A Film a Week - Otter / Vidra

 previously published on Cineuropa

The kids are not okay. Or, in other words, we do not know whether they are or are not, because we live in two different worlds. The best we can do is to pass down our own “wisdom” and experiences to them, hoping they will mean something in their world, and to encourage them to have and pursue an agenda that might differ from our own.

A teenager pressured by the problems coming from both worlds stands at the centre of Srđan Vuletić’s newest film, Otter, the first shown in the main competition of this year’s Sarajevo Film Festival. Only a week later, Otter will move on to open the Herceg Novi Film Festival in Montenegro, and other festivals, either in the region or in the youth-films niche, could follow suit.

Our protagonist, Hana (newcomer Maša Drašler), usually does what she is told. She cannot express any interest in the pseudo-celebrity guy from her school, Balša (Savin Perišić), as her friends deem his podcast partner, the self-centred bodybuilder Luka (Pavle Marković), hotter. At home, she feels neglected by her mother, Olga (Nada Vukčević, glimpsed in How I Was Stolen by the Germans), who devotes her time to caring for Hana’s dying father.

Hana is completely out of luck, as her first intended date with Balša coincides with the day of her father’s death. After witnessing her mother submitting to the influence of the father’s brother (Serbian actor Marko Janketić), who thinks that the dying man’s last wish (to be buried in a space suit, as he was a pilot who dreamt of space flight) is silly and blasphemous, Hana sneaks away from the flat to meet with Balša and Luka, and to go with them on a trip to the lake to watch and film the solar eclipse.

The trip does not go as planned, and owing to the boys’ fragile egos, a circle of jealousy and insecurity between the three of them emerges. For the first time in her life, Hana has to make a decision and take action, even if it means defying figures of authority in a patriarchal and traditional environment such as Montenegro, where the film is set, and breaking the rules regarding the roles imposed on her as a woman and a young person by family and society.

At the beginning of the film, Vuletić shows his class as a director, since he manages to achieve a rare thing in today’s movies: the young characters are “allowed” to appear, sound and act like authentic teenagers. On top of that, he uses Filip Tot’s camerawork, Vladimir Gojun’s expectedly sure-handed editing, and the moody, ethereal electronic original music by Giorgio Giampà and Marta Cucchesini as pieces of a puzzle intended to leave a pretty strong impression.

However, halfway through, the characters’ actions, some of them drastic, start feeling abrupt, lacking proper motivation and appearing not so well timed. The source of the problem might be found in cutting some of the original script by Stefan Bošković (who made his name on TV both in Montenegro and in Serbia), or maybe in the young actors’ limited experience. Once the emotional stakes for them get higher, Vuletić somehow loses control, and the film becomes a bit chaotic.

On the other hand, that kind of chaos is significant both for the teenagers’ inner lives and for life itself, so, in the end, Otter, whose title comes from a scene depicting Hana’s ultimate cognition that she has to stand up for herself, can pass as more of an introspective movie. Ultimately, it motivates viewers to get introspective as well.

A Film a Week - Fantasy

 previously published on Cineuropa

Right from the opening shots of Fantasy, the feature debut by Slovenian musician and filmmaker Kukla, premiering in Locarno’s Filmmakers of the Present competition, the first association will become very apparent: French filmmaker Céline Sciamma and her earlier to mid-career works like Tomboy and Girlhood. It might not be a deliberate reference, but rather a product of the simple fact that coming of age takes longer than it used to and that it is never easy, especially for young women in a world structured to follow certain patriarchal traditions. The resemblance between the Parisian banlieu and the housing-estate buildings on the outskirts of Ljubljana does not go unnoticed either.

The story follows three “besties” in their early twenties who, at the start, all sport a uniform, tomboy attitude and speak the same local dialect that mixes Slovenian with other southern Slavic languages, but there are some differences between them to be observed. Sina (Mina Milovanović) is into sports, especially boxing, and wants to embark on a career as a coach. Jasna (Mia Skrbinac) is the most ambitious of the gang: she stays quiet and wants to keep the group together, but she also dreams of making something of her life elsewhere. Mihrije (Sarah Al Saleh) seems like the youngest one, and her primary goal is to avoid getting married to a man whom she does not know and who would be chosen by her parents. They are all of foreign ancestry and have to endure both the patriarchal rules of their neighbourhood and the low-key, systemic racism from Slovenian civil servants.

Their individual lives change once they meet a seemingly liberated, even slightly unhinged, transgender woman named Fantasy (Alina Juhart), to whom they all react differently. Mihrije falls for her hard – so hard that she even runs away from home to follow her on a trip to North Macedonia, where Fantasy has to introduce herself under her male given name, Filip. While the two are away, Sina falls for her married coach, Boris (Denis Porčič), and starts exploring her more feminine side, and Jasna decides to leave her passive-aggressive mother (Silvija Jovanović) behind and find work abroad. Can their friendship withstand such temptations?

Kukla’s screenwriting might seem classical, so a certain drop in tempo occurs in the second act, as expected, but she manages to accomplish the primary task she gave herself: she effectively implants us in the minds of young women on the brink of adulthood, creating a sense of empathy for the troubles her characters are dealing with, and she does so with style.

The slight movements in Lazar Bogdanović’s camerawork, paired with Lukas Miheljak’s rhythmic editing, Relja Čupić’s moody electronic score and Julij Zornik’s perfectly calibrated sound design, create a unique, dream-like atmosphere. Kukla’s directing style, especially when introducing lengthy sequences that resemble music videos of a peculiar genre (vocoder-heavy trap
mixed with “turbofolk” from the Balkans), might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but bearing her background in such music in mind, it’s to be expected that the filmmaker would also manage to capture the vibe of this world.

Kukla’s work with the largely non-professional actors is one of Fantasy’s strong points, as they dive deep into their characters and convey their every state and emotion compellingly and with conviction. This should not come as a surprise, since Kukla already “tested” them all in her award-winning short Sisters (2020). But with Fantasy, she manages to achieve a rare feat: to expand a short movie into an even more impressive feature.

A Film a Week - Slackers / Nulpen

 previously published on Cineuropa

While the original German title (Nulpen, meaning “idiots”) might be too harsh on the film’s protagonists, the international English one seems quite appropriate. It is summertime, school is out, and teenagers Ramona (a newcomer Bella Lochmann) and Nicola (slightly more experienced Pola Geiger) have nothing better to do than mischief hoping to provoke reaction from their environment. Their acting on impulses has a bit of destructive aura to it, and after one such incident, they take Ramona’s younger brother Noah (the adorable Rio Kirchner) in tow in order to, at least half-heartedly, try to repair the damage they caused. That sets them on a string of adventures where people, animals and objects get misplaced, lost and found.

Yes, they are proper slackers: or are they just two lost girls compared to whom the little Noah seems more mature in reasoning. Their devil-may-care attitude verging on arrogance is a facade that theoretically protects them from the world. But the two friends come from very different environments, which causes cracks in their seemingly firm friendship. Can it stand the test of time, not just the future that could steer them in different directions, but also the present? Maybe just for a day marked with climate protests, strange encounters and not always the wisest decisions?

Gajewski tries to capture the vibe of the real-life city, away from the landmarks and internationally recognised “cool” places. There is a bit of looseness of Richard Linklater’s Slacker in the DNA of Slackers, and there is a lot of a ballsy attitude in which the filmmaker, not unlike her characters, tries to mask certain insecurities. There are moments of gentleness as well, even as they serve as a brief recess from the characters’ attempts to get out of the trouble they usually brought upon themselves. The two young lead actresses embrace their characters and interact with each other and with the outer world with some palpable chemistry.

There are missteps, too. The hand-held camerawork by Hannes Schultze sometimes gets close to chaotic shakiness for no good reason, while the infusion of music of different genres draws Slackers close to the category of hipster cinema. Although the editor Rafaéllo Lupperger does his best to tighten things up, and largely succeeds, Slackers seems like an oversized short film or a string of those.

Let us make no mistake, it is a student film and it shows. But Slackers also demonstrates Gajewski’s bravery to make mistakes while searching for her voice.

A Film a Week - Some Nights I Feel Like Walking

 previously published on Cineuropa

Nights on the streets of busy mega-cities all tend to have similar sounds and vibes: traffic is passing by, people are out walking, vendors are trying to sell their goods, and hustlers of different kinds are attempting to offer their services. There is a constant murmur in the background that almost seems like a drone. Judging by the newest effort by the relatively young, but impressively prolific, Filipino filmmaker Petersen Vargas, Manila is no different. Some Nights I Feel Like Walking has premiered in Tallinn Black Nights’ Official Competition.

First, we meet Uno, a self-assured young man who deftly navigates the busy city streets, night markets and other gathering places – the waiting rooms of bus stations and public toilets, too. This is where he sets eyes on his peer Zion for the first time, giving him a piece of free advice. If there was any suspicion what Uno’s trade is, it will be swept away when his buddies Bay, Rush and Ge appear, making plans for the night and fending off the competition for the attention of “the clients”, as they call them. Their hunting ground is a gay porn theatre hidden in a shopping mall.

This is where Uno and Zion meet again, sharing a client and his payment. Encouraged by Uno’s warm reaction to his presence, he expresses his desires to join the gang, which does not sit well with the jealous, beefy Bay. However, the gang will soon have other matters to deal with, as Ge ends up drugged and left for dead by one of his clients. His dying wish was that his friends take him back home to a suburban town where he is from. This quest challenges the loyalties between the friends and fresh love interests, especially when it becomes clear that Zion does not come from the same place as the rest of the guys.

What ensues is an urban and suburban road trip on foot and by public transport, during which we follow the plot (sort of) about the ever-evolving relationships between the marginalised young men. However, in the background, we get to learn a thing or two about Filipino society, its adhesive forces, its divisions along the lines of class, religion and ideology, and the atmosphere of abuse on the authorities’ side, which puts different kinds of “street fauna” in grave danger. These documentary-like observations are melded well with the fictional plot in Vargas’s deft style of directing aimed at shifting the viewer’s focus.

The level of technical execution is also quite commendable, thanks to Russell Morton’s cinematography that highlights the impact of both warm and cold neon lights piercing the darkness of the night, Alyana Cabral’s pulsating synth music and Daniel Hui’s editing, with fewer unnecessary cuts than expected. The cast combining non-professionals and more seasoned performers also fits the bill.

However, Vargas himself seems a bit timid or even downright lost whenever he stumbles upon anything that could be seen as provocative or confrontational on any level. The depiction is so unadventurous that it actually feels safe, even though the film portrays the milieu of prostitution. The attempt at criticising official governmental policies and the inherent corruption stops at mild allusions. Therefore, even the emotional component of it feels “stock”, rather than actually honest, making Some Nights I Feel Like Walking seem a tad pointless on any level above the strictly superficial.

A Film a Week - Let Me Hear It Barefoot / Hadashi de narashite misero

 previously published on Asian Movie Pulse

In her second feature, following the 2018 title Orphan’s Blues, Riho Kudo deals with the topics of friendship and mischief, love and affection in a strictly coded society such as Japanese. Let Me Hear It Barefoot premiered last September at the home turf of Pia Film Festival, and it was selected for the Harbour section of IFFR, which serves as its international premiere.

It seems that our protagonist, a young guy named Naomi (up and coming actor Shion Sasaki), has the trouble to connect to people around him. When he is surrounded with his friends, he tends to zone out, and he has a very formal relationship with his father (Masahiro Kômoto). So, when Naomi meets his exact opposite, Maki (a newcomer Shuri Suwa) by chance at a swimming pool, his life turns completely…

Maki is a happy-go-lucky-type of young lad who lives with an elderly blind woman Midori (veteran actress Jun Fabuki) and the only thing he shares with Naomi is the love for the vintage technology such as audio- and video-tapes and recorders. When Midori gets seriously ill and ends up in hospital, he leaves her savings to Maki with a task for him to travel the world and report to her so she could enjoy it by proxy. However, he decides to stay in Japan and fake the audio-letters, and Naomi joins him in his “venture”, and the two youngsters start spending a lot of time together, often engaging in quite a physical, sometimes even violent homoerotic horseplay, while the question how to express the feelings of queer attraction keeps looming over their heads…

Riho Kudo is quite discreet in her approach, since she avoids spelling things out. She respects her viewers enough to let them figure the context out themselves. It is clear that the both boys suffer from repression conducted by society, not just regarding the sexuality, and they struggle to find the way to express themselves and their emotions. Some “background” things remain wrapped in secrecy, like the cause for such a cold and distant relationship between Naomi and his father, the nature of Midori’s and Maki’s relationship and even Midori’s motivation to finance one’s trip around the world, which might have something to do with her past.

Probably the strongest points of the film are its sense of humour taken from the boys’ ingenious approach to sound engineering, and the use of audio-visual components like the sound design, Soma Fujii’s gentle musical score and Yasuyuki Sasaki’s cinematography for the dramaturgical purposes and depicting the inner lives of the two leading characters, especially Naomi, in an intuitive way. The mix between the young and the more experienced actors also serves quite well.

On the other hand, there is a considerable problem in the editing department, since the editor Azusa Yamazaki fails to establish the rhythm in the endless repetition of the boys’ routine around the middle of the film. Surely, the source of the problem is mainly in the script and the directorial approach that somewhat fails to deepen its thesis, and there is just so much an editor can do about it, but the runtime of over two hours is going to be felt in a not so pleasant way.

The very ending of the film is quite poignant and it mends the whole thing a bit, but one has to wait for it. In the end, Let Me Hear It Barefoot might seem a bit like its protagonist: too shy and gentle for its own good.