World Cinema Film Reviews - Rest of The World

The Ascent (Larisa Shepitko - USSR - 1977)

If you're looking for a world war two film from Russia there's quite a few great ones to choose from and this would be my pick as the best of the bunch. The Ascent is the story of a band of Russian partisans battling German patrols in the depths of a snowy Russian winter during world war two. Although it starts off with a large contingent of resistance fighters, we soon focus on two of their number who head off to a nearby Belarusian village in search of food. It's not long until one of them is wounded and both end up in the hands of the Germans. Although the first half of the film is extremely tense and exciting it soon becomes clear this isn't a simple action film, but is concerned with much larger issues - of patriotism, dignity, cowardice, and betrayal, basically how people behave in impossibly difficult situations, the decisions they force from people and the trauma they bring to bear on the human psyche. The two characters are illustrations of two divergent personality types and it's fascinating watching them face the same situations in very different ways - one is focussed on ensuring his own survival to fight another day, and the other is willing to become a martyr for their cause. The film is sure to give all but the most blindly patriotic zealots pause for thought regarding what it means to fight for an ideology. On a technical level this is outstanding filmmaking - from the gorgeous black and white photography to the instinctive feel for whatever kind of technique is required in any given scene to an interesting use of the black and white format. The attentive viewer may notice the first half of the film is predominantly white - which matches the protagonists simple, uncluttered objective of survival, but things gradually move towards black to match the more murky and complicated psychology at work. It's a seamlessly realistic portrayal of the effects of the brutality of war on the human spirit that builds to a devastating climax, every bit the equal of Shepitka's husband Elem Klimov's Come And See.

Bombon, El Perro (Carlos Sorin - Argentina - 2004)

A film from Argentina starring a pudgy, balding fifty-something and a dog. It doesn't sound like much and nothing much happens but this is a real winner. The pudgy man is Juan Villega - a man that life has been somewhat unkind to and finds himself out of work at a late stage in life. Undeterred he turns his hand to anything that can make him a living and becomes a knife seller. He's maybe not cut out to be a salesman as he's just too nice, and rather than turn a client without money away he accepts as payment a pitbull terrier who will become his companion through the rest of the film. The rest of the film is reminiscent of Vittorio DeSica's classic Umberto D. due to the touching relationship Juan develops with Bombon, played by Gregorio - a dog that is either highly trained or a complete natural. Juan Villegas is very watchable aswell. Again he doesn't do much, but I never tired of watching him plod along on his warily optimistic way through life. It's a wryly funny film and short by today's standards - just a shade over ninety minutes, and the pace is leisurely, but I for one would have been happy with another half hour or so of the same. A classy little feelgood movie that's hard not to like.

Diamonds of The Night (Jan Nemec - Czechoslovakia - 1968)

This film will leave you short of breath. It's intense in a way that very few films these days are. Shot in beautiful black and white photography and with an absolute minimum of dialogue (the first time I watched it there were no English subtitles, and I enjoyed the film immensely), this is a film told with a pressing urgency and fierce passion. Set in Nazi Germany during the second world war we follow two Jewish youths who have escaped from a train transporting them to a concentration camp. They're hunted mercilessly through the woods by a group of elderly men with shotguns, who you'd think were out hunting quail on a Saturday afternoon. The camerawork and editing are just magnificent, and the two leads convey an authentic fear of capture that allows the viewer to immerse themselves in the terrible situation these two boys find themselves facing. You can almost smell the sap from the trees and pine scent in the air as the camera rushes up slopes and through gulleys at breakneck pace. At only sixty three minutes there's absolutely no fat or gristle on this film, and no let up from start to finish. This is a rare feature that's well worth seeking out.

Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quais Du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (Chantal Akerman - Belgium - 1975)

Minimalist film from Belgian director Chantal Akerman in which we follow - in minute detail - a housewife as she undertakes her daily chores. We watch her take a bath, fold sheets, prepare meals, help her grown son with his homework and we even take a trip outside with her as she gets some meat from the butchers and relax with her as she has a cup of tea in the local bar. With a running time of over three hours and twenty minutes you might think that this film would be a chore to sit through, and if you're not in the mood this may very well turn out to be the case. However, if you make a little more effort and go with it you may find - as I did - that you'll be more than amply rewarded with a singularly captivating film which will stay with you long after those three hours and change have elapsed, because this is a unique film. Watching Jeanne Dielman - a widowed single mother - complete each mundane task with stoic determination and an obsessive attention to detail is at first weirdly fascinating - much like it would be if one were to sneak into a stranger's house to observe them unseen. After a while it becomes quite hypnotic until finally we're in a position to recognise her emotional distress in the slightest deviation from the routine with which we've become familiar. These tiny missteps signal massive emotional shifts which evince a powerful response in the attentive viewer, much more so than would your traditional emotional outburst. This is a devastating portrait of an ordinary woman forced through circumstance into a world of quiet desperation and her gradual slippage into depression and finally a calm insanity, and the ending is all the more shocking when it arrives because of the quiet, simple and uncomplicated way it was filmed. If you can get into the right frame of mind this film will blow you away. A difficult masterpiece.

Marketa Lazarová (František Vlácil - Czechoslovakia - 1967)

If what you're looking for in a period film is authenticity then look no further than this. Watching Marketa Lazarova is like stepping into a time machine and being whisked back to a simpler and more savage time before civilisation was very civilised. Obviously none of us was around in the middle ages but watching this film will surely make you think you're right there in those snowy landscapes and ruined castles with their harried knights and down-trodden peasants struggling to stay alive during a harsh winter. You can almost smell the pine needles in the forest and feel the bitter cold of the wind on your face as you watch the knights hunting for food or battling rival factions. The thrust of the narrative, such as it is concerns the kidnapping of the daughter (the eponymous Marketa) of a feudal lord by neighbouring knights and the struggle to retrieve her after she becomes the mistress of one of the kidnappers. It's refreshing to see a film where all the modern day political correctness and psychology is stripped away to reveal characters at their most basic and often bestial. The women are not much more than possessions and the overriding motivation for most is survival. The triumph of Marketa Lazarova is the combination of a documentary feel combined with stunning black and white cinematography, great attention to detail with regards to the costumes and setting and very naturalistic performances throughout. Voted the best Czech flm of all time by Czech critics in 1998 this film is criminally unseen by most. A must see if ever there was one.

Of Freaks And Men (Aleksey Balabanov - Russia - 1998)

Set in St. Petersburg at the end of the 19th century this is a truly bizarre film dealing with the world of underground pornographic photograph and film production and distribution. Upper class families are being targetted by a group of pornographers who are taking over the basements of the families and using them as makeshift studios to produce their porn which they then peddle to the maids of the very same families. Nifty, eh? Viktor is the heavy and ringleader of three 'porntrepreneurs' but he eventually falls away from the porn and developes an unhealthy interest in a couple of twins he comes across. He starts to tour with them as a singing freak show, and plans a future around them, however one of the twins is an alcoholic and the other is becoming obsessed with twisted sexual practices Viktor's partner introduced her to, and everything begins to unravel for Viktor and his group. There's more going on than that but I don't want to give too much away. What an odd film this is and very enjoyable for someone looking for something a bit different. Technically speaking the cinematography is very interesting; it's a kind of bile yellow sepia toned monochrome which really suits the piece - very much reminiscint of early daguerrotype photographs. You'd be hard pushed to find a weirder setup than what's presented in this film. Strange indeed, and satisfying.

The Red And The White (Miklós Jancsó - Hungary - 1968)

The Red and The White is unlikely to resemble any other war film you've seen. Most war films either thrust us into a small band's struggles to take a position or destroy an installation or some such activity, or focusses on an individual and how he deals with the new situations he's forced to face. Not so this film. Set during the Russian civil war that followed the October revolution, the red Bolshevik's are pitted against the white Czarists in a struggle to seize a section of land around the Volga river. What marks Jancsó's film as unusual is his eschewing of traditional modes of telling this tale. The techniques he uses are counter to almost every other war film made. Normally tension and excitement is generated by using handheld cameras, and drawing well-rounded and sympathetic characters so that we have a vested interest in their well-being. This is not the case here. Jancsó makes the whole business of war a much more cold and confusing affair. We see characters we've become familiar with die in long-shot, or in the background. Sometimes we're not sure who is being killed or even which side is which. He doesn't take a position on who he believes is right or wrong - both sides are shown doing terrible things and none is portrayed as particularly heroic or justified in their actions. I would imagine this is much more akin to what a lot of military conflict is all about than something featuring noble soldiers being heroic against an evil foe. There is some magnificent camerawork on display here, and the wide cinemascope frame is fully utilised to great effect. The stroke of genius though is the cinematography - Jancsó obviously wanted to do all he could to muddy the waters further and the black and white photography certainly contributes to the overall sense of confusion. Once again realism and objectivity trumps emotion and exaggeration, and I for one think this is a very effective statement about the folly of ideological conflict.

Revanche (Götz Spielmann - Austria - 2008)

Alex, an ex-con recently released from prison and looking to make a fresh start is working in a strip club as an odd job man - presumably the only work he could find. His girlfriend Tamara is a Ukrainian prostitute and they both dream of escaping the shady and violent world they are forced to live in by saving enough money to emigrate to South America. Unwilling to wait any longer Alex hatches a plan to rob the local bank then flee the country with the proceeds. He and Tamara carry through with this plan which goes awry as Tamara is accidentally shot by Robert - a passing off-duty policeman. Shortly after the incident Alex finds out the policeman lives close to his father's farm and his thoughts turn to revenge. Again though, Alex hasn't thought through his actions and slowly comes to find out that Robert is suffering severe guilt over the incident and that Alex himself may have been more responsible than he for the turn of events at the bank. Johannes Krisch gives a believable performance as the thoughtful Alex, and Spielmann does a fantastic job of setting the scene for us - seedy nightclubs and organised crime surrounds Alex and Tamara. There's an authentic sense of impending doom the two lovers are caught up in and we want them to escape before it's too late. An accomplished rumination on the use and abuse of power, freedom to act and dealing with the consequences in life.

Three Colours: Blue (Krzysztof Kieslowski - Poland - 1993)

First of Krzysztof Kieslowski's three colours trilogy concerning contemporary French society. The strange sounding title is related to the French flag which is red, white and blue, and represents liberty, equality and fraternity. This first films theme is liberty, and is illustrated by the main character's quest to be free from her old life and start anew after the loss of her husband and child in a car crash. As the subject matter might suggest t's the darkest and most brooding of the three films in tone. Whereas Red has a youthful playfulness about it and White is oddly optimistic, this is a tragedy. Juliette Binoche gives a quietly intense performance as a woman crushed with grief who decides to withdraw from the world and live a life of solitude in Paris. Her friends from her past desperately try to reach out to her and she gradually is drawn back to the real world and the people who care for her. It's a moving film that will be hard to watch for anyone who's faced a similar situation. Kieslowski's subtle use of blue in many clever ways subconsciously evokes a sympathy for the central character's lonely plight and cold state of mind.

The Wind Will Carry Us (Abbas Kiarostami - Iran - 1999)

Lyrical and poetic film set in a remote village in Iranian Kurdistan. A middle-aged man appears in the village with a team of co-workers (who are never seen) ostensibly to fix something in the village - the team seems to be a group of engineers, or at least that's how they're regarded by the locals. The camera follows the main character almost exclusively in this film, on his exploration around the village and his encounters with the locals. It's gradually and elliptically revealed that there's something more to his visit than at first meets the eye - perhaps even something sinister. Behzad Dorani gives a great, naturalistic performance in a part that affords him no rest - he's literally in every single scene, and the cinematography and scenery is sublime. If you can find some quiet time to sit down and soak this film up you'll be amply rewarded by a leisurely paced and very beautiful character study that's quietly contemplative and a little mysterious and lets the viewer decide much of what's happening and why. It's also quite funny in places - a very gentle humour is at work through a lot of the film. This is a real gem, and a film that will definitely reward repeated viewings.