A Film a Week - A Whole Person Almost / Enas olokliros anthropos schedon

 previously published on Cineuropa

Islands and their islanders… They have so much in common with one another, and differ greatly from the rest of the world. It must have something to do with the sense of community in relative isolation. At least, this is a common conception that serves as the starting point of Efthimis Kosemund Sanidis' debut feature A Whole Person Almost, which has just premiered in Karlovy Vary's Proxima competition. However, the journey takes us in different directions.

Ilias (Anastasis Georgoulas), a young man burdened by debt, crosses the sea to claim his inheritance from his late, estranged father — who, as far as he knows, worked as the island's doctor. He expects it to be a simple in-and-out job, but local customs and his father's saint-like reputation among the islanders (the father's name, Christos, is something of a giveaway) soon get in his way, forcing him to stay far longer than planned. Matters are complicated further by the fact that his father practised medicine without a proper licence, never charged his patients, and lived off the islanders' charity like a kind of hermit — meaning Ilias has little to inherit beyond an old shipping container converted into a makeshift home and workspace.

The longer Ilias stays on the island, the more locals he encounters – among them his father's former lover, Karina (Elena Topalidou, of Magnetic Fields fame), who runs a modest lodging house, and the young woman who works alongside her, Kalliopi (Flomaria Papadaki, seen in Animal). Gradually, his perception of both his father and himself begins to shift. He also starts noticing stranger goings-on: mysterious power outages and an epidemic of fainting fits – one he eventually succumbs to himself, to the point of losing his physical strength entirely. But with Kalliopi as his guide and ally, he is offered a chance at redemption, and perhaps even love.

Even after almost twenty years, the so-called Greek Weird Wave still appears to be going strong. Here, the setting of an unnamed island – one that lives by its own rules, at once rigid and ever-changing – serves that purpose perfectly, as the filmmaker and his co-writer, Elizampetta Ilia Georgiadou, explore not just the setting itself, but also the characters' inner lives and psychology.

This is evident in cinematographer Christos Voudouris' shots, which gently morph from distant observation into more intimate portraits as the plot slowly unfolds. Editor Livia Neroutsopoulou establishes an unhurried tempo, yet much-needed tension is introduced through a piano-heavy score that kicks in whenever a pattern needs breaking or shifting. The cast, meanwhile, does its best – and largely succeeds – in rendering these characters as palpable human beings.

One might argue that a sense of weirdness comes to dominate the film as it progresses, overtaking the coherence of its plot and the protagonist's inner journey, leaving viewers wondering what Efthimis Kosemund Sanidis' endgame might be. But on an emotional and visceral level, A Whole Person Almost resonates more strongly than it does on a purely rational one.

A Film a Week - Elena's Shift

 previously published on Cineuropa

The financial crisis of 2008 hit differently from country to country, and lasted for varying amounts of time, but the common denominator in every one of those countries was that it exposed the internal corruption that plagued each of them. Greece was hit particularly hard: the crisis there lasted longer than in other nations countries, and unfortunately, it was the workers and the immigrants who paid the highest price for it.

Based on a true story, the debut feature by acclaimed Greek visual artist Stefanos Tsivopoulos, Elena’s Shift, is set at the tail end of the crisis, in 2013. It was presented last year at Tallinn Black Nights’ market as a work in progress, and it has just premiered in the festival’s First Feature Competition.

The title character (played by German-Romanian actress Maria Dragus, seen in a number of movies from The White Ribbon to R.M.N.) is a Romanian single mother living in Greece with her young son Luca (Filippos Sklikas) and working as a cleaner in the same company where her own mother, Ada (Rodica Lazar), used to work. When we meet her, she is trying to obtain Greek citizenship despite not actually needing to, but she fails in spite of her decent command of the language, and her understanding of the culture and society, because she has no Greek friends, as she spends most of her time with her family and with her colleagues, who are also predominantly immigrants. One of them, Maia (Macrina Balardeanu), keeps inviting her to try her luck in Germany, but both Luca and Ada are against the move.

The situation for Elena becomes even more complicated when she is informed that her contract will be cut short and will not be extended. Since she does not recall signing this type of contract, she turns to the trade union, where she meets lawyer Yota (Penelope Tsilika, glimpsed in Little England and Crimes of the Future), who provides a spark that lights her fire – in both an activist and a romantic sense. But can the two get along in a dog-eat-dog world where everybody is focused on prioritising their own interests?

In not wanting to burden the audience with the excessive legal or economic details of Elena’s woes, Tsivopoulos creates a different set of problems. In such a reading and re-telling of her situation, Elena’s troubles, desires and general predicament simply seem too vague and generic, so any real emotional impact in the third act falls flat. Style-wise, Elena’s Shift also falls in line with contemporary social-realist works, with shaky hand-held camerawork by Konstantinos Koukoulios that regularly utilises shallow focus, and slightly abrupt editing by Stamos Dimitropoulos. In this way, the authentic vibe of the under-furnished homes and busy metropolitan streets is conveyed without any flashy moves or by forcing us to wallow in misery.

However, the film’s greatest assets are its lead actresses, and Tsivopoulos knows it, so he usually frames them in close-up and in a series of reverse shots. This is especially the case for Maria Dragus, who is extremely dedicated to her role here, and the rest of the cast, especially Penelope Tsilika and Rodica Lazar, do their best to support her, but the trouble is that the script is simply too vague, so they need to improvise. The end result is satisfactory, but nothing more than that.

A Film a Week - Light Falls

 previously published on Cineuropa

As a cinematographer, Phedon Papamichael is one of the most influential professionals in Hollywood. In his 35-year career, he was nominated for an Oscar twice (for his work on Alexander Payne’s Nebraska and Aaron Sorkin’s The Trial of the Chicago 7), and he lensed more than 50 more features, including 3:10 to Yuma, Million Dollar Hotel, Ford vs. Ferrari and this year’s blockbuster Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. Papamichael has also tried his luck directing films already, both in the US and in his native Greece, but his previous four efforts could not be deemed successful neither with critics nor with audiences. His fifth directorial attempt, Light Falls, has just premiered in the Critics’ Picks section of Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.

Genre-wise, Light Falls could be described as an unpleasant thriller that starts in a different register, as a socially observant drama. We get to follow two sets of characters coming from opposite worlds. Clara (up-and-coming Georgian-American actress Elensio) and Ella (Nini Nebieridze in her first adult screen role) are a couple of Georgian-American tourists that come to an unnamed Greek island for a vacation, to relax and enjoy. On the other hand, brothers Eddy (Juxhin Plovishti) and Altin (Jurgen Marku) along with their cousin Veton (Silvio Goskova) are down on their luck Albanian migrant workers who reside on the island illegally. Those are the guys that would be denied entrance to the club by the bouncer, unable to do nothing about it. On top of that, Veton is regularly harassed by a police officer (Makis Papadimitriou, solid as expected).

The two groups encounter one another in a seemingly abandoned hotel on the hill overlooking the town. It was Clara’s idea to visit the structure, and Ella’s to take the photos of her model girlfriend in it, but their adventure abruptly ends when Ella accidentally falls down the empty elevator shaft. Because the building is squatted by several groups of Albanian part-time workers, Clara encounters the trio while on her quest to save Ella. The language barrier leads to miscommunication, followed by a gruesomely violent act of rape, then retribution.

Rape and revenge, this thriller sub-genre that leans towards horror, is actually very sensitive, making it a difficult to execute in an ethical way. However, the source script by Sven Dagones is simplistic, relegating the characters to usually offensive stereotypes: the young women are presented as arrogant, self-indulging tourists, while the trio of workers are pictured as short-tempered, impulsive savages unable to control their urges, deal with their frustration, or act according to universal norms of ethics. Although Papamichael probably had other things (such as otherness) in mind, the script does not allow its characters — with the exception of the policeman — to act like intelligent human beings. The excessive violence does not feel justified and more cynical viewers could read elements of the plot and characterisation as acts of casual racism.

Craft-wise, Light Falls is a deftly made piece of genre cinema. The camerawork by the director together with Akis Konstantakopoulos is attractive and evocative, the contrasts in lighting are sublime and the soundscape of the film is memorable, thanks both to Nick Athens’ music and the sound design. It’s a shame the insensitive script and the director’s inability or refusal to overturn it seal the fate of the film.

A Film a Week - Silence 6-9 / Isyhia 6-9

 previously published on Cineuropa

This year, the Greek Weird Wave has added another name to its roster of auteurs. Christos Passalis, formerly recognised for his acting (he played the role of the son in Dogtooth and the part of Manolis in The Miracle of the Sargasso Sea), has turned his attention to filmmaking, first with the Berlinale-premiered experimental essay documentary The City and the City, which he co-directed with Syllas Tzoumerkas, and now also with a fiction feature, Silence 6-9, which Passalis directed on his own. The Crystal Globe Competition at Karlovy Vary might prove to be a fitting launch pad for a cryptic, dream-like, retro-futurist love story like this.

The title comes from one of the key rules in the largely abandoned dystopian town that our hero Aris (Passalis himself) comes to: the inhabitants must remain in complete silence between 6 and 9 o’clock in the morning, so the antennas surrounding the town can do their recording. And what do they record? Anything related to the people of the town who have gone missing, not to be found. But before they went missing, they recorded their own cassette tapes so that the others who stayed would be able to remember them.

Similarly to the beginning of Jim Jarmusch’s Dead Man, here, a stranger comes to a strange town to do a strange job for a strange man, called the Manager. His new post is not yet entirely his, and he has to wait for confirmation from the Manager, who might have lost his mind. While waiting, he is stationed in a hotel with Anna (played by Passalis’ co-star in both Dogtooth and The Miracle of the Sargasso Sea, Angeliki Papoulia), a woman whose job it is to act in a show based on the recorded cassettes of the missing people. Since they have a lot of time on their hands in a desolate town, they get closer and closer until they fall in love. Or is it just a dream that two strangers share while comatose in the hospital, perhaps a reference to Christopher Nolan’s Inception?

Stories set in an altered world, such as a dystopian future or present, demand some additional attention to the world-building details, and are usually hard to pull off in a brisk format of just 80 minutes. In that regard, Passalis’ work is commendable in all three roles he takes on here – as the leading actor, director and co-screenwriter. His vision is well written to the extent that it keeps the audience intrigued for the whole running time, while slowly revealing the information, and it is also perfectly executed on a visual level, along the lines of the Greek Weird Wave classics, with thoroughly composed and highly symmetrical, largely static shots of an arid landscape lensed in sun-bleached colours by Giorgos Karvelas, accompanied by the melancholic and toned-down retro soundtrack by Yiannis Loukos and Antonis Georgou. The production design by Márton Ágh, in which there is no item from a period more recent than the mid-1990s (apart from the antennas), is also one of the highlights, while the love story is convincingly powered by the chemistry between the two lead actors.

The only potential trouble with Silence 6-9 is its cryptic nature. A film like this is clearly a metaphor for something (or things), and the answer to the question of what this movie might be about will not please some audiences, especially given the potential meaning of the anti-cassette and anti-silence protests, and the new government that leads them. But still, Silence 6-9 is a smooth blend of style, substance, emotion and provocation that leaves the viewer with plenty to ruminate on.

A Film a Week - The Fourth Character / O tétartos charaktíras

 previously published on Cineuropa

The newest feature-length documentary written and directed by Katerina A Patroni, whose previous documentary work includes Men at Sea (2003) and The Third Takis (2008), follows a trio of characters dealing with recent losses and regrets in the urban setting of Athens. It premiered earlier this year on its home turf of Thessaloniki Documentary Festival, winning the Woman in Film and Television GR award. The Fourth Character’s international premiere took place at the Sarajevo Film Festival. The film’s universal topic, and Patroni’s humane approach to it, could earn it further festival exposure in upcoming months, before it lands on television.

Mr Pavlos is a 63-year-old man who wants to change his attitude because his restless nature has put him in trouble after trouble. A younger man, also named Pavlos, has decided to dedicate the rest of his life to God and to redeem himself through benefaction. A woman named Tina cannot seem to recover from the death of someone close to her in a motorcycle accident.

Each of these characters has her own special places and daily routine. For Mr Pavlos, it is the bus ride across the city to the park where he feeds the birds; for Pavlos, the side of a busy road he cleans while rhythmically chanting his prayers; and for Tina, the street where the accident happened: she visits it every day and decorates it to commemorate Takis’ death.

The title of the film can be interpreted in two ways. The “fourth character” might be the set of feelings of loss, regrets and guilt these three characters share, together with their desire for redemption and respite. It could also stand for the very city of Athens and its streets, roads, public transportation and parks with which the protagonists spend a lot of time. The cityscape, devoid of the usual tourist attractions and often coloured by grey and rainy skies, reveals its natural beauty and ugliness, and certainly plays a great part in the film itself, and in its characters’ lives.

Wonderfully shot by cinematographer Dimitris Kordelas, who chose a toned-down palette of colours, and edited by Evgenia Papageorgiou to alternate between wide shots and close-ups at a measured pace, leaving plenty of time and space for reflection, The Fourth Character is a highly evocative piece of documentary cinema. The sound design by Persefoni Miliou, focused on the urban murmur and as understated as the colour scheme, also contributes to creating a distinct feeling for the film. The different choices of music, from J.S. Bach’s organ pieces, an acapella Orthodox church and folk melodies on flute (both performed by one of the film’s characters and narrators, Pavlos Tripodakis), to some gentle electronic pulsating, are always fitting and in sync with the characters’ narrations.

A Film a Week - Quiet Life

previously published on Cineuropa

We all have certain expectations regarding the content of fiction films and documentaries on the topic of the recent refugee crisis in Europe. So much so, that "refugee cinema" is in fact more of a sub-genre than simply a label. London-based Greek filmmaker Tasos Giapoutzis does his best to defy these expectations (and the information from news reports) with his feature-length documentary debut Quiet Life. The film had its world premiere at this year's edition of the Thessaloniki Documentary Festival, while its international premiere took place in the Balkan Dox competition at DokuFest.

As one of the film’s rare moments of on-screen text informs us right at the start, the Greek coastal town of Kavala is located roughly 1,300 km from Damascus and 1,500 km from Berlin. It could therefore be seen as a sort of a midpoint on the Balkan route which the Syrian refugees take towards a better life, in a land they take for promised. Kavala itself is a quiet coastal town where life seems slow, especially from the point of view of the local characters or subjects, such elderly priest Anthimos, the grumpy cobbler Kostas yearning for vacation in the nearby hills, and retiree Vangelis whose quiet life is more or less silent. The question then is whether this quietness is in danger, due to the refugees passing through the town or staying for a time in the safe house of sorts operated by elderly couple Roula and Elias.

Giapoutzis' focus here is on a specific Syrian family, mother Nour and her grade-school-aged sons Jamal and Roni. The father of the family is already in Germany and sometimes communicates with them via Skype, while the trio is in a limbo of sorts, stuck between a horrific past and an uncertain future. For their part, the boys are enjoying life as much as they can, playing and learning languages, and their mother tries to provide for them the best she can. As a result, they are more affected by the place, and not necessarily in a bad way, than the place itself is affected by them.

Tasos Giapoutzis served as his own cinematographer and kept following the family from a decent distance, not too close, yet not too far, for 18 months on an on-again-off-again basis while they stayed in the aforementioned safe house. His idea was to make a positive, even somewhat cheerful, good-hearted film that is less about the refugee crisis and more about local communities in times of change, highlighting the best of examples. Given the conditions, it is refreshing to have a film that plays like a feather-light version of Gianfranco Rosi's 2016 award winner Fire at Sea.

On the other hand, the general feeling of the film is of something more scripted than strictly observational, since editor Marios Kleftakis also served as scriptwriter. It feels as though the director and the scriptwriter were focused on their characters, who may or may not be representative of the whole not-so-small town, and filtered out the influences or factors that did not fit with their original vision and with their story. However, from an ethical point of view, it also seems that the subjects involved willingly went along with it and had nothing against being characters in a movie. Another questionable choice is the arbitrary use of Noor’s narration to provide context, which comes too late in the film and remains superficial. Yet in the end, Quiet Life justifies its existence by justifying its title, showing a particular place in a particular time in natural colours, and sending out a signal of hope and humanity.