The Edinburgh International Film Festival is one of the oldest of its type and this year it celebrated its 65th birthday. 2011’s incarnation was intended as an interactive social gathering for all the cinephiles who religiously head to the Scottish capital yearly for a dose of unadulterated cinematic delights, offering an alternative to the mainstream fare of the multiplexes. Due to the abolishment of the UK Film Council and the fallout of advertisers associated with it, this year’s re-think was an attempt to rejuvenate the festival whose funding had been drastically slashed. The most striking amendment to the previous format was a proposed stronger emphasis on the films showing instead of the usual pomp and paraphernalia normally associated with these celebrations of the medium.
Gone were the indulgent red carpet galas, as was the use of
the city’s Cineworld as a venue, which over the previous few years had hosted
these embarrassing attempts to recreate the star fuelled facade of the Cannes
croisette. The prestigious awards ceremonies that were previously used to
celebrate aspiring British talent were also scrapped in favour of a more
intimate approach. Events were scheduled throughout the city that purportedly
aimed to be an insightful window into the inner workings of the industry and an
alternative to the glitz and glam of the festival’s European contemporaries.
With the number of films on show dramatically condensed down
to almost half of the normal quota, and the embarrassing inclusion of Countdown
To Zero, which had already gained its UK premier at the festival the previous
year, many looked at the diminished selection on offer with a degree of
trepidation. Glaring omissions from the programme, such as Scottish director
Lynne Ramsay’s Cannes success We Need To Talk About Kevin (Starring former
festival patron Tilda Swinton) and the Palme D’or winner The Tree Of Life
(despite a print being available in town for press screenings), felt like
potential ingredients which may have sparked some much needed excitement
outside of the city, as well as an incentive for its already culturally spoilt
inhabitants to fill the half empty cinemas and disperse the subdued atmosphere
which surrounded the venues.
The Edinburgh Film Festival will always have a committed
audience, and if you read between the lines of the numerous negative press
statements, and the critical mauling of those who have been unapologetically
dismissive of the festivals funding problems, there was a wealth of challenging
and exciting films lurking below the negative ambience which unfortunately over
shadowed this year’s festival…
Rabies
If you go down to the woods today you’re in for a big
surprise…
The pretty girls and boys visiting this secluded woodland
could never have imagined the madness they were in store for – and neither will
you, as Rabies violently breaks all the conventions of the slasher genre whilst
simultaneously executing all the most successful scare techniques from every
critically revered horror film of the last century.
This masterfully created Israeli film positively revels in misdirection.
Opening like a torture porn with a young pretty girl trapped within a metal
cage before suddenly the rug is pulled from under our feet and we find
ourselves thrust into the middle of a physiologically tense thriller, hunting
down a psychopath who’s been setting traps throughout the forest, whilst the
less than helpful appearance of police does little but add more fuel to the
contagious fire of un-mitigating madness which appears to be in the air.
So fast does the pendulum of horror swing from style to
style that we never have time to acclimatise ourselves, resulting in a heart
pounding level of confusion and fear which subtly edges towards a degree of
perverse excitement that should surely be illegal. Indeed, this assured mixture
of well executed genre conventions, with some unique scare techniques that are
so perfectly timed you could set your watch by them, all culminates in a film
which never gives you a moment to catch your breath and is all the more
enjoyable for it.
Rabies use of unconventional bright colours and subtle
twists of comedy helps prevent the uncomfortably framed close ups and audacious
use of gratuitous violence feeling too claustrophobic. The film transfers you
into a bizarrely comatose state of being, completely transfixed and unable to
turn away, despite the natural desire to do so the moment you realise that
mallet isn’t going to be used for the purpose it was intended for.
The film’s lack of any discernable plot and absence of a
conceivable explanation as to why all those who enter this seemingly pleasant
woodland end up committing the most malevolent acts of utter madness never
distracts from the overall enjoyment of what has to be one of the most
strangely unapologetic pieces of ultra violence since A Clockwork Orange. This
nihilistic, gutsy film’s combination of rich ideas and a cultivated ability to
deliver all the scares you desire from a good piece of suspenseful gore is an
unconventionally infectious example of how thriving the film industry of Israel
is becoming.
Calvet
After a terrifying journey to hell and back, Jean Marc
Calvet must now face his biggest demon. After rising from the ashes of a life
shrouded in paranoia, this now famous artist must embark on a harrowing voyage
back through his troubled past in order to find the son he abandoned almost
eighteen years ago in this brave and thoroughly touching documentary.
A onetime drug addict and rent boy, the young Calvet slowly
built himself a life and a family out of nothing before rejecting it all the
moment the prospect of a life of unimaginable prosperity came calling. A
childhood riddled with abuse, amongst a backdrop of poverty, had provoked anger
within the young man, driving him to a lifestyle of violence which led to
careers in the Army and eventually as a bodyguard for a rich American business
man who made him the job offer he couldn’t refuse.
Leaving his homeland and moving to America, he soon realised
that this new lifestyle was a million miles away from the stereotypical
American dream. Deeply involved within a world of unsolicited and highly
illegal business deals, he soon became disenfranchised with the broken promises
that appeared to have shackled him into this life of drug trafficking and
underground crime. He ultimately made a phenomenally brave decision which,
whilst freeing him from this oppressive lifestyle, ultimately led to another
filled with destructive excesses that would eventually incarcerate him within a
world of mental instability and drug fuelled paranoia.
Using art to free himself of his internal demons, Jean Marc
Calvet is now very much a reformed man. His expressive paintings with their
uniquely personal style have attracted interest from art critics worldwide,
affording him a comfortable lifestyle, whilst also giving him an outlet for the
anger which once consumed him. The only thing missing is to make amends with
the son he left all those years ago…
Dominic Allan’s film is almost as painterly presented as
Calvet’s masterpieces. These rigorously framed flights into Calvet’s troubled
past are as visually alluring as the most accomplished of fictional movies,
creating an absorbingly intense portrait of a man who has lived through more in
his turbulent life than seems humanly possible.
Never coming across as even moderately voyeuristic, this incredibly
personal expose of a truly fascinating man resonates with a message about the
importance of family that a thousand fabricated tragedies could never come
close to replicating. This life affirming adventure into the abyss and back of
one truly fascinating character has a social message that ought to be heard by
all. Calvet’s wish that love and the power of family is more than just a dream
is a belief we should all be able to relate to.
Arrietty
Much loved by adults and children alike, Studio Ghibli’s
contribution to the world of cinema has so far been a continually welcomed dose
of adult friendly, childhood fantasy, which continues to accelerate beyond the
now seemingly redundant benchmark Disney had previously set for hand-drawn
animation. Last year’s Ponyo managed to mesmerise audiences with its charming
retelling of Hans Christian Andersen’s ‘The Little Mermaid’, so with Arrietty
similarly adapted from a much loved children’s classic (The Borrowers) it would
be fair to say that expectations are high…
Arrietty is a young borrower, or ‘little person’, as they’re
known to those who believe in them. She lives within the walls of a house
inhabited by human ‘beans’ and has done so comfortably for all of her life,
enjoying the overgrown playground of the neighbouring garden whilst frolicking
with the local insects and creating her own floral haven at home from scented
herbs and flowers. Thanks to an essential combination of ingenuity, accelerated
adaptability and some crafty ‘borrowing’, Arrietty and her parents have managed
to fight the odds and survive in this oversized world fraught with perils at
every turn, unbeknown to the humans they’re dependant on for sustenance.
One morning, a young boy, pale and fragile, arrives at the
house. His name is Sho and he’s returning to his mother’s family home to stay
with his aunt in the hope the fresh air and quite solitude of the countryside
will help him gain some much needed peaceful rest before his forthcoming,
potentially fatal but unfortunately necessary heart operation. He’s aware of
the mythology concerning these ‘little people’ from his mother’s handed down
tales of youthful exuberance and childhood adventures whilst growing up in this
rural paradise. However, he took little notice of these imaginative stories
until one night he awakes to the sound of a fallen sugar cube accidentally
dropped by Arrietty whilst embarking on her first borrowing trip.
Despite her parents’ warnings about making herself visible
to the humans, Arrietty soon embarks on a touching relationship with Sho which,
despite its unconventional nature, will ultimately give them both the strength
they need to overcome the future obstacles they must face…
From the rigorous attention to detail to the heart-warmingly
imaginative inventions used by these petit scavengers, to the soft lilting
score that gently flows through the film’s innocently sweet dialogue, it’s
difficult not to fall in love with Arrietty. This fantastical voyage into a
magical realm of child fantasy imbued within reality may not reach the higher
echelons of the Ghibli franchise, but it comfortable sits amongst the company’s
already delightful back catalogue of dutifully loved animated gems.
Tomboy
Celine Sciamma won much notoriety with her debut feature
Water Lilies, a female coming of age drama which stood as another example of
French cinema’s gloriously joyful ability to capture the raw emotional energy
which surrounds adolescence.
Tomboy very much carries on from where Water Lilies left off,
dealing with female insecurities. This time our central protagonist is Laure
(Zoe Heran), a 10-year-old girl with issues of gender confusion. When her
family moves to a town just outside Paris, Laure, with her indistinguishable
dress sense and short hair, takes this opportunity to recreate herself not just
with a new identity but a whole new sex.
On her first encounter with one of the neighbourhood kids,
she announces herself as Michael in what is just the start of a lie which
naturally spirals out of control. It’s not a difficult thing to believe as this
glorified tomboy, in her grey vest and unisex hoodie, has yet to enter puberty
and could easily pass as either an effeminate boy or manly young girl. Even
Lisa, a young insecure girl from the same apartment block, is convinced, and
develops a crush for Michael, which Laure has no qualms in reciprocating.
She goes to great lengths to hide her true sexuality from
her new found friends, from roping her younger sister into this game of deceit
all the way to running into the forest every time she needs to urinate. As the
stakes escalate, she even goes as far as destroying her bathing suit to create
a more masculine pair of speedos, whilst fashioning a crude makeshift penis out
of playdough to finish of the look.
However, as she falls deeper into this new artificial
persona, cracks start to appear within her fragile facade. Suddenly, the
realisation dawns that once these gloriously fun filled summer holidays come to
an end and the school term commences, it’ll become almost impossible for her
true identity to be shielded from her new group of friends, some of which, Lisa
included, may not take so kindly to such a gross degree of deceit…
Sciamma’s minimal direction in this insightful exploration
of the mystifying awkwardness of childhood allows the performances of her
strikingly assured young cast to tell the story with great effect. Zoe Heran
and Malonn Levana, as the two sisters, have the type of naturalistic,
immaculately constructed on screen relationship that should by rights be
impossible to recreate by those so young. Heran’s appearance as our eponymous
tomboy is exceptional, pulling of this unisex role with great aplomb and never
seeming uncomfortable with the mature subject matter or complex issues asked of
her. Despite the minimal use of dialogue, she confidently uses body language to
capture the internal conflict of her characters self-imposed dilemma, whilst
simultaneously her strikingly expressive eyes maintain a level of innocent
charm that both conveys her confused mental state whilst also driving the
narrative forward.
This subtly natural observation of the difficulties which
envelop the seemingly all important search for acceptance amongst pre-teens is
a lovingly crafted, confident and refreshingly unique film, which perfectly
encapsulates its subject matter in what can only be described as a joyfully
pure and lovingly sweet tale which deserves to be seen by a much larger
audience.
Turin Horse
This Berlinale Silver Bear winner is rumoured to be Bela
Tarr’s directorial swansong. Turin Horse is a deeply personal and philosophical
film that masterfully uses the impoverished and desolate backdrop of the
Hungarian countryside to take us on a harrowingly bleak journey through six
days of spiralling despair and misery.
There are many who will no doubt perceive Turin Horse as
little more than an example of overly pretentious art, striving to alienate its
audience in some vain attempt to be heralded as a masterpiece. It’s an
understandable viewpoint, which is very difficult to argue against as Turin
Horse, like all of Tarr’s work, is a very subjective film that often relays its
message at the expense of the audience’s patience. However, Tarr’s work is a prime
of example of art which gives back as much as you’re willing to put into it.
Turin Horse is truly a hypnotic film which, if you allow yourself to be
consumed by its dark foreboding atmosphere of fear and repression, will
ultimately leave you feeling as emotionally effected as even the most poignant
and depressingly divisive of tragedies.
It’s impossible to ever come to a clear interpretation of
the film’s hidden meaning, but there are still plenty of interestingly profane
elements of symbolism from which to shape your own personal opinions. Opening
with a voiceover re-telling the extraordinary tale of how philosopher Friedrich
Nietzsche apparently once stopped a cab driver from ferociously whipping his
horse before the famed philosopher collapsed and spent the next ten years of
his life in demented silence. At first, it seems like a curiously irrelevant
opening to a movie but, on closer observation, it acts as a key into the realm
of Tarr’s deeply cogitative and abstract vision. Subtle comparisons between the
way the daughter treats her father and their work horse lead to some
interesting conclusions. The way in which she helps her father undress is
strikingly similar to the manner in which she removes the horse’s bridle, and
draws comparisons with this elderly man and his numerous shared mannerisms with
the horse (including the way he eats his potatoes like a horse using its
hoofs). Tarr appears to use the unrelenting gale which continually plagues this
bleak rural wasteland as a metaphorical representation of the coachman’s whip,
attacking this old man and slowly forcing him into submission. Leading many to
believe Turin Horse is a visual representation of the cruelty Nietzsche
observed, recreated to express the increasing level of human brutality encountered
in these more improvised areas of Eastern Europe.
The most interesting explanation of this seemingly
uneventful, yet visually majestic exploration of one man’s vision of the world
is the belief that Turin Horse is in fact a surreal interpretation of the
apocalypse. Reading from the book of genesis, it would appear these six days of
increasing deterioration are in fact the reverse of how God is purported to
have created the world. It’s a monumental game changer once realised, and a
potential revelation which only adds to the already mesmerising visual symphony
of human misery which has over the years become a trademark of this
intellectually challenging director.
Turin Horse is a remarkably dense and intriguing film which
begs you to return to its fascinatingly subtle blend of symbolism and sublimely
framed shots of psychologically penetrating desolate beauty, which, as a
farewell to filmmaking, fittingly leaves us desperate for more.
Directed by renowned surrealist Alex de la Iglesia, The Last
Circus throws us straight into the action when a circus performance in Madrid
is interrupted by the sound of gunfire and explosives. All the men in the
audience are pulled out and forced to fight, this includes the performers,
notably one of the shows bedraggled clowns who, despite his opposition, is
thrust into this bloody conflict against general Franco’s advancing armies. The
carnage which ensues would be enough to titillate even the most jaded of
extreme cinema fans, but throw in a clown dressed in drag, wielding a machete,
and the excitement scale burst uncontrollably under the weight of its own
absurdity.
The bulk of the film plays out 36 years later, as we follow
this heroic clown’s son, Javier, also a circus entertainer (following in his
father’s footsteps but interestingly choosing the role of the ‘sad’ clown due
to his miserable childhood and tarnished soul affecting his ability to
affectively convey inner joy). He soon becomes obsessed with his stage
partner’s tantalisingly beautiful wife and, as to be expected, relationships
begin to fray, affecting not just this unconventional love triangle but everyone
involved in this touring sideshow. What eventually unravels is a series of
gruesome and profane events that spiral this professional rivalry into madness,
far transcending the farcical roles of their stage characters, to the point of
no return.
This gorgeously presented, glorified B-movie is a film which
seems to have divided audiences and critics so far. On one hand, its
beautifully maddening story has pushed some to the limits of what they find
enjoyable, whilst others have positively revelled in it, transfixed by its
visual assault which strikes you with the magnitude of a thousand cream pies to
the face.
All the classic conventions of revenge and romance stories
are dismissed in this gothic nightmare. Instead, The Last Circus strips down
the emotional devastation that loss and infatuation can create to its mentally
unstable core. Once the stage is set, it leaves us with nothing but the madness
love can create and without a second thought, and amplifies it well past a
socially acceptable level, into a realm of cinematic entertainment that far
surpasses the simplistically generic ‘midnight movie’ tag some have labelled it
with.
The Last Circus is a unique and unforgettable film which
shatters genre conventions, but through its bizarre storytelling and gratuitous
violence is a movie which will no doubt alienate many. If you’re looking to
push the boundaries of what a film can be and suspend your disbelief entirely
then perhaps you’ll to fall in love with this visually stunning , beautifully
crafted and joyfully over elaborate piece of cultural trash.
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