Alain, “a young wolf”, elegant and racy, is maintained by the princess Linzani. At the same time, he goes out with a girl of his age, Sylvie, who despite her bold attitude has never had a lover.
1930s Berlin. Dr. Jakob Fabian, who works by day in advertising for a cigarette company and by night wanders the streets of the city, falls in love with an actress. As her career begins to blossom, prospects for his future begin to wane.
From Hong Kong International Film Festival: Bernal’s impressive debut feature confirmed him as a prominent filmmaker who was not only capable of orchestrating a striking narrative, but also one that revealed the hypocrisy permeating the carnivalesque affairs of filmmaking. The story follows Ching, a stripper, who performs to the lustful stares of her patrons. Discovered by an idealistic film director, she rises to stardom and takes her lover Pinggoy, a taxi driver, into show business. Scrambling to the top, they reap fame and forture only to find tragedies awaiting. Bernal has made startlingly accurate observations of the dichotomies facing Philippine cinema and society, winning Best Film of the Decade in the country’s prestigious Gawad Urian Awards.
Quote: Belmonte paints forests full of trees, naked men in strange positions, submarine fantastic scenes, men/animals hybrid creatures, gravediggers characters, well-built men going up stairs to the leap, love scenes below trees. All of his work, sometimes full of colors, shows loneliness and melancholy, but also beauty and attraction to the human body. Even though Belmonte shows himself distant to some of his family members, he is an emotional man who needs affection all the time; he is especially dedicated to his daughter, Celeste. When Celeste isn’t around Belmonte is kind of lost. There’s a new and important exhibition upcoming at the National Museum of Montevideo but Belmonte is thinking more about the changes inside his family: his ex-wife got pregnant by another man, and he feels Celeste is going to spend less time with him. Belmonte negotiates with his ex-wife about the amount of days he should live with Celeste, he wants more, he needs more days; but is not easy….
An engaged but apolitical nurse gets involved in a far-right political party. Based on numerous recent events in France it becomes about how Front National operates and how it is perceived by the French.
Marie-Christine Questerbert’s La Chambre Obscure (The Dark Room) stands apart as a costume drama set in Italy in the 14th century.
Aliénor is the daughter of Gérard de Narbonne, a distinguished doctor of medicine of the 14th Century. She puts the skills she has inherited from her father to good use by curing the king of France of a life-threatening fistula. By way of recompense, she asks to marry Bertrand de Roussillon, whom she has loved since childhood. Alas, Betrand has no love for Aliénor, and rather than consummate the marriage he goes off to fight in Tuscany…
Quote: In Hezké chvilky bez záruky (English title: Pleasant Moments), acclaimed director Věra Chytilová manages to make profound statements on the nature of humanity with such a striking concealment that most viewers won’t even notice them. It’s a continuation of her post-New Wave career; the surrealist masterpiece Daisies is often pointed to as her greatest achievement, but she continued to make equally important films under communist rule – they just had to be so subversive the censors wouldn’t even notice. One of my favorites is 1977’s Panelstory, the definitive story of life in a panelak (apartment complex) with biting political commentary so hidden that it makes it all the more worthwhile to discover. As a senatorial candidate from the political party Strana Rovnost Šancí, Chytilová no longer remains in obscurity. Unfortunately for some, her post-New Wave films still do. But for those of us willing to give them a chance, they’re still as relevant and sublime as her efforts from forty years ago.
Bear with me: I recall, many moons ago, watching The Incredible Melting Man, a mostly forgettable sci-fi feature. One scene, however, has stuck with me throughout the years: our hero, the brilliant scientist, is at home with his wife, expecting some guests for dinner. It suddenly dawns upon him – his wife has forgotten the crackers, a necessary ingredient for the hors d’oeuvres. He erupts into a blind rage – how could this have happened? She knew that we needed the crackers! Meanwhile, the Melting Man is terrorizing the countryside, killing people (I think) while slowly wasting away into a puddle of goo. But I mostly recall the crackers; I laughed at the horrible acting and surrealism of the vignette, but in truth, there was more drama and tension in that one scene than the rest of the movie.
In Pleasant Moments, Chytilová focuses on the crackers. As the film opens, our heroine, the psychologist Hana (Jana Janěková) shouts obscenities into her dashboard as she deals with heavy traffic, already late for work. This is possibly the most dramatic scene in the film, reaching its zenith with Hana abruptly changing lanes, and culminating in a minor fender bender where…the other driver kicks her car a couple times and drives away. In most films, scenes like this are used as character development; here, these scenes comprise the entire film as Chytilová eschews characters, and development, and any kind of traditional story. It’s quite brilliant; look at all of the problems in the world, and yet, what do we really care about?
The bulk of the film is a series of vignettes featuring Hana interacting with a multitude of patients, all of which have their own personal problems: a woman fears she can see the future, a man can’t stop rubbing up against strangers, etc. A woman is physically abused by her husband, but can’t bring herself to leave him; enough story for an entire film, but here, dramatically flat and quickly forgotten: Hana can’t help the patient unless she is willing to help herself, nor can the film itself intervene. No, here more drama unfolds when Hana makes steak for dinner – when she knows her husband (Igor Bareš) will not be there. That says more about their relationship than a slap after the husband suggests a threesome with another woman. The slap is expected; the steak must be interpreted. The husband eventually leaves – blink and you’ll miss it; by the time he leaves it’s an afterthought. It’s the little things leading up to it that matter.
Another patient, Eva (Jana Krausová) compliments Hana after she puts on some makeup for the first time in the film. A passing comment, nothing more, but perhaps more important to Hana than a murder or attempted suicide – for the rest of the movie, she’s wearing makeup in almost every scene. Eva, a gallery owner, has her own story in which she falls in love with her son’s friend. Tension emerges between Eva and her son (David Kraus, real-life son of Jana Krausová), but we side with Hana – if they’re happy together, what’s the problem? The scenes between Eva and her son seem forced – dramatically flat – until we realize that’s the point. The son seems more upset that his mother and friend are cooking together than sleeping together. The real tension is in the small details; we just hide them in the big picture. The final scene is perfect: a patient recalls to Hana a near-rape in a rowboat on the Vltava river, under the National Theater, where she seems more concerned that the president may have bore witness. Hana laughs as she now realizes how ridiculous all of it is, what we really care about. The laugh turns to a cry in a final freeze-frame.
The film is shot in an almost gonzo-realist fashion by cinematographer Martin Štrba; handheld all the way, with constant repositioning and use of the zoom lens. Offbeat music from David Kraus is sparsely, and effectively, used throughout.
The famous example from Buñuel’s Un Chien Andalou: shot #1 shows us a man looking out a window; shot #2 shows a man riding a bicycle on the street. We are conditioned to accept that the first man is looking at the second; surrealism calls this into question. That statement on film editing was in 1929. In 2006, we have almost daily terrorist threats, global warming, cancer, bird flu, war, and a film about minor irritations from a master director and political candidate. Chytilová has become so subversive that a) most viewers will now regard and dismiss her recent work as a more traditional form of storytelling, and b) some viewers (myself) will read far, far too much into her films, taking something out of them that, perhaps, was never put into them. Regardless, at least for some of us, she continues to do her job to perfection: to make us think. Her latest film is just as valuable as any of them.
There are Melting Men out there, yes. But in truth, all we really care about are the crackers.
A story that mixes fantasy, philosophy and everyday reality. The problem with Antoine Martin is that he only exists one day out of two. And it is from this circumstance so personal that he meets Clémentine, a girl who lives full time. All this will only deepen his anguish.
In order to take a new job as an employee in the public sanitation department, Juliana moves from the inner city of Itaúna to the metropolitan town of Contagem in Brazil. While waiting for her husband to join her, she adapts to her new life, meeting people and discovering new horizons, trying to overcome her past.
Alone in her attic bedroom, teenager Casey becomes immersed in an online role-playing horror game, wherein she begins to document the changes that may or may not be happening to her.
Encouraged by Fassbinder, with whom he became friendly after the then-enfant terrible of the German cinema visited him in Lugano, Sirk also did some teaching during the late 1970s at the film school in Munich, where he made three short films with his students. Sprich zu mir wie der Regen was the first of these films supervised by Sirk.
Tennessee Williams’ Talk to Me Like the Rain and Let Me Listen
Talk to Me Like the Rain and Let Me Listen was written in 1953 as part of a series of one-acts Williams wrote in particular for community theatre. Unlike the large scenic demands of his larger works (i.e. A Streetcar Named Desire) Talk Like The Rain… features a small-scale, bare-room situation. It involves an unnamed Man and Woman who are bound together in an endless cycle by their hopeless poverty. Major William’s themes are explored in the Man’s alcoholism and the Woman’s desperation. Although not specified, the one-act can be worked in a more surrealist fashion. Monologues for both sexes, with the Woman’s being substantially longer, spanning several pages.
Berlin, the Prenzlauer Berg district. When this summer day is over, nothing will ever be the same again. Only Daniel doesn’t know that yet. The protagonist of this tragicomic scenario is as unsuspecting as he is accustomed to success. His loft apartment is stylish and so is his wife, and nanny has the children under control. Everything is tip-top, bilingual and ready for him to jet off to an audition where a role in a superhero film awaits the celebrated German-Spanish actor. Popping into the bar on the corner, he finds Bruno sitting there. As transpires by the minute, Bruno has been waiting for this moment for a long time. And so this eternally overlooked man – one of reunification’s losers and a victim of the gentrification of what was once East Berlin – takes his revenge. With Daniel as his target.
Saturday evening, in the suburbs of Paris. Le Relais, a small café-restaurant has just opened. Martine is waiting for customers at the bar. The first to come are regulars: Jeannot, boastful, bitter, aggressive; Guy, joking, playful; Robert, strong, boor. These three have known each other for years, and meet at the Relais every Saturday to deceive their loneliness: Johnny’s wife left with their son; Robert’s one is talking about divorce; Guy is hosted by three old ladies. Everyone goes on about its problems, encouraged by the whisky flowing like water. Talks about horses, games, politics, sex. Happy racists, especially Jeannot. This little world is already well warmed when arrive David, a shy travelling salesman, and Christiane, another regular, familiar with the trio. Christiane and David sat at a table, and talk about their past, the routine of a wasted lives. David is soon drunk, an easy prey for Jeannot. It will be a long night…
A passive mother who dedicates her life to her husband and children. Stuck in daily, repetitive, mundane chores, she has made herself as little as she possibly could. When a magic trick goes wrong at her 4-year-old son’s birthday party, an avalanche of coincidental absurdities befalls the family. The magician turns her husband, the authoritarian father, into a chicken. The mother is now forced to come to the fore and take care of the family while moving heaven and earth to bring her husband back. As she tries to survive, she goes through a rough and absurd transformation.
Nespresso Grand Prize at Critic’s Week 2021 FIPRESCI Award Cannes 2021
At the end of 1970, the Filmmuseum in the City Museum of Munich showed a small Sirk retrospective (six productions from All That Heaven Allows to Imitation of Life). Fassbinder watched all of the films in this showcase and was deeply moved: “That really breaks you up in the movie theater. You understand something about the world and what it is doing to you.” This cinematic experience must have been a revelation for him. He described his impressions vividly in an extensive essay, and came to the conclusion: “I have seen six films by Douglas Sirk. Among them are the finest films in the world.” The young filmmaker went to visit the Hollywood veteran, who was now living in the Swiss canton of Ticino. And when the almost eighty-year-old director was teaching at the Munich Academy of Television and Film (HFF/M), Fassbinder took on one of the parts in an academic production that Sirk was supervising. (He played in Bourbon Street Blues, the film adaptation of a one-act play by the well-known writer Tennessee Williams). Sirk’s work experienced a renaissance, not least of all thanks to Fassbinder’s essay, but the influence Sirk exerted on him has nevertheless been somewhat exaggerated.
Quote (Autotranslated): December 1989. Jan Wysocki (Wojciech Wysocki), a former Wrocław oppositionist, becomes a member of the Senate committee to settle the activities of the communist secret service. In order to stop him, a group of Escorts hit his family. As a result, Marek (Jan Frycz), Wysocki’s younger brother, is severely beaten to a rubbish dump. Here, fate will meet him with the eccentric “Frenchwoman” (Krystyna Janda). Together they will create a pair of outsiders: he doesn’t know who she is, she lives in her own Paris – they both need each other.
“I wanted to show the clumsy painting of Poland. A breakthrough moment when the sign “Policja” appeared on the law enforcement cars, but the old one was still piercing underneath: “Milicja”. While making documentation, at the police stations I met the same people who laughed at my nose” – said Waldemar Krzystek years later. His film, inspired by authentic events, using the conventions of sensational cinema – with the motif of amnesia at the forefront – is, on the one hand, an attempt to portray Poland’s beginning of transformation, a nascent capitalism, and on the other, a story characteristic of the director’s work about the psychological consequences of the clash between successive generations of Poles and History. It is probably no coincidence that the place of action again – after his debut W zawieszeniu / In Suspension (1986) – is his hometown of Lower Silesia, and the protagonist’s name is Wysocki, just like that of the Home Army soldier in hiding in that film. In the subsequent ones – including the award-winning Little Moscow (2008), 80 million (2011) and Photographer (2014), Krzystek will be faithful to his artistic formula combining genre cinema with history, as declared: “We were brought up in a tradition that told Polish directors to address issues relevant to society in their films”.