Best Premiere Viewings of November 2023

1. Bitterroot Episode 1: Greed’s Dream (Johnny Clyde, 2023)

Initially conceived as a feature film, ‘Bitterroot’ has been transmuted into an online series, and its first episode is a pure surrealist bliss! A mesmerizing blend of photo-novel, painting, and 2D animation, it utilizes a dazzling barrage of phantasmagorical imagery to reach your subconscious mind. Elevating the viewing experience – akin to a hypnagogic trance – is an ethereal, mystifying score synergized with a cryptic, distorted voice-over. Johnny Clyde (The Forgotten Colours of Dreams) once again proves to be one of the most distinct voices of independent cinema.

2. Les chambres rouges / Red Rooms (Pascal Plante, 2023)

If I were asked to describe ‘Red Rooms’ in a single word, I would probably opt for ‘anti-sensationalist’, which also perfectly suits the author’s measured approach to the razor-sharp dissection of modern society, or rather, its evils, collective and individual alike, as well as to the stark, mystery-imbued study of a character fascinated by a heinous crime. Firmly anchored in the central, utterly magnetic performance from Juliette Gariépy whose micro-acting skills give Mads Mikkelsen a good run for his money, this stellar, thought-provoking, impressively cold, steely unnerving and formally ingenious psycho-drama/thriller needs no Hollywood-style ‘fireworks’ to keep you glued to screen. Right from the get-go set in a featureless, yet instantly captivating courtroom, it snatches your attention by virtue of extraordinary camerawork, especially the expert use of long takes, at once immersive and chillingly uncanny sound design, elaborate music score which elevates the bleakness of the atmosphere, and above all, incredibly pedantic direction marked by eerie, Haneke-like austerity, and to a certain degree, methodical mannerism of late Schrader. Beneath its ‘frigid’ surface of brilliantly played understatements, simmers a well of intense emotions, lending a refined patina to the proceedings...

3. Diabły, diabły / Devils, Devils (Dorota Kędzierzawska, 1991)

Dorota Kędzierzawska gently blurs the boundaries between innocence and eroticism in her feature debut – a highly poeticized coming-of-age drama that explores the budding sexuality of a teenage girl, Mała (lit. little one), against the backdrop of the tension between villagers and Romani nomads – ostracized and demonized by country bumpkins – in 60’s Poland. Eschewing dialogue in favor of stunningly beautiful, psychologically penetrating close-ups, she also paints one of the most romantic portraits of Roma people, immersing herself, the young heroine (Justyna Ciemny, absolutely wonderful in the central role) and the viewer in their songs and dancing. From the largely non-professional cast who give off Pasoliniesque vibes at times, she acquires a great deal of authenticity, as well as a strong sense of freedom, delivering the film of pristine energies and meaningful silences, with every look, smile, touch and step impregnated with keen lyricism.

4. La fiancée du pirate / A Very Curious Girl (Nelly Kaplan, 1969)

Chytilova’s feminist radicalism, Buñuelian gleeful irreverence, Papatakis’s anarchic verve, and Godard’s bold use of primary colors coalesce in one of the most entertaining cine-humiliations of capitalist patriarchy. Nelly Kaplan directs her feature debut with playful audacity and rebellious openness, channeling her confrontational zeal through Bernadette Lafont in the central role. Her vibrantly farcical story of a young woman’s liberation from the confines of provincial hypocrisy sees the weaponization of female sexuality as a form of modern-day witchcraft whose practitioner ‘doesn’t let herself to be burned’, in the words of the director herself. ‘A Very Curious Girl’ makes me very curious about other Kaplan’s films.

5. Scavengers Reign (Joseph Bennett & Charles Huettner, 2023)

Taking cues from Mœbius’s artwork, and Laloux’s cult favorites such as ‘Gandahar’, Miyazaki’s adaptation of ‘Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind’ manga, and Dudok de Wit’s masterpiece ‘The Red Turtle’, as well as from a number of movies involving a spaceship crew lost in an alien environment, Bennett & Huettner deliver one of the most imaginative pieces of science-fiction in recent years! ‘Scavengers Reign’ follows a group of survivors from a space freighter Demeter 227 who find themselves stranded on a gorgeous, yet not quite welcoming planet Vesta, and the utterly impressive world building alone is reason enough to visit this short series. Brimming with outlandish vistas and bizarre creatures that make up the setting’s intricate, not to mention awe-inspiring eco-system, it strikes you hard with its surreal-like qualities that are further enhanced by dream sequences and hallucinations, all presented in charmingly (and refreshingly!) quaint 2D animation accompanied by a mesmerizing score.

6. Žuvies diena (Algimantas Puipa, 1990)

Veronika’s reality resembles a disorienting dream, and her dreams are almost as tangible as off-kilter reality. In-between the two indistinguishable ‘extremes’ lies her writing with ‘imaginary exotic setting’, ‘characters who aren’t real’, and ‘everything messed-up on purpose’, in the words of her editor. ‘Why not talk to a film director?’, he asks, hinting at the meta-quality of the fragmented, freewheeling narrative, and quite probably referencing to Jolita Skablauskaitė’s work which served as the source of inspiration for Liucia Armonaitė and Regina Vosyliutė’s screenplay. Whimsically poetic, decidedly meandering and starkly intuitive in its stream-of-consciousness rapture, ‘The Day of the Fish’ stubbornly refuses to conform, placing the viewer in the heroine’s disjointed point of view, and employing a combined barrage of borderline oneiric imagery, dissonantly eclectic soundtrack, and often allusive dialogue to a hypnotizing effect. 

7. Papa les petits bateaux... / Papa, the Lil’ Boats (Nelly Kaplan, 1971)

Nelly Kaplan and her crew must’ve had a whale of a time on the set, because ‘Papa, the Lil’ Boats’ sizzles with their sparkling energies combined in a most fascinating way! Insanely farcical, cartoonishly silly, and brimming with a cult potential, this comedy sees a rich, not to mention shrewd heiress, Vénus ‘Cookie’ De Palma (outlandishly funny Sheila White!), transforming from a victim into a kicking, screaming, scheming and dancing, or simply put, seductively misbehaving nightmare for an unlikely band of  kidnappers. As they fall one after another in a series of ‘accidents’, unaware that their ‘brilliant’ plan is doomed right from the chloroformless start, Kaplan gleefully mocks greed, stupidity, possessiveness, and a capitalist paternal figure embodied by Sydney ‘son of Charlie’ Chaplin in a superb supporting role. She makes the most of the limited locations, with DoP Ricardo Aronovich (who filmed ‘Jaune le soleil’ by Marguerite Duras in the same year) capturing all the deliciously colorful zaniness with aplomb.

8. La giornata balorda / From a Roman Balcony (Mauro Bolognini, 1960)

Opening with a dizzyingly beautiful long, low-angle take that captures not only the dilapidation and poverty of a slum tenement, but its very soul as well, ‘From a Roman Balcony’ immediately pulls you into a bold deglamorization of Rome, as it follows a sexed-up ne’er-do-well protagonist, Davide Saraceno (Jean Sorel, his talent matched with good looks), in the seemingly futile search for a job. More interested in women than work, with a teenage fiancée (angelic Valeria Ciangottini) and newborn son waiting at home, Davide crosses paths with three gorgeous paramours-to-be, manicurist Marina (Jeanne Valérie), prostitute Sabina (Isabelle Corey) and mysterious, truck-driving Freja (Lea Massari), approaching his goal in most unexpected ways, through the Roman underbelly. Heavily censored at the time, Bolognini’s social drama appears like a bridge between neorealism and modernism, seducing the viewer with Piero Piccioni’s smoky jazz score, and Aldo Scavarda’s brilliant cinematography, all the while thematically anticipating one of its co-writer’s debut – Pasolini’s ‘Accattone’ (1961). 

9. Finský nůž / The Finnish Knife (Zdenek Sirový, 1965)

From Věra Chytilová and František Vláčil to Juraj Herz and Juraj Jakubisko, the Czechoslovak cinema of the 60’s holds a number of must-see titles for any true cinephile. Even the lesser known / overlooked films such as ‘The Finnish Knife’ tend to leave a strong impression. Co-written by director Zdenek Sirový, and Pavel Juráček who would work alongside Chytilová’s on her cult feature ‘Daisies’ in the following year, this psychological drama / road movie belongs to the ‘misguided youth’ drawer in the New Wave archives. A taut examination of guilt, it revolves around two adolescents, Tonda (Karel Meister) and Honza (Jaromír Hanzlík), who flee from justice believing the latter is responsible for murdering a man with the titular knife. On the way to Poland, the boys’ friendship is put to a severe test, because apart from the (unproven) crime, they don’t share much in common, with their disparate inner states and insecurities externalized through the beautiful chiaroscuro cinematography of Jan Čuřík (The White Dove, Joseph Killian, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders), editor Jan Chaloupek’s insightful cuts, and Wiliam Bukový’s mood-swinging score. At times, it appears that Sirový leans on Jan Němec’s masterful debut ‘Diamonds of the Night’ (1964), although his piece is not nearly as bleak, nor does it slip into surrealism, with tonal oscillations handled deftly.

10. Jowita / Jovita (Janusz Morgenstern, 1967)

Daniel Olbrychski – memorable as a leading protagonist in Andrzej Wajda’s masterful epic ‘The Ashes’ – brings playboyish charm to the role of an architect and athlete, Marek Arens, whose obsession with an enigmatic woman from a masquerade party leads him down the spiral of frustration and self-pity. His flings, as well as an ostensibly meaningful romance with Agnieszka (Barbara Lass, utterly delightful), and frequent visits to concerts of classical music, are all captured in captivating B&W (Jan Laskowski, who was also behind the camera of Morgenstern’s sparkly debut ‘Good Bye, Till Tomorrow’), accompanied by mood-establishing, if slightly underused jazzing by saxophonist Jerzy Matuszkiewicz. Helmed with a keen sense of modernity characteristic of the European cinema of the time, Jowita is a delectable treat for any 60’s-loving movie buff.

11. L’ordre et la sécurité du monde / Last In, First Out (Claude D’Anna, 1978)

“Where imperialism is retreating, it is robbing, destroying and starving. Rich countries are preparing a bloody future for themselves.”

Three years after ‘Trompe l’oeil’, Marie-France Bonin (aka Laure Dechasnel) and Claude D’Anna come up with another mystery as co-writers and star + director duo, but this time, they take cues from Hitchcock and Melville, with some proto-Lynchian vibes channelled through Dennis Hopper’s Methadrine-sniffing, Frank Booth-anticipating baddie, Medford. Set against some shady dealings involving higher-ups from European and American fractions opposed over a vague Third World exploitation business, the opaque thriller-drama revolves around Hélène Lehman (Bonin), a young woman mistaken for a spy after a passport mix-up with Bruno Cremer’s journalist hero, Lucas Richter, on the railway line from Paris to Zurich. Although dialogue-heavy, and reliant on long-distance calls turned leitmotif of sorts, the film is fraught with tension simmering under its ‘autumnal’ surface, and establishing an atmosphere at once gravely conspiratorial and frigidly melancholic, permeated with the oppressive sense of urgency, paranoia and danger. Emphasizing the gloom is Eduard van der Enden’s neo-noirish cinematography of predominantly muted colors, and clickety-clack humming of a train sparsely interrupted by a jazzy / electronic score intermittently elegiac and foreboding. 

12. Slike iz života udarnika / Life of a Shock Force Worker (Bahrudin ‘Bato’ Čengić, 1972)

Brimming with bitter irony and unwavering determination, ‘Life of a Shock Force Worker’ employs acerbic humor and meticulously composed vignettes somewhat reminiscent of Parajanov’s tableaux vivants or rather, pieces of naïve art to tell the story of the rise and fall of proletariat, focusing on a Bosnian coal miner, Adem. Based on a script co-written by director Bahrudin Čengić, and Branko Vučićević (Love Affair, or The Case of the Missing Switchboard Operator / Innocence Unprotected / Early Works), this satirical dramedy is beautifully lensed by acclaimed cinematographer and filmmaker Karpo Aćimović Godina (The Medusa Raft, also penned by the aforementioned Vučićević), featuring an authentic cast of both professional and non-professional actors.

13. La vocation suspendue / The Suspended Vocation (Raúl Ruiz, 1978)

Watching a film signed by Raúl Ruiz always poses a challenge, and ‘The Suspended Vocation’ situates itself in the pantheon of the most difficult ones. Semantically complex and formally playful, this unconventional drama is – on the surface – about ideological disputes between two fractions, the Devotion and Black Party, within French Catholic Church. However, it delves much deeper than that, into the (left-wing) politics, the nature of cinema, philosophical conundrums, as well as into one’s own dichotomies reflected in the film’s ‘dual’ structure, with Pascal Bonitzer and Didier Flamand portraying a protagonist, father Jérôme, in color and B&W parts, respectively. Add to that the fact that Ruiz operated in exile, and you’re in for a Borgesian treat, impossible to grasp in one viewing, and too heady in its intricacies to be approached again. One thing is sure, though, and that is the beauty of cinematography by Sacha Vierny of ‘Hiroshima Mon Amour’ fame, and Maurice Perrimond who collaborated with Ruiz on ‘The Hypothesis of the Stolen Painting’ released in the same year.

14. Plaisir d’amour / The Pleasure of Love (Nelly Kaplan, 1991)

Cécile Sanz de Alba, Dominique Blanc and Françoise Fabian are all superb as witty seductresses Jo, Clo and Do in Nelly Kaplan’s sexy, campy, quirky, surreal, visually stunning and most elegantly directed comedy.

15. Lekcja martwego języka / Lesson of a Dead Language (Janusz Majewski, 1979)

“I cannot fight evil. What shall we fight and what for anyway? We live in void. We have impressions and hallucinations sometimes, but no one really knows, what it is.”

An allegorical, stunningly framed chronicle of a dying, morally ambiguous soldier at the end of the Great War, operating as a moody meditation on death.

Crisis Jung (Baptiste Gaubert & Jérémie Hoarau, 2018)

Embodying Jungian concepts of Animus and Anima in a tragic, archetypal (super)hero named after the famed psychiatrist and forced to embark on a post-apocalyptic road of individuation (well, sort of), this short series marks the most fascinating anomaly amongst the weirdest milestones in the history of (French) animation. Madder than Mad Max, heavier than Heavy Metal, wilder than Dead Leaves (apparently, that’s also possible), and gorier than the most notorious of ultra-violent old-school anime, such as Fist of the North Star, it revels in gratuitous transgression of the John Waters kind, decidedly vulgar iconoclasm that places a glowing halo over Ken Russell’s opus, and unapologetically hyper-sexualized / gender-non-conforming imagery that reaches its climax in a coitus of divine proportions.

Armed with a sharp satirical blade, it comes across as an absurdist, steroid-fattened, pseudo-philosophical parody of every (cartoon) show based on ‘magical transformation + monster of the week’ formula, but it simultaneously pays a loving homage to all those pulp action fantasies that it unabashedly draws (read: sucks in the most perverse sense possible) inspiration from. It employs repetition to a ‘running gag’ effect, as Jung – turned by his own despair into a broken-hearted legend of the wastelands (and accompanied by trans-femme version of Mary Magdalene) – faces the demons of Tenderness, Tolerance, Confidence, Charity, Compassion, Maturity and Fortitude, before the final duel against Little Jesus (alien creature that is, ironically, colossally obese) whose pink excrement produces eggs from which the villains are hatched. Did I mention the chainsaw-dicked henchmen, spiritualization of cannibalism and poetry recited in the rain of blood? And let’s not forget the esoteric influence of The End of Evangelion and the fabulously rampant flamboyancy that brings to mind Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure. If all of this sounds like too much, let me assure you it is, but it does operate like a well-oiled machine whose over-the-top / in-your-face appearance makes it one of the most boldly and subversively imaginative inventions. 

Best Premiere Viewings of July

CLASSICS

1. Il demonio (Brunello Rondi, 1963)

Daliah Levi’s beauty is only matched by her great talent, as she devotes herself with burning passion (and contortionist abilities!) to the demanding role of a peasant woman, Purificazione, whose unrequited love for an engaged man, Antonio (Frank Wolff), turns her into a witch... at least, in the eyes of other villagers. Her repressed libido (quite possibly joined by madness) is mistaken for a demonic possession by the patriarchal, narrow-minded and extremely superstitious environment, so even she falls under the spell of mob-mentality believing that evil resides within her soul. Approaching the subject from a combined perspective, as an artist, intellectual, ethnographer and mystic, Brunello Rondi shrouds the story in a fine veil of ambiguity, and delivers an astounding and deeply unsettling psychological drama of immense, hypnotizing aural and visual power. The film’s cultural authenticity is derived from the cast populated by numerous non-professionals, as well as from the shooting location – the hill village of Montescaglioso in the southern Italy.

2. Eltávozott nap / The Girl (Márta Mészáros, 1968)

(read my review HERE)

3. East of Eden (Elia Kazan, 1955)

A masterfully directed, emotionally stirring, oft-breathtakingly beautiful classic that had me fall head over heels every time the camera was subtly and ever so slightly tilted to signify that something was wrong, and made me wish that at least one of the three multiplex venues in my hometown were a cinematheque.

4. Night Tide (Curtis Harrington, 1961)

“Guess we’re all a little afraid of what we love.”

And the one that gradually awakens the feeling of fear in a besotted young sailor, Johnny (portrayed by 25-yo Dennis Hopper), is a beautiful and mysterious young woman, Mora (perfectly cast Linda Lawson), who may also be a real mermaid and not only a fake sideshow attraction. (Superstitious Slavs well-familiar with their mythology would be alarmed by the girl’s name alone.) The leading duo is so magnetic that one can’t be bothered by weaker supporting performances (nor by a rubber octopus in a nightmare sequence), and besides, the opening jazz club scene that just oozes with vintage coolness puts you under the spell to be continually strengthened by beautiful B&W imagery and some strong ‘Twilight Zone’ vibes. Night Tide is quite an impressive B-movie that marks a feature debut for Curtis Harrington who previously collaborated with American artist Cameron on an experimental documentary The Wormwood Star (1956).

5. Princess (Herman Wuyts, 1969)

The first and, thanks to the prevailing conservatism of the time, the last feature by Belgian filmmaker Herman Wuyts (1927-1986) is a droll, provocative, mischievously playful mélange of romance, exploitation, slapstick, James Bond parody, New Wave shenanigans, and satire on celebrity culture. It follows a simple plot about a freelance photographer, Mark, who sets out to make a series of commercial photo novels based on his writer buddy Walter’s failed book, starring his British sweetheart, Margie, and featuring gratuitous nudity, over-the-top shoot-outs and numerous car chases often ending in explosions. (And let’s not forget a foamy scene involving a blonde-wigged gang of all-female baddies in skimpy outfits swapping bang-bang for some kiss-kiss!) The popularity of the project has its downfalls, of course, jeopardizing both the couple’s relationship, with Margie feeling abused, and the friendship between Walter and Mark who lets success go to his head. As for Wuyts, he is remarkably assured in directing his tongue-in-cheek vision, presenting us with a twisted version of reality in a hyper-stylized fashion that pushes his creative editing to the forefront. Supported by seductive B&W cinematography and eclectic score worthy of the film’s genre-bending nature, he achieves a fine balance of (pop) art and (pulp) entertainment. Also worth mentioning is that the writing credits include the name of Harry Kümel of Malpertuis and Daughters of Darkness fame.

6. Unter den Brücken / Under the Bridges (Helmut Käutner, 1946)

Filmed during the final days of WWII, but not released until 1950, Helmut Käutner’s romantic drama comes across as an anomaly of sorts – a delightful piece of cinema created in an alternate universe where all that senseless destruction of the 1940’s had never happened. A simple, yet universal and timeless story involving a couple of bargee friends and a young woman they both fall for contains not a single hint of propaganda, pulling focus on the transformative power of love, and expressing hopefulness all the while keeping maudlin sentimentality at bay. Part of its magic lies in utterly charming performances by Hannelore Schroth, Carl Raddatz and Gustav Knuth whose sympathetic, well-rounded characters exist in a bubble of their emotions which imbues the film with a sense of highly subjective reality. Unpretentiously poetic and compassionately intelligent, Under the Bridges is also packed with quite a number of visually striking shots some of which wouldn’t feel out of place in a noir masterpiece.

7. La cripta e l'incubo / Crypt of the Vampire (Camillo Mastrocinque, 1964)

An old castle owned by Cristopher Lee’s count protagonist, beautiful ladies in fluttering white nightgowns, an entrancing B&W cinematography, a darkly haunting score and a witch’s curse make for a wonderfully atmospheric piece of Italian gothic pulp laced with occult elements, as well as subtle lesbian undertones, and most probably inspired by Mario Bava’s Black Sunday (originally, La maschera del demonio).

8. Danza Macabra / Castle of Blood (Antonio Margheriti & Sergio Corbucci, 1964)

A haunted castle infested with cobwebs, and brimming with candlesticks and squaky doors is just a perfect setting for a pulpy, psychosexual, highly atmospheric, and gorgeously chiaroscuro gothic horror starring Barbara Steele and Margrete Robsahm as a phantasmal beauty duo with quite a past and Georges Rivière as a young journalist who accepts a palace-related wager after a short conversation with E.A. Poe (because you can’t spell poetic without Poe).

9. Dementia (John Parker & Bruno VeSota, 1955)

Flowing like (and following the logic of) a fever dream, Dementia can be described as a proto-Lynchian B-movie told or rather, shown from the distorted perspective of a young (murderous?) gamin descending into madness. Made on a tight budget with a largely non-professional cast, this offbeat/experimental horror-noir - an allegory of patriarchal repression – is virtually a continuous stream of expressive nocturnal imagery soaked in the blackest of shadows, and wonderfully complemented by an intense score of darkly avant-garde pieces tinged with eerily ethereal vocalizations that take a smoky jazz turn in the final act. It may not be exemplary in the acting department, but it still stands as one of the most cinematically articulate features of its time. 

10. Ercole al centro della Terra / Hercules in the Haunted World (Mario Bava, 1961)

A bit heavy on exposition, and wooden when it comes to the central performance (by bodybuilder turned actor Reg Park), Hercules in the Haunted World more than compensates with an incessant and relentless barrage of dazzling imagery whose beauty owes a lot to Bava’s elaborate (and largely influential!) lighting schemes™. Both shot and directed with an unmistakable sense of larger-than-life fantasy, as well as strong love for gothic horror, this sword-and-sandal epic is not perfect, but it does provokes the envy of Olympian gods, burning itself into your memory and rekindling your imagination.

CONTEMPORARY CINEMA

1. Far From the Apple Tree (Grant McPhee, 2019)

“I find it hard to differentiate myself from my work. I thrive on this confusion.”

Far From the Apple Tree has been on my list of highly anticipated films for quite a while, which is why I was overwhelmed with joy to find it finally available at Vimeo on Demand platform. On a purely cinematic level, it is one of the most exciting and stylish hybrids of art/experimental film and (meta?) psychological drama/horror, exploring one’s own identity, creators’ (umbilical) connection to their creations, as well as the thin line between art and witchcraft. By virtue of Grant McFee’s bold, clever and playful use of various formats, including 35mm, 16mm, 8mm, home processing, betamax, Pixelvision and Red, it boasts dazzling, dreamlike visuals which are perfectly complemented by the equally oneiric, ethereal music score composed by Rose McDowall & Shawn Pinchbeck, and highly comparable to the brilliant collaboration between Julee Cruise, Angelo Badalamenti and David Lynch.

According to the author, it is majorly influenced by Valerie and Her Week of Wonders – one of the finest offerings of Czechoslovak New Wave movement, but it’s easy to spot some other sources from which it may have taken its cues, such as hauntology, the Bluebeard tale, Argento’s Suspiria, Sokurov-like anamorphic distortions, and Lynchian brand of surrealism. However, Far From the Apple Tree is far from being a mere homage – it ably interweaves all of the familiar (and mystery!) elements into a refreshing cine-cocktail that adds a bit of cool to a hot summer day. Oozing with dense, increasingly ominous atmosphere, the film puts the viewer in the shoes of a troubled heroine, Judith (Sorcha Groundsell’s nuanced, subtly magnetic performance), and pulls you down the rabbit hole of her deteriorating mind. Also memorable is Victoria Liddelle in the role of a prominent, yet extremely secretive artist, Roberta Roslyn, who takes Judith under her wing, and whose intentions remain a puzzle in a constant collision of reality and fantasy.

2. Hogtown (Daniel Nearing, 2014)

(read my review HERE)

3. Безразличие (Олег Флянгольц, 2010) / Indifference (Oleg Flyangolts, 2010)

Originally conceived and partly shot in 1989 as a (hip!) ‘declaration of love’ for Italian cinema, Moscow architecture and a beautiful girl, the sole feature by Oleg Flyangolts was finished two decades later, merging – in the author’s own words – ‘1960’s romanticism, 1980’s recklessness and 2000’s wisdom’. Its sketchy plot about young man Petya’s attempts to win over a girl, Zhuzha, whom he met on a dance floor, serves as an excuse for bold formal experimentation and stylistic flourishes, whereby the subplot revolving around a runaway dog trained for space-travel provides good chunks of cartoonish humor. By virtue of both stock and original footage captured on 35mm, it looks like a recently unearthed gem from the 60’s upgraded with cool animated sequences in which even the CGI is covered in grain to appear vintage. Possessed by the spirit of La Nouvelle Vague, Indifference portrays the apathy of a few young souls whose lives intersect through ennui-induced encounters in a drama of absurd proportions and unsentimental nostalgia betrayed only by the intoxicating jazz soundtrack.

4. Show Me What You Got (Svetlana Cvetko, 2019)

A delightful tribute to Jules et Jim and The Dreamers, this playful, bittersweet, multilingual drama exudes delicate sensuality, understated poignancy, controlled spontaneity, and the restlessness of youth, as it lifts your spirit to the love-intoxicated, enjoy-the-moment heights of a seemingly unbreakable ménage à trois that finds a common ground in art, sex, political protest and, generally speaking, views on life. Anchored in Cvetko’s freewheeling direction and irresistible cinematography of soft grays, fairly diversified soundtrack, and breakout performances by Cristina Rambaldi, Neyssan Falahi and Mattia Minasi, Show Me What You Got is a gently shaped piece of cinematic illusion which, once it dissolves, engraves itself in your heart. Every generation needs a film like this one.

5. Homo Sapiens Project (201) (Rouzbeh Rashidi, 2021)

On my Facebook page, I wrote several entries on Rashidi’s most ambitious (and longest) film to date, and HERE you can read my impression on its first 2 out of 19 hours.

6. Майор Гром: Чумной Доктор (Олег Трофим, 2021) / Major Grom: Plague Doctor (Oleg Trofim, 2021)

Set in a morally gray zone where the thin line between heroes and anti-heroes is often blurred if not erased, Major Grom: Plague Doctor is an impressive piece of (post?)postmodern cinema that at once heavily relies on conventions of the action / superhero flicks, and subconsciously deconstructs them through unobtrusive meta-filmic ‘maneuvers’. Politically incorrect towards both the corrupt system and its increasingly violent opposition, it compels the viewer to think beyond the extremely limiting ‘choosing the side’ frame, and reflects upon the themes of (blind) justice, inequality and social media, proudly wearing its many influences – including the James Bond and Lethal Weapon series, Nolan’s Batman trilogy, V for Vendetta and Joker, to name a few – on its sleeve. It boasts high production values by virtue of which Saint Petersburg shines in its full (classical) glory, yet it doesn’t shy away from depicting the city’s underbelly as well, and delivers a good deal of memorable set-pieces that rival Hollywood offerings. Maxim Zhukov’s handsome cinematography and Roman Selivyorstov’s broad-ranging score provide the glossy veneer, and set the right mood for each scene, whereby the entire cast headed by charismatic Tikhon Zhiznevskiy (boldly objectified on a couple of occasions) does a fine job in imbuing their archetypal characters with believable humanity.

7. How the Sky Will Melt (Matthew Wade, 2015)

Feature-length films shot on Super 8 are extremely rare beasts these days, which makes How the Sky Will Melt quite a special feat, particularly given its half-dreamed delirium quality (and winks to David Lynch here and there). The hyper-grainy aesthetics provided by the ‘outmoded’ format are not merely a gimmick – on the contrary, they actually make you believe that you are watching a lost, dusted off artifact from the past. Strengthening this illusion is the great, throwback-to-the-80’s production and costume design by Sara Lynch (also jumping into the lead role), as well as the sinister synth-heavy score composed by Wade himself, and most probably inspired by the work of John Carpenter.

Meandering in a limbo-like zone between a deadpan existential drama (of a paranoid rock musician, Gwen) and increasingly weird sci-fi mystery bordering time-and-space-distorting horror (involving a man who falls from the sky and insists on being fed with colors), this quirky piece of underground cinema is nothing short of an acquired taste. Initially, it lingers on the small town banalities, providing only the slightest of hints that something strange may be going on, and then it boldly takes some unexpected, mind-fucking turns, messing with the chronology of bizarre events. Speaking of which, all that happens on-screen could be nothing more than a (distorted) reflection of augmented reality witnessed through retro-futuristic goggles that operate on audio-cassettes, and are often used by the mentally and emotionally troubled protagonist. But, who knows – maybe quails do lay RGB eggs? 

8. American Satan (Ash Avildsen, 2017)

Think of the cheesiest sex, drugs & (modern) rock’n’roll story inspired by the timeless Faust legend, add Malcolm McDowell as a Mephistophelian figure who goes by the name of Mr. Capricorn, and Bill Duke as a guardian angel sharing inspirational quotes such as “perception is not reality / it’s what you feel, not what you see”, and you got yourself a nice little cine-provocation called American Satan. But, you know what? Sometimes ‘cheesy’ proves to be more fun than ‘classy’, and Ash Avildsen’s thrilling drama shows some great style as well along the way, with cleverly used lighting providing a number of hellishly good imagery. The film’s title refers to the debut album for a fictitious band, The Relentless, whose rise and fall tracks a familiar path of groupie orgies, heroine abuse and all the counterculture-surrounding controversy, yet there’s a lot of energy to keep you invested in the increasingly crazy goings-on that may or may not be puppet-mastered by the Devil. Personally, I wish the music were louder and cockier, with more edge to it, but it’s just a minor quibble... Oh, and I almost forgot to mention Denise Richards playing mom to The Relentless’ frontman Johnny Faust (portrayed by Black Veil Brides’ singer Andy Biersack), as well as the fact that Avildsen is the son of Rocky and The Karate Kid director. 

The film is available at TUBI.

9. America: The Motion Picture (Matt Thompson, 2021)

After Abraham Linkoln gets his throat ripped by werewolf Benedict Arnold, Martha Washington performs an unplugged cover of The Bangles’ Eternal Flame at his funeral where it’s easy to spot John F. Kennedy and Rambo amongst the mourners (as well as an electric guitar that is a gift from Mozart himself). She persuades her future husband, chainsaw-wielding George Washington, to lead the revolution and make Abe’s dream come true, so he joins forces with beer-lovin’ bro Samuel Adams of Delta Iota Chi (i.e. ΔIX) fraternity, scientist Thomas Edison who is a Chinese immigrant woman almost burned at the stake, fast-and-furious jockey Paul Revere whose horse speaks with a Spanish accent, and chief Geronimo (or just Geronimo), introduced in a Lorenzo-Lamas-starring-the-Renegade-series style. Together, they will try to stop the tea-infused British-ization led by extremely obese King James whose pet is a flesh-eating soccer-ball named Manchester. Add to that a great number of anachronisms often reflected in pop-culture references ranging from Star Wars to Robocop to Magic Mike, wrap it all up in irreverently crude humor (that doesn’t always hit the mark) and some superbly animated, blood-soaked action sequences, and you got yourself a self-ironic or rather, self-consciously silly satire of American heritage. Appearing as if written during an alcohol-soaked college party, America: The Motion Picture pulls no punches and spares no one in poking fun at the USA birth, coming across as one of the most over-the-top and anarchic animated features in recent memory.

10. Das Massaker von Anröchte / The Massacre of Anroechte (Hannah Dörr, 2021)

Visually reminiscent of Roy Andersson’s Living Trilogy, Hannah Dörr’s feature debut is a wry and bone-dry crime-comedy which revolves around a bizarre case of decapitations committed by horse-riding Huns in modern-day Anröchte, with a surreal scene that could be an absurd reference to Smurfs easily outweirding the plot. It goes without saying that this German cine-oddity is an acquired taste.

SHORTS

1. Acariño galaico (De barro) / Galician Caress (of Clay) (José Val del Omar, 1961/1982/1995)

To call this film a documentary would be a severe understatement, because Galician Caress (of Clay) is much closer to a highly poetic, metaphysical/transcendental mystery boasting a dense, oneiric atmosphere established through the brilliant use of distorting lenses, stream-of-conscious montages, and a hypnotizing interplay of light and shadows. Also praiseworthy are Water-Mirror of Granada (Aguaespejo granadino) and Fire in Castilla (Tactilvision from the Moor of the Fright) (Tactilvisión del páramo del espanto. Fuego en Castilla) that complement Val del Omar’s utterly fascinating Elementary Triptych of Spain (Tríptico Elemental de España).

2. Inherent (Nicolai G. H. Johansen, 2021)

Up-and-coming young actress Sandra Guldberg Kampp portrays a mysterious teenage girl living in a remote farmhouse, together with a sinister, blood-drinking creature/entity whose true identity remains attached to a missing piece of a Philip Ridley-esque coming-of-age drama/horror puzzle. What sets this short apart from other vampire-themed films is the complete absence of dialogue which allows us to immerse ourselves in Sebastian Bjerregaard’s quaintly beautiful 16mm cinematography and Toke Brorson Odin’s eerily foreboding soundscapes whose synergy creates a dense, haunting atmosphere. Nicolai G.H. Johansen is a name to watch out for.

3. The Windshield Wiper (Alberto Mielgo, 2021)

A highly enjoyable, gorgeously animated meditation on (various kinds of) love.
(Quinzaine des Réalisateurs 2021)

4. Cerulia (Sofìa Carrillo, 2017)

Mexican filmmaker Sofía Carrillo needs no introduction. All of her intricately made stop-motion pieces, including Cerulia, are fascinating gothic phantasies exploring innermost worlds...

5. Noir-soleil (Marie Larrivé, 2021)

Noir-soleil is a deeply melancholic piece of expressive, painterly animation which tells the story of estranged father and daughter who are brought together by a ghost or rather (washed-ashore) body from the past. In the author’s own words, it takes compositional cues from the paintings of Edvard Munch, and ‘pays tribute to the particular painful beauty that exists in the words that are not said and the secrets that will never be revealed’. Both the actors’ voices and Marie Larrivé’s direction exudes calmness, with the painstaking technique she employs resulting in frames of arresting visual power.

6. The Vandal (Eddie Alcazar, 2021)

An expressive, darkly atmospheric tribute to classic Hollywood presented in ‘meta-scope’ - a grungy blend of live-action and stop-motion - starring Bill Duke of Predator fame and featuring Harry ‘Twin Peaks Andy’ Goaz in one of the supporting roles. (Quinzaine des Réalisateurs 2021)

7. The Mermaid (Thomaz Labanca, 2016)

A spiritual, dialogue-free predecessor to Guilermo Del Toro’s (inferior) fantasy drama The Shape of Water.

8. Lethes (Eduardo Brito, 2021)

A highly atmospheric mystery drama, playing as a part of Curtas Vila do Conde 2021 program at Festival Scope, until August 6.

9. Puting Paalam / White Funeral (Sari Raissa Lluch Dalena, 1997)

Inspired by passages from the Old Testament books, White Funeral incorporates performance art, modern dance, stop-motion animation and, quite possibly, bits of local folklore into a surreal, dialogue-free narrative of life, death and rebirth depicted from the perspective of Bride / Harlot / Prophetess who is portrayed by pioneering independent Filipina dancer Myra Beltran. Largely set in a desert surrounded by verdant hills, the film boasts some stunningly composed frames captured on grainy 16mm, as well as a stirring, unpredictable score in which ambient / ritualesque / avant-garde / neofolk pieces make way for Vivaldi’s sweeping choral works, providing the viewer with a unique experience.

10. Mythology of Memory (Justin Brown, 2021)

An oneiric piece of found footage reconstruction.

HONORABLE MENTION for animated series

Masters of the Universe: Revelation (Kevin Smith, 2021)

There are pretty good reasons why there’s ‘Revelation’, yet no ‘He-Man’ present in the title of the popular (and my personal favorite) 80’s animated franchise revival. The first episode pays a great, loving homage to the original series, and in a peculiar way, the following episodes continue to do so, through specific humor, occasionally rhyming lines, and the admirable reimagination of the beloved characters and phantasmagorical setting. However, before you know it, the creators subvert your expectations relentlessly, taking the story into a new, darker direction, suggesting that the show had to grow up together with the fans who will either embrace the (brilliantly!) bold changes, or curse Kevin Smith for the rest of their lives, stubbornly clinging onto nostalgia. Without revealing any spoiler details, I will say that Smith & co. got me fully immersed into the borderline-apocalyptic adventure that keeps the (last ember of) magic alive, and deepens the Masters of the Universe mythology in a way that brings to mind an ancient odyssey by way of a ‘planetary romance’, as the beautiful artwork, stellar voice-acting and lavish orchestral score provide the epic feeling. So, for the love of Grayskull, release the second season as soon as possible!

Lastman (Jérémie Périn, 2016)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ out of 10☼

Lastman is the prequel to the comic book series of the same name co-authored by Bastien Vivès, Michaël Sanlaville and Yves Bigerel aka Balak, the last of whom is also credited as one of the screenwriters. According to its creators, it is the result of attempting the impossible - daring to make an adult animated TV show despite the unfavorable situation at home. Thanks to a successful crowdfunding campaign (with more than 3000 backers), the impossible is made possible and now we have this ultimate smorgasbord of ideas and genres to enjoy and admire.

The story is set in a fictional city of Paxtown brimming with dangers. Getting into trouble more often than anyone else is Richard Aldana - a cheeky, stubborn, impulsive, hotheaded and incredibly gifted bruiser with a heart of gold who would rather idle than put on a satin outfit to compete in the UFC-esque Fist Fight Funeral Cup. When his best friend and owner of a boxing club, Dave McKenzie, gets murdered, status quo begins to crack and all of the sudden, mobsters' threat seems like 'a walk in the park' compared to the mysterious 'Order of the Lion'. These guys mean serious paranormal business and they're after Dave's adopted daughter Siri whose nightmares indicate that she is an integral part of the narrative. With a possible apocalypse at hand, Richard reluctantly accepts the role of Siri's protector and they are both plunged into an adventure that will challenge their perception of reality...

Pulling you in instantly, Lastman puts a firm grip on you and keeps it all the way to the last episode, and throws 'everything but the kitchen sink' at you without ever feeling overstuffed or unfocused. It proudly wears all of its influences on its sleeve, including action, horror and blaxploitation movies, mixed mythology, bandes dessinées, dark fantasy anime and fighting video games (speaking of which, there is a 3D arena brawler inspired by the same source material, developed and published by Piranaking) and yet, it is its own animal, wild-spirited and pretty peculiar. Initially puzzling and 'retrograde' in its nostalgic approach, it gradually reveals the answers regarding the abovementioned order, Siri and the so-called Valley of Kings (briefly introduced in the prologue), while lacing the dynamic proceedings with tongue-in-cheek humor and half-serious social commentary to great effect. Add to that a good deal of twists, homages and references and you're in for loads of fun.

But the amusement doesn't end there, as Lastman comes with involving or, at worst, slightly intriguing characters - a motley crew of neatly developed, if a bit archetypal protagonists, bad guys who turn out to be not-so-bad after all (and vice versa), as well as 'disposable', broadly sketched villains whose outlandish powers are linked to their true (and not to mention monstrous) forms. The focus is set on Richard and Siri, so it is no surprise the two of them get the largest portions of screen time, but there are some memorable, scene-stealing side-players, such as the aspiring singer and Aldana's love interest Tomie Katana, the fiery Grace Jones look-alike boxing coach or the obese Godfather-like figure accompanied by a couple of twin gangsters at all times. Regarding the otherworldly creatures dubbed Kinglets, watch for a representative of 'abstract neo-formalist' who holds a terrifying many-headed secret.

And 'watch' is the keyword here, as the most inviting aspect of Lastman is the crisp and clean artwork which remains très cool and 'gritty' all throughout the series, whether it's the noirish urban mise-en-scène or the freaky supernatural menace at display. Jérémie Périn is no stranger to the latter, given that he has already proven his penchant for bizarre or rather, grotesque imagery in the provocative, 'teen erotica meets Lovecraftian dread' music video for DyE's Fantasy. Supported by a stellar team of artists - Baptiste 'Gobi' Gaubert as the character designer and studio Tchak of April and the Extraordinary World fame creating the backgrounds, among the others - he delivers stylish visuals and doesn't shy away from the graphic depiction of violence.

Also commendable is the score by Fred Avril and Philippe Monthaye who go for an '80s rock and synth sound mixed with modern electronica - a befitting choice for a show immersed in pulp sensibilities. Encore, s'il vous plaît!