Explore by #Giuseppe Di Salvatore
Some Kind of Intimacy by Toby Bull | Khan's Flesh by Krystsina Savutsina
Some Kind of Intimacy
Toby Bull directs his camera toward the sheep, he speaks on the phone with his brother, while he insists on shooting, almost searching for (something in) the sheep. For five minutes, no more than that, and yet, this minimalist film is huge, for it seizes a just intuition, a sort of vision: the brothers’ parents are buried there, where the sheep graze, as if they knew… The camera searching becomes so a clumsy then right way to grieve. With different approaches, the brothers’ longing for the parents seems to find an answer, possibly a presence. Besides the medium of the phone and through the medium of the camera, Bull makes of the animals a visible medium. In this way the animal’s lively silence becomes an unexpected bridge to the beloved that have departed, and we seem to rediscover an ancient truth, in the flesh of the real.
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Khan’s Flesh
Daily life in Belarus, when observed with Western eyes, could sound crazy, but Krystsina Savutsina is not seeking for exoticism in her coming back to her roots. Skilled editing enhances the cutting gesture and often de-contextualised scenes of work, of leisure, of celebration. The sometime humorous, sometime puzzling result is a kaleidoscope of sketches describing a multiple stories structure. However, Khan’s Flesh is something more than a diversion, for at the end of the almost hour of film, and thanks to its peculiar structure, the integration of people in the gears of procedural life emerges as the main theme: a meaningful and critical theme for Belarus.
Some Kind of Intimacy | Short | Toby Bull | UK 2021 | 5’ | Visions du Réel Nyon 2021
Khan's Flesh | Short | Krystsina Savutsina | BLR-DE 2021 | 57’ | Visions du Réel Nyon 2021
Dear Future Children
They want to change the course of History, but they probably should start changing the mind of their neighbour first. In a nutshell, this is the essence of my impression of Dear Future Children, and this is the reason why I would not like to be the future children of two of the three activists in focus here, because I will play with harder fascism their romantic game of playing the global hero, the anarchist, the victim, the rebel. I mean, playing the disastrous game of confronting police can be a necessity in countries where the opinion of the majority has no meaning anymore, but in weak democracies such as in Chile or Hong-Kong, one should use one’s own education to find more efficacious strategies, first of all addressing oneself directly to the conformist masses that, against their interests, tend to accept liberticide and authoritarian regimes.
The case of the Ugandan story is different, insofar as its young hero is more involved in campaigning than in violent struggles, and yet she also appears frustrated by her own speaking, asking for more action. Action however, dear activists, is a Sisyphus’ job when it is not coupled with strong collective consciousness and motivation, exactly as command or prohibition are. One should never cease to use words instead of stones. Therefore, the constructive example of the Ugandan girl is a moment of hope in a film that otherwise conveys a desperate message, for it constitutes the portrait of an educated and informed young generation that acts out of despair and neglects intelligence – no more David against Goliath, but little Goliaths against the Leviathan…
Dear Future Children tells the sad story of some well-intentioned but anachronistic beautiful souls, of a generation that is (already) as old-fashioned as Bakunin or the Che (and Böhm himself, his young age notwithstanding, actually uses the quite conservative filmic language of mass journalism and its cliched emotions). This is a sad reality that one would like to forget, hoping for a future where humanism and democracy will be a matter of intelligence. The film also tells the story of other young people around the world, that work to concretely defend the well-being of the planet: as the almost isolated Ugandan girl is the representative of another category of people that founds communities, creates parties, proposes solutions, speaks with the political rivals, connects with real people and gives the example. Through what I see as an essential distinction, the idea itself of “activism” should be sharply redefined, so as to avoid the catastrophic misunderstanding according to which changes should come from rioting in the streets.
Dear Future Children | Film | Franz Böhm | DE-UK-AT 2021 | 89’ | FIFDH Genève 2021
Sin señas particulares
Screenings in Swiss cinema theatres
ONLINE STREAMING (Switzerland) on Filmexplorer’s Choice by filmingo.ch
«World Cinema Dramatic» Audience Award and Special Jury Award for Best Screenplay at Sundance Festival 2020, then Golden Eye for the Best Film at the Zurich Film Festival 2020. Yes, Fernanda Valadez knows how to make a film – even if this is only her feature debut. Minimal and direct in the plot, Sin señas particulares speaks through wonderful photography and framing: a skilled balance of landscapes, short depth of focus close-ups, clever play between background and foreground motives. Through these formal elements, the young filmmaker manages to express the struggle of the individual within a constantly threatening environment, which is underlined by a monotonous and dramatic soundtrack. This is the struggle of a mother, Magdalena, in search of the truth concerning her missing child. More stubborn than heroic, she succeeds in breaking the “protective” and corrupt silence around missing people in Mexico, actually would-be or rejected migrants. Her road trip will lead us at the border with the States, a territory of anarchy and violence, which the film accurately depicts without giving us any clear geographical reference points. This land without landmarks painfully coalesces with the often ungrounded and brutal violence that lies at the centre of the film, like an inexplicable dark magnet.
Inexplicable or simply unexplained? Is violence in Mexico really a transcendent matter, powerful like a diabolic divinity (as it is presented in the film)? What is behind the horror of brutality? How can so many people go through such a dehumanization? Sin señas particulares aligns itself to a flourishing Mexican cinema that is devoted entirely to exploring the “phenomenon” of violence – certainly a perfect cinematic subject. The anecdotic description of violence and its tragic consequences is often the focus of cinematic attention, one that seems predominantly oriented to claiming or compassion. Elements of understanding the “habit” of violence like fatalism, romantism or heroism, and of course corruption and class division, surface less frequently. Is this a cinematic opportunism that ends up being an indirect celebration of violence? A difficult question. Fernanda Valadez’ disquieting end of the film, however, brings a relatively new contribution to this question in highlighting, not without a general documentary tonality, how evil can even affect the unsuspecting “normal” people…
Sin señas particulares | Film | Fernanda Valadez | MEX-ES 2020 | 95’ | Zurich Film Festival 2020
Golden Eye for the Best Film at the Zurich Film Festival 2020
Lieblingsmenschen
Online streaming at the Solothurner Filmtage 2021
Vlady Oszkiel’s film is a convincing start for this new section of the Solothurner Filmtage, Opera prima. An old setting – the deconstruction of superficial friendship in the huis clos of a vacation villa – but with fresh ideas – the insertion of expressive scenes within a theatrical Kammerspiel – makes of Lieblingsmenschen an enjoyable diversion. A subtle analysis of relationships that plays with gender clichés, thanks to the fine performance of the young actors, Oszkiel obtains an intelligent balance between drama und irony.
Lieblingsmenschen | Film | Vlady Oszkiel | CH 2020 | 65’ | Solothurner Filmtage | Opera prima | World premiere
Le quattro volte
Online streaming at the Solothurner Filmtage 2021
Il carbone scalda l’uomo, che pascola le capre, che si riparano sotto gli alberi, che fanno il carbone. Il film è del 2010, ma allo stesso tempo è senza tempo, perché ci immerge nel ciclo della vita procurandoci un’esperienza ormai rara, ma pur sempre vera, almeno quanto lo è la nostra carne. Le quattro volte – in cui nascere e morire: umani, animali, vegetali, minerali – è anche uno studio etnografico su di un equilibrio arcano tra uomo e natura, come lo si può ancora (per quanto?) scoprire in un paesino calabrese nel massiccio del Pollino. Ma al tenore chiaramente documentario si sovrappone un discorso tutto cinematografico, che esalta la telecamera, il racconto visivo, fino a farci riscoprire i suoni del paesaggio – con un attento lavoro di sound design. Nella lentezza ipnotica dei cicli naturali pure si sviluppano delle linee drammaturgiche. Per quattro volte, appunto: gli ultimi giorni di un anziano pastore, i primi giorni di un capretto bianco, gli ultimi giorni di un pino maestoso, i primi giorni del carbone appena creato. Quattro storie individuali intervallate da momenti corali, ovvero cerimonie religiose e pagane: il tutto come fosse completamente astratto dai nostri tempi. Per questo si potrebbe criticare il film di ricercare anacronisticamente la poesia di un tempo inesistente. No, ai miei occhi è solo lo sforzo rigoroso di avvicinarsi all’essenza naturale dell’uomo, al tempo della natura stessa. In questo il film di Michelangelo Frammartino è pienamente riuscito: un’esperienza unica che solo il grande schermo può rendere così efficace.
Le quattro volte | Film | Michelangelo Frammartino | IT 2010 | 88’ | Cinémathèque suisse Lausanne, Solothurner Filmtage 2021
Traverser
Online streaming at the festival Black Movie Genève 2021
Côte d’Ivoire, Libye, Turin, Paris. Voilà les étapes de la migration de Inza Junior, surnommé « Bourgeois ». Mais dans les récits et dans l’expression des visages à l’écran il y a aussi le désert, la Méditerranée, les Alpes. Traverser ne puise pas dans les avantages narratifs du road movie, car il photographie plutôt une situation, celle des migrants, dont la réalité quotidienne peu racontée au cinéma est faite (aussi) d’attente, de rétention — au sens littéral et figuré —, d’inertie, de patience. L’espoir et l’endurance, ici, l’emportent sur l’aventure et la découverte, la violence étant une menace constante, qui peut s’imposer de l’extérieur comme surgir de l’intérieur, à travers les innombrables occasions de déviance auxquelles les jeunes migrants sont naturellement exposés.
Après Vivre riche (2017) et sa photographie d’une jeunesse ivoirienne souvent bien scolarisée mais à la recherche désespérée d’une fortune instantanée, dépourvue de futur ou de plans de vie, avec Traverser Joël Akafou nous restitue la photographie d’une jeunesse à la recherche d’un plan de vie, bien informée sur la migration, sans illusions naïves, mais décidée à réagir aux injustices sociales de son pays d’origine. Dans la suspension forcée et indéterminée de la bureaucratie italienne, la caméra d’Akafou suit toujours de près son protagoniste absolu. Celui-ci, indépendamment de sa « performance » bien consciente devant la caméra, représente efficacement toute une partie de migrants qui quittent non pas la violence de la guerre, mais la violence de la corruption et de l’autoritarisme — l’autre et le plus universel visage du colonialisme globalisé. En cela Traverser sait dépasser la spécificité africaine, car Bourgeois — et le surnom ici est très parlant — devient également le porte-parole indirect aussi d’une bonne partie des migrants internes en Europe, provenant souvent du Sud ou de l’Est. Et notamment du sud de l’Italie, celui que peuvent exprimer les appartements tristounets de la périphérie de Turin.
Il n’y a pas de choix cinématographiques particulièrement intéressants dans Traverser — il faut le dire. Son style reportage, par contre, rend bien, surtout à Turin, la désolation des longues périodes de limbes qui constituent le pain quotidien du voyage des migrants. Et — ici il y a un autre élément d’originalité du film — nous découvrons comment dans l’indifférence et l’hostilité ambiantes, il est possible de rester debout dans ces limbes non seulement par les fragiles initiatives des volontaires, mais surtout par la solide endurance des femmes, qu’elles soient dans le pays d’origine, dans le pays de premier accueil ou dans le pays de destination. Leur travail silencieux et l’énorme quantité d’argent qu’elles sont capables de mobiliser non seulement rendent ces traversées encore plus absurdes, mais révèlent aussi une plus grande illusion par rapport à celle de l’Eldorado européen : l’illusion produite par l’image de supériorité et de salut projetée sur leurs hommes. Comme le disait Chris Marker en filmant le visage d’une femme en Guinée-Bissau : « Toutes les femmes détiennent une petite racine d’indestructibilité. Et le travail des hommes a été toujours de faire en sorte qu’elles en s’aperçoivent le plus tard possible ».
Traverser | Film | Joël Richmond Mathieu Akafou | FR-BFA-BE 2020 | 77’ | Visions du Réel 2020, Black Movie Genève 2021
Choisir à vingt ans
La Guerra di Algeria, prima, durante e immediatamente dopo. Ma è indirettamente che Villi Hermann ci racconta la follia fratricida di questa guerra, andando a scegliere le persone come lui, come lui a Parigi in quegli anni, persone che hanno scelto la diserzione, trovando tutti riparo in Svizzera, ma quasi tutti confrontati infine alla prigionia. Con il suo approccio personale, quasi intimo, Hermann racconta un pezzo di storia svizzera e semplicemente la storia di persone comuni e del loro gesto di resistenza civica, fino all’esperienza volontaria in Algeria nell’immediato dopoguerra, a cui Hermann in persona ha partecipato.
Uno degli aspetti più intriganti di questo film è il suo montaggio – firmato da Jean Reusser – che compone con intelligenza e senza semplificazioni un mosaico complesso alla cui fisionomia ultima ci avviciniamo lentamente, attraverso un discorso cinematografico di pura polifonia.
Choisir à vingt ans | Film | Villi Hermann | CH-ALG 2017 | 100’ | Locarno Festival 2017 | Solothurner Filmtage 2018, Solothurner Filmtage 2021
Online streaming at the Solothurner Filmtage 2021
El alma quiere volar
Colombie, une famille de la classe moyenne, une fille pleure, sa mère est battue par son père. El alma quiere volar s’ouvre avec une scène de violence domestique et termine avec une libération, la mère décidant de se séparer de son mari. Entre-deux, le quotidien d’une famille aux trois générations entièrement au féminin, observée avec émerveillement et curiosité, suspicion et docilité par la jeune Camila, 10 ans. Diana Montenegro tisse ainsi le drame d’une société machiste dont l’immanence semble empêcher toute possibilité de révolte, en rendant souvent le drame une tragédie. C’est avec une caméra qui colle de façon empathique aux corps des femmes que la réalisatrice colombienne accompagne les évolutions de leur cosmos exclusivement domestique. La récurrence de la musique populaire et une belle sensibilité pour les détails dessinent un réalisme qui ne peut que parler d’un vécu autobiographique. Et la fluidité du montage assure une expérience d’immersion qui ne peut que toucher.
Et c’est exactement cette habileté à toucher le spectateur qui pose problème, car hautement problématique, à mes yeux, est la fresque du monde féminin qui semble vouloir contrecarrer la dénonciation (féministe ?) du machisme violent perpétré par les hommes. Le groupement des femmes, où l’individualité s’évapore dans une constante entraide solidaire et intrusive à la fois ; le manque absolu d’une perspective d’activité dans le monde ou d’intérêts constructifs, et donc le repli domestique fait de caresses, cheveux peignés, maquillage, bavardage, intrigues – un repli stigmatisé par une omniprésente position allongée ; la suspension du temps dans une vacance de l’esprit remplie par la superstition sauvage et ses rituels fièrement irrationnels… tout cela ne fait qu’insister sur le monde féminin comme exaltation de la fragilité, de l’insécurité, de la passivité. Un monde féminin dont l’apparente douceur et tendresse embellissent, de façon presque perverse, l’état fondamental d’esclavage exprimé par chaque geste et scène du film. Au drame ou à la tragédie des rapports entre hommes et femmes s’ajoute alors l’horreur d’un monde exclusivement féminin qui ne s’éloigne en rien du machisme véhiculé par l’agression et l’oppression exercées directement par les hommes.
En tant que film d’horreur, El alma quiere volar est un film pleinement réussi. Mais alors qu’on le regarde, se pose la question du positionnement de Diana Montenegro : est-ce qu’il y a une véritable critique aussi de la féminité, qui semble trompeusement s’opposer au monde oppressant des hommes ? Ou bien cette féminité incarne une sorte d’alternative avec laquelle le film sympathiserait ? Ce film aurait certainement bénéficié d’un distancement presque documentaire, lequel aurait laissé un éventuel positionnement en suspens. Mais le final qui se veut libératoire montre une libération seulement des hommes et non pas de la féminité thématisée à travers le film. Dans la dernière scène, les trois générations de femmes se trouvent (symboliquement ?) immergées (embourbées ?) dans un bain thermal « pour femmes » (pour la féminité), espace de soin et loisir, et Camila se tourne au ciel pour un remerciement. Or, dans l’image finale on retrouve la Vierge Marie, qui semble renfermer la féminité trompeusement libérée (des hommes) dans sa passivité esclavagiste et obscurantiste. Est-ce qu’El alma quiere volar tombe alors dans le plus grave des malentendus du féminisme, celui de penser que l’alternative au machisme soit la féminité forgée par le machisme lui-même ? Si c’était le cas, une couche ultérieure d’horreur s’ajouterait à un film d’horreur qui pourrait autrement briller justement par son manque absolu d’alternative, par son désespoir.
El alma quiere volar | Film | Diana Montenegro | COL 2020 | 88’ | Filmar en América Latina Genève 2020
Cleo
Cleo comincia come uno spot pubblicitario della città di Berlino e in realtà non si distanzia quasi mai dalla sua vocazione illustrativa. Il genere racconto d’avventura e una storia d’amore continuamente annunciata e lungamente rimandata sono entrambi immersi in una fotografia costituita sostanzialmente da un’inarrestabile sequela di cartoline turistiche della capitale tedesca. Eroi e cliché della storia di Berlino sono fusi e confusi in un allegro carosello panoramico. Ce ne sarebbe, dunque, per irritare lo spettatore costretto a ingurgitare un punto esclamativo dietro l’altro. Ma si tratta ben di un film esplicitamente confezionato per i bambini. E allora, per quanto ci sarebbe da domandarsi se i più piccoli abbiano veramente bisogno di continuo stimolo e animazione – secondo un modello di ipervitalità che abolisce le pause e la “sacra noia infantile” –, lo spettatore adulto non potrà non apprezzare una sana distanza dai dogmi americani del politically correct e dal patetico moralismo alla Disney. Quasi fossimo in un antico racconto, familiari e cari muoiono come mosche e, pur sempre al riparo di una spessa patina caricaturale, l’avventura di Cleo (una convincente Marleen Lohse) non arretra, per esempio, dinanzi alla curiosità (certo turistica) per un sottobosco di malfattori, alcolizzati e ballerine seminude.
Ma anche per i meno piccoli Cleo sa far dimenticare un certo autocompiacimento e l’assillante volontà di affascinare ad ogni momento, perfettamente incarnati dalla figura stucchevole di Paul (un Jeremy Mockridge piattamente entusiasta, sempre e comunque). Infatti, Erik Schmitt è abilissimo ad appropriarsi dei codici visivi delle nuove generazioni, dalla prospettiva GoPro allo scorrimento letteralmente digitale delle immagini, per calarli in un caleidoscopio di idee filmiche originali e divertenti. Più che ricorrere agli effetti speciali di After Effects, il regista celebra una manipolazione sovente analogica dell’immagine, dove predominano collage, inversioni di prospettiva, deformazioni ottiche. Cleo comunica tutto il piacere dell’illusionismo caro agli esordi del cinema, impartendo così ai più (e meno) piccoli la “buona” lezione di una manipolazione accessibile e controllabile delle immagini, al riparo dalle “cattive” abitudini di app e software che rifilano sofisticazioni pronte e predigerite. E questa lezione vale certamente più della consueta morale romantica dell’aprirsi agli altri superando i traumi infantili con ottimismo e buon umore.
Infine, ancora più dell’informato casting di personaggi e location berlinesi, il film di Erik Schmitt merita una lode perché ci permette di fare l’esperienza – ahimè sempre più rara al cinema – di immedesimarci in una protagonista il cui mondo è talmente e costantemente trasfigurato, in una perfetta fusione di immaginazione e realtà, che finiamo per sentire quella speciale coincidenza tra interiorità della protagonista del film e solitudine cinematografica dello spettatore del film. Un’esperienza di meditazione unica di cui il cinema, quando sa liberarsi delle penose zavorre del realismo, è veicolo d’eccellenza.
Cleo | Film | Erik Schmitt | DE 2019 | 101’ | Festival Castellinaria Bellinzona 2020
Contradict
ONLINE STREAMING (Switzerland) on Filmexplorer's Choice by filmingo.ch
A group of rappers sings in the streets of Accra to collect money for America (USA): in fifteen years – they predict – America will sink into poverty and Ghana will be finally able to take advantage of its natural and human riches. This is one of the opening scenes of Contradict and it synthetises the spirit of the film: ironic, visionary, politically committed, and musically inventive. This is a portrait of the younger generation of Ghanaians, through the film’s focus on the Ghanaian music scene.
The film has twice a performative output: in representing the musicians it collaborates with the production of some of their new songs – which will also travel in a concert tour to Switzerland; and in putting forward the political commitment of its protagonists it works as a political instrument itself.
Now, this double performativity is also the result of a very long process of exchange and also a strong collaborative form between the Swiss initiators of the project, Peter Guyer and Thomas Burkhalter, and the Ghanaian artists. Even the editing process – often the last moment for the documentarist to impose his/her view on the film – has been the result of a collaborative work. A certain narrative disorientation results, even if the documentary material that is presented is highly informative and exceptionally interesting for the musical and social aspects. This is probably the price to pay for the coherent realisation of an ideal of transparency, or neutrality, of the “white intervention” in an African country.
Contradict | Film | Peter Guyer, Thomas Burkhalter | CH 2019 | 89’ | Solothurner Filmtage 2020
