1. Австрийское поле (Андрей Черных, 1991) / Austrian Field (Andrey Chernykh, 1991)
Ruiz meets Sokurov in a peculiar, equally sensual and mysterious world behind the mirror, where crypto-poetic dialogues pose as echoes of feelings and experiences so intimately opaque that they defy any attempt to be discovered and named, let alone put into definitions. Softer than melancholy, more fragrant than love, and more elusive than thoughts yet to be born, they transcend cinematic (sur)reality which they’re integral part of, bringing you into a liminal state. The camera (of Dmitriy Mass) acts like a silent observer visiting someone’s subconscious mind, as it captures the complete dissolution of both time and space, becoming one with the soul / psyche of the mesmerized viewer. ‘Austrian Field’ marks the feature debut from Andrey Chernykh, and it is more a dream, than a film.
2. Kuća na pijesku / House on the Sand (Ivan Martinac, 1985)
“Where is evening coming from?”
Dedicated to Bruce Baillie’s 1964 short
‘Mass for the Dakota Sioux’, the only feature in the filmography of Croatian experimenter Ivan Martinac is a miraculous anomaly in Yugoslav cinema. Decidedly minimalist in narrative terms, with dialogues eschewed in favor of rhythmical editing,
‘House on the Sand’ is a fascinating meditation on loneliness, transcending time through clearly defined spaces, both interior (deeply intimate) and exterior (at times, as ostensibly infinite as the open sea), as well as the liminal ones (elusive, invisible). The strongly felt sense of space (and displacement within it!), often accentuated by ‘a frame within a frame’ compositions, elevates the film’s already brilliant ‘architectonicity’ to a whole new level, as rigid geometries transmute into subliminal sensations. All the while, the most mundane of actions are portrayed as if the eye of the camera belongs to an alien entity, lending them a thick aura of austere poetry, and anticipating
‘Homo Sapiens Project’ bits of Rouzbeh Rashidi’s oeuvre. They repeat in a ritualistic manner, suspended between (no)life of a depressed archaeologist protagonist (Dušan Janićijević, his stern expressions perfectly matched to the melancholic mood), and the only certainty that is death...
3. La bête / The Beast (Bertrand Bonello, 2023)
“Don’t be scared. There must be beautiful things in this chaos.”
In his latest offering (and the first one that piqued my interest, after a failed sitting through ‘Nocturama’), Betrand Bonello reflects on the anxieties of our time, delivering a formally fascinating meta-film loosely based on Henry James’s 1903 novella ‘The Beast in the Jungle’. Starring Léa Seydoux and George MacKay, both shining in their roles though the former does a heavier lifting, ‘The Beast’ braids three stories – set in La Belle Époque, social media-infected 2014, and the near, ‘Equilibrium’-like future of 2044 – into a tightly edited narrative of doomed star-crossed lovers. Deliberately reserved, maybe even alienating in its highbrow approach to romance and other themes it explores (loneliness, death, time, past lives, emotional numbness), the feature successfully blends a variety of disparate influences, from Resnais to Carax to Lynch, yet always remains... well, its own beast, one in possession of an uncannily magnetic power. The production design by Katia Wyszkop is pitch-perfect in all of the three eras, and admirably captured by cinematographer Josée Deshaies, with widescreen slyly narrowed to academy ratio for AI-dominated 2044, and thoughtful blocking elevating the beauty of numerous shots.
4. Requiem (Zoltán Fábri, 1982)
The history of oppression is intertwined with the memories of love in a romantic drama centered around a former athlete, Natti – a seductively compelling performance from Edit Frajt. Sentimentalism is eschewed in favor of bittersweet poeticism permeating both dialogue (and the way it is delivered) and mise-en-scène, from its autumnal palette to the smallest of details (a plate of pears). Fábri’s direction betrays the hand of a master, with slow-motion and freeze frame utilized as tools for controlling the past, allowing the characters and viewers to savor the moments as they’re lost, one by one...
5. La Chimera (Alice Rohrwacher, 2023)
A charming film of dreamlike textures, its luminous heart in the right place (somewhere in the 20th century),
‘La Chimera’ reaffirms Rohrwacher as a filmmaker of delicate sensitivity, and keen sensibility reflected in the picturesque cinematography, musingly meandering story, as well as in the sparkling chemistry she has with with the entire cast, creating a bunch of authentic characters, sympathetic even at their most flawed. Carol Duarte as Italia is a revelation to me.
6. Kimitachi wa Dō Ikiru ka / The Boy and the Heron (Hayao Miyazaki, 2023)
Reminiscing his own childhood in post-war Japan, as well as his professional relationships with fellow director Isao Takahata, and producer Toshio Suzuki, Hayao Miyazaki delivers his most personal film to date – a coming-of-age tale that grows progressively more surreal, as fantasy invades reality in often unexpected, and largely bird-related ways (heron’s bizarre inner/true self, kingdom of man-eating parakeets). Themes of loss, grief, mortality, inner conflicts, and life’s uncertainties are gently intertwined into a nuanced narrative revolving around a motherless boy on a journey of self-discovery, at once fantastical, jovial and bittersweet. Needless to say, the animation is as awe-inspiring as expected from the master of the Ghibli studio, with the exquisite cast of voice-actors breathing life into a bunch of colorful characters, and Joe Hisaishi’s evocative score emphasizing the all-pervading feeling of delicate melancholy.
7. A Quiet Place: Day One (Michael Sarnoski, 2024)
My personal favorite in what is currently
‘A Quiet Place’ trilogy, Michael Sarnoski’s sophomore feature is a poignantly directed humane drama set against the alien invasion that leaves New York in shambles, forcing it into silence. Focused on a terminally ill heroine, Samira (a sweeping performance from Lupita Nyong’o), who’s partnered by a therapy cat, Frodo (what a fine feline!), and British law student prone to panic attacks, Eric (Joseph Quinn, superb),
‘Day One’ shifts between the emotionally resonant parts, and edge-of-your-seat tension with seemingly little to no effort that reflects Sarnoski’s impressive versatility. Speaking of which, he even manages to slip in a handful of sublimely poetic moments into a struggle to stay alive, and though he doesn’t revolutionize any of the genres, he does deliver a potent, lovingly crafted cocktail – a modestly budgeted blockbuster with a heart.
8. Ai no Bōrei / Empire of Passion (Nagisa Ōshima, 1978)
The only ‘true kaidan’ in Ōshima’s four-decades-long career, ‘Empire of Passion’ plays out like a cautionary tale, with guilty conscience of its anti-heroes manifesting as a ghostly presence that fertilizes the garden of madness, until the flower of ugly truth blooms. Deliberately paced, and directed with an acutely unforgiving sense of human fallibility, the film is wonderfully lensed by Yoshio Miyajima (of ‘Kaidan’ fame), with Tōru Takemitsu (The Face of Another, Himiko) composing an unnervingly haunting score, establishing an eerily brooding atmosphere. In two (stellar!) central roles, Kazuko Yoshiyuki and Tatsuya Fuji manage to elicit a certain dose of sympathy, in spite of their characters’ heinous act, as Takuzō Kawatani provides unexpected, yet welcome comic relief as a police officer, Hotta.
9. To teleftaio psemma / A Matter of Dignity (Michael Cacoyannis, 1958)
Anchored in believable performances, particularly from Ellie Lambeti whose character is the focal point of a simple, yet insightful story,
‘A Matter of Dignity’ (or
‘The Last Lie’, as the original title literally translates) is a powerful tragedy that plays out like an indictment of the rich, following the decay of a high bourgeois family, and their pathetic games to keep appearances. Gradually transforming into a poignant social drama, and eventually leaving you with a lump in you throat, the film is also praiseworthy for its black and white cinematography (Walter Lassally) almost perfectly matched by Cacoyannis’s exquisite mise en scène.
10. I visionari / The Visionaries (Maurizio Ponzi, 1968)
“No one is better or worse, people are just different.”
Life, theater and cinema clash and densely intertwine in Maurizio Ponzi’s feature debut, while he explores how they affect his characters (and viewer!) as both actors and human beings in their search for the meaning (if any) of the three ‘entities’. Inspired by the writings of Austrian novelist Robert Musil, the author wrestles with the concept of intellectualized emotions, telling a story of a triangular relationship between a director, actress and actor – one that implies a personal experience. Amidst the interplay of love and jealousy, he weighs the significance of artistic expression in the face of the fickle, multifaceted reality, eliciting well-balanced performances from his cast, and delivering some handsome imagery in a limited, chamber setting.
11. Darling (John Schlesinger, 1965)
The sixties are imbued with extra swinging in one of the most biting (and somewhat vitriolic) portrayals of elite, opportunism, and lies some build their lives upon, with Julie Christie taking an outstanding turn as a central character – a young model, Diana Scott, bedding her way to the top of the social ladder. Torn between the search for love, and the need for admiration, this starlet grows emptier with every new ‘trophy’ she wins, leaving the ruins of confused emotions in her wake. And yet, she is not the most unsympathetic character in the (still relevant!) ‘anti-fairy tale’ about the bitterness of ‘la dolce vita’ co-penned by director John Schlesinger, screenwriter Frederic Raphael, and producer Joseph Janni. Her (anti?)heroine is, simply put, too much at the same time that it is not easy to decide whether to root for her, or just wish her to burn in the fire she started, with various men adding fuel. Speaking of men, they are a rather colorful bunch admirably portrayed by (suave) Dirk Bogarde (true love?), (snaky) Laurence Harvey (jet-set pimp), (flirty) Roland Curram (gay bestie), and (regal) José Luis de Vilallonga (an Italian prince, no less), each one complementing Ms. Scott’s persona in a different way. Matching superb performances is Schlesinger’s elegant, if occasionally uptight direction, and Kenneth Higgins’s stark B&W cinematography beautifully capturing the urban stuffiness of London, the ostensible idyll of English countryside, and
‘a sense of eternity’ in one of those fascinating remote villas of Italy.
12. The Primevals (David Allen, 2023)
A delightful throwback to the adventure classics such as
‘Journey to the Center of the Earth’ (1959), and a loving homage to stop-motion creations of Willis Harold O’Brien (
King Kong, 1933) and his protégé Ray Harryhausen,
‘The Primevals’ is released almost twenty five years after the death of its originator – animator David Allen (1944-1999). Five decades (!) in development and production hell, it comes across like a shiny artifact of a time long gone, its ‘innocence’ awakening a warm sense of nostalgia in the viewer.
13. Der schweigende Stern / The Silent Star aka First Spaceship on Venus (Kurt Maetzig, 1960)
Based on the 1951 novel
‘The Astronauts’ by Stanisław Lem (who was reportedly ‘extremely critical’ of the film),
‘The Silent Star’ is a neat, if slightly campy piece of Utopian science fiction made behind the Iron Curtain, in co-production of East Germany and Poland. Featuring an international, subsequently dubbed cast, it takes the viewer from Earth, united and in peace, to devastated Venus, reflecting on the fears of another atomic destruction. Although its buildup may be slower (and talkier) than necessary, once the ethnically diverse crew of scientists reach their destination, the things become more intriguing, with a radioactive glass forest, mechanical ‘insects’, a mysterious white sphere, and gooey, lava-like substance causing some serious trouble for our heroes. There is an undeniable, if naive charm attached to its optimistic view of humankind, as well as to the dated, yet ‘palpable’ visuals, especially when it comes to the bizarre designs of alien world.
14. Jengi / The Gang (Åke Lindman, 1963)
A group of rebels without a cause follow a wild one across Helsinki of the 60’s in a cautionary tale told from the perspective of a country girl, Eeva, and a country boy, Paavo. Tarja Nurmi and Esko Salminen are so sweet and have such a nice chemistry as a couple, that it’s easy to root for their characters, even when they act as accomplices to a street gang led by one bad apple, Kalle (Ville-Veikko Salminen). And though their big city adventure appears dated or rather, conservative in its incessant moralizing, the portrait of the Finnish youth culture of the time isn’t without its charms. Cinematographer Olavi Tuomi provides us with some superb shots of neon-lit Helsinki, cozy interiors and eloquent faces, and Erkki Melakoski composes a frothy score to emphasize the delinquents’ mischief at display, with Åke Lindman’s neat direction keeping all bits of his melodrama, including the (unintentionally?) campy ones, together.
15. Grad / The City (Vojislav ‘Kokan’ Rakonjac, Marko Babac & Živojin Pavlović, 1963)
A three-part omnibus covered in a heavy patina of despair, loneliness, alienation and disorientation, with death lurking around the corner...
SHORTS
1. Five Filosophical Fables (Donald Richie, 1967)
Dedicated to Buster Keaton, and appearing like a spiritual successor to silent cinema,
‘Five Filosophical Fables’ is the longest and arguably most entertaining film from Ozu and Kurosawa scholar Donald Richie. Composed of five allegorical shorts, this omnibus – dubbed
‘an outrageous farce’ by none other than Yukio Mishima – dissects the modern (Japanese) society with a sharp sense of absurd, slapstick, raunchy and dark humor. It opens with a loony story of romantic rivalry set in the desolate outskirts of a coastal town, moves to a lusty deconstruction of the Pygmalion and Galatea myth, takes a cannibalistic turn to a park (probably making Manet turn in his grave), challenges the viewer’s point of view through the eyes of a man walking only on hands, and ends on a naturist / anti-materialist note, as its protagonist is stripped / liberated of his earthly possessions. Handsomely captured on 16mm, its grainy B&W images married to a classical score –
‘Felix Mendelssohn, etc’, as noted in the credits,
‘FFF’ subverts human values in a gleeful mixture of cultured barbarism, dreamlike abandon, and uncanny eroticism.
2. Mass for the Dakota Sioux (Bruce Baillie, 1964)
3. Armagedon ili kraj / Armageddon or the End (Ivan Martinac, 1964)
Accompanied by Ray Charles's ‘Unchain My Heart’ set on repeat, and interrupted by black screens portending the end of a relationship, this experimental short is permeated by a strong sense of alienation emphasized by pitch-black shadows. Its deeply melancholic beauty is devastating.
4. Kuća / House (Radoslav Vladić, 1977)
5. Bad Acid (Sam Fox, 2022)
Inspired by the 80’s aerobic videos, ‘Bad Acid’ is a garish, over-the-top dark comedy on vanity and narcissism, bursting with unrestrained campiness.
