Strella, by Panos Koutras, one of the stars of Cheries-Cheris

Cheries-Cheris, Paris, 2009

Strella, (Also called, “A Woman’s Way,”) is a delightful film by Greek cult director Panos Koutras. How do you top “The Attack of the Giant Moussaka,” his 1999 film about a giant slab of casserole that suddenly threatens the city of Athens? This problem may have been weighing on the director’s mind for much of the last decade heavier than greasy béchamel and eggplant could ever weigh on his stomach. He first went with a surrealistic melodrama with a wicked mother and a burning Acropolis, (“Real Life,” from 2004) but didn’t really hit his stride until now with this much more believable, yet still unusual story. He knew he had to forego the Moussaka’s bargain basement Almodovar kitsch, but it took him and his co-writer Panajotis Evangelidis this long to really master the element that makes the Spanish director’s films work: the subversive gay plot.

Strella is about a pre-op trans who meets a man just out of prison after doing 15 years for a crime of passion. Their relationship starts out very steamy, but hits a few obstacles as they come to terms with their respective pasts, and with Strella’s complicated social life. The film includes many “non-professional” actors in their first movie roles, most notably Mina Orfanou who plays the title role. Mina is first among a whole bevy of trans in this film, ranging from the young twinks to the older grande dames of the night, all natural actors who give the film great authenticity. In contrast to all of the wigs and hormone treatment, is the macho actor Yannis Kokiasmenos who gives a very sensual and sexy performance as Yiorgos, the older man whose release from prison not only means freedom, but also separation from his cellmate. To say that Yiorgos is emotionally torn by this new and uncomfortable situation is an understatement, considering the secrets he must come to terms with during the length of the film.

One of the most interesting and gratifying thing about this story is how well the problems are resolved by the end. Before this, the only gay themed Greek movie I had seen was the depressing story of murder and intrigue “Blackmail Boy” (2002). I somehow managed to miss Katakouzinos’ “Angel” from the 1970s, but I guess I’ll save that one for some suicidal rainy day. For now, I will savor the good feelings that I am left with from “Strella.”

Strella premiered at the Berlinale earlier this year, and in France at the Gay Film Festival Cheries-Cheris that took place in November, 2009 at the Forum des Images. Hopefully, it will soon have a commercial run in Paris so that those who missed it the first time around will get a chance to see it.

Oh, sorry, did the mention of moussaka make you hungry? Here is a small taste of that earlier film:

Cado dalle Nubi: Waiting for Checco to drop into town.

Cado Dalle Nubi, the first feature length film by Gennaro Nunziante, has just opened in Italy and is already sure to be a big hit.

The comedy has Checco Zalone in the lead. Checco is the comedy persona of Luca Medici, who first gained fame for his delirious and always off color song parodies on the RAI show Zelig in 2007. The performances there created a cult following for him, and made this move to the big screen almost inevitable. However, this is broad comedy, all’italiana, and not to everyone’s taste. In addition, Cado dalle Nubi is Checco Zalone’s first film role and there was some doubt that he would be able to pull it off. Spinning out the character from three minute TV skits to a full length movie role is tricky business, and many a comedic career has been lost in the attempt.

The story is simple and done-before, but full of comedic potential. A naive and comically unsophisticated young man from Puglia, deep in the Italian south, goes to Milan in search of fame and fortune as a pop singer. Naturally, he confronts all kinds of situations that he barely understands, but manages to blithely sail through. The film plays with the many social demons of modern Italian society: snobbism, racial prejudice and homophobia, while at the same time, giving Checco the chance to play his shtick to the maximum.

Now, the question I must ask is, when will this comedy make it to Paris? Checco, sei grande, eh allora, quando cadi dalle nubi anche a Parigi?

Der Knochenmann – The Bone Man

More dead bodies from Austria. The Bone Man directed by Wolfgang Murnberger and based on the novel by Wolf Haas. Der Knochenmann (The Bone Man) is set in a town near the Slovak border, where the prejudices of East versus West, City versus Country and Man versus Woman all seem to find their justification. That sounds grim, and this is, after all, a thriller, but one with a wry ironic smirk on its face. Coming after last year’s gem, Revanche, it seems that the Austrians may have hit on

Brenner drowns his troubles as Berthi entertains a new conquest in the background

their perfect cinematic recipe: a pinch of lust, a teaspoon of Vienna versus the sticks, two cups of east-west human trafficking and a whole lot of the primordial evil lurking in man’s soul. A bit upside-down, a bit perverse, a bit Austrian. This is the third in a series of films about the hard-boiled private detective Brenner. First came Komm, süsser Tod, (2000), and then Silentium (2004) and now this, which many people are calling the best of the three.

There are some colorful characters that make it come alive: Berthi, (Simon Schwarz), Brenner’s foolish pal who doesn’t let his Vladimir Putin hangdog mug stop him from chasing every skirt that passes by, and then the restaurant owner’s son, Porsche Pauli (Christoph Luser) a whiny, fairly psychotic loser who manages to put everyone in danger. And some minor characters from across the border that add some ex-socialist charm: the dour waitress and the Slovak hood in a wheelchair, played by the veteran actor Ivan Shvedoff. This may not have the ethnographic depth of Revanche, but it does have a certain contemporary veracity that is very powerful and great fun to watch. Especially fun are the thick Austrian accents, notably on Brenner, Berthi and Birgit, all as thick and doughy as a Knodel dumpling – so avoid any dubbed versions of the film, and listen to some great vocal acting.

They have also given themselves an excellent script to work with. The screenplay was written by the novelist Wolf Haas, along with Murnberger and the two main actors Josef Hader (Brenner) and Birgit Minichmayr (Birgit). There are a few exaggerations that detract from the whole, though. I couldn’t help but wonder how a person could walk around for several hours after his finger has been chopped off, discussing every topic that comes up. I have the feeling that he would want to get to a hospital posthaste. And the great masked ball at the climax of the film was way over-the-top and totally unnecessary. The story builds to its own big scene through effective plot points, so it does not need the phony climax made out of costumes and props. The contrived festivities are a distraction and take us away from the real action happening one floor below. I would have much preferred a more subdued party in the restaurant that could distract the story’s characters without disorienting the viewer. And the ghoulish French title, “Bienvenu au Cadavres-les-Bains” (more or less: “Welcome to the Town of Dead Bodies”): this is a translation of a pun in the original German, in which the town’s name is transformed into “Leichenberg,” but it gives the wrong impression of a Halloweenish horror film. This is pure film noir, Twenty-first Century style.

Click on the trailer in the sidebar. It begins with some teaser shots from the first two films. In German.

Bosnian war is the absurdist setting for The Tour, Markovic

Film review. The Tour (Turneja) is the latest film by the Serbian director Goran Markovic, and it has been selected as Serbia’s candidate for the Oscar Foreign Film category, 2009.

It’s been fifteen years since the war in Bosnia, and no matter how much Serbians and everyone else in the region would like this particular chapter of history to disappear, it keeps popping up, bringing with it the ghosts of suffering and genocide. So, now that Radovan Karadzic is finally going on trial in the Hague, bringing even more shame on the Bosnian Serbs with his antics and resistance, is it really time for a Serbian comedy on the topic? Director Goran Markovic seemed to think so, and he came up with something unique and wise, and at times quite funny.

Turneja, (The Tour) is a very moving and successful film about the comic absurdity of human suffering. Markovic pulls it off by using as his main characters a troupe of clueless actors from Belgrade, so self absorbed and ego-driven that they allow themselves to be transported right to the front lines of the war in Serbian held Bosnia to perform for the troops. They have been lured by the prospect of making some scarce money, but they soon find that they are paid in insults, injury and fearsome misadventure. But in spite of the horror, they are troupers and they will survive. The absurdist theater of war turns out to be a fitting place for these over-the-top thespians, and they manage to bring poetry to the Serbian fighters, and then to the Croatians and Muslims, as well, when they find themselves bumbling about, criss-crossing the battle lines. This is not to say that they learn anything from this experience, or that the fighters have been instilled with the civilizing effects of high culture in any way. The fact is, that no one learns anything in this film, because there is nothing to be learned from the repulsive murderous dysfunction of that conflict. And that is, perhaps, Markovic’s point.

Goran Markovic is an experienced filmmaker whose work has been well-known but perhaps not so well-received critically over the years. With this film, however, he seems to have found his stride. He has found the perfect stand-in for the Serbian people in the street: the self indulgent but good hearted actors who suddenly find that while they had been busy emoting their bogus lines to the rafters the whole world outside their theater had gone mad. Markovic knows actors, he is the son of two of them, and he has spent his life in the world of theater and film. He makes these characters speak with great humanity, even as they are lying, preening and elbowing each other out of the frame. What they recite is perhaps not as important as the life that they breathe into their words. They are in contrast to the nationalist writer who has come to the front to sing the praises of Serbian revenge and terror. Whereas their words bring them freedom and gets the guns momentarily quiet, the writer’s words bring him food and privilege and sends people to their deaths.

The battlefields are the main theater of this story, but this reality is framed by the broken, empty theater in Belgrade where the film begins and ends. It is also an apt metaphor for the state of Serbian culture itself at the end of those years of conflict: terribly wounded, but still full of life and aching to rebuild.

 

Camino: Eroding the foundations of fundamentalism one tear at a time.

A film review. Camino, (2009) directed by Javier Fesser

If suffering brings us close to God, then I guess everyone coming out of this film will be practically knocking on Heaven’s door. It is an excruciating look at the tortured life of a little girl as she suffers with a domineering mother, a fanatical religion and an extremely painful disease. This dark, nightmarish melodrama is an intelligent look at the hypocrisy and deadening effect of fundamentalist religion on the human spirit, but unfortunately, the medicine is as grim as the condition, and the film is a torture to watch.

Nerea Camacho, in the title role, is a beautiful little girl and a fine actress, though it seems that she has been directed here to ham and mug for the camera in order to jerk every last tear out of the viewer. But it’s a formula as effective as it is obvious, and not surprisingly, the little girl was awarded a Goya for best new actress. In all, the film received 6 Goyas as well as ten other Spanish film awards, reflecting its big box-office success in Spain. However, I don’t think it will do as well in the international markets, since the Spanish guilty pleasure in masochistic religious tales does not travel very well. Besides that, the cultish Opus Dei Catholicism depicted here seems a long way off from the lives of most modern Europeans. Add to that the clumsy symbolism, the bloody hospital scenes as gruesome as a Santeria prayer card and a relentlessly maudlin musical score and what brought some audiences to tears will send others to the nearest exit.

That is not to say that this is an inconsequential film. The story is well written, working on several levels at once. Every action is symbolic and reflective of some other action, every belief is both proven and debunked along the way. This makes for a surprisingly complex melodrama. A particularly striking example of this is the extended double-entendre sequence at the end, which can be read as a cynical depiction of the way zealots misinterpret human experience, or possibly how the most carnal human love and the love of God are all one and the same thing. Moreover, the characterizations are very subtly drawn, to make us reflect on the ways that people use and abuse religious dogma to support their own ambitions and prejudices. A very telling scene, in which Camino’s older sister, a novice in an Opus Dei community house, speaks with a more experienced nun about her attachment to her family. The older woman gives her an explanation of family devotion that makes it sound precisely orchestrated by the devil himself. There are other scenes in which Camino’s mother uses religion to manipulate her daughter to reject the pleasures of life. In these moments the film tells us something important about the power of fundamentalist religion to make people renounce their love of humanity for some imagined love for God, as though their responsibilities to the human race are a mere distraction from their responsibilities to God. Yet, this is done in ways that make these fundamentalists seem perfectly real and chillingly reasonable.

The information at the end of the film states that the story is based on the life of a girl named Alexia who died in 1985 and is now in the process of beatification. It is hard to figure how this story, which shows how the love of human life can be misinterpreted and twisted for the glorification of a misguided religion, can be reconciled with that process.

Okay, hopefully that will permanently discredit the fanatics at Opus Dei. Now, let’s see the really important one: the Taliban version.

Pappi Corsicato’s Il Seme della Discordia. Discord Indeed.

I wanted to like the film, I really did. All the hype about the Neapolitan Almodovar was enticing, and the look, décor and colors of the preview clips were very promising. And who could resist a director named Pappi? But I knew something was wrong when the lead actress, Caterina Murino started talking at the meet and greet before the viewing. She was sitting right next to the director, and still she had the nerve to say, (I’m paraphrasing):
“It was really difficult at first to work with Pappi, but then we got a working relationship and ended up loving each other. It was impossible to play the roles as Pappi wanted. All of these actors all of them with lots of experience, were asked to act in ways that they had never acted before. When I saw the final product, after Pappi’s editing, it was not the film that I had acted in, so radically had he changed it. No more questions, please, let’s watch the film. Then if you still have questions, I’m sure Pappi will be glad to answer them.”

Nominated at Venice for the Golden Lion. They wanted to like the film too.

She was like her last name: murino, like a wall.

The basic problem with the script is that one crucial element in the story is a rape. There is no way to make a rape humorous. Pappi did his best to minimize it by never actually mentioning the fact. That helped, but it remained the 800 pound gorilla in the room whenever the story took a humorous turn. There were ways to write the rape out of the story, perhaps amnesia or mistaken identities. I have it all figured out. Pappi, please consult me before signing off on any more problematic scripts.

There was also an emphasis on the wrong characters. We see way too much of her mother, and not enough of the flirty salesgirl and the gayboys at the café bar. They are the lighthearted (and lightheaded) characters that could make the comedy soar. It would also be more interesting to see more of the husband, and to get more involved in his problematic position. However, it’s not too late: these characters can all be developed in other scripts.

Il seme della discordia. Hmmm, I wonder what exactly was this seed of discord. Was it the baby, the situation, the actress, the director or just the script?

Alas, things could be much, much, much better. Corsicato is a really fine director with a great sense of comic timing and the subtleties of la commedia all’italiana. Recently he delighted his fans with a short film, made under the sponsorship of the Garofalo pasta company, and distributed exclusively on the web. Questione di gusti, or A Question of Taste is a remake of a sketch from a Dino Risi film from 1971 “Noi donne siamo fatte così.” It is a satire on the fetishes and manias of the nouveau riche, as they try to present themselves as wildly uninhibited. The couple brags about their sexual exploits to the whole company of guests at their party, then have it out with screams and pistol shots as soon as the guests are out the door. Without subtitles, the visuals are a pleasure in themselves: