A Film a Week - Where the Wind Blows / Il vento soffia dove vuole

 previously published on Cineuropa

There are two characters named Lazarus in the Holy Bible. One, the better known of the two, Lazarus of Bethany, the brother of Mary and Martha, was resurrected by Jesus Christ four days after his death. The other Lazarus is a beggar from one of the cautionary tales from the Gospel of Luke, who, after suffering injustice at the hands of the rich during his earthly life, gets satisfaction in the Kingdom of Heaven, while his tormentors get sent to Hell. The latter individual gets a Bible passage about him read directly to screen in Marco Righi’s second fiction feature, Where the Wind Blows, which is vying for the Crystal Globe at Karlovy Vary.

So, Righi’s film has a lot to do with the Bible, which it often quotes from the title on, and one might have to join some religious study group just to pick up on all of the references. It tells the story of Antimo (Jacopo Olmo Antinori, glimpsed in Rainbow – A Private Affair), a young man who accepts his daily routine of household chores, working on his father’s farm, and Mass and confession at the local church in a village in the Apennines. There is no deeper understanding between him and his younger sister Marta (Yile Lara Vianello, the child star of Alice Rohrwacher’s Corpo Celeste), and no deeper affection between him and his girlfriend Miriam (Gaja Masciale). One day, he meets Lazzaro (Fiorenzo Mattu), an illiterate worker at the neighbouring farm who has spent all of his life in pain and poverty. The encounter and the friendship between the two reignite the spark for the religious work Antimo used to do before, but which got left by the wayside somewhere along the way. However, his teachings differ greatly from those one might find at a service or in Sunday school. Is Antimo a heretic or the second coming of the Saviour himself?

Righi knows how to envision and execute simple scenes in an effective way, how to use David Becheri’s natural- and analogue-looking cinematography to set the mood, and how to utilise Luca Giovanardi’s music, varying from gentle piano to pulsating electronica, with lots of synth in between, to highlight the emotion. Together with Roberto Rabitti, Righi also keeps the editing under control, keeping the pace meditative, which suits the film’s topics, while the cast members play their characters in a nicely subdued manner.

However, there is such a thing as too much subtlety, and Where the Wind Blows clearly suffers from it, ending up being so ambiguous that it actually seems completely ethereal. On the way, we get some bits and pieces of Antimo’s background (he is a seminary dropout, for undisclosed reasons, but it is safe to assume that his faith was purer than the Church could tolerate), and insights into the questions that trouble him (whether his mother is in Heaven, since she hid her illness, rejected medical treatment and even stopped praying before her death, which all points to an involuntary suicide, of sorts), but it is still hard to draw a concrete conclusion, or even to answer the question of what the film is about. Sure, the whole slow-paced affair is less about specific actions, and more about the character and the philosophical questions he is grappling with, but it still seems like the filmmaker’s own theological musings converted into a small, arthouse film.

A Film a Week - Temporaries / Richelieu

 previously published on Cineuropa

Labour rights do not serve everybody equally, given that there are domestic and migrant workers on permanent or seasonal contracts. In fact, being a migrant worker on a seasonal contract might be the worst position one could find oneself in. At least that is the point of Pier-Philippe Chevigny’s debut feature, Temporaries, which, after its world premiere at Tribeca last month, has now enjoyed its European one in Karlovy Vary’s Special Screenings section.

Probably the biggest strength of the filmmaker’s own script is that it does not adopt the perspective of either the workers or the employers, but rather tells the story from the point of view of translator Ariane (Ariane Castellanos, most active on French-language TV series in Canada), a woman of mixed Canadian-Guatemalan heritage who has her own existential problems, such as the debt she has been left wallowing in by her ex-partner, with her apartment as collateral. Ideally, her job at the corn-processing factory in the Richelieu Valley in Quebec would serve as a liaison between the Guatemalan and Mexican migrant workers on one side, and the factory management on the other, in order for agreements to be reached. However, the workers want her to take on the role of being their representative, while the management, personified by Stéphane (Marc-André Grondin, seen in a number of Quebecois films, such as C.R.A.Z.Y. and You’re Sleeping, Nicole, as well as the English-language Canadian hockey-themed Goon), would like her simply to give orders to the team.

Soon enough, she finds herself between a rock and a hard place, both existentially and ethically, as she realises she has become the third party in a class conflict. However, the workers cannot take a joint stand against the bosses owing to their poor contracts, so they turn against one another, while the managers actually fight to save the plant, after the French owners have set unrealistic productivity goals, by opting to sacrifice the most vulnerable and the most expendable. This turn of events will prove to be especially harsh for one of the workers, Manuel (Nelson Coronado), with whom Ariane feels a special connection.

It's safe to say that Temporaries can easily be filed under the label of social-realist cinema, and as such, it takes some cues from sub-genre masters such as Ken Loach and the Dardenne brothers. As is often the case with Loach, Chevigny is more interested in delivering the message than in making a stylistically exciting piece of cinema, so he opts for a safe homage to the Dardennes’ style with cinematographer Gabriel Brault Tardiff’s camera almost constantly levitating around lead actress Ariane Castellanos, who shows enough grit, stamina and “everywoman” quality to play the character in a compelling manner. Grondin is convincing as a menacing presence, but also as a boss who has not forgotten that he was also once a worker, while Coronado does a good job in a role that could propel his professional acting career forwards to a certain degree.

Despite some fitting additional choices, such as the boxy 4:3 aspect ratio that amplifies the sense of anxiety owing to a lack of options, and the darker-than-usual colour scheme, Temporaries fares better as a sincere cry for justice and as a statement than it does as a potentially amazing piece of cinema. But it was always more about the topic than the style.

Kidnapped / Rapito

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Omajstorstvu Marka Belokija suvišno je trošiti reči. Njegova karijera traje više od šest decenija i broji više od 50 naslova raznih formi i formata, kratkih i dugih, igranih i dokumentarnih, za bioskope/festivale i televiziju. Italijanski velikan, koji ima 84 godine, predstavio je novi film na ovogodišnjem izdanju festivala u Kanu. Njegov „Kidnapped“ („Rapito“) pogledali smo u Karlovim Varima, van glavne konkurencije, u revijalnom festivalskom programu „Horizons“.

Čini se da je Belokio u fazi u kojoj ga najviše zanimaju istinite priče i traumatični događaji, što iz lične/porodične istorije, što iz nacionalne. Mogli smo tome da posvedočimo u njegova dva prethodna filma, u igranom „The Traitor“ (2019), u čijem su fokusu prvi svedok-pokajnik u istoriji mafije i suđenje na kojem je svedočio, te u dokumentarnom „Marx Can Wait“ (2021), u kojem autor pokušava da konačno razume zašto se njegov brat ubio baš u vreme kada je on otpočinjao filmsku karijeru, i da možda oprosti samom sebi.

Sada se Belokio dohvatio nacionalne teme i afere smeštene još dalje u istoriju. Reč je o otmici dečaka Edgarda Mortare u Bolonji 1858. Godine. Njega je Katolička crkva i državna vlast tadašnje Papske Države (Stato della Chiesa), u kojoj se u to doba nalazila i Bolonja, nakon sumnjive dojave o tajnom krštenju, oduzela roditeljima i stavila u katihetsku školu u Rimu.

Edgardo je tako postao katolički sveštenik konzervativne struje; proputovao je Evropu; bio cenjen propovednik zbog erudicije i znanja jezika... Na kraju, umro je u Belgiji 1940. godine, mesec ili dva pre nacističke invazije.

Afera Mortara nije ostala samo italijanska stvar, već je postala poznata i širom Evrope, pa i u Americi, što je bila još jedna potvrda snage ondašnje štampe, kao i institucije lobiranja. U nju nisu bili upleteni samo lokalni sveštenici i lokalne glavešine, već i sam Pije Deveti, kao inicijator takvih praksi i papa sa popriličnom negativnom ulogom u zanimljivim istorijskim događajima, od Revolucije 1848. i Garibaldističkog pohoda, do ujedinjenja Italije pod pijemontskom krunom i pada Rima 1870. godine. Papa je, po pravilu, uvek bio na pogrešnoj strani istorije, braneći okoštalu dogmu od vetrova sekularizma i ideja o građanskoj i nacionalnoj državi nasuprot verskoj.

Na ovom mestu može se povući paralela sa još jednom dokumentovanom, doduše malo poznijom aferom antisemitske fele, sa slučajem Drajfus u Francuskoj. I navedeni skandal je nedavno dobio filmsku adaptaciju u režiji starog majstora („J‘accuse,“ Roman Polanski, 2019), ali je Belokiov film u tom sudaru titana superiorniji. Cinici bi rekli, makar nije pokušao na silu da se identifikuje sa nekim od likova, iako je ostao otvoreno političan na svojoj dobro poznatoj levičarskoj i antiklerikalnoj poziciji. (Setimo se filma „Sangue del mio sangue“ (2015) u kojem je Belokio od crkvenjaka-inkvizitora i lovca na lažne veštice načinio vampire-krvopije.)

Radnja filma „Kidnapped“ pokriva 20 godina i teče na nekoliko koloseka koji prate bitne aktere ili otkrivaju širi istorijski kontekst. Edgardo Mortara (Enea Sala), šesti sin Solomona – Momola (Fausto Ruso Alezi, sudija Falkone u „The Traitor“) i Marijane (fantastična Barbara Ronki) otet je aktom državnog terora po naređenju inkvizitora Feletija (Fabricio Gifuni) na osnovu dojave bivše sluškinje u domu Mortara, Ane Morisi (Aurora Kamati) koja je, navodno uplašena za dečakov život, izvršila obred tajnog krštenja, iako sama nije bila ni časna sestra, pa čak ni časna devojka.

Iza svega, ipak, stajao je Pije Deveti (Paolo Pjerobon), antisemita, antisekularista i sadista koji voli da nameće svoju volju i da koristi moć da bi ponizio druge strane u razgovoru. Edgardo nije jedini dečak koji je pod sličnim okolnostima završio u istoj instituciji, da bi u njoj ubrzo i bez pravog znanja i svesti primao sakramente.

Dok roditelji i jevrejska zajednica pokušavaju da oslobode dečaka ili ga čak otmu nazad, on sve više i više „grli“ novu veru i „novog Boga“, zbog čega postaje papin miljenik među pitomcima, a posle i najverniji sledbenik (u odrasloj dobi igra ga Leonardo Malteze), na razočaranje svoje primarne porodice.

Belokio aferu pakuje u vrlo klasicistički intoniranu, raskošno produciranu istorijsku dramu ne plašeći se čak ni toga da skrene prema teritoriji melodrame pojačanog emocionalnog registra. U tome je neprocenjiva prvo uloga Barbare Ronki kao ranjene majke, pa onda Paola Pjerobona kao pape-zlice, a na kraju i Leonarda Maltezea kao novokomponovanog fanatika briljantnog, ali posve ispranog uma.

Na zanatskom planu, trebalo bi pohvaliti savršeno pogođenu neoklasičnu muziku Fabija Masima Kapogrosa, atraktivnu fotografiju Frančeska di Đakoma, raskošnu scenografiju, kostim, rekvizite i lokacije, a na kraju i montažu Frančeske Kalveli i Stefana Mariotija.

Iako je očekivano političan, naravno, na progresivnoj strani, italijanski autor, čisto filmski gledano, nikada nije bio tradicionalniji i čak konzervativniji. Možda je Belokio ipak malo prestar za konstantne inovacije, ali je još u snazi da konce drži čvrsto u rukama. Sa tim u vezi, „Kidnapped“ svakako nije prva istorijska drama svoje vrste, verovatno nije ni najbolji uradak u okviru žanra, ali je svejedno reč o beskompromisnom, neapologetskom i, u konačnici, vrlo dobrom filmu.

Monster / Kaibutsu

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Posle ne baš najuspešnijeg pokušaja internacionalnog proboja sa filmovima „The Truth“ (2019) i „Broker“ (2022), japanski autor Hirokazu Kore-eda vratio se u domovinu za „Monster“. Nakon što je otvorio takmičarsku konkurenciju u Kanu, njegov film zaigrao je i u revijalnom programu „Horizons“ festivala u Karlovim Varima.

Naslov „Monster“ može da navede na krivi trag i utisak da je ovde reč o ekskurziji autora poznatog po ozbiljnim dramama o (spoljnim uticajem poremećenim) odnosima unutar bioloških ili improvizovanih porodičnih zajednica u žanrovski, fantastični ili horor-film. No, Kore-eda taj korak nije napravio. To, pak, ne znači da nije uneo određene inovacije i u tematiku, i u autorski postupak.

U vezi sa „Monster“, možda je i najbanalnija činjenica da autor sada ne radi po svom, nego po tuđem scenariju. Potpisuje ga Judži Sakamoto koji se kalio uglavnom na televiziji, ali ima i nekoliko filmova. No, taj korak je Kore-edi očito bio potreban nakon slabe (mini) serije filmova.

„The Truth“ nikako nije bio dobar film, a „Broker“ nije bio nužno loš, koliko je delovao kao ne naročito spretan pokušaj reciklaže dobitne formule iz Kore-edinog internacionalno najpriznatijeg filma „Shoplifters“ (2018). Druge oči drugačije vide; druga ruka drugačije piše.

Direktna posledica toga je da ovog puta imamo filmski triptih, odnosno priču ispričanu iz tri različite perspektive, nalik na Kurosavin „Rashomon“ (1950). To u sećanje priziva i takozvanu „hiperlink“ kinematografiju popularnu na prelazu milenijuma, a naročito taj deo opusa Atoma Egojana koji možda nije direktni uzor ni Kore-edi, ni scenaristi Sakamotu, ali čiji posredni uticaj nije moguće zanemariti. Konačno, ni porodica nije centralno mesto događanja, iako opet imamo rasturene familije kao „domaći teren“ likova koji se, pak, susreću u – školi.

Prvi čin donosi priču iz perspektive Saori (Sakura Ando), udovice i samohrane majke školarca Minata (Soja Kurokava) koji se u poslednje vreme ponaša čudno, a ona to počinje da primećuje. Kada dečak prizna da je u školi imao neprijatni i nasilni susret s učiteljem Horijem (Eita Nagajama), majka kreće u akciju da ga zaštiti. Učitelj i škola predstavljena direktorkom (Juko Tanaka) pokušavaju da izvrdaju situaciju i izvuku se prvo sa generičkim izvinjenjem, a onda i sa prebacivanjem krivice na samog Minata koji, navodno, maltretira druga iz razreda Jorija (Hinata Hiragi), pri čemu je učitelj intervenisao kako bi ih razdvojio.

Drugi čin priču priča iz vizure učitelja koji pokušava da bude dobar pedagog i dobar čovek, ali mu zapravo školski sistem, u strahu od budućih inspekcija, ne dozvoljava da ispriča šta se desilo, odnosno šta je stvarno video. Konačno, u trećem i najdužem činu situaciju sagledavamo iz Minatove vizure, i nju ponajpre možemo okarakterisati kao istinu, ne samo subjektivnu (jer saznajemo šta to njega muči i tišti, a što ne može da prizna ni majci, ni školi, ni svetu), nego i objektivnu (o prirodi odnosa njih dvojice, pa i o prirodi Jorijevog navodnog poremećaja koji njegov pijani otac pokušava da izleči kako jedino zna – kažnjavanjem).

Naći će se u filmu mesta i za još poneku misteriju sa strane koja neće nužno dobiti konkluzivni odgovor. Takođe, biće prostora i za prikazivanje obrazaca ponašanja kako odraslih, tako i dece, od toga kako kreću glasine i koliko smo spremni da u njih poverujemo, pa do siledžijstva, vršnjačkog nasilja, isključivanja i „uzimanja na zub“ onih slabijih, nesnađenih i mučenih nekom svojom mukom. A na kraju ćemo saznati i ko je tu zapravo monstrum, ili šta monstrum zapravo označava.

U ovakvo organizovanoj strukturi, u kojoj treći čin traje bezmalo koliko prva dva, možemo postaviti pitanje koliko su baš prvi i drugi neophodni, osim za začin, kozmetiku i oneobičenje. Sve to se moglo izvesti i samo sa laganim proširenjem tog trećeg čina i njegovog „pakovanja“ u samostalan, malo duži film. Jer, budimo iskreni, „Monster“ se pomalo i vuče u sporom tempu, a ni ritam mu nije baš najkonstantniji u prvoj polovini.

Srećom, to su sve nedostaci sa kojima se i te kako može živeti, naročito ako im suprotstavimo prednosti filma. Na prvom mestu su emocije, skrivene, ispoljene ili maskirane, a Kore-eda je dokazani majstor portretiranja upravo toga. Ovde je na tom polju siguran i uspešan kao što je uvek bio kada je radio sa pravim materijalom i idejom.

Druga stavka su glumci, kako mladi i neiskusni, tako i stariji, provereni. Svi dubinski ulaze u likove, a većina zapravo ima trostruki zadatak, odnosno igra trostruku ulogu, a suštine i pojave razlikuju se u zavisnosti od tačke gledišta. U svemu tome, trebalo je pronaći balans, a ansambl je u tome i uspio, uz Kore-edino precizno vođenje.

Na kraju, tu je i muzika koju potpisuje jedan mnogo poznatiji Sakamoto, pokojni kompozitor Rjuiči kojem je film na kraju i posvećen. Njegova nežna klavirska dela upotpunjuju utisak da se radi o takvom, nežnom i tananom filmu. Iako „Monster“ nije savršenstvo, niti čak spada u red Kore-edinih najboljih uradaka, ipak nam može biti drago da se jedan veliki autor ponovo vraća na svoje.

The Delinquents / Los delincuentes

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Argentinska kinematografija solidno je razvijena i bogata kvalitetnim naslovima, ali je takođe oštro podeljena na repertoarsku i „art“ komponentu koje prilično često deluju nespojivo. „The Delinquents“ Rodriga Morena, premijerno prikazan u Kanu i nedavno uhvaćen u Karlovim Varima, možda se ispostavi kao prelomni film koji će te dve odvojene grane spojiti, a možda i samo kao prelomni film. Tačka. Premda, autor iz, pre svega, art miljea i trajanje od tri sata „na neviđeno“ pre mogu delovati kao znak za uzbunu nego kao reklama.

Moreno, pak, film otvara pseudo-žanrovski i elegantno, scenom u kojoj proćelavi bradonja javnim prevozom putuje na posao jednog buenosaireskog jutra. On je Moran (Daniel Elias), bankarski službenik sa zadatkom da novac nosi od blagajni do trezora, i od trezora do blagajni. Živi sam, čini se bez životnih radosti, osim puš-pauza na poslu na kojima se druži i upušta u nadmudrivanja sa jednom koleginicom sa šaltera i šefom Del Torom (bard argentinskog glumišta German de Silva). Ono što ne znamo, a uskoro ćemo saznati, jeste da on planira pljačku, odnosno da za nju čeka pravu priliku koja će se ukazati kada njegov kolega sa šaltera Roman (Esteban Biljardi) uzme slobodno popodne da ode kod doktora koji će mu maknuti plastičnu kragnu sa vrata.

Pljačka je, naime, genijalna u jednostavnosti i skromnosti. Banka je neugledna, lokalna poslovnica, sef krajnje nisko-tehnološki, a suma koju Moran mrtav-hladan i pred kamerom uzima sračunata je formulom tako da pokriva dvostruku vrednost njegove plate (do kraja karijere) u dolarima, plus još nešto u pezosima za operativne troškove. Moran, dakle, nije gramziv, već je prilično pošten u nameri da na taj način osigura egzistenciju i oslobodi se svakidašnje torture posla.

Za tako nešto spreman je i da ode u zatvor na nekoliko godina, ali za operaciju potreban mu je i partner koji će mu novac čuvati i sa njim po potrebi manipulisati. Idealnog kandidata pronalazi u Romanu. Njih dvojica nisu bliski, a i Romanu je već dosta i posla i banke, pa bi mogao da „odrobija“ na poslu onoliko koliko Moran leži u zatvoru, pa da na kraju oni podele novac i odu u prevremenu penziju.

Nakon prvotnog nećkanja (jer makar ima nešto od života, devojku Flor sa kojom se, doduše, ne razume najbolje), Roman je stavljen pred svršen čin: ako odbije da mu pomogne, Moran će ga potkazati kao saučesnika i poslati u zatvor.

Dok Moran leži u zatvoru, gde ga maltretira brazilski mafijaš Garinče (opet German de Silva), Roman za njega obavlja poslove na slobodi, pritom izbegavajući da bude uhvaćen u internoj istrazi koju osiguravajuća kuća provodi u banci. Ti poslovi uključuju putovanja u provinciju Kordoba, posebno do jedne stene na brdu pored reke. Roman se tako i upoznaje sa sestrama Mornom i Normom, i Morninim dečkom, režiserom Ramonom koji tu žive i snimaju film.

Na tom mestu, dakle, i pre isteka prve trećine, „The Delinquents“ posve prestaje da bude krimić, odnosno lagano satirična varijacija na temu trilera sa pljačkom banke, pa postaje egzistencijalna drama sa komičnim momentima, zabunama, distrakcijama i meandrima, te filozofska rasprava o slobodi i njenoj ceni. Naravno, ima nekih rupa u celom planu koje Moreno, pak, nema nikakvu nameru da krpi, zato što to zapravo i nije potrebno, niti je tema filma.

Verovatno prva poveznica koja upada u oči (odnosno, u uši) jesu imena petoro glavnih likova u anagramima: Moran, Roman, Ramon, Morna i Norma. To može signalizirati nekakav jeftini pseudo-filozofski kliše o povezanosti svih nas, ali sva je prilika da se Moreno na tom mestu malo zeza. Uostalom, čak i da se ne zeza, nego zeza nas kao gledaoce, nema veze jer mu „žica“ za humor radi perfektno, i to u prilično diskretnoj formi.

Druga očita poveznica može biti German de Silva u duploj ulozi „šefovskih“ figura, kako u banci, tako i u zatvoru. Na tom mestu trebalo bi dodati ono što je ipak malo skrivenije, a to je da i banka i zatvor izgledaju zapravo slično po konfiguraciji i po osvetljenju, što možemo primetiti u sukcesivnim scenama Moranovih i Romanovih rutina. Treću poveznicu je šteta otkrivati (iako je nije teško predvideti tokom gledanja filma), a ona će postati ključna za peripetije u poslednjoj trećini.

Morenov izbor glumaca je savršen. Oni perfektno igraju svoje uloge mimikom, pokretom, stavom i govorom, trudeći se da ne „razbiju“ karakter čak i kad ih autor na to poziva dijalozima. Autor takođe svesno drži narativ labavim i sporovoznim, otvarajući u poslednjoj trećini drugu liniju i vraćajući se delom u prošlost, a za to se u velikoj meri oslanja na inovativnu montažu u kojoj njegov tim kreativno koristi tehnike podeljenih ekrana, pretapanja i premetanja jedne scene u drugu; kao i na fotografiju Aleha Malja u kojoj pogled stalno puca na impozantne pejzaže koji sugerišu slobodu i nesputanost, ili, pak, stešnjenost „normalnih“ života.

Tročasovni format filma rizičan je prema pravilu, ali u svakom slučaju trebalo bi ga pravdati kao pravi izbor. Ma koliko „The Delinquents“ kao film bio neapologetski iskren, njegov tempo bio ujednačen u sporom hodu; ma koliko Moreno bio jasan u obznanjivanju namere da je on tu, zapravo, da filozofira i podvaljuje šale koje su njemu zabavne, a ne da nas zabavlja; na kraju krajeva, ma koliko tih 180 minuta bilo ugodno i relaksirajuće, a mi zainteresovani za likove i njihove sudbine nakon kraja filma (toliko da bismo ga možda pustili još da traje) - zamerke na trajanje su poprilično očite i lako odbranjive.

„The Delinquents“, pak, ne bi bio ništa slabiji ni da traje 45 minuta kraće. Filmadžija Ramon kao lik zauzima previše vremena koje služi kao uvod za šablonsku tvrdnju o smrti filma i kinematografije. Ili bi, lagano premontiran, mogao da se pretvori u mini-seriju od tri ili četiri epizode. Doduše, onda briljantna montaža ne bi imala smisla i ne bi došla do izražaja, iako bi Moreno na taj način možda bolje komunicirao sa širom publikom. Ali, i ovako, reč je o jednom od najosobenijih filmova ovogodišnjeg festivalskog ciklusa.

A Film a Week - She Came at Night / Prišla v noci

 previously published on Cineuropa

There must be a reason why there are so many mother-in-law (or father-in-law) jokes in every language and culture. Family life is hard, and people who share genes, not to mention those who are related only by marriage, do not necessarily have compatible personalities. Jan Vejnar and Tomáš Pavlíček’s She Came at Night, which has just premiered in the Special Screenings section of the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, takes a relatively ordinary family situation and slowly turns it into an extreme one.

Jirka (Jiří Rendl, glimpsed in a number of recent Czech films like Droneman, Charlatan and Zátopek) and Aneta (Annette Nesvadbová, most active on television) are an ordinary, young, urban couple. She is exhausted at her hospital job as an ergotherapist, while he is a freelance translator, currently busy translating a book of Soviet-era Latvian jokes. They have their minor niggles, but their real problems will occur when the titular “she” comes one night.

“She” is Jirka’s mother, Valerie (Simona Peková, in full-on diva mode), who apparently has no place to stay after her latest partner left her, and she asks her son – who knows full well her history of mess-ups and, perfectly reasonably, has a foreboding sense that chaos will ensue – if she can stay for just one night. One night turns into several days, and then weeks, while Valerie invades the couple’s privacy and meddles in their life and their choices further and further. As a consequence of her presence in their day-to-day life and their flat, the rifts between Jirka and Aneta slowly get deeper and wider. But the culmination, and the point where the movie veers from sitcom into horror-like territory, comes when Valerie brings along her newest boyfriend (and he brings his friends), and they take over the apartment completely.

Pavliíček already has some experience with the feature-length format and comedy as a genre (as demonstrated by his previous films Totally Talking and Bear With Us, which both premiered at Karlovy Vary), while Vejnar has made a name for himself with genre-infused shorts enveloped in an unsettling atmosphere. In theory, She Came at Night would seem like the perfect way to marry their previously established poetics, and the blend they make together is smooth and seamless. Along with several smart moves, like the already handheld camerawork by Šimon Dvořáček getting more fidgety and editor Jakub Vansa’s cuts getting more rapid, with frequent “visits” to the close-ups on Valerie’s face whenever she starts one of her monologues, the key thing the filmmakers get right is making the transition between the genres and their respective atmospheres slow and gradual, as the tension between the three characters builds up.

The helmers also get the casting choices spot-on and work with their chosen actors sure-handedly, leaving them enough freedom for interplay. With his permanently “long” face, Jiří Rendl is convincing as the non-alpha male in the couple, while Anette Nesvadbová is compelling as an overworked and fed-up woman on the verge of simply not being able to take it any more. However, it is Simona Peková who steals the limelight here, making her character a notable addition to the mother-from-hell type and contributing significantly to the fact that She Came at Night is not just an easy watch, but also an accomplished cinematic effort.

A Film a Week - Snake Gas / Hadí plyn

 previously published on Cineuropa

There have been so many failed, unproduced film adaptations of Joseph Conrad’s novella Heart of Darkness before the successful and now-legendary one, Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979). Coppola proved that a seemingly unadaptable piece of literature is actually adaptable enough if interpreted loosely. Since then, there have been movies that have drawn at least some of their inspiration from Conrad’s novella, such as Fabrice du Welz’s Vinyan or James Gray’s Ad Astra, but now is the right time for a new, meticulous and thoroughly recontextualised take on the source material.

Ready or not, here comes Snake Gas, written and directed by Daniel Jařab, whose previous works include historical and genre-influenced pieces like Vaterland – A Hunting Logbook (2004), Head - Hands – Heart (2010) and Secret Agent (2020). This modern and European take on Conrad’s work has just premiered in Karlovy Vary’s Special Screenings section, and although its angle is pan-European, it might prove to be a tougher sell than expected for international distribution.

Our hero is Robert Klein (Stanislav Majer), whose cosy existence as a teacher in France gets interrupted by the news of the disappearance of his brother Emanuel (Václav Vašák), whom he barely knew. While tending to the affairs that his brother left unfinished, Robert gets asked by the brother’s business partner to take a trip to an unnamed place where Emanuel hunted eels and sent them, canned, to a Japanese importer. The anonymous location that looks like the Danube Delta in Romania is, however, populated by various agents of global powers, desperate migrants and adventurists, while being de facto ruled by the energy company NAG, whose primary concern is drilling for gas in the protected area.

Robert gets special treatment there, since everybody seems to be looking for Emanuel, who has supposedly gone rogue and made his own makeshift kingdom. He travels first by car, then by boat, accompanied by company man Engel (Martin Pechált) and two guys who know the area well enough – Rudolf (Braňo Mosný) and Aleš, aka Lobo (Dalibor Buš) – but as the trip progresses, and as they edge closer to Emanuel’s darkness, the closer they get to their own inner darkness, with rifts appearing within the gang and shifts in power occurring as every person reveals their own true face.

The idea of using such a classical piece of literature as a starting point to comment upon the state of the world today – complete with capitalism running rampant, governments just waiting for an excuse for conflict, refugees and migrants stuck between a rock and a hard place, and so on – is certainly an ambitious one, and it might even make sense. The trouble, however, lies in the execution, which is not always the deftest, even though the acting is solid throughout, with Majer outstanding as a refined man encountering darkness for what is perhaps the first time. Meanwhile, Oleg Mutu’s naturalistic cinematography in murky colours is quite fitting. The core of the problem lies in Jařab’s screenwriting and directing, which both rely too heavily on broad strokes and predictable tricks, such as the extensive use of pseudo-philosophical voice-over narration, some nightmarish dream sequences and the horror-like loop of Jakub Kudláč’s synth score. In the end, Snake Gas seems more like a lower-budget, TV-orientated Euro-thriller riff on Apocalypse Now, rather than a proper contemporary reading of Heart of Darkness, although it is still a decent watch.