world – illusory, yet true – for ninety minutes.
It’s hard to say anything new about highly acclaimed classics such as Truffaut’s feature debut, but it is even harder being a child surrounded by a bunch of dysfunctional adults, or worse, a child in a grown man’s body disoriented in a dysfunctional society, but that’s a whole different story... Anyhow, Jean-Pierre Léaud plays the central role of a troubled kid, Antoine, with a fascinating blend of natural talent and the conviction of a versed actor, carrying the bittersweet, quietly poignant film on his still frail shoulders. Under Truffaut’s taut, unwavering direction, he is assisted by Henri Decaë who starkly captures the grit and melancholy through the keen eye of his camera, with Jean Constantin’s wistful score softening the edges of Antoine’s unenviable coming of age, as the themes of rebellion and never-ending search for freedom resonate as strong as they did more than six decades ago...
A Kafkaesque allegory of totalitarian regime, often evocative of the current reality in Serbia, Luxury Hotel is told from the wry perspective of a young restaurant manager, Alex (Valentin Popescu), struggling with the mad, reactionary ways of the Employer who owns the titular place. Deliberately unsparing and increasingly absurd, the film reaffirms the viewer’s disdain for authority, and navigates us – in a fever dream-like daze – across the extravagant lounges, damp utility rooms, a dusty library, and a crowded prison, rarely providing a breather. Through the gates of a freight elevator moving slowly from one floor to the next, we are introduced to the hotel’s (ever-crumbling) model of class stratification, bearing witness to the metastasis of despair in a stifling atmosphere of paranoia emphasized by a number of restrictive medium shots and closeups, as well as by the VHS surveillance footage.
Mimi – the tragic heroine of Puccini’s opera La bohème – joins forces with the free-spirited character of Musetta (turned her alter-ego?) to investigate the circumstances surrounding her own death in Sally Potter’s performative, formally challenging short Thriller. The French-accented voiceover leads the viewer through the feminist narrative with slight queer undertones, as Bernard Herrmann’s iconic string piece for Psycho intrudes the otherwise brooding soundscape planted with the excerpts of 1938 La Scala recordings of the said opera. In addition to the original footage largely composed of frozen, La Jetée-style vignettes, the film utilizes stills of productions at the Royal Opera House of London, as well as photographs of needlewomen, the courtesy of the National Museum of Labour History. It all makes for a potent concoction, plunging you, puzzled yet mesmerized, into the pitch-black shadows of the highly expressive B&W images that emphasize the experiment’s phantasmal qualities. The minimalist attic setting poses as a liminal (and limiting) space, adding to the dreaded sense of inevitability...
One of the finest installments in the Predator franchise, animated omnibus Killer of Killers is anchored in utterly impressive action sequences, from the single take tracking shot in The Shield chapter, to no talking, and all showing ‘chanbara’ of The Sword segment, to disbelief-suspending dogfights in The Bullet, with the gladiatorial epilogue acting like a cherry on top. The viewer is taken to the 9th century Scandinavia, Edo period Japan, North Africa during World War II, and finally, an alien planet in the distant future, each of the settings beautifully rendered in stylized CGI, often channeling the (blood-stained) spirit of old-school anime. Tratchtenberg and Wassung prove to be a dynamic directorial duo, effectively utilizing the possibilities of the medium, and making the most of the 80-minute time frame, i.e. providing just enough meat to keep you invested in their heroes’ survival.
6. Los hermosos vencidos / Beautiful Losers (Guillermo Magariños, 2021)
“This fucking world is so disgusting now.”
“This fucking world is so disgusting now.”
And yet, Magariños manages to find some exquisite if bleak beauty in a story of two strangers transporting a corpse across Mexico in his fiction feature debut. Initially, Mara (firsttimer Tania López) and Daniel (Diego Calva) are bound only by the promise of the payment they’ll receive once the job is done, but after a routine police check goes awry, their partnership grows stronger, and more intimate. As the two misfits open up to each other, sharing their perspectives on life, purpose and death, secrecy is traded for sincerity, and their odd, somewhat Beckettian journey creates a space for the viewer to reflect upon. The locations they use as stops are far from the postcard-perfect imagery, but they all appear inviting in their brooding remoteness, largely by virtue of DoP Carlos de Miguel’s picturesque framing. Although the pacing could’ve been tighter here and there, Beautiful Losers is a solid effort – a minimalist road movie carried by melancholic visuals and unaffected performances.
Honorable Mention: