In the Arbor of the Bitter Orange (Sarahjane Swan & Roger Simian, 2017)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ out of 10☼

One of the most alchemikal collaborations between contemporary experimental filmmakers, In the Arbor of the Bitter Orange exudes with joy and love for creation. Beautifully shot on monochrome Super 8 by Scottish duo of Sarahjane Swan and Roger Simian aka Avant Kinema, it stars Daniel Fawcett and Clara Pais of The Underground Film Studio as a dandy, enigmatic couple harboring a great desire for the titular fruit which grows in the secret garden of a seemingly abandoned house.

Part (neo)surrealist exercise and part poetic exploration of the moving images' power, this seven-minute 'fantasy' enchants with its cinematic purity and sublime simplicity. The locations of the small seaside town of Espinho, Portugal, have a timeless quality attached to them, and the same goes for the quaint black and white visuals that give the impression of a long-lost film from the last century. They have a perfect accompaniment in the haunting, meditative soundscape - Gustav Holst's Venus reconstructed by The Bird And The Monkey (Swan & Simian's music-producing moniker) - lending the film its mysterious appeal.

Daniel & Clara have a whale of a time in their roles, especially during the orange-devouring scene which elicits a comedian out of Mr. Fawcett. Although credited as performers, they do not act, but rather live the slightly twisted reality from their colleagues' (impromptu) vision. After the super-grainy footage rolls backwards, their characters disappear in the rippled surface of the water (in a barrel?), suggesting their short adventure was but a slippery dream.

(The review is based on the private screener provided by the authors.)

10 Years of NGboo Art

Tomorrow marks the 10th anniversary of NGboo Art, as well as the opening of the 17th International Comics Festival which I will be attending, given that my experimental collage-comic F Mode has been selected for the exhibition. If my records are correct, this is the fifth piece of mine that has been honored by the jury, following in footstreps of Disappearing... (2010), Avant-Garden (2014), Eternal (2016) and Exhausted Peace (2018)...

Now, instead of looking back at the blog's beginning and development that has been supported mostly by my enthusiasm and passion for alternative cinema (and will hopefully be partly supported via Ko-fi in the future), I am going to remind the readers of some (chronologically sorted) articles which have led to / been inspired by successful collaborations, as well as friendships, both online and real-life, that I couldn't even dreamed of and that I highly appreciate.

Divna budućnost ljubavi moja (Marko Žunić, 2014) - the translation and adaptation of this text is included in of my (30) Taste of Cinema listicles, HERE.

Sleep Has Her House (Scott Barley, 2017) - "... 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..." (When you watch Barley's film on the big screen, the presence of the abovementioned 'otherness' is felt so strongly, you can barely resist it.)

Alchemy on the Amstel (Janja Rakuš, 2016) - "... A whole new world of rich textures and simmering lights lies beneath its surface, waiting to be explored. Our reality perishes and über-reality emerges..." (This is a great opportunity to send another thank you to Ms Rakuš and journalist Melita Forstnerič Hajnšek for the special mention of my name in the article for Slovenian web portal Večer.)

Üres lovak / Empty Horses (Péter Lichter, 2019) - "... the selected sequences, ranging from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to Alien, are always in tune with both the protagonists' words, as well as with the author's personal reflections on filmmaking, though at times they do slip into the 'phantasmal domain', to remind us of cinema's ghostly qualities and the fantastical dimension of this respectable meta-creation..."

Luminous Void: Docudrama (Rouzbeh Rashidi, 2019) - "... a medium between our world and the domain ruled by the specters of cinema; it is a session during which the ghosts of many film pioneers are simultaneously invoked, celebrated, communicated with and expelled..." (Crossing fingers to attend the 20th birthday of Experimental Film Society next year in Dublin.)

Notes from a Journey (Daniel Fawcett & Clara Pais, 2019) - "... A bewildering formalistic exploration of inner and outer landscapes via both visual and aural means, it poses a great challenge to the viewer attempting to put the hardly describable experience into words..." (I find Daniel & Clara's sensibility extremely close to mine, which is why I 'dream in exile' and sincerely hope our journeys will cross paths some day soon.)

In a Nutshell: Takatoshi Arai - "... Remaining secretive about the themes and meanings behind the oft-puzzling and dialogue-free juxtapositions of moving images and sounds, he asks the viewers to be active / open-minded and leaves plenty of space for their own different interpretations..." (Looking forward to meeting Arai-san this Friday.)

Auricular Confession (Martin Del Carpio, 2019) - "... Once again, Del Carpio orchestrates a successful collaboration with photographer William Murray who provides the film with the exquisitely composed and tightly edited B&W visuals, making the most of a claustrophobic shooting location." (Not only one of the best shorts I've seen this year, but also one of MDC's films I've designed the official poster for.)

Furnace (Kent Tate, 2019) - "... Although pervaded by the feeling of calm, with Tate's camera acting as a stoic observer, the ostensibly rigid compositions have a painterly quality to them that is simultaneously complemented and counterpoised by the pulsating music created by the author himself..."

Emotive Transmigrations (Camelia Mirescu, 2016) - "... both aurally and visually it manages to conjure some peculiar magic, and leaves you wanting more..." (Mirescu's body of work is worthy of the 'soulscaping' label.)

In conclusion, I present a small selection of my collages from the recently started 'B&W vs. Red' series which sees me feeling comfortable out of my comfort zone. You can follow me on Facebook and, as of late, on Instagram.

That Time Despair Went for a Swim

The Perks of Being an Ostracized Martyr

It Will End in Tears

Snow White and the Seventh Perforation of the Void

A Vanishing Street Miracle

Resistance

Wide-Eyed Curiosity

Moon Tiger Movie 3 (Maximilian Le Cain, 2019)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ out of 10☼

Once again, Moon Tiger takes his seat in an armchair, silently suggesting we do the same, because the lights are about to be turned off, just like in the movies, marking the beginning of another arduous inward journey or rather, its continuation. The most accessible of the bunch, the third installment in Le Cain's latest opus feels like a fractured psychological drama of an enigmatic woman portrayed by several actresses, each representing their heroine's specific state of mind.

In the opening, she is an aged lady in what appears to be a retirement home or even a hospital, because cinema is an incurable disease, especially when it comes to EFS filmmakers. It is hard to decide whether she is Moon Tiger's figment of imagination or vice-versa, but it is pretty easy to recognize her deep melancholy in the austere black & white imagery drenched in a humming noise. After she goes to sleep, we are introduced to her 'second self' (or the first of a few dream-selves?) - a mademoiselle in a bright coat who wouldn't be out of place in a Godard(ian) / New Wave-ish flick. Surrounded by concrete structures of an urban environment, she wanders and ponders, subtly externalizing her (suppressed?) emotions - at one point, she speaks with an irresistible Irish accent, and that sole instance of verbal expression fills you with warm bitter-sweetness. At her most confident, she is replaced by performance artist Vicky Langan - Le Cain's frequent collaborator who starred in his 2017 feature Inside.

The lingering shots of skies and pastures, and later, of power-lines, hotel rooms and abandoned, debris-littered places, as well as a recurring frozen frame of a nude woman in ecstasy serve as a connective tissue in this fragile, gradually mutating film-organism that sees Moon Tiger as an intruder of sorts. He can also be held responsible for the fourth wall occasionally crumbling and revealing the author's perseverance and stubborn insistence on cinema as the medium for extremely subjective exploration and solipsistic contemplation. His stream of thoughts are reflected in the gloomy, evocative, hyper-grainy visuals which hold the strangely compelling beauty of abundant desolation, evanescent in its permanence. Minimalist soundscapes of soft crackling, wind blowing, cowbells clinking and sirens wailing in the distance wonderfully complement their obfuscating charm.

Moon Tiger Movie 3 can be viewed HERE for free until September 30.

Moon Tiger Movie 2 (Maximilian Le Cain, 2019)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ out of 10☼

After devouring Star Duck that infected his first film's finale with some twisted humor, Moon Tiger continues his journey toward the Deep Blue. He walks along the dark streets of an unidentified town, with the particles of light flickering in his palm. Brooding silence and ominous droning accompany him on the way, as the sea rustles nervously. A lost soul who escaped from a Jean Rollin's fantasy attempts to climb the graveyard gate and seems unfazed by her failure...

The line between (classic) cinema and (inner) life, (horror) genre and (excessive) experimentation gets blurred, and once again, the viewer is steeped in perplexity. Extremely grainy, the texture of the main blurring factor - the quivering visuals - gives the film the appearance of a long-lost artifact unearthed in the distant future, then sent back through time to be witnessed by a lucky finder. Even more arrhythmic than its predecessor, Moon Tiger Movie 2 sees its creator as a mad, stubbornly uncompromising scientist who works and meditates simultaneously. The (un)blinking eye of his camera creates the illusion of a Malevich-esque simplicity and Brutalist power, but only occasionally - the images are mostly as fragile as a water-filled bottle's bottom that turns into a snow globe-like universe, during the zoom in.

A strong feeling of loneliness pervades the phantasmal 'proceedings' which flicker encrypted messages into one's subconscious. On the other hand, Moon Tiger may be the Devil, but the Devil is not only in the details of his own art performance - the movie in self-exile. Across the ruins of omni-cinema, he and we encounter countless restless ghosts. The question 'I lost my body, can I use yours?' raises the levels of uncanniness. Will the Sun ever rise?

Moon Tiger Movie 2 is available FOR FREE on Experimental Film Society's Vimeo channel, but for a limited time (a few days left). The first part can be rented HERE.

'Amarelo' Diptych

As seven golden pearls glitter, a couple of voices speak silently...

VOICE 1: How did you turn your black into green?

VOICE 2: I don’t know. It just... happened. Out of the blue.

VOICE 1: Did you see the stars?

VOICE 2: Stars? No. Only their former selves, veiled in the mist of our nothingness.

VOICE 1: I don’t understand. Aren’t we supposed to be alive?

VOICE 2: Perhaps we are. Why don’t you ask your death?

VOICE 1: (reveals the true form of light and vanishes through a triangular rift in time)

Green Is in the Eye of the Withholder

Drama Queen and the King of Solitude

Paradise Hills (Alice Waddington, 2019)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ out of 10☼

Wearing her influences on the haut couture sleeve, Alice Waddington debuted with a fascinating short Disco Inferno (available at Vimeo on Demand) in which she seamlessly blended baroque excesses à la Jean Rollin's fantastique, a Maddin-esque homage to silent cinema, a few Kubrickian references and some delightfully twisted humor. Oh, and let's not forget the Mephistophelian musical interlude! Four years later, in her first feature, she follows similar approach with just slightly less success, delivering a deliciously campy sci-fi fairy tale that feels like a breath of fresh air, despite drawing inspiration from various (obvious) sources.

Through the kaleidoscopic, 'crystal chandelier turned mandala' portal in the opening, Paradise Hills pulls you into its magical, anachronistically organized world, effortlessly grabbing your attention and keeping it undivided all the way to the closing credits. We find ourselves at a sumptuous, aristocratic wedding that wouldn't feel out of place in a Tarsem Singh's film, given that the spirit of his frequent collaborator, the late Eiko Ishioka, inhabits the bride's pearly, fencing mask-like headpiece, as well as the guests' garments. Even after we're transported to a remote (Mediterranean?) island where most of the story (told in flashback) takes place, the costumes' captivating extravagance (many kudos to Alberto Valcárcel) remains one of this fantasy's strongest points. The traces of Victorian and Lolita fashion are clearly visible in the 'uniforms' and nightgowns worn by the sassy heroine Uma (Emma Roberts, tolerable as a rebellious 'Upper') and her friends who are all the unsuspecting protégés of a 'center for holistic and sustained healing' - think offbeat boarding school modeled upon the one from Lucile Hadžihalilović's Innocence.

Now, this is a proper moment to mention the headmistress of the said establishment, the enigmatic Duchess portrayed by Milla Jovovich who seems to have a whale of a time chewing the scenery and channeling she-wolf in sheep's clothing or rather, a rose well-versed in concealing her thorns. While her true identity lays dormant behind the yards of silk, satin and tulle, some of which is utilized for an eclectic 'kimono meets Southern belle' dress, she and her 'white knight' minions go about their daily jobs of transforming young ladies into better versions of themselves, 'to fit their surroundings' exact desires'. The most bizarre of the methods they employ involves a Renaissance-inspired altar equipped with a merry-go-round horsey and state of the art system for holographic projections, so it's safe to assume that Waddington plants her tongue deeply in her cheek to tackle the themes of identity, feminism, individuality, (counter)conformity, public image and (dualistic) class stratification.

However, the emphasis is most definitely not on the narrative, messages or characters who come off as archetypal, but rather on the refined, decidedly feminine visuals laced with gentle irony and beautifully complemented by Lucas Vidal's unobtrusively evocative score which heightens the otherworldliness of the atmosphere. Laia Colet does wonders with her production design, borrowing from M. C. Escher's work, Art Nouveau and Retrofuturism for the eclectic architecture of the titular institution, and looking up to Argento's Suspiria for the lighting solutions in certain scenes of the film's final third. The critically acclaimed horror also serves as an excuse of sorts for the flexibility / looseness of inner logic and for the eschewing of substance in favor of the aesthetically pleasing form. And one cannot help but notice bits and pieces of Disney and Japanese animation being built into the surreal universe of Paradise Hills. Neatly capturing all that splendor is DoP Josu Inchaustegui. Alice Waddington sure has a knack for inviting imagery, so her next project will be noted as worthy of anticipation in this writer's book.

Moon Tiger Movie 1 (Maximilian Le Cain, 2019)

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼ out of 10☼

The mind-boggling culmination of Maximilian Le Cain's first two decades of filmmaking, Moon Tiger Movie is 'the electronic smudge of an inner life, the nocturnal residue of an existence half-dreamed', as the author himself describes it in his statement. The first out of its four parts opens with the titular character - Le Cain's weird and lonesome alter-ego - taking a seat in a comfy armchair, 'in order to see what he has become' (from the official synopsis). The audience are also about to discover what have become of them, while desperately trying to find their way out of the convoluted cinematic labyrinth.

Short films and impromptu sketches that have accumulated over the past years are broken into tiny pieces and re-arranged into an unsolvable VHS puzzle which appears as fragmented as its oft-undecipherable parts. Right from the get-go, the film's wildly experimental nature creates a distance between the viewer and itself, and whenever you come dangerously close to finding your own place in it, everything is suddenly covered in haze, and you're back in the state of inescapable disorientation. Your eyelids feel heavy and you're not sure whether you're still awake or already sleeping, surrounded by the ruins of the author's inland empire, to borrow the title of Lynch's 2006 feature. The images move towards themselves and on the way, they take unexpected detours, making and simultaneously breaking the rules of their irregular moving patterns, and clash against each other, evolving, dissolving, disinvolving... Their reality is of a ghostlike quality; it is a fragile memory, an elusive abstraction.

It goes without saying that MTM1 escapes both the genre and narrative conventions in its exploratory fervor or rather delirium, posing as the essence of a hypnagogic hallucination. A worthy spiritual successor to Scorpion's Stone, it spins you around until you're dizzy and asking yourself what a mermaid puppet has to do with a mannequin leg in a park. Each one of its flickers and soft focuses, dilapidated locations and diverse provocations, irreverent repetitions and ambiguous superimpositions, inter alia, emerges from and returns to what Le Cain and Rashidi dubbed Luminous Void. The experience it provides you with is slightly frustrating, but powerful nevertheless.