A Film a Week - Alpha.

 previously published on Cineuropa

There is nothing that can derail a person from the safe, straight tracks of a carefully built, ordinary life like the sudden arrival of a family member. Parents can press the buttons of their adult children in the worst possible ways. Even distance, whether physical or psychological, does not make things any easier: children are programmed to be triggered by their folks. This is the case with the fourth film written and directed by Jan-Willem van Ewijk, Alpha., which has just premiered in the Giornate degli Autori sidebar of Venice.

Rein (Reinout Scholten van Aschat, from 2011’s The Heineken Kidnapping) is a Dutchman who has moved to the Alps, where he works as a snowboarding instructor and spends his free time mostly meditating. The idyll of his existence is about to be shattered when his recently widowed father, Gijs (legend of Dutch film, TV and stage Gijs Scholten van Aschat), first calls to announce his visit and then appears in front of the building where Rein lives. Make no mistake, Gijs is not a harmless, jovial Toni Erdmann-esque old man, but a former star actor who seeks dominance over his son and knows exactly how to push his buttons.

The game of push-and-pull between the two is probably fuelled by jealousy and unresolved conflicts from the past, and they certainly have form in this regard. Gijs seeks and gets the attention of Rein’s friends, even his sort-of girlfriend Laura (Pia Amofa), prompting Rein to pull daredevil stunts or to try to teach his father a lesson by competing with him on his home turf – the snow. However, those in-house power games can prove to be dangerous, since one can overestimate one’s own strength, and the mountain itself can be treacherous…

The filmmaker certainly knows what he is trying to communicate and has the means at his disposal to do so eloquently. Even the 4:3 aspect ratio, which has become a bit of a gimmick recently, makes sense here: the boxiness of the picture is a reflection of the protagonist’s boxed-in state of mind, meaning the beautiful and ominous peaks with which the filmmaker opens and closes the film become secondary. Van Ewijk also uses Douwe Hennink’s cinematography deftly to portray the relationship of the central father-son duo and the changes in it without unnecessary explanations first by establishing, and then by shortening the distance, and the same goes for the use of Ella van der Woude’s score, from the drone on wind instruments to the silly, fairground-like organ theme and back.

However, the canniest trick he pulls is the casting of the real-life father and son, who have different sensibilities. It does not just open up a meta level for connoisseurs of the Dutch acting scene to enjoy, looking for “Easter eggs”, but it also paves the way for improvisation based on genuine triggering and authentic reactions that cannot be scripted easily. Needless to say, both Reinout and Gijs van Aschat relish the opportunity for this interplay and make the best of it, although in a non-flashy manner.

Alpha. is not without its faults, especially regarding the development and the timing of the plot twists, but it is definitely worth seeing for the director’s, the actors’ and the crew’s commendable work. It is one of those seemingly small movies to which wider audiences might relate.

A Film a Week - Bekim Fehmiu

 previously published on Cineuropa

Bekim Fehmiu was one of the finest Yugoslav actors of all time and the first one from Kosovo to surpass the language barrier and play in theatres all across the former country. He was also the first and one of the rare Yugoslav actors to have, at least at one point in his career, a shot at stardom both in European art house cinema and in Hollywood. He was also a man of principle who decided when, why and how to end both his career and his life. 

His life and career stand in the centre of Valmir Tertini’s documentary, which was also the filmmaker’s debut in the feature-length format. After five years in production, a premiere in Albania last year, and a tour of regional festivals, Bekim Fehmiu screened in the documentary section but out of competition at the 30th Sarajevo Film Festival.

Bekim Fehmiu is a typical biographical documentary in which the interested audience might learn the facts of its subject's early life (Fehmiu was born in Sarajevo, spent his early childhood in Skhodër, Albania, before his family settled in Prizren, Kosovo), his first acting steps (in Pristina's County Popular Theatre), his acting studies in Belgrade, his marriage with his colleague Branka Petrić and his national and international career in cinema, from his breakout roles as Beli Bora in Aleksandar Petrović’s I Even Met Happy Gypsies (1967), Odysseus in Franco Rossi’s mini-series The Odyssey and Dax Xenos in Lewis Gilbert’s The Adventurers (1970) onwards. We also get to learn about the status of the national cultural hero and the window to the world that Fehmiu enjoyed in Albania during the dark times of Enver Hoxha’s dictatorship, as well as the respect he had from his colleagues and filmmakers he collaborated with.

Most of the film’s 67 minutes of runtime goes to interviews (filmed by Endi Hoxha) with different people who knew Fehmiu and played a certain role in his life, such as his wife Branka Petrić, brother Arsim Fehmiu, filmmaker Goran Marković, writer Miljenko Jergović, late film critic Milan Vlajčić, and colleagues Faruk Begolli, Enver Petrovci, Branislav Lečić and Eleonora Giorgi, to name a few. Those interviews, against a completely black background, are constantly accompanied with music (credited to the star actor who managed to walk Fehmiu’s path later, Rade Šerbedžija) that switches genres and registers to fit the topic of the particular passage. Other than that, we can see some archival material from different countries, usually showing Fehmiu's screen successes and public appearances edited into the mix by Afrim Peposhi and Riza Vreko.

In the end, Tertini's documentary is a decent, respectful, but not exactly exceptional biographical documentary that could be a better fit for television than for a theatrical release. Bekim Fehmiu the documentary certainly respects Bekim Fehmiu the actor, the hero and the public figure, but it does not get beyond the surface in presenting his greatness.

Strange Darling

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Neki od nas se možda makar ovlaš sećaju emisije Fazoni i fore, Mirjane Karanović kao Alapače, Raše Popova kao Izumitelja i Ljubivoja Ršumovića kao Svetskog putnika. Nije to bila emisija koja se čekala i za koju se „oštrilo“ (u vreme pre interneta, publika je zavisila od dobre volje televizijskih urednika), ali makar je delovala dovoljno moderno i u skladu sa senzibilitetom tadašnjih klinaca da prva reakcija na njenu uvodnu špicu ne bi bila hvatanje za daljinski upravljač u cilju menjanja kanala. Trivijalno znanje pokupljeno iz emisije (u vremenu pre Vikipedije) nekome je možda kasnije dobro došlo na nekom pab-kvizu. Samih fora i fazona iz emisije, strateški ubačenih kroz skečeve snimljene na pravim lokacijama umesto u televizijskom studiju, verovatno manje, ali oni su služili svrsi da se malo razbije monotonija serviranja edukativnog sadržaja.

Tako je to s forama i fazonima i inače: dobar su začin i služe svrsi relaksacije, ali greška bi bila baciti sve karte na njih i pustiti ih da preuzmu i diktiraju celu stvar. Takav postupak iziskuje velemajstora da ga izvede, bilo da se tu radi o samom sadržaju ili o zanatskim postupcima u izvedbi. Loše vesti za reditelja Dž.T. Molnera i njegov film Strange Darling je što je njegov uradak upravo serija fazona i fora od kojih većina čak i nisu njegove, odnosno nije ih se on prvi setio. Film je, doduše, nakupio skoro unisono pozitivne kritike, što znači da ih je Molner vrhunski prodao, ali tu se postavlja pitanje – kome?

Autor čak i otvara film forom, ne toliko buđavom, koliko nepotrebnom i suštinski promašenom: karticom teksta na kojoj piše da je film u potpunosti snimljen na filmsku traku od 35 milimetara. Ovo je do pre dvadesetak godina bio standard za bioskopske filmove, a sada, kada je digitala preuzela primat, važi za retkost, luksuz i nekakvu „značku pravovernosti“. Čak iako to ne prepoznamo (a iskusniji gledaoci će to svakako učiniti makar zbog topline boja), nije na režiseru da to ističe, već je to posao marketinškog tima.

Nakon te prve, odmah slede druga i treća. Druga bi bila crvena boja i standardni „font“ kojima se to „štampa“ na ekran, što je jasna asocijacija na stare žanrovske filmove, ali je i manje-više standardni štos iz „retro-šik“ seta trikova. Treća je još jedna kartica teksta, ovog puta toliko dugačka da sitnijim slovima zauzme ceo ekran, koja nam govori o tome kako je zapadnim delom Sjedinjenih Američkih Država, od Kolorada na jugu, preko Stenovitih Planina, do Oregona na severu, od 2018. do 2020. godine harao serijski ubica i kako je ono što ćemo upravo videti poslednji deo njegovog pohoda. Isti „printani“ tekst čita nam i narator (Džejson Patrik) monotonim glasom iz „true crime“ televizijskih emisija retro štiha.

Tu onda vidimo i prve snimljene kadrove filma, kratke i crno-bele, u brzoj sukcesiji. Prvo, ženu koja pita čoveka je li on serijski ubica i zatim njega kako je davi. Eto nam i četvrte fore pre nego što film zaista počne i ona je pomalo buđava.

Nakon četvrte, slede i peta, šesta i sedma. Peta je opet tekstualna kartica koja nam objašnjava da gledamo „triler u šest poglavlja“, što će se ispostaviti kao laž, budući da film ima i epilog koji je duži od nekih poglavlja. Šesta je zapravo špica u kojoj vidimo mladu ženu kako trči livadom u „slow motionu“ okrvavljenog uva dok se jednako polako slika transformiše od crno-bele do punog kolora i u pozadini ide obrada „soft rok“ standarda Love Hurts za duet. Sedma je, pak, da ta poglavlja (naslovljena replikama koje ćemo čuti tokom njihovog trajanja) nisu hronološki poređana.

Prvo poglavlje koje vidimo je zapravo treće u priči. I tu vidimo brkatog rmpaliju (Kajl Galner) kako, sve šmrčući kokain, pod punim gasom u zastrašujuće velikom pik-apu proganja žensku sa špice (Vila Ficdžerald) koja beži u malom, starom crvenom autu. Na nekoj ravnici, brka se zastavlja, vadi pušku, penje se na zadnji deo vozila, nišani i puca, razbijajući zadnje staklo, zbog čega dama gubi kontrolu nad vozilom koje se prevrće i završava pored puta. Ona nastavlja pešice kroz šumu i dolazi do usamljene kuće, izgovarajući naslovnu rečenicu: „Možete li mi, molim vas, pomoći?“

Dalje imamo peto poglavlje jurnjave i igre žmurke u toj istoj kući. Brka i dalje mahnita s puškom, a žena sitne građe se sakrila u zamrzivač. Na podu kuće leži starac, pretpostavljamo vlasnik, u lokvi krvi.

Priča nas dalje vodi ka prvom poglavlju u kojem su rmpalija i dama na sastanku, odnosno na njegovom epilogu i igraju igru zavođenja, odnosno pregovaranja o onome što će uslediti. Ona mu objašnjava kako je za ženu teško da se malo zabavi s nepoznatim muškarcem jer ne može biti sigurna je li on (serijski) ubica, nasilnik ili će je možda razočarati svojom izvedbom. On, pomalo zbunjen, ali ipak smiren, uverava je da nije ništa od toga, a pritom se čak i rekreativno bavio glumom, pa je prilično siguran da će ispuniti zadatke iz „igre uloga“ koje će mu ona zadati.

Četvrto poglavlje je most između trećeg i petog u kojem upoznajemo pokojnog starca (karakterni glumac Ed Begli mlađi) i njegovu suprugu (Barbara Herši) kao ostarele hipike koji izvode svoju rutinu nedeljnog jutra koja uključuje najgrozniji doručak ikada (jaja pržena na celoj kocki putera, kobasice s kojih se cedi mast, palačinke pržene u toj istoj masti, ogromne količine javorovog sirupa, šlag i jagode, sve na istom tanjiru) i takmičenje u sastavljanju slagalice, dok ista ne bude prekinuta dolaskom dame u nevolji. Drugo poglavlje je dalja razrada prvog u smeru toga kako se dogovoreni sastanak preokrenuo u smeru jurnjave, a šesto funkcioniše kao lažni kraj priče, ali zato u sebi sadrži „tarantinovsku“ digresiju o sudbini serijskog ubice Gerija Gilmora koji je zatražio da ga streljaju. Do epiloga smo se već navikli na preokrete, pa ih u njemu očekujemo.

Iz priloženog je jasno da pred sobom zapravo imamo materijal za dva prilično različita i prilično jednostavna kratka filma koja su spojena u jedan. A tako nešto je moguće samo uz pomoć jedne kapitalno velike fore i onog glavnog, kardinalnog preokreta koji nam izmiče tlo pod nogama. Molner ih znalački priprema serijom manjih i perfektno tempira poigravajući se s ritmom kojeg čas diže, čas spušta (svaka čast montažeru Kristoferu Robinu Belu), te sa estetikom video-spotova ubacujući tu kantautorske balade Zi Berg kao muzičku pratnju. Opet, gledaocima sa iskustvom je prilično jasno ne samo koji će to tačno preokret biti, nego i kada bi moglo do njega doći... To sve dolazi i sa određenim implikacijama koje autor pokušava da utemelji sa još nekoliko „tarantinovski“ samosvesnih dijaloških prepucavanja, što ostavlja pomalo gorak ukus i na moralnom i na filmofilskom planu bez obzira što provocira razmišljanje na hipotetičke „šta ako“ teme.

I pored toga, Strange Darling po komponentama nudi dosta toga za uživanje ako je gledalac voljan da se filmu prepusti što i nije teško, budući da Molner makar demonstrira puno stila i osećaja za vizuelno. Deo zasluga svakako treba pripisati i inače karakternom glumcu Đovaniju Ribiziju koji u Molnerovom filmu debituje kao – direktor fotografije i pritom pokazuje svu raskoš svog do sada neotkrivenog talenta posebno u smislu poigravanja sa svetlom, što prirodnim, što veštačkim. Drugi razlog je što, uprkos iskrzanoj strukturi i „ceđenju suve drenovine“ od materijala, film teče glatko. U tom smislu, posebnu pohvalu zaslužuju glumci koji ulažu sve što imaju u svoje likove i njihove transformacije.

Na kraju, ipak, Strange Darling je manje od zbira svojih impresivnih komponenti. One su dovoljne da svaka za sebe ostavi jak i trajan utisak na gledaoca (što nije mala stvar u doba kada se filmovi serijski proizvode i još brže zaboravljaju), ali se, nažalost, nameće još jedan, onaj generalni. Autor Dž.T. Molner se, naime, preigrao u pokušaju da ispadne jako pametan otkrivajući „toplu vodu“ i prodajući u suštini „provaljene“ fore i fazone.

Lista - Septembar 2024.

 

ukupno pogledano: 60 (41 dugometražni, 19 kratkometražnih)
prvi put pogledano: 58 (39 dugometražnih, 19 kratkometražnih)
najbolji utisak (prvi put pogledano): The Substance
najlošiji utisak: Borderlands

*ponovno gledanje
**kratkometražni
***srednjemetražni
**(*)kratkometražni, ponovno gledanje

kritike objavljene na webu su aktivni linkovi

datum izvor English Title / Originalni naslov (Reditelj, godina) - ocena/10

01.09. festival The Devil's Bath / Des Teufels Bad (Veronika Franz, Severin Fiala, 2024) - 8/10
**01.09. festival On the Way / Rrugës (Samir Karahoda, 2024) - 7/10
01. 09. festival At the Door of My House, Who Will Come Knocking? / Ko će pokucati na vrata moje kuće? (Maja Novaković, 2024) - 7/10
01.09. festival Pavilion 6 / Paviljon 6 (Goran Dević, 2024) - 7/10
02.09. video Dusk for a Hitman / Crépuscule pour un tueur (Raymond St-Jean, 2023) - 7/10
02.09. festival Oh Canada (Paul Schrader, 2024) - 5/10
03.09. video Boy Kills World (Moritz Mohr, 2023) - 3/10
03.09. festival Misericordia / Miséricorde (Alain Guiraudie, 2024) - 8/10
04.09. festival Alpha. (Jan-Willem van Ewijk, 2024) - 7/10
04.09. video The Baby Snatcher (Andrew Lawrence, 2023) - 3/10
05.09. video A Good Person (Zach Braff, 2023) - 6/10
05.09. kino Borderlands (Eli Roth, 2024) - 2/10
05.09. festival Eat the Night (Caroline Poggi, Jonathan Vinel, 2024) - 6/10
05.09. festival The Last Stop in Yuma County (Francis Galluppi, 2023) - 6/10
06.09. festival Possibility of Paradise / Mogućnost raja (Mladen Kovečević, 2024) - 7/10
06.09. festival When Santa Was a Communist / Djeda Mraz u Bosni (Emir Kapetanović, 2024) - 6/10
08.09. video Longlegs (Osgood Perkins, 2024) - 5/10
09.09. video My First Film (Zia Anger, 2024) - 5/10
10.09. video Skincare (Austin Peters, 2024) - 7/10
10.09. festival Horizonte (César Augusto Acevedo, 2024) - 8/10
*11.09. video The Crow (Alex Proyas, 1994) - 8/10
12.09. festival Daughter's Daughter / Nu'er de nu'er (Xi Huang, 2024) - 7/10
12.09. festival The Courageous / Les courageux (Jasmin Gordon, 2024) - 7/10
12.09. video Rebel Ridge (Jeremy Saulnier, 2024) - 9/10
12.09. festival The Editorial Office / Redaktsiya (Roman Bondardchuk, 2024) - 7/10
13.09. kino The Crow (Rupert Sanders, 2024) - 4/10
14.09. video Didi (Sean Wang, 2024) - 5/10
15.09. video Trap (M. Night Shyamalan, 2024) - 4/10
16.09. video AGGRO DR1FT (Harmony Korine, 2023) - 5/10
*17.09. video Beetlejuice (Tim Burton, 1988) - 7/10
17.09. video Mother, Couch (Niclas Larsson, 2023) - 7/10
18.09. video Cuckoo (Tilman Singer, 2024) - 7/10
19.09. kino Speak No Evil (James Watkins, 2024) - 4/10
20.09. video Dead Whisper (Connor Soucy, 2024) - 5/10
21.09. video Winner (Susanna Fogel, 2024) - 6/10
22.09. video Blink Twice (Zoë Kravitz, 2024) - 5/10
23.09. video Tiger Stripes (Amanda Nell Eu, 2023) - 6/10
24.09. video Crossing (Levan Akin, 2024) - 7/10
**25.09. video Reality+ (Coralie Fargeat, 2014) - 8/10
25.09. kino Transformers One (Josh Cooley, 2024) - 4/10
26.09. kino Strange Darling (JT Mollner, 2023) - 6/10
26.09. kino The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024) - 9/10
27.09. video Kneecap (Rich Peppiatt, 2024) - 6/10
**28.09. festival Juggernaut (Daniele Ricci, Emanuele Ricci, 2024) - 6/10
**28.09. festival Dark Mommy (Courtney Eck, 2024) - 5/10
**29.09. festival Amen / Amin (Ana Marija Janković, 2024) - 7/10
**29.09. festival How the Cities Became Oases for Bees / Kako su gradovi postali oaze za pčele (Jakša Minić, 2024) - 7/10
**29.09. festival Where Do Lost Cats Go? / Kuda idu izgubljene mačke (Amar Komić, 2024) - 5/10
**29.09. festival Link (Stanka Gjurić, 2024) - 3/10
**29.09. festival The Hour of Death / Smrtna ura (Tomaž Gorkič, 2024) - 8/10
**30.09. festival Fakelook (Duško Pašić, 2024) - 5/10
**30.09. festival Lucky Snails / Blago puževima (Olga Milisavljević, 2024) - 5/10
**30.09. festival Gaming Friend / Gejming drugar (Iva Milojković, 2024) - 4/10
**30.09. festival Miasma / Mijazma (Petar Tkalec, 2024) - 7/10
**30.09. festival Skin / Koža (Jovana Lazin, 2024) - 5/10
**30.09. festival Night / Noć (Minja Vuletić, 2024) - 6/10
**30.09. festival Fear / Strah (Erhad Mašović, 2024) - 5/10
**30.09. festival No Milk Today (Lazar Bačkonja, 2024) - 4/10
**30.09. festival Eat Me / Jedi me (Milana Miljković, 2024) - 5/10
**30.09. festival King of Nothing / Kralj ničega (Aleksa Gajić, 2024) - 8/10

A Film a Week - ...Ned, tassot, yossot

 previously published on Cineuropa

North Korea is probably the most closed-off country in the world, and the pieces of information (and art, likewise) that do come out of the territory first go through the filter of government censorship aligned with the national propaganda directed by the ruling communist party. The censorship has sometimes been surpassed in very clever ways, with Ugis Olte’s and Morten Traavik’s documentary musical Liberation Day (2016) and Vitaly Mansky’s Under the Sun (2015) being the most prominent examples.

However, before those two documentaries, there was Brigitte Weich’s Hana, dul, sed… (2009), her documentary about the four selected players from North Korea’s women’s football national team that won the Asian Cup two consecutive times and qualified for the World Cup. Its sequel ...ned, tassot, yossot... (both titles are actually a sequence of numbers in the Korean language) premiered last spring at Diagonale, before departing on a festival tour with stops at IDFA and Jeonju. It also competed in the Documentary Competition of the recently finished Sarajevo Film Festival.

Weich's new film follows the same four women, now ex-footballers that hold new positions in the North Korean women’s football landscape, either as coaches, national association executives or referees. The pretext for the new film was the screening of the previous one at the cinema at Taedong Gate for a select audience, but the filmmaker uses it to check on her protagonists from the film 5 years ago and to see how they are doing now. The answers are expected, all of them have married since, some of them have children… In the meantime, a fiction TV show was also made about the historical success of this generation of women footballers, and it was directed by Cha Suk, the only female director in the country, so she also becomes a protagonist in Weich's film.

As the film progresses, the subjects become more open about their lives and opinions, and so do the settings. At first, we see them at meetings at official buildings, supposedly closely monitored by government officials, but later on the locales seem more private and natural, and so do the conversations between the protagonists and the filmmaker. In the background of this group portrait, we also see the landscape of North Korea as it really is, with infrequent traffic on the streets, grandiose buildings, monuments and slogans coming from the quotes of the late leaders Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il on everything, from ideology to art. We can also see some more intimate details, such as the rituals imposed on children since the nursery age, the state of football fields and details about the nourishment of professional athletes.

Apart from inserting the younger of the leaders’ quotes into the film's fabric and translating every slogan on the street that get printed on the screen in handsomely designed titles, Weich also introduces her own commentary, juxtaposing the mix of interview portraits and observations regarding the landscape with the quick interludes of group art activities, such as playing instruments (accordions, cymbals) or ballet dancing to the sound of drums. Equipped with Barbara Seidler’s and Monika Willi’s rock-solid editing, those intermezzos highlight one of the points of the film: that it is all a directed-from-above, group effort in a heavily ideologised society, but there is still a narrow space for individual ambitions and acts.

A Film a Week - Cent'anni

 previously published on Cineuropa

Sometimes, a documentary filmmaker ends up with a completely different film than was originally planned or even imagined because we never know what reality might bring further down the line. For instance, this happened to Slovenian filmmaker Maja Doroteja Prelog and her debut feature-length documentary, Cent’anni. After the long process of shooting, editing and structuring it, as well as the world premiere that took place at Trieste earlier this year, Cent’anni enjoyed its international premiere in the documentary competition of the 30th Sarajevo Film Festival.

The film was originally envisioned as a triumphant, celebratory affair, just like the event it portrays: the filmmaker’s partner in life and art, Blaž Murn, embarks on his own Giro d’Italia-inspired cycling endeavour from the Dolomites in the north all the way down to Etna in the south in order to celebrate his all-clear from leukaemia and to serve as inspiration to the patients still fighting the disease. Along the way, however, it became a chronicle of their long relationship finally falling apart and them falling out of love with each other. For the filmmaker, from whose point of view we watch the events unfold, some figuring-out has to occur…

Before the fateful trip and project, their relationship seemed to be able to withstand every challenge, from abortion to his illness and her nursing him back to health, even though she is not really the type. The reason for this was Maja’s fascination with him and her determination to be the “cool” girlfriend who would not bother him too much. But the illness changed him into an ego-maniac who likes the sound of his voice so much that he speaks in long monologues, and maybe even into a narcissist who demands awe masked as respect – but is not able to give any to others. In “his” film, her role was one of technical support and a communicator between the star and the crew.

Maja Doroteja Prelog is pretty hands-on regarding her approach, given that, other than writing and directing the documentary, she also filmed most of the material herself, giving the camera to another cinematographer, Lav Predan Kowarski, Blaž or another crew member only when absolutely necessary. The cinematography itself is beautiful, thanks mainly to the choice of attractive locations that also have a foreboding, or at least slightly perilous, edge to them, but the focus also remains faithful to both Blaž’s heroic effort to complete his “race” and Maja’s to make a film in such conditions. Other technical components are stellar as well: Uroš Maksimović’s editing is precise, Sebastian Zawadzski’s music corresponds with the landscape of Maja’s state of mind and emotions, while Julij Zornik’s and Ricardo Spagnol’s sound design satisfyingly fills the sonic landscape.

Cent’anni is a rare personal and sincere film in which its filmmaker gives her all. It is also a highly subjective one, but rightfully so, since its topics are sensitive, and the director does not judge anyone apart from herself. Rarely do we see a person willing to expose her inner life to us to such an extent.

Speak No Evil

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

U metalskim krugovima kruži priča da, kad god bi kultni američki „glameri“ Twisted Sister izvodili jedan od svojih većih hitova, Burn in Hell, nastup bi počeli s objašnjenjem da to nije njihova obrada norveškog sastava Dimmu Borgir, već da su norveški „blekeri“ obradili njih. Objašnjenje je sasvim logično, makar zbog toga što je ekstremniji norveški sastav „preuzeo“ stvar i preneo je u nove generacije poklonika žestoke muzike, ali i posve nepotrebno kada uzmemo u obzir da je vremenska razlika između verzija pesme celih 17 godina. Pesmu takođe ne bi trebalo mešati sa potpuno drugom pesmom istog naziva britanskih „hevijanera“ Judas Priest.

Nadajmo da se danski glumac, scenarista i reditelj Kristijan Tafdrup i njegov brat i ko-scenarista Mads neće morati da objašnjavaju da je Speak No Evil u originalu njihov film, a ne uradak kompanije Blumhouse i njihovog egzekutora Džejmsa Votkinsa, iako je razlika u godinama značajno manja, samo dve. Za razliku od muzike, stvari kod filmova ipak idu nešto drugačije, pa je izgledno da nećemo dobiti evropski arthaus žestoki rimejk američke komercijale, dok je kretanje u drugom smeru sasvim očekivana pojava. Za ovaj slučaj smo mogli da pretpostavimo kada je film braće Tafdrup imao premijeru na Sandensu gde je pobrao dobre kritike.

Dodatni šlagvort za metalski uvod odozgo je i to što se naslov filma pominje u pesmi. Ako već danski producenti nisu mogli i hteli da se „otvore“ za bilo koju od njenih verzija, američki su mogli je bi, tako ritmična i dinamična, bila savršena makar za foršpan. Nisu, i to je šteta.

Osnova priče je ista. Dve naizgled buržoaske porodice koje sačinjavaju po par roditelja i po jedno dete sličnog uzrasta upoznaju se na odmoru u Italiji i „kliknu“. U originalu su to danska i holandska porodica, a u novoj verziji američka bazirana u Londonu i britanska koja živi na farmi u Devonu. Kada holandska u originalu, odnosno devonska u rimejku, pozove onu drugu koja inače prolazi kroz bračnu krizu da im dođu u posetu, oni prihvataju. Idiličan vikend ubrzo postaje vikend iz pakla jer se domaćini ispostavljaju kao sirovi i čudni ljudi, a gosti, iako im instinkt to nalaže, nikako da pobegnu jer bi to bilo u suprotnosti s njihovim vaspitanjem koje nalaže pristojnost i kurtoaziju.

U novoj, američkoj verziji, Italiju „igra“ Istra, američki par Bena i Luiz Skut MekNeri i Mekenzi Dejvis, njihovu kći Agnes Aliks Vest Lefler, britanski par Pedija i Kjaru Džejms MekAvoj i Ešling Franćozi, a njihovog sina Anta Den Huf. Kao i Abel u originalu, i Ant je ovde nem zbog navodno urođenog deformiteta, odnosno nerazvijenog jezika. Dodatne razlike su i „žvakanje“ materijala za američku publiku zbog čega su Pedi i Kjara u startu postavljeni kao neposredniji, zapravo prostiji ljudi skloni provokacijama i skandalizovanju „publike“, veći akcenat stavljen na bračne probleme Bena i Luiz, starost dece i činjenica da su obe familije kulturološki bliže jedna drugoj nego što su bile u originalu.

Ponešto od tih izmena ima smisla i „pojačava“ rimejk u odnosu na original (recimo scena u restoranu je kod Votkinsa oštrija nego kod Tafdrupa, kao i implikacija da Agnes odbija da odraste, što ima naplatu kasnije). Ponešto je, pak, „spelovanje“ kako bi motivacija Bena i Luiz bila očitija, a njihovi likovi navodno utemeljeniji, a ponešto Votkins rešava sa samim opštim mestima poput razgovora o izvrtanju (ili očuvanju) kulturoloških razlika na temu odnosa do oružja, ekologije, vegetarijanstva i održive privrede. Potonjim se Votkins poigrava s citiranjem Pekinpoovog klasika Straw Dogs (1971) i rimejka istog filma Roda Lurija (2011), čime priprema teren za „svoju“ poentu i kapitalnu razliku između između svog i Tafdrupovog filma.

Dakle, u prvih sat i kusur vremena imamo utisak da gledamo manje-više isti film (čak ni preveden, likovi u originalu su takođe međusobno komunicirali na engleskom jeziku, logično), s tek ponekom sitnom izmenom. Ali sa završnicom Votkins zapravo obrće stvari naglavačke, čime ovaj rimejk spušta s nivoa nepotrebnog do nivoa sasvim promašenog i čak uvredljivog za svakog filmofila. Za početak, produžava ga za nekih petnaestak minuta, što je ovde još i najmanji problem.

Drugi problem je tek ovlaš pripremljeno žanrovsko skretanje i interno, i u odnosu na original. Votkins, naime, na osnovu psihološke drame u kojoj se podižu tenzije, pa ona prerasta u horor, kalemi još jedno dodatno skretanje prema trileru, i to izvrnute „home invasion“ sorte, pa nam postaje jasno zašto se, kao za štaku, uhvatio za Sema Pekinpoa. Na njegovu i našu žalost, rezultat dobacuje tek do Lurijevog rimejka.

Ali, zapravo, najveći problem kraja je njegovo usmerenje od šokantno-nihilističkog do ničim zasluženog i ničim opravdanog američki trijumfalističkog. Time se zapravo iz korena menja misija i poenta originala koji je pažljivo građen da nas protrese, da prodrma naše građanske stavove o imperativu pristojnosti i da nas natera na razmišljanje. I u tom smislu, nešto udaranja po opštim mestima toksičnog maskuliniteta ranije u svrhu pripremanja gledaoca zapravo filmu donosi više šteta nego koristi.

To se oseti na planu izgradnje likova koji postaju skoro karikaturalni, što glumce stavlja pod određeni pritisak. U tome najgore prolazi Skut MekNeri koji igra totalnog mlakonju. Za njim je njegova partnerka Mekenzi Dejvis koja ulazi u stereotip žene-majke koja zvoca suprugu da je mlakonja, a pritom permisivnim odgojem kćeri omogućava da svojom dečijom logikom vodi domaćinstvo. Zadatak Ešling Franćozi svodi se na to da nas drži u neizvesnosti je li ona prva Pedijeva žrtva ili mu je svestan pomagač. Makar se čini da Džejms MekAvoj uživa u svojoj ulozi sirovo inteligentnog ludaka, ali to je zapravo tip uloge u kojoj se škotski glumac i inače savršeno snalazi, a gledali smo ga i u „luđim“ izdanjima.

Inače, Džejms Votkins je zanatski pismen režiser koji može da odradi posao, što je već dokazao sa solidnijim „Blumhouse“ hororima Eden Lake (2008) i The Woman in Black (2012), pa čak i sa akcionim filmom Bastille Day (2016), ali svi ti filmovi su već bili tipski postavljeni, po tipskoj i jednostavnoj viziji. Ali da bi napravio smislen, čak upečatljiv rimejk, naročito nečeg atipičnog i kompleksnog kao što je to Speak No Evil, to ipak ne. Bilo je slučajeva uspelih „obrada“, prerada i rekontekstualizacija filmova, nije da nije, ali ova verzija Speak No Evil to nije i ne može da bude. Zapravo, čak je i uvredljivo da je tako nešto pokušao.

A Film a Week - Our Children / Naša djeca

 previously published on Cineuropa

Parenthood is certainly not a walk in the park. To make things more complicated, whether we are successful at raising children is not measurable, and there are no firm criteria to rely on when defining what good parenting means. Croatian cinematographer, filmmaker and father of three Silvestar Kolbas tries to figure this all out in his newest documentary Our Children. It premiered earlier this year at ZagrebDox and won the Golden Arena Award for Best Directing at Pula, and just had its international premiere in the documentary competition of the Sarajevo Film Festival.

A cinematographer by trade (he collaborated with Igor Mirković on most of his feature-length projects), Kolbas turned to documentary filmmaking more than 20 years ago. Throughout his feature-length body of work, his approach is highly personal and self-reflective. With his debut All About Eva (2003), he chronicled the effort and the pain his second wife Nataša went through in order to conceive a child through artificial insemination. In his subsequent one, War Reporter (2011), Kolbas dealt with his childhood memories, his first marriage with Irena and his career as a war reporter during the 1990s in an uncompromisingly autobiographical way. Our Children serves as a sort of spiritual sequel to both of those films, thematically more aligned with the first, but stylistically with the second, given that his inner thoughts and fears are communicated through his own voice-over.

Kolbas opens the film with a scene establishing the primary setting, namely the house in the town of Samobor, near Zagreb, where he lives with his family: his wife, their three children, a dog and a cat. But that family is not quite a typical one and each of the three children, whom we might remember from his previous documentaries, has a different background story. Jakov is his son from his first marriage, who grew up living with his mother and moved to live with his father and the new family in adulthood; Eva is Silvestar's and Nataša's only biological child; and Ante was adopted. 

Given the differences between them regarding age (Jakov is much older than his younger siblings) and character (Jakov is depressed about stepping into adulthood, Ante starts behaving problematically in adolescence, and Eva, as the calmest and most centred one, cannot wait to leave the house for her studies abroad), the challenges get greater and greater for the whole family. Silvestar questions himself constantly, debating whether his delayed emotions could be read as cold distance driving the rift between him and the rest of the family, while Nataša is not too supportive of the idea that the whole thing should be shot as a documentary that would expose them all.

Apart from being a filmmaker, Kolbas here also serves as his own director of photography (there is some additional cinematography from other family members) and sound recordist. The material he brings to the film can be entirely defined as a load of home videos from different periods and of various technical qualities such as aspect ratio, resolution and lighting. Editor Denis Golenjak does heroic work to arrange all of that same-sourced but stylistically different material in a way that does not bother the viewer who gets involved with the story.

Telling his story in a frank manner (highlighted by expressing the wish for the film to be taken as an expression of love by his family), Kolbas manages to find the right balance between clarity and excitement, structuring his presentation in a unique way so that every child, every problem and preoccupation and every challenge for the parents gets its deserved time. Our Children becomes and remains a very sincere, emotionally charged documentary.

A Film a Week - Dwelling Among the Gods / Među bogovima

 previously published on Cineuropa

Sometimes, it is hard to put a human face to large-scale and long-lasting events, such as the current refugee crisis, or even find the words to describe them, before one gets lost in numbers and statistical data. With his sophomore fiction feature, Dwelling Among the Gods, Vuk Ršumović tries to do just that by telling a story that happened (or at least could have happened) to people in Serbia, along the “Balkan Route”. It has premiered in the fiction competition of the 30th Sarajevo Film Festival.

An Afghan family consisting of mother Fereshteh (Fereshteh Hoseini), her husband, Reza (Reza Akhlaghirad), and three of their children has stopped in a refugee centre in Serbia en route to Germany. Through NGO lawyer Zoran (Vule Marković) and Dari-language interpreter Nikola (Nikola Ristanovski), Fereshteh has learned that the young man who drowned recently might be her brother Ali. She sets off on a mission to prove his identity and her relationship to him, claim his body and organise a proper burial.

However, every step of the way, there is a logistical, legal or bureaucratic obstacle to overcome, and time is of the essence, since members of Reza’s family want to continue their journey as soon as possible. The waiting and running around in circles affect the couple, too, and the fact that their elder, teenage daughter has fallen for a guy from their camp does not make things any more bearable. The idealistic Nikola is very willing to help, the more realistic Zoran less so, given that Fereshteh is not his only client, but the system personified in the nameless clerk (Petar Zekavica) is simply too rigid for such situations. And Fereshteh’s father’s insisting on getting Ali’s body to Afghanistan makes things all the more complicated.

For his previous film, 2014’s No One’s Child, Ršumović drew inspiration from a real-life case to tell the story of an individual who has to learn to survive in a closed system within a wider one that also depends on politics. While he changes the protagonist, the setting is quite similar here, with one or two added layers of “systems”, since Fereshteh also has to navigate her family, her primary cultural and religious environment, as well as Serbian bureaucracy. Crediting investigative reporter Momir Turudić as the co-screenwriter also suggests the origin of the story is rooted in true events that were happening along the Balkan Route.

Portraying the murky-grey landscape of both life inside the refugee centre on the outskirts of Belgrade and life in Serbia in general through the lens of Damjan Radovanović’s often handheld, cinéma vérité-style camerawork is a logical and fitting choice here that adds to the sense of urgency. The sound design by Dubravka Premar also stands out, filling the sonic landscape with a realistic murmur, meaning that Dwelling Among the Gods acts like a legitimate successor to the cinéma vérité classics.

The trouble arises elsewhere: in the casting and the work with the actors. The Iranian performers chosen for the two leads operate in an elevated emotional register, and the rest of the cast in a restrained, more realistic one, and this “clash” does not work in the leading actors’ favour. Also, the dramaturgical devices introduced to feed the audience with the context of Afghan culture where Fereshteh, as a woman, does not have the same degree of agency as her husband, father or brother, barely scratch the surface and merely constitute common knowledge. In the end, Dwelling Among the Gods is a noble and, to some extent, accomplished work, but its cinematic qualities remain unworthy of the urgency of the story it tells.

The Editorial Office / Redaktsiya

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Izjava „Utoliko gore po činjenice!“ pripisuje se klasičnom nemačkom filozofu Georgu Vilhelmu Fridrihu Hegelu i navodno je on to izjavio kada je neko od njegovih kolega jednu njegovu teoriju suočio sa – činjenicama. Opet, čini se da danas mnoge stvari funkcionišu upravo po toj maksimi, i to stvari kojima bi činjenice morale biti „hleb nasušni“, kao što su to, na primer, novinarstvo i vesti. I to važi za svaki nivo, od onog globalnog do onog komunalnog.

Upravo u tom komunalnom miljeu obitava najnoviji film Romana Bondarčuka The Editorial Office. Premijeru je imao zimus, na Berlinalu u sekciji Forum, a u Sarajevu se takmičio u glavnoj konkurenciji. Iako je tamo ostao bez nagrada, ostavio je dosta pozitivan utisak pričajući priču o nevoljama poštenog čoveka u haotičnom svetu koji funkcioniše po izvitoperenim pravilima i gde je sve igra moći.

Protagonista Jura (igra ga Dmitro Bahnenko na čijim je iskustvima i bazirana priča filma) radi u lokalnom biološkom institutu na projektu da obližnja šuma bude priznata kao deo evropskog „zelenog pojasa“, pa da time postane zakonski zaštićena. U tu svrhu, on i stariji kolega Mihailo (Oleksandr Šmar) odlaze tamo da dokumentuju njenu važnost u funkciji staništa za retke stepske mrmote. Umesto toga, oni svedoče namernom paležu koji izvode maskirani napadači s nejasno kojim ekonomskim ili političkim ciljem. Jasno nam je da na tom mestu nevolje za njih dvojicu tek počinju...

Jasno, bivaju promptno otpušteni s posla, ali Jura ne želi da odustane od priče, pa zato prvo odlazi u lokalne zvanične novine, pa ona i na senzacionalistički portal koji ga na kraju i zapošljava, ali ne na razvoju te priče, već na poslovima izmišljanja novih senzacionalnih vesti, laganja i „botovanja“ jer se spremaju lokalni izbori na kojima se nadmeću dve jednako korupcionaške partije, a gazda portala očito navija za jednu od njih. U toj situaciji, Jura se, kao pošten čovek, očito ne snalazi, ali je uveren da mora učiniti nešto, i to po svojoj savesti, zbog čega u poređenju s ostalim, prevejanim likovima on ispada naivan.

Ni kod kuće mu ne cvetaju ruže, budući da živi s majkom (Rima Zubina) koja možda spretnije pliva po gradu kojim upravljaju moćnici i silnici, ali je zato neverovatno naivna da poveruje u obećanja lake zarade na tržištu kripto-valuta, što je shema koju prodaje američki prevarant (Džoel Kenet Rakos), a koja će je koštati ušteđevine. Možda je na kraju situaciju najbolje sumirao majčin ljubavnik Ruslan (Andrij Kirilčuk), povezan s gradskim strukturama, rečima da je upravo sveobuhvatni haos ono što štiti grad i regiju od upada i uticaja i sa istoka i sa zapada.

Opet, treba imati u vidu da se ovde radi o jugu Ukrajine (ne pominje se nigde, ali film je sniman u Hersonu), i o vremenu neposredno pred izbijanje rata u punom intenzitetu. Bondarčuk koji je i sam iz tog kraja demonstrira svoje dobro poznavanje istog, što mu takođe nije ni prvi put, budući da je nekih šest godina ranije u isti region locirao sličnu priču svog igranog prvenca Volcano. U njemu su pošteni naivci „stranci“, odnosno posetioci iz prestonice koji rade za nevladine organizacije, a koji završe u ropstvu lokalnim silnicima.

Sličnosti između dva filma su intenzivne i nimalo slučajne. Po pitanju rata, u oba filma se distinktivno čuje njegov odjek, s tim je u prvom on u daljini, a u drugom se ipak čuje huk kako se on približava. Po pitanju lokalne korupcije, nju u oba filma Bondarčuk jednako ispostavlja. Takođe, u oba uratka, autor kombinuje surovu realnost sa fantazijom, s time da je to u Volcano doziranije, pa stoga i šokantnije i efektnije, a u The Editorial Office češće i grublje, s jakim akcentom na apsurdnost situacije, kao kad teroristi napadnu novinsku redakciju ili kada protagonista u komi otkrije da je sve samo deo sektaške zavere inspirisane Galebom Džonatanom Livingstonom.

I na drugim mestima, The Editorial Office je možda isuviše grup, raskrzan pa slepljen za vlastito dobro, ali to možemo pravdati argumentom da je i život na tako haotičnim mestima takav. Bondarčuk ipak uspeva da poentira u epilogu filma smeštenom u budućnost, na tragu filma Atlantis njegovog zemljaka Valentina Vasjanoviča: uvek su govna ta koja na kraju isplivaju, dok su pošteni ljudi nemoćni da im se suprotstave.

Rebel Ridge

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Ne može pogrešiti onaj ko otvori film sa The Number of the Beast, hevi-metal klasikom britanskog sastava Iron Maiden. Čak i oni koji nisu baš fanovi takve muzike već na prve taktove, da ne govorimo o momentu kad Brus Dikinson, Stiv Heris i kompanija, postaju svesni da je to jedna punokrvna himna.

Iako dolazi iz drugačijeg, pank i hardkor tabora, toga je svestan i američki nekada „indi“, a sada Netfliksov reditelj Džeremi Solnije. Nažalost, oni koji nisu pretplaćeni na navedeni „striming“ servis s monopolističkim ambicijama neće imati priliku da vide njegov peti dugometražni film Rebel Ridge u okruženju koje bi za tako nešto bilo optimalno – u bioskopu.

Čini se da je Solnije, krajnje ne-pankerski, izabrao sigurnost dotoka novca umesto rizika sa bioskopskom i festivalskom distribucijom koja mu je ranije, s filmovima Blue Ruin i Green Room, donosila uspeh, slavu, prestiž i prilike za dalji rad. Doduše, njegov prethodni film Hold the Dark isto je „čedo“ Netfliksove produkcije, ali je „strimer“ u tom slučaju bio „milostiv“ i pustio film na par festivala i u limitiranu kino-distribuciju, verovatno se nadajući pomenu u sezoni nagrada.

Sa Rebel Ridge, Solnije nije bio te sreće i zapravo je potegao kratku slamku: film je bez neke reklame izbačen na internet u špicu festivalske sezone, pred kraj Venecije i oko početka Toronta. Čini se, pak, da je to samo kruna problema ionako problematične produkcije koja je prvo zaustavljena izbijanjem pandemije, pa je posle u njenom toku došlo do iznuđene zamene glavnog glumca. Biće da je dobro da je film uopšte završen...

Dakle, pomenuta pesma dolazi iz slušalice bicikliste koji juri zabačenim drumom negde duboko na Američkom Jugu, sve dok se za njim u poteru ne uključi policijsko patrolno vozilo čije sirene on ne čuje, pa dolazi do zaustavljanja putem obaranja. Dvojica belih policajaca, Marston (Dejvid Denman) i Lan (Emori Koen), zaustavljaju crnog biciklistu Terija (Aron Pjer koji je zamenio Džona Bojegu), vezuju ga, prete elektoškovima i pretresaju, prilikom čega pronalaze vreću sa više od 30.000 dolara u gotovini koju zaplenjuju iako Teri ima uverljivo objašnjenje i odakle mu novac i za šta mu je isti potreban, odnosno na šta planira da ga potroši.

Iako nije nelegalno nositi veće količine gotovine sa sobom u Americi, postoji rupa u zakonu koja policajcima dozvoljava „građansku zaplenu“ na osnovu same sumnje. U tom smislu, Terijevo objašnjenje da je deo novca namenjen za kauciju za njegovog rođaka Majka optuženog za prekršaj posedovanja manje količine droge, a drugi deo za pokretanje zajedničkog legalnog fizičog posla, dolazi više kao otežavajuća, nego kao olakšavajuća okolnost.

Pritom, za razliku od Terija, Majk ima kriminalnu prošlost i ako dospe u zatvor, tamo će ga možda stići opasni ljudi od kojih se skriva, zato je Teriju jako stalo da ga što brže oslobodi. U svom pohodu on nema saveznika, osim što jedna službenica suda, Samer MekBrajd (Ana Sofija Rob, nekadašnja zvezda dečijih i omladinskih filmova), i sama svesna prevarantskih praksi korumpirane lokalne policije, želi da mu pomogne koliko može.

Teri, inače bivši marinac, ne boji se nikoga i pritom „poseduje specifičan set veština“, pa je spreman da uđe u sukod sa komplenom policijom predvođenom šerifom Sendijem Burnom (Don Džonson u praktičnoj reprizi uloge iz filma Dragged Across Concrete S. Krega Zalera). Igra moći i nadmudrivanja počinje i ona će ostaviti posledice po širu zajednicu koja je uglavnom ravnodušna prema nameštaljkama i žrtvovanju „malih ljudi“, naročito ako su oni stranci.

Osim pomenutih problema sa distribucijom zbog kojih Rebel Ridge neće zasijati u punom sjaju, drugi problem leži u njegovom suviše generičkom naslovu koji nam obećava „žvaku za mozak“ akcionog tipa. Čini se da Solnije od te etikete ne beži, čak se s njom namerno poigrava kombinujući kocepte originalnog Ramba i novijih „akcijada“ s Liamom Nisonom.

Štos je, međutim, što on sve to „pakuje“ u dugačak, skoro pa epski triler, a to čini na najbolji mogući način, savršeno gradeći likove i preko njih vodeći priču, dubinski ulazeći u problematiku situacije, taktički profilirajući, tempirajući i gradirajući akciju od prvog odmeravanja snage do prolongiranog obračuna za kraj. Doduše, za razliku od njegovih ranijih radova, nasilje u Rebel Ridge je manje krvavo i stoga prihvatljivije za široku publiku.

U ekstenzivnom scenariju nema trunke viška ili manjka, muljanja, odugovlačenja ili protrčavanja, a Solnijeova režija je pritom savršeno promišljena. Pomaže i to što je autor sam sebi montažer, pa na taj način kontroliše i ritam. Sjajan posao je napravio i sa izborom i vođenjem glumaca, jer Aron Pjer ima i prezentnost u kadru i harizmu kojom podseća na vestern-junaka spremnog da sam izađe pred barabe, a da pritom ne zaboravi na manire. Muku koju kao Samer kao žena koja se već sukobila sa zajednicom i iz toga izašla povređena možemo vrlo jasno videti u interpretaciji Ane Sofije Rob, dok je Don Džonson kao naručen za sirovu, ali ipak ljigavu zlicu. Izvrstan je i izbor sporednih glumaca koji se fantastično uklapaju u ambijent.

Iz navedenog je jasno da je Solnije majstor svog zanata i da je dovoljno pametan autor da se drži onoga što mu leži, u okviru čega eksperimentiše koliko može. Ako izuzmemo njegov prvenac dugometražni Murder Party (2007) koji je više bio horor i zapravo test primarno direktora fotografije u novoj ulozi, kao i test kreativne saradnje između njega i njegovog drugara glumca Mejkona Blera (Rebel Ridge je prvi u kojem se on ne pojavljuje ispred kamere, ali je kreditiran kao izvršni producent), svi Solnijeovi filmovi su zapravo trileri. Preciznije, ruralni trileri „backwoods noir“ sorte i, stoga, savremeni vesterni bazirani na njihovim arhetipovima. To važi i za osvetnički Blue Ruin (2013), i za ultra-nasilni Green Room (2015), pa i za epski, iako pomalo glomazni Hold the Dark (2018).

Možda je zanimljivije primetiti da je sa svoja četiri filma Solnije otišao na sva četiri kraja Sjedinjenih Država. Blue Ruin je bio smešten na Istočnoj Obali, Green Room na Zapadnoj, Hold the Dark na sever Aljaske, a sa Rebel Ridge je otišao na jug u Lujzianu. Ostaje nam da se pitamo u kom pravcu će ići neki njegov sledeći film, u prostor (recimo u centar, onaj mitski iz, na primer, American Honey Andree Arnold) ili kroz vreme (u prošlost, pa da dobijemo jedan pravi vestern-vestern). U svakom slučaju, autor je zaslužio da svaki njegov naredni film željno iščekujemo i da se možda nadamo da će nam se konačno ukazati u bioskopu.

A Film a Week - Mother Mara / Majka Mara

 previously published on Cineuropa

Films centred on women of a certain age are not that common in Serbian cinema, and those that look at things from a distinctive, feminine perspective are even rarer. However, actress-turned-filmmaker Mirjana Karanović (of Esma’s Song fame) has decided to forge her filmmaking career with exactly this kind of movie. Her first directorial effort, A Good Wife (2016), in which she told the story of a woman who has to face up to her husband’s involvement in war crimes during the 1990s wars in the former Yugoslavia, made quite a splash on the festival circuit after its world premiere at Sundance. Her sophomore film, Mother Mara, has just premiered as an out-of-competition gala at Sarajevo.

The titular protagonist, played by the filmmaker herself, has just lost her son Nemanja (Pavle Čemerikić in flashbacks and short mobile phone-shot inserts), who was the apple of her eye. Mara raised him as a single mother, while also building a career as a corporate lawyer, and now, everybody from the ranks of her family and friends both at and after the funeral reminds her that she is left with nothing to live for. Since the stern Mara is not exactly the crying type, she tries to overcome her muted grief by returning to work.

There, a young man called Milan (Vučić Perović, mainly seen on Serbian TV) insists on her representing him in a routine probate case. Although this type of case is something more suitable for a junior lawyer at Mara’s firm, Milan has a strong argument: he knew the part of Nemanja’s life that was hidden from his mother, the gym sessions and the wild nights out in the floating river clubs in Belgrade. The strictly professional relationship between the middle-aged woman and the man, who is one generation younger than her, turns personal, carnal and romantic, placing Mara in a completely new situation.

As an actress, Karanović has a commanding screen presence, and she is quite expressive both in the muted and in the more vocal parts of her role, and the chemistry she shares with Perović is compellingly awkward, as is usually the case in slightly repressed cultures where many things are still taboo. The presence of regionally recognisable actors such as Boris Isaković (Karanović’s acting partner in A Good Wife), Jasna Žalica (recently seen in May Labour Day) and Alen Liverić (of No One’s Son fame) in supporting roles also works in the film’s favour.

Karanović has also developed a certain style as a director, based on intriguing and clear ideas, such as the camerawork by Igor Marović corresponding with the protagonist’s current state of mind, with the symmetrically arranged, static shots (usually taken from mid-to-long distance) and the more dynamic, hand-held ones both having their respective functions. The centrepiece scenes also look good, thanks to Lazar Predojev’s methodical editing. Production designer Dragana Baćović should also be commended for her work, since the sterile coldness of the sets corresponds with Mara’s milieu and her personality (or at least the façade of it), and the same goes for the discreet score composed by Ephrem Lüchinger.

Relying on the help of her co-writers Maja Pelević and Ognjen Sviličić, as well as Darko Lungulov, who is credited as a creative consultant, Karanović has made Mother Mara as a solid, controlled and well-thought-out piece of contemporary cinema. However, the lack of proverbial “dirt” in it sometimes makes it seem a tad too “doctored” to be heartfelt.

A Film a Week - Gym

 previously published on Cineuropa

Some 20 years ago, it seemed like the cinema of Bosnia and Herzegovina was enjoying a boom, and Srđan Vuletić was one of the torchbearers after the success of his 2003 debut feature, Summer in the Golden Valley, which won the Tiger Award at IFFR the following year. Now, it has been 17 years since Vuletić’s second film, It’s Hard to Be Nice, and finally, we can see his third effort, Gym. The venue for the premieres of all three of Vuletić’s features has been the same: the Sarajevo Film Festival. This time, his movie is part of the Open Air programme.

Gym is a film with which its writer-director (working from a story by Mirela Tepanić-Grbešić) tries to explore the well-known, yet frustrating, situation in which a loud and aggressive minority manages to subdue the quiet majority. Vuletić attempts to do so by mixing the notions of situational comedy and social-realist drama with some twists and turns that veer towards a thriller, using one particular event as the stage for his intended metaphor.

The event in question is a banquet organised to celebrate the launch of a new telephone helpline aimed at solving ecological problems, and our point of view is that of the employees of the small firm in charge of the catering. Led by the boss, Damir, who is still torn between whether to close his firm owing to slow business or whether to keep on fighting in the hope of better times to come, the company is also the scene of a power struggle between the crazy, aggressive and offensive Ado (Dino Sarija), and his calmer and smarter brother-in-law, Riki (Edin Avdagić).

The source of the discord between them are their opposing attitudes towards their former colleague and the boss’s ex-girlfriend, Melisa (Dina Mušanović), who went on to found her own business. Ado’s plan is to beat Melisa into submission, quite literally, while Riki reasons that she had every right to try to strike it lucky on her own. The rest of the crew is rationally with Riki, but they are not willing to take a stand against the crazy Ado. And when the Chekhov’s gun appears by the end of the first act, we can be sure that it is going to go off by the end of the third.

Most of the problems with Gym stem from the notion that Vuletić has lost touch with the medium of cinema, since he spent a prolonged period teaching and working on TV-series projects. Although the initial situation and the basic characterisation are established pretty quickly, Vuletić takes his sweet time with the exposition and drags it out to the two-thirds mark of the film’s merciful 84-minute running time. In that regard, it seems like an extended pilot of a semi-ambitious TV show that tries to blend sitcom driven by local humour with social-realist and critical undertones concerning the hardships of young, working-class people in contemporary Bosnia.

The fact that it is pretty much set in a single location and has minimal production design also suggests a modest budget and/or production values, rather than some intended realism. The same could be said for Darko Herič’s cinematography, the digital crispness of which could serve better on smaller screens, rather than big ones, while Željko Šošić’s editing could have been smoother.

Gym is a stellar example of a piece of work whose noble intentions are hampered by bloated literary, didactic and preaching ambitions, compounded by a flawed, unspectacular execution. It’s a pity that even the central metaphor is relegated to the sidelines for such a long chunk of the running time.

Borderlands

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Kompjuterske igrice su ovih 40-ak godina bivale konstantno optuživane da kvare omladinu, ali te optužbe nisu uticale na njihovu popularnost i među tom omladinom, a i među starijima. A gde je popularnost, tu i je lova, a gde je lova – tu može biti još love u konverziji s formata na format.

E, sad, dok je relativno lako koristiti film kao bazu za video-igricu (treba samo priču učiniti interaktivnijom), obrnuti postupak je ipak malo zahtevniji. U to smo mogli da se uverimo u nekim ranijim talasima pomame za adaptacijama video-igrica, odakle poreklo vuče i najveći deo treš-opusa Uvea Bola.

Opet, da ne grešimo dušu, verovatno je i filozofija bila takva da se s minimumom uloženih sredstava i (mentalnog) napora brzo i lako izvuče još nešto love na tuđu popularnost po principu grebanja. Stvari su se, makar kad je reč o visokoprofilisanim igricama, ponešto promenile, pa su i njihove adaptacije u druge, manje interaktivne formate poput filmova i serija, zapravo postale ozbiljan posao koji se ozbiljno radi. O kvalitetima pojedinačnih završnih proizvoda nećemo – oni ipak variraju.

U tom svetlu, najnoviji primerak Borderlands, nastao po istoimenom serijalu, ogledni je primer katastrofe na svim nivoima, ali čak ni one zabavne, trešerske na čiji se račun makar možemo svi skupa dobro zezati. Ne, ovo je primer poslovnog poduhvata koji je poveren ljudima koji materiju ne razumeju, čiji su troškovi narasli kombinacijom loše sreće i pogrešnih odluka i koji možda neće „sahraniti“ svoje investitore, ali će ih makar prilično „ugruvati“. Kritika i publika prilično su unisoni u presudi: Borderlands ne valja, a tu se slažu i fanovi igrice i potpuni „ne-igrači“.

Pitanje je zapravo je li u tim uslovima išta i moglo da bude drugačije. Od momenta najave do početka snimanja prošlo je šest godina dok se zaokružio kreativni i produkcijski tim, kao i glumačka postava. Godinu i po dana kasnije, palo je i malo dosnimavanja, ali sa drugim rediteljem jer je Ilaj Rot u to doba snimao Thanksgiving. U isto vreme, scenarista Kreg Mazin je na svoj zahtev skinut sa špice, što je verovatno bio izraz njegovog zadovoljstva time kako su mu „iskasapili“ čedo, odnosno delo.

Ono što smo na kraju dobili je priča o Lilit (Kejt Blančet) koja radi kao lovac na ucenjene glave, a od magnata Atlasa (Edgar Ramirez) je dobila unosan zadatak da spasi njegovu kidnapovanu kćerku Tinu (Ariana Grinblet), a za šta mora da se vrati na svoju rodnu planetu Pandoru. Tamo je, iz neznanih razloga, kao pseudo-vodič i zapravo levo smetalo, čeka robot Kleptrep (glas Džeka Bleka) i njih dvoje uspevaju da lociraju Tinu u „zatočeništvu“ bivšeg plaćenika, a sada lovca na blago Rolanda (Kevin Hart) i njegovog psihotičnog pomoćnika Kriga (Florian Munteanu) s kojima se zapravo skompala.

Kada ih sustigne Atlasova privatna vojska, oni svi zajedno moraju da beže, a svoju potragu za preživljavanjem pokušavaju oplemeniti lovom na blago ili već neku tajnu velike moći koji zapravo želi i Atlas. Put će ih preko „skrovišta“ i šankerice Moksi (Đina Geršon) odvesti do poznavateljke planete i njenih tajni Patriše Tanis (Džejmi Li Kertis) koja je ujedno nekada bila Lilitina pomajka. Dok im opasnost preti i od Atlasovih plaćenika, i od poludelog domaćeg stanovništva udruženog u hordu maskiranih razbojnika, a i od zamki kojima su važne tačke njihove avanture prožete, hoće li naši junaci preživeti i pobediti ili, pak, nastradati?

Od serijala igrica film zapravo preuzima vrlo malo, a to su imena mesta i likova, te generalni utisak derivativnosti koji u igricama smeta mnogo manje nego u filmovima. Izostaje, međutim, onaj angažman koji igrica može da nametne igračima / gledaocima, ali, što je još i važnije, njen duh i atmosfera. Inače zanimljivi i potencijalno ikonički likovi svedeni su na dronove s jednom do dve funkcije, humor se potpuno izgubio, a isto se može i reći i za detalje izgradnje sveta, zbog čega Borderlands deluje kao vrlo nespecifična SF-akcija, nekakav Star Wars za siromašne.

Nije ni izbor glumaca bio najsrećniji, odnosno njihovi dokazani kvaliteti nisu iskorišćeni. Ma koliko se trudila, a trudi se do nivoa da „skida“ hod lika iz igrice, Kejt Blančet zapravo nije akciona heroina jer za tako nešto ima suviše jako izgrađenu auru prefinjenosti. Kevin Hart je potpuni promašaj kao vojničina bez komičnog „ugla“, dok se komičnost malog robota Kleptrepa i potencijal Džeka Bleka potpuno distorzira jer on u filmu, za razliku od igrice, nije dovoljno iritantan da na tome ubire poene. Iritantna je, doduše, Ariana Grinblat kao Tina, ali ne komično i, reklo bi se, čak niti ni namerno, koliko u nedostatku ideja kako s njene, tako i s Rotove strane, kako liku prići. Đina Geršon je protraćena u kratkoj epizodi, a Džejmi Li Kertis je zarobljena s likom koji praktično služi da čita fiktivnu „vikipediju“.

Scenario je, rekosmo već, prilično „frankenštajnski“, a ni Rotova režija tu ne pomaže, posebno u akcionim scenama koje bi trebalo da su njegov „forte“. Koreografija tih scena je takva da se u njima čak i ne može naslutiti nekakva interna „topografija“, a izbor muzičke za pratnje za njih je stereotipan da ne može biti stereotipniji. Opet, nisu ni Rot, ni Tim Miler koji ga je na dosnimavanjima zamenio, jedini krivci, budući da montažeri Džulijan Klark i Evan Henke vode neku svoju, nama smrtnicima nedokučivu politiku šta će i na kom mestu „seći“.

Kada se tome dodaju posve generički vizuelni efekti koji se ne uklapaju s glavnim dizajnerskim adutima filma („used future“ koncept kao u Star Wars serijalu i distopijski šmek nalik na Mad Max: Fury Road), Borderlands deluje naprosto sklepano i to prilično nevešto. Čini se da filmu preostaje tek jedan kvalitet: gledaoca ne muči predugo, sve je gotovo za nekih 100 minuta.

A Film a Week - Rita

 previously published on Cineuropa

The greatest thing that Spanish actress-turned-filmmaker Paz Vega has done with her directorial debut, Rita, is that she convinces the audience that they are watching one movie until the very end, when it turns into something quite different. Rita has just premiered on Locarno’s Piazza Grande. Given the star power of Vega, here fulfilling a four-fold role (that of writer, helmer, actress in a prominent part and executive producer), and the urgency of its topic, it could gain some more festival exposure, a theatrical release in the Spanish-speaking world, and then end up on television worldwide.

The titular protagonist is a seven-year-old girl (played by magnetic newcomer Sofía Allepuz) who lives in Seville with her family, consisting of the taxi-driver father José Manuel (Roberto Álamo, glimpsed in supporting roles in numerous Spanish films), homemaker mother Mari (the filmmaker herself) and younger brother Lolo (Alejandro Escamilla). The year is 1984, it’s late spring, and the Spanish national football team is doing well in the European Championship tournament, which seems to be the father’s main preoccupation.

In the meantime, Rita spends most of her time playing with her brother or with her neighbour of the same age, Nito (Daniel Navarro), or being taken care of by her mother or by their neighbour Chari (Paz de Alarcón) when the mother has to run errands or visit the ailing grandmother. As we watch the events unfold from her sensitive, yet playful, perspective, we observe certain things: her dad’s quick temper and negative attitude towards the world, but especially towards the mother; her mum's initially silent, but later more vocal, despair; and her brother’s fear and panic attacks whenever the parents argue. All of this leads to the notion that home is not necessarily a safe place (especially for her mother) and that Rita’s growing up is no fairy tale.

Allepuz is a perfect choice for the role of Rita because of her natural energy that easily transforms into an organic chemistry with her acting partners, both the children and the adults. Álamo does a great job of hiding José Manuel’s menace behind a façade of the typical blue-collar blues, while Vega offers a master class in playing Mari’s sadness – that of a woman unable to do a single thing about her misfortune.

Apart from her acting talent, which we have also witnessed in more than 70 previous roles, in Rita, Vega also demonstrates a knack for storytelling, both as a writer and as a director. Her script is cleverly written and masterfully controlled by her directing, with a good sense of visual narration. She uses simple tricks such as the levitating camera movements in Eva Díaz Iglesias’s cinematography and an abundant use of lower angles to mimic the perspective of a child. The editing by Ana Álvarez-Ossorio keeps the pace at a moderate level, while the score on piano with some orchestration by Pablo Cervantes further accentuates the dreaminess and the gentleness associated with a carefree childhood.

The end result is something akin to a collection of detailed, yet diffuse, memories constructed around a series of events that the child protagonist could only see as low-intensity ones. However, darker tones are always subtly hinted at, and gradually introduced and amplified. By the end of the film, those innuendos converge into a striking, harrowing picture of abuse, making Rita an unpleasant, yet necessary, wake-up call.

A Film a Week - Block 5 / Igrišča ne damo!

 previously published on Cineuropa

Life is not easy for a new kid on the block. At a certain age, moving seems like a total reset: with a new neighbourhood also comes a new school and the obligation to make new friends and fall in with a crowd that has already been there and shares a certain, established dynamic. Having a cause in common (or creating one) might help, but it might also drive a deeper rift between the kids’ and the adults’ worlds. This is something that we see in the new film by versatile Slovenian filmmaker Klemen Dvornik, Block 5, which premiered at Locarno, in the Locarno Kids sidebar, and is now screening at Sarajevo, in its Children's Programme.

Our protagonist, preteen girl Alma (Kaja Zabert), has just moved into a flat in a housing block in Ljubljana with her father, Filip (Marko Mandić, seen recently in Sonja Prosenc’s Family Therapy and Hanna Slak’s Not a Word). Life seems hard for her, since the same gang of skateboarding kids bullies her at school as well as in the neighbourhood. Once she finds out that her father is handling the development project that will turn the block playground, complete with its skating park, into a car park, she reaches out to them, so they all overcome their differences and form a pact to put a stop to it. Alma has a deeper personal reason to take part in this environmental project, since her mother died on such a mission in the Amazon. The adventure, which resembles a war game between the kids and the adults, begins, and along the way, animosities will be turned into friendships and a sense of community will be forged.

Working from a script written by Croatian-born, Ljubljana- and Prague-educated writer-filmmaker Dora Šustić, Dvornik demonstrates his versatility and eye for detail. Although they both occasionally rely on clichés, they manage to capture the life of kids and adults in a complex neighbourhood that is ethnically mixed and has class divisions, much like most of the estates on the outskirts of Ljubljana. Dvornik also shows he has a decent knowledge of contemporary young-adult culture, as he insists on TikTok-style interludes of vertical videos of their skating shenanigans set against a background of contemporary trap-pop music.

The director also knows how to work with young actors and newcomers, when to give them directions and when to step back so they can create their own interplay in an organic way. It results in great chemistry between them, with Kaja Zabert and Kaja Šuštar (who plays Alma’s nemesis-turned-best friend Luna) being standouts, while the rest of the young cast also fare pretty well. The adult cast members, except for Marko Mandić, reliably good in his role, have bit parts, and some of them, such as Ivana Roščić (playing Luna’s mother), Enes Bešlagić (playing a local kebab parlour owner) and Gregor Zorc (playing an unemployed man who wants to stick it to the system and therefore shows the most empathy for the kids’ venture), imbue their characters with life, while Tihomir Stanić (who plays Filip’s boss, Brabec) nails the vibe of the main villain.

Shot observantly by Czech DoP David Hofmann, who captures the details that could easily have been neglected by a cinematographer more familiar with the setting, scored by David Herceg to highlight the emotion in a discreet way, and edited vibrantly by Ivana Fumić, Block 5 is a film that should find fertile ground with elementary-school children, while also keeping their parents’ and teachers’ thoughts occupied for 80 minutes.

Three Kilometers from the End of the World / Trei kilometri pana la capatul lumii

 kritika objavljena u dodatku Objektiv dnevnog lista Pobjeda

Ovogodišnja igrana takmičarska selekcija Sarajevo Film Festivala bila je svetskim premijerama najsiromašnija u poslednjih oho-ho godina, kao da se ne radi o jubilarnom, 30. po redu izdanju najveće regionalne smotre filmova. Možda se programski tim baš zbog toga odlučio na proverene festivalske naslove iz regije koji su svoje premijere imali nedavno na festivalima u Kanu, Njujorku (Tribeka) ili Lokarnu, ili, pak, nešto ranije – u Berlinu. U takvoj konkurenciji, pobedio je film s najprominentnijom svetskom premijerom, u glavnom takmičarskom programu Kana. Cinici bi rekli, očekivano.

U pitanju je film Three Kilometres from the End of the World rumunskog prevashodno glumca, a sada i reditelja Emanuela Parvua. Reč je tu o tipičnom predstavniku Rumunskog Novog Talasa čije izdanke već dvadesetak i više godina pratimo po svetskim festivalima. Uz ipak nekakve stilske varijacije u odnosu na klasike Munđiua, Porumbojua, Kalina Petera Necera ili Pujua, teme Parvuovog filma očekivano su iste...

Mladić Adi (Ćiprijan Čujdea) prebijen je na povratku kući iz jedinog diska u zabitom selu na delti Dunava odakle je on sam i gde provodi letnji raspust nakon završene srednje škole u obližnjem gradu Tulči. Inicijalna reakcija njegovog oca (Bogdan Dumitrače, zvezda brojnih rumunskih filmova) je da je prebijanje zapravo poruka njemu da vrati dug lokalnom bogatašu, pa slučaj prijavljuje policiji, odnosno lokalnom šefu (Valeriu Andriuca) koji mu savetuje da proba da postigne dogovor.

Ali, kada dozna da Adi nije prebijen zbog očevog duga, već zbog svoje seksualne orijentacije (viđen je kako se ljubi s turistom iz Bukurešta), priča se okreće na drugu stranu... Svi bi u selu najrađe okrenuli glavu od problema homofobije i zataškali slučaj, a otac i majka (Laura Vasiliu) bi svog sina „izlečili od bolesti“, zbog čega upomoć zovu i sveštenika (Adrian Ticijeni) čije molitve liče na egzorcizam. Dok se svi trude da nekako „izbalansiraju“ situaciju kako se ne bi pročulo do grada, na Adijevoj strani stoji jedino prijateljica Ilinka (Ingrid Beresku), i to u skaldu sa svojim skromnim mogućnostima...

Homofobija, lokalna korupcija i toksični uticaj raspomamljene crkve standardna su tema savremenih rumunskih realističkih filmova i Three Kilometres from the End of the World tu nije nikakav izuzetak. U Parvuovom filmu čuju se odjeci klasičnih autora koji su mu svakako poslužili kao uzor. Razlika je prisutna donekle u miljeu (močvarna delta Dunava je prilično specifično područje), koloritu (leto zahteva žive boje nasuprot sivkastih kojima obično pribegavaju rumunski novotalasni autori) i načinu snimanja. Umesto kamere iz ruke koja prati protagonistu, ovde po pravilu imamo seriju dužih kadrova statičnom kamerom u nešto širem planu, što gledaoca stavlja na distancu i omogućava mu da sagleda celu situaciju.

Glumački, film je dobar, što se i moglo očekivati s obzirom da Parvu poznaje snimanje filmova i iz te perspektive. On glumce vodi sigurnom rukom i omogućava im da ostvare vrlo dobre uloge, dok je Bogdan Dumitrače, očekivano, impresivan kao otac koji se našao u nebranom grožđu po nekoliko pitanja. Valeriu Andriuca kao šef policije i Adrian Ticijani kao sveštenik uspevaju da ostvare pamtljive epizode, a mladi Ćiprijan Čujdea da izazove kod gledaoca empatiju za nepravednu sudbinu koja je njegov lik zadesila.

Opet, Three Kilometres from The End of the World ne donosi ništa posebno novo čak ni u sferi savremenog rumunskog filma, a o nekom globalnom planu je izlišno i govoriti. Sve smo to već videli, i to više puta, pa nema iznenađenja. Sasvim je jasno da Emanuel Parvu ovde puca zicere koje pogađa jer ih je zapravo teže promašiti. (Da li bi iko pri zdravoj pameti „navijao“ za ludog popa ili ljigavog šefa policije?) Zbog toga dobijamo solidan, dobro urađen film, ali ništa više od toga i ništa što bi zavređivalo festivalsku slavu.