Les guerriers de la beauté (Pierre Coulibeuf, 2003)

 ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ out of 10☼

Mahniti vitez obračunava se sa nevidljivim zmajem. Nevesta traga za nekim ili nečim, a kako kasnije saznajemo, sasvim je izvesno da nisu ni bidermajer, niti muž u pitanju. Proganja je crna ptica.

Slepac broji od jedan do devet na nemačkom, izjavljuje da je prorok i pleše. Devojka drži vinsku čašu prislonjenu dnom na uvo, otvara usta, a iz njih izlaze insekti. (Ovo nije jedina scena u kojoj će gledaoci koji pate od entomofobije zažmuriti na jedno oko, a možda i na oba.)

Iz rupe na svodu ispada obnaženi baletan. Dok ga par žena (jedna sa levkom na glavi) premazuje krvlju (kečapom, zapravo, ali ovako zvuči intrigantnije), patuljak u gaćama laje, krećući se na sve četiri. Mudrac je pospan, ali su zato ludaci neumorni. Iguana u brašnu...

I tako, u nizu neobičnih jukstapozicija, dadaističkih nepodudarnosti i najrazličitijih iznenađenja, francuski (post)modernist Pjer Kulibef (koji je prethodno sarađivao sa Marinom Abramović na biografskom filmu Balkanski barok) prenosi na celuloidnu traku potpuno otkačeni nonsens-performans kontroverznog belgijskog umetnika Jana Fabrea.

Kao u transu, savitljivi "igrači" se grče, lome, migolje, preobražavaju u simbole nejasnih značenja i ostavljaju dušu na "pozornici" ograničenoj oronulim zidovima u statičnim, ali atraktivnim tableaux vivants koji su uhvaćeni oštrim okom direktora fotografije Iva Kapa (Sveti motori). Život i smrt i ono treće, kao i kamene noge o kojima Andrejevljev đavo govori u Sataninom dnevniku postoje istovremeno i ne postoje uopšte.

Predivno pretenciozna na zabavan i zbunjujuć način, ova iščašena, duhovita i sardonična (?) fantazija traje taman toliko da anglosaksonsku frazu "outstay its welcome" možemo da napišemo u negativu. U nešto više od 60 minuta, Ratnici lepote učestvuju u igri koja naizgled nema pravila i koja povremeno podseća na umetničku revoluciju (koja će pojesti svoju decu i ispljunuti ih žive i zdrave), a neprestano aludira na slobodu (izražavanja). Da se okarakterisati kao žitka lepljiva provokacija (valjda zbog sitofilije sa džemom u završnici) ili kao duhovni nastavak Makavejevljevog Slatkog filma (ali bez bečkih akcionista i koprofilije) ili čak Barnijevog Ciklusa Kremaster. Apsurdna kao san, poseduje kvalitet bošovskog rituala u bezizlanom lavirintu nadahnjujuće perverzije. 

Nova Seed (Nick DiLiberto, 2016)

 ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼(☼) out of 10☼

Sometimes, they DO make them like they used to.

If Nova Seed had been released in the 80s, many of the thirtysomething year olds of today would have cherished it as one of the most precious memories of their childhood. A labor of true love and commitment, this 'little' rough gem of retro animation is mostly done by only one man.

The Japan-based Canadian animator Nick DiLiberto dedicated four years of his life to hand-draw every frame of his 64-minute feature debut, in spite of the blisters (and band-aids used to cover them). With that in mind, a viewer has to be amazed by his achievement worthy of all the superlatives that the reviewers has bestowed on it so far.

Storywise, the author employs sci-fi, fantasy and adventure tropes and archetypes, offering a compelling, if not original mélange of ideas. A mad scientist, Doctor Mindskull, wants to use a mysterious force, Nova Seed, embodied in a fragile-looking girl to conquer the unnamed alien planet which might be post-apocalyptic Earth as well. Standing in his way is a NAC (Neo-Animal Combatant) - a reluctant lion-man hero who's all action and no words. With a kind heart beating in his large, yellow chest, he breaks free from the confines of the gladiatorial prison, beats up a troop of human soldiers, saves Nova more than once (and falls for her), jumps from one aircraft to another in the heat of a dogfight, gets shot, bruised and battered (occasionally by a tenacious bounty hunter), and still manages to save the day!

Even though the 'day' lasts too short, DiLiberto's nostalgia-driven opus brims with inventiveness: bizarre characters, odd paraphernalia, colors that speak several languages (louder than words), larger than mutated life sequences of hybrid vs. human battles and, ultimately, a monster 'of Ghibli-esque grandeur' (in the words of Andrew Mack). The themes of ecology, societal decadence, as well as the corruptive and destructive nature of power are intertwined in a work which is best described as a Saturday Morning Cartoon meets Heavy Metal meets Rock & Rule meets Mad Max meets Masaaki Yuasa's anime by the way of René Laloux. But, the 'substance' does not matter as much as the trippy aesthetics.

There's a special charm in the 'beat-boxed' sound effects (a boy would produce whilst playing with his toys) and ragged, pulsating lines of a bit crude, yet delightful traditional animation which is a so much needed breath of fresh air in the age of glossy CGI. Sincere in its 'awkwardness', it takes us to a high-tech laboratory, busy scrapyard, sunlit desert and all the way to a dark, underground lair, constantly keeping us or rather, our inner child, in the state of wide-eyed curiosity.

Nova Seed enchants, inspires and entertains in equal measures; it puts a big smile on your face, occasionally mystifies and, when the credits roll, makes you want more. Let's hope DiLiberto doesn't stop here.

Endless Poetry (Alejandro Jodorowsky, 2016)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼(☼) out of 10☼

The Chilean mystic, cinema virtuoso, spiritual guru and living legend Alejandro Jodorowsky continues his self-healing semi-autobiographical saga with the second entry in a proposed cycle of five films. Taking over exactly where The Dance of Reality (La danza de la realidad) left off, Endless Poetry (Poesía sin fin) chronicles the years of the artist's youth in 'surrealized' Santiago of the 40s.

Once again, Pamela Flores lends her soprano as Alejandrito's (the curly-haired Jeremias Herskovits and later, Adan Jodorowsky) opera-singing mum Sara, whereby Brontis Jodorowsky reprises the role of his father's father Jaime with the same kind of mocking, fascist-like strictness. The auteur himself returns as his younger self's guardian angel / voice of reason in a couple of silly and somewhat moving situations.

And another 'self' can be utilized as a suffix for 'indulgent' in describing this flamboyant familial phantasmagoria with a Freudian twist in which Flores also appears as Alejandro's first love Stella Díaz Varín (1926-2006). Through the dreamlike reminiscences, she is reimagined as a virginal, beer-guzzling and hard-punching muse who sports body paint and fiery red wig, and keeps her hymen for 'the man with the divine forehead who will descend from the mountains'.

It is thanks to his gay cousin Ricardo that 'Jodo' comes in contact with Stella, as well as with the rest of bohemian artists of the time, breaking free from the confines of Jaime's despotism. His friends belong to a colorful, Felliniesque 'demimonde' of clowns, dwarves, cripples and eccentric liberals who have their own rituals and walk straightforward, no matter what obstacles lie ahead. All of their lives are transformed into bold, rebellious, 'joie de vivre' poetry (hence the title) in which sex during menstruation and tarot divination assisted by an erected, hypnotized man are not there for the mere shock value - they are the unrhymed verses of insolent and provocative beauty.

Notwithstanding these 'excesses' and the narrative's episodic structure, Jodorowsky's latest offering is 'the most accessible' yet, as many critics put it. However, prior knowledge of his oeuvre wouldn't hurt, even though the thick layer of esotericism is almost completely lifted from both the story and (inspired) visuals. The maverick's memoirs brim with bizarre, exciting, anachronistic, carnivalesque imagery captured by the keen eye of the prominent DP Christopher Doyle and accompanied by Adanowsky's charismatic lead performance and eclectic score.

Coming from an octogenarian filmmaker, Endless Poetry is quite vital and energizing in its blending of cinema, theatre and circus, yet there are ten minutes or so of the material that could have been snipped...

Looping (Leonie Krippendorff, 2016)

 ☼☼☼☼☼☼☼(☼) out of 10☼

A promising debut for the German writer/director Leonie Krippendorff, Looping brings together three superb actresses in a sympathetic study of love, longing and (inner) loneliness. In another display of incredible talent, Jella Haase (Lollipop Monster) plays a melancholic, motherless adolescent, Leila, who becomes a victim of rape and ends up in a (quite liberal) mental institution. There, she meets an enigmatic middle-aged patient, Ann (the brilliant Marie-Lou Sellem of Tykwer's Winter Sleepers fame), and later, a young, bulimic saxophonist, Frenja (Lana Cooper, almost unrecognizable and far removed from her role in Love Steaks), and BANG! - a bond between them is formed.

Although these women come from different milieus, they do have one thing in common - being lost to themselves and to those around them. With profound sadness in her eyes, Leila recklessly sleepwalks through her life, frequently dreaming of the past; Frenja gives everything for her family's happiness to the point of self-destruction, while Ann whose background remains foggy even after being shed some light on conceals suicidal thoughts under her hardened expression. The desire to make their crippled souls whole again does come true, but for how long? Well, Krippendorff does not give a clear answer, leaving the oneiric ending open to viewer's interpretation.

In fact, she favors the silence of images over explanations and avoids most of the melodramatic trappings in the psychological exploration of her fucked-up characters and the dynamics of their relationship. On top of the excellent, believable performances, she and her DP Jieun Yi (also a newcomer to keep an eye on) provide a bunch of beautifully lit and handsomely composed shots, with many close-ups which reflect the protagonists' fragility. The solid editing and atmospheric, unobtrusive music by Jihyeon Park and Tammy Ingram, respectively, elevate the film even more, beyond its minor flaws.

Sleep Has Her House (Scott Barley, 2017)

"Deep into that darkness peering,

long I stood there wondering, fearing..."

(excerpt from Raven by Edgar Allan Poe)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼(☼) out of 10☼
 

Probably the blackest film about (the soul/essence/silence/grim side? of) Mother Nature, Sleep Has Her House marks a fascinating feature debut for the Welsh-born, London-based artist Scott Barley. Plunging us as deep as possible into the darkness both frightening and intimate, he provides one of the most unique watching experiences in years. And the keyword is definitely 'experience'.

Describing his genre-and-boundary-defying experiment is quite a task, but let's try something along these lines: If Béla Tarr (of some parallel universe) had been asked to create an hour and a half intermission for the National Geographic after-midnight broadcast, the resulting opus would have certainly felt close to Barley's cinematic phantasm in which "the shadows of screams climb beyond the hills".

In the seamless blend of intricate artwork and long, static shots of a lake, river, waterfall, night sky and thick coniferous forest shrouded in fog, there is an unknown entity hiding in the air, behind the trees and below the water surface. Once you sense Its presence, It sends shivers down your spine and, simultaneously, you find comfort in letting It grab you and consume you entirely. Is it the energy emerging from Cosmos dreaming or the whisper of a dead, ancient God? Or could It be the negative reflection of Lovecraftian dread? It's hard to tell.

To paraphrase Nietzsche: if you gaze long into the abyss (of Barley's swell illusion), the abyss will gaze back into your dormant anima, giving her nightmares above any mortal's comprehension. As you might have guessed so far, there's no conventional narrative or characters in this exploration of cloaked, tenebrous, impenetrable 'otherness'. The very notion of those aspects is obscured by the Moon's timid rays, an owl's piercing eyes, the stillness of roe's corpse, the soaring thunder which announces the End and even by the small intrusions of light.

Slow, moody, brooding, mystical, occasionally eerie and yet, soothing and life-affirming in its death-like stupor, the oddly titled Sleep Has Her House inspires another rephrasing, this time of van der Rohe's slogan: dark is more.

(The film is intended to be seen in complete darkness,

with headphones.)

The Last Honeymoon in Hell

I see you standing there,

holding onto a black blanket,

silver angels fucking senslessly.

Dye your hair in red!

The ants are coming.

The swallows are nesting.
 

So, why don't you put

a tree in your mouth?

(click to enlarge)

Ra: Path of the Sun God (Lesley Keen, 1990)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼(☼) out of 10☼

"All acts spring from the will of Ra. He sees all things.

All thoughts are in the heart of Ra."

For her debut and so far, unfortunately, only feature, Lesley Keen shifts focus from Ancient Greece to Egypt, giving birth to one of the most astonishing classic animated films. Consulting with the Egyptologist Dr Geraldine Pinch, she honors the rich cultural heritage of the said land in a sumptuous fantasy that is unfairly forgotten today.

A passion project four years in the making, Ra: Path of the Sun God reflects its author's intelligence and skill, expansive vision and fertile imagination. Divided in three acts, it initially merges several genesis myths into a single one, focusing on Isis and Osiris and their battle against Set (Dawn: The Creation). The next part is Noon: The Year of the King which depicts the birth and life of the Pharaoh whom Ancient Egyptians believed to be the son of Ra. Finally, in Night: The Gates of the Underworld, we follow the Pharaoh on his afterlife journey in the boat of Ra and witness his resurrection at dawn of the new day.

Once again, Keen does writing, directing and animating, but this time, her team is twice as large, with Mike Campbell behind a rostrum camera - a specially designed device which provides great optical effects and seamlessly combines them with traditional animation techniques. The gorgeous imagery (slightly reminiscent of some Ishu Patel's works) rests upon the Egyptian fresco and papyrus painting with all their distinctive traits. However, the artist allows herself freedom to modernize it to a certain extent, giving it the looks of a neon-lit, frequently psychedelic and occasionally abstract phantasmagoria of hypnotic transitions and transfigurations that occur in the blink of an eye.

Accompanied by the ethereal, drone-like music and sublimely soothing narration (the impressive voice-over debut by Tamara Kennedy who's later assisted by Michael Mackenzie), Keen's glowing line work against the black backdrop appears as if embedded with mystical qualities. As 'history of Gods' repeats, so does certain scenes replay in what may be described as a deliberately paced dream of the Divine King's soul. Ra is pure audio-visual poem of spiritual, otherworldly beauty.

This film is available on YouTube.