Tag: film

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Playing games in Hunters: who is served by on-screen violence?

Depicting violence on screen is a tricky line to walk, but its impact is incredibly important

Whether we want to admit it or not, everyone is looking to be represented on screen to some degree. When we see people who look, behave, and think like us on screen, it validates our own experiences of the world.

As a cis, white Jew, I feel fairly well-represented by mainstream media. I grew up on all the Ashkenazi classics like Fiddler on the Roof and Seinfeld, and as an adult, I have my “problematic faves” in Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and Schmidt from New Girl. Yet, despite seeing a good amount of myself on screen, when I heard about the new Amazon Original, Hunters, I was immediately intrigued. 

Hunters chronicles a fictional ragtag gang of Nazi-hunters in 1970s New York City who are brought together in response to Operation Paperclip, the astonishingly real U.S. program which scrubbed the records of Nazi scientists in order to bring them to work on the space race. Many of the Nazi-hunters in the show are Holocaust survivors. And as the descendant of survivors, I have become so sick of survivors’ depictions only ever being helpless, feeble victims. Also, it had been over a decade since the release of Inglorious Basterds, and with the rise of the alt-right around the world, it felt like the perfect time for another piece of mainstream kickass anti-fascist media. Yet, sadly, I quickly realized Hunters would not be that.  

From the get-go, I was struck by an onslaught of intense depictions of Holocaust violence in Hunters. It seemed like every third scene was a flashback to the camps, and every one involving more stylized killing than the last. Very few of these scenes even served the narrative as a whole. Additionally, I was jarred by the now heavily criticized scene in which the show depicts a completely fabricated “human chess game” run by Nazi guards at a concentration camp. This scene was so gratuitous and removed from reality that the Auschwitz Museum tweeted that it was “dangerous foolishness and caricature.”

So, if this sensationally violent chess game never actually happened, why depict it in a show based on the true events surrounding Operation Paperclip?

In my opinion, the unnecessary use of violence in Hunters exists to convince viewers of why the gang is in the right for hunting Nazis. The perception is that non-Jewish audiences need to be reminded of the atrocities of the Holocaust in order to understand the anger felt by the Jewish and otherwise racialized characters in the show. That is a major problem that lies within this show and many other historical dramas. These narratives are expecting their viewers to be apathetic. The baseline feeling is indifference, and viewers must be moved to anti-racism, rather than anti-racism being the default.

While some effective anti-racist media can exist to “convert” people and bring them over from a bigoted point of view to understanding, that should not be the majority of the content that is being made. When mainstream film and TV narratives expect their audiences to be antisemetic, for example, it perpetuates the idea that people are by default antisemetic and must learn to be accepting, rather than the reality that antisemitism, racism, homophobia and so on are learned ideologies. Thus, antisemitism, racism, and homophobia are thought of as “making sense.” Audiences should not need to be convinced why Nazis are the “bad guys.” And by using so much gratuitous violence to make that point, it opens up the possibility of bad faith, “both sides” arguments.

How to properly depict historical violence on screen is a difficult line to walk. On one hand, you don’t want to sanitize history and belittle the real horror experienced by many. Yet, you also don’t want to use violence in a way that dips into the waters of fetishism and exploitation.

This has been an ongoing conversation most notably when it comes to depicting slavery in the United States on film. The response to the 2013 film 12 Years a Slave exemplifies this issue. As Katarina Hedrén writes for Africa is a Country, some critics believed the film to be a “horror show” and devoid of the history of slave revolt and others believed it white washed history through having a “happy ending.” The debate over the use of historical violence in film is not an easy one to maneuver, but it is an important conversation to have regardless.

Ultimately, when writers insert unnecessary violence into their projects, it makes it more difficult for viewers to connect to their characters. No one wants to see themselves as the victim time and time again. Once I finished Hunters, though I had absolutely no business watching past the first episode (but hey, COVID boredom), I recognized that even though Hunters was about Jews, it wasn’t for us. I know the terrible history of violence my people have been put under since, well, the written word. I don’t need to see dozens of depictions of it on screen to understand. I just wish there were more narratives that show a more empowered image.

Graphic by Rose-Marie Dion

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Arts

Tenet: it won’t let you breathe, but it’s beautiful to look at

Christopher Nolan’s love affair with time continues, with mostly confusing results

Christopher Nolan is infatuated with time. Many of his films have manipulated time in different ways to try to show his audience that it’s not as linear as we understand it to be. While some have delivered greater results than others, like Inception and Memento, it’s clear that Nolan has no interest in telling a straightforward story. Tenet continues this theme and it ends up being Nolan’s most ambitious, but also his safest, movie in years.

Tenet doesn’t let you breathe. From the beginning of the 150-minute film, Nolan showcases his characters in exposition-heavy dialogue scenes that try to advance the plot without spoon-feeding its deeper elements. Meanwhile, Nolan is throwing John David Washington’s character, literally called The Protagonist, in various scenes across the world as he searches for answers regarding his mission.

But even when Nolan does try to clear up the convoluted plot, you can barely understand what the characters are saying because of poor audio mixing, whispered dialogue, and Kenneth Branagh’s sometimes-incomprehensible Russian accent as the oligarch antagonist, Andrei Sator. When all you hear is bass mixed with murmurs, it may be a sign that the movie is too loud.

Without giving too much away, The Protagonist and Neil (Robert Pattinson) team up to stop a potentially catastrophic disaster that could end human life on Earth. That’s all I’ll say. But even with a central plot so simple, Nolan manages to make it convoluted while rarely offering a slower pace to absorb what’s actually going down.

Nolan directly implicates his love affair with time in Tenet as well,, but his interpretation of it isn’t as intriguing as it was in many of his previous films. In fact, his storytelling is so obscure that it’s easier to just accept the banality of the plot than to try and decipher it.

Yet, even with these story-telling plunders, Tenet remains captivating, largely thanks to a great performance from Washington and excellent action sequences that make the audience feel like they’re watching a scene out of some futuristic Call of Duty game. Yes, the action doesn’t stop, but because of that, it makes the two-and-a-half-hour movie seem shorter than it actually is. It’s a fun experience, but shallow.

Tenet is Nolan at his safest. He knows all he has to do is come up with an ambitious plot and expensive action sequences to get the masses flocking to the theatres (despite a pandemic). It’s by no means Nolan’s greatest film — in fact, it probably ranks among his worst — but it’s still a visual feat and a fairly good time.

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Arts

Concordia Film Festival: Online

The Concordia Film Festival (CFF) is returning online this weekend for its 47th edition. Run by Concordia students across the university, this year’s festival was organized by film animation student, Mélissa Rousseau, and film production student, Juan Opsina.

Still from The Mother’s Land, directed by Kevin Rahardjo from Indonesia.

With respect to social distancing, the planning for the festival occurred entirely online. The process, while smooth, was not hiccup free.

“We’ve lost a lot of our talks and workshops,” said Rousseau, “but fortunately this allowed us to accept all submissions from the Mel Hoppenheim School of Cinema and create three mixed screenings dedicated to Concordia students.”

While the festival doesn’t present themed selections, the CFF is proud to feature diverse voices and experiences.

“Almost half of our Spotlight screenings are BIPOC student films,” explained Rousseau.

Still from Tender Hearts, film directed by Lauren Jevnikar from the United States.

After the opening speech at 1:30 p.m. on June 20, Rousseau and Opsina will jump straight into their only panel, Women In Film Education (W.I.F.E), an event discussing female representation in film production. Rousseau is particularly looking forward to the international student Spotlight interviews, conducted by the Head Spotlight Programmers. There are four Spotlight categories: Lights Out (genre films), Visions (underrepresented voices), Insight (documentaries), and Kaleidoscope (experimental), each containing several films from students around the world.

The entire festival will be held on Twitch for free, accessible, and high quality viewing around the world.

 

 

 

Rousseau’s suggested BIPOC watch list:

From Concordia:

Guardian (Misha Bellerive, Concordia film animation student)

Mitochondrial (Dir. Laura Kamugisha, Concordia film production student)

Hyphen (Dir. Laura Kamugisha, Concordia film production student)

 

From elsewhere:

The Lost Village (Dir. Kaelo Iyizoba, Nigeria)

Psychosis (Paolo Cesti, USA)

Greenwood (Dir. Benjamin McGregor, Canada)

Midden (Dir. Adriana Gramly, USA)

Women of Steel (Dir. Miriam Muhiie, Egypt)

Don’t Shoot the Messenger (Dir. Bianca Malcom, USA)

Pass (Dir. Elika Abdollahi, Iran)

Gay As in Happy: A Queer Tragedy (Dir. Jordana Valerie Allen-Shim, Canada)

The Mother’s Land (Dir. Kevin Rahardjo, Indonesia)

Sleepwalker (Dir. Andrea Yu-Chieh Chung, USA)

Fun to Cook (Dir. Dongjun Kim, USA)

 

For more information visit:

https://www.concordiafilmfestival.com 

https://www.facebook.com/concordiafilmfest 

https://www.instagram.com/cffconcordiafilmfestival/ 

And to be a part of the audience, watch Concordia Film Festival’s live stream through Twitch on June 20 and 21 here: https://www.twitch.tv/concordiafilmfestival/

Photos courtesy of the Concordia Film Festival (CFF).

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Arts

Portrait of a Lady on Fire: A tale of burning desire

A stunning portrayal of queer love, art, and the female gaze

Portrait of a Lady on Fire, written and directed by Céline Sciamma, is a beautiful film, through and through. Everything from the screenplay to the cinematography invokes an abundance of emotion and builds tension between the two main characters, Héloïse and Marianne. In the late 18th century, a woman named Héloïse is about to be married against her will, and Marianne is an artist commissioned to paint her in secret. Marianne keeps her intention unknown because Héloïse has refused to pose for previous painters to defy her imminent marriage. Although Héloïse believes Marianne to just be a walking companion, their relationship develops into something more as their desire for each other grows.

The pacing of this film, due to its direction and writing, is flawless. It is slow without being boring; every scene introduces new emotional elements that keep the film going. The chemistry between the lead actresses, Adèle Haenel and Noémie Merlant, is remarkable. Their performances are nuanced and natural, bringing raw emotion to the forefront of each scene. The characters’ yearning for each other is expressed through glances, stares and carefully composed body language. The pace makes you anticipate the budding romance, and the tension between the leads is expressed during these slow scenes.

Sciamma explores interesting themes other than love and queer romance through her writing: art, womanhood, memory and the concept of “the gaze”— how we observe art and other people. There is a fascinating exploration of the female gaze and the difference between being looked at and being seen.

Another thing that stands out about Portrait of a Lady on Fire is its sound design and soundtrack. It wasn’t until a song was sung by a group of women in the film that I realized there was no soundtrack at all – every sound is diegetic (meaning it’s occurring inside the world of the characters). Throughout the film, only two songs are heard. In between, every sound overwhelms the space, even noise as small as the movement of fabric. Sciamma’s choice here was clever, for the lack of nondiegetic sound in the film produces a sense of authenticity for the time period. The sounds of the natural world are almost overwhelming, which contrasts with the present day, as the natural world is often drowned out by man-made noise. When music is heard, the experience is elevated to a new emotional intensity, allowing you to connect with the character’s experience.

The mise-en-scène is gorgeous as well. The dark, candlelit rooms evoke a sense of warmth, comfort and intimacy. The bright and colourful exterior shots by the ocean create a feeling of freedom and expression—it is where Héloïse and Marianne share their first kiss, after all. Like the sound design, each shot was carefully assembled for the sake of the story and effectively captured the characters’ longing for each other.

Ultimately, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is an excellent film. Sciamma knows her craft and expertly constructs a film that makes the setting feel genuine and drives the audience to understand what the characters feel. It is an emotional experience that is beautiful to see and hear; it is not something to be missed.

Portrait of a Lady on Fire will be accessible on Video On Demand on April 3.

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News

Netflix premieres first Quebec production

“This isn’t my first film, but it almost feels like it,” said director Patrice Laliberté

Quebec’s first film produced as a Netflix original premiered at the 38th edition of the Rendez-vous Québec Cinéma festival on Feb. 28, a milestone for the Quebec entertainment industry, according to director Patrice Laliberté.

Laliberté explained that high expectations for the province’s first Netflix production made him somewhat nervous on the first day of filming.

“It’s an enormous stress,” Laliberté told The Concordian. “This isn’t my first film, but it almost feels like it.”

While The Decline is his first feature-length film, Laliberté has directed a number of shorts that address a deep fear of the world ending.

In spite of the pressure, Laliberté didn’t shy away from tackling topics that hit close to home.

He describes this film as “very much a thriller and action movie” that also takes on divisive issues such as eco-anxiety, gun control and the migrant crisis.

“I definitely feel [eco-anxiety] every day, although I don’t think I’m organized enough to become a survivalist,” Laliberté said with a laugh. “A survivalist lifestyle is very withdrawn—it’s all about protecting me, my stuff and distrusting the government. That’s not part of my fundamental values at all.”

Set in rural Northern Quebec and filmed in the Laurentians for the region’s wilderness and proximity to Montreal, the thriller follows a man (Guillaume Laurin) who undergoes survivalism training until his fate takes a tragic turn.

The director first heard of the term “survivalist” when studying urban militias and right-wing extremist groups for a film project in 2015. The term describes a member of survivalism, a movement in which individuals actively prepare for doomsday scenarios.

“One of the guys involved with the [urban militia] group was a survivalist, and this really made me want to explore the subject more, which I got to do through research for the [Decline] screenplay,” Laliberté said.

With a $5 million budget, Laliberté, who co-wrote the screenplay with Nicolas Krief and Charles Dionne, didn’t take the project lightly.

The release of The Decline comes after a controversial 2017 agreement—spearheaded by then Heritage Minister Mélanie Joly—between the federal government and Netflix. The deal would have Netflix invest $500 million in original Canadian productions over five years. However, it drew criticism as it made no mention of a commitment to producing francophone content.

“I’m proud of how the work turned out, but there was a lot of backlash against Netflix after the Mélanie Joly deal,” Laliberté said. “Now, it seems everyone is looking to see how Netflix will position itself in a new market with this movie.”

In anticipation of The Decline’s online release, Netflix will dub the film in 10 languages and subtitles will also be made available. Laliberté has already watched his film in English.

“It’s pretty funny listening to the actors’ voices with their accents,” Laliberté said. “Using the same actors for the English version was Netflix’s idea, and I really liked it. It keeps all the colour of Canadian, francophone speech, even though they’ve dubbed their own voices.”

Until he begins writing his next project, Laliberté is focused on planning the fifth edition of  Plein(s) Écran(s), an online film festival that he founded in 2016, which is hosted entirely on Facebook. Participants submit their original short films for review and may earn thousands of dollars in prize money. Following the broadcasted award ceremony, viewers can watch the winning films on the Plein(s) Écran(s) Facebook page for 24 hours.

Audiences can catch screenings of The Decline in select theatres for a week, starting March 13. The movie will be available to stream on Netflix as of March 27.

 

Photos by Laurence B. D.

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Opinions

I’m just a female dirtbag, baby

Ever since first watching the 2000 film High Fidelity in high school, I found myself relating to the record store-owning protagonist Rob, played by John Cusack. Rob was a moody, unlucky in love music snob, too in touch with his emotions and stuck in the past— embarrassingly relatable. 

So, when I heard that High Fidelity was getting a TV remake, starring the iconic Zoë Kravitz as a gender-swapped Rob (now short for Robyn), I was instantly excited. My issues with the film had always been my cognitive dissonance between relating to Cusack’s Rob, but struggling with his toxic “but I’m a nice guy” demeanour—something I found inherently masculine and obnoxious.

Yet, High Fidelity (both the film and the new Hulu show) is shown through Rob’s eyes, as the character often breaks the fourth wall to talk to the camera directly. So when Rob is played by the dreamy Cusack, with his puppy dog eyes, you can’t help but be pulled into his guise, no matter how much of a dirtbag he is.

Watching the Hulu adaptation made me wonder why I felt the need to relate to Rob. I realized that while there has been no shortage of “cool girls” on screen, their range was always limited. The cool girl is never the main character. She’s often a foil placed in opposition to the stereotypical uptight, prissy, feminine character due to her chillness (think the iconic Gone Girl monologue).

In Hulu’s “High Fidelity,” Rob is undoubtedly cool—Kravitz just seems to bring that to everything she does. Yet, no matter how hip she appears on the outside, Rob is still a complex character with as much agency as any male protagonist. Like Cusack before her, Kravitz takes on the role of an utter dirtbag.

The female dirtbag may be a useful subversion of the cool girl archetype. BBC’s “Fleabag” made a huge splash in 2016 arguably due to its realistically messy, horny and self-involved main character, depicted by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. She’s well-dressed and creative, but deeply flawed in her relationships and unabashedly gross. Similar to “High Fidelity,” Waller-Bridge often faces the camera to engage the audience in her outer monologue. Sure she’s cool, but she’s in control of her own story.

There’s a misconception that for a female character to be “strong,” they have to be exceptionally smart, confident and capable. But, how many among us can truly relate to Captain Marvel or Buffy Summers? Not even mentioning these characters’ overwhelming whiteness and thinness. This outdated focus on strength should be replaced by an imperative for truth and realism.

One trend within this new wave of female dirtbag representation is that most of these narratives are helmed by women. The aforementioned 2020 “High Fidelity,” “Fleabag”—and we can’t forget the pinnacle of female grossness—”Broad City” were all created by women.

When women are allowed to shape their own stories, they’re bound to represent a more truthful depiction of the female experience—warts and all. 

 

Graphic by @sundaeghost

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Arts

The visceral horror of Come and See

Elem Klimov’s historical epic is a deranged and frightening showcase of human evil

A common criticism aimed at modern war films is their general disregard for historical accuracy. Films like Pearl Harbor or Enemy at the Gates, while entertaining, are often embellished or glamorized in order to make the subject matter more palatable for mainstream audiences. The fact of the matter is that war is messy. Lives are lost, cities are destroyed and soldiers and civilians are left with lasting psychological effects. Rarely will a film seek to capture the absolute horror of combat in a truthful and authentic manner. There are, of course, some exceptions, one of which is the 1985 Belarusian film Come and See.

Set during the Nazi occupation of Belarus, a landlocked Eastern European country between Poland and Russia, Come and See tells the story of a young teenage partisan named Flyora. Against the wishes of his mother, Flyora joins the Soviet resistance movement and soon becomes entangled in a hellish conflict.

Director Elem Klimov has stated that in making this film, he wished to properly convey the sensory experience of war to the viewer. To achieve this, the director consulted Soviet writer Ales Adamovich to collaborate on the film’s script. Adamovich fought as a partisan during the Second World War, and his book I Am from the Fiery Village was used as the inspiration for the film’s events.

The director’s characterization of Come and See as a sensory experience is an apt one. Whether it be the terrifying reverberation of a dropped bomb or the ominous droning of fighter planes circling the sky, the film’s sound design shakes you to the core. The imagery is similarly harrowing, and the camera will often linger on disturbing scenes, amplifying feelings of discomfort. Fans of Ari Aster’s Hereditary and Midsummer will find these techniques very familiar. The result is an overwhelming and visceral journey into the depths of depravity that will affect you profoundly.

Visually, Come and See is distinct for its frequent use of POV shots. This was a purposeful decision made by Klimov and cinematographer, Aleksei Rodionov, to place the audience at the center of the events unfolding. The close-ups of the actors directly addressing the camera are incredibly impactful and make the characters’ anger, fear and anguish feel all the more real. It’s a reminder that war is a human conflict first and foremost, and that there were very real people affected by the ramifications.

As the film progresses, we watch as protagonist Flyora gradually undergoes a stunning visual transformation, with his hair turning grey and his face becoming lined with wrinkles. Flyora’s transformation is not only a physical delineation of the effects of war, indicating the immense stress he is undergoing, but it also represents his loss of innocence. Flyora begins the film as an eager boy ready to join the Soviet resistance, but by the end he is left battered and emotionally scarred, robbed of his youth.

The film went through numerous delays during production, with the USSR’s State Committee for Cinematography,  at one point rejecting it, believing the film promoted an “aesthetics of dirtiness.” Nearly 35 years later, Come and See has garnered a reputation among critics as being one of the greatest and most accurate depictions of war ever put to film. It is a haunting representation of the indelible effects of war and an assessment of mankind’s capacity for evil. It is a gut-wrenching watch from start to finish, but one that should absolutely be seen.

Come and See is playing at Cinema Moderne as part of their “M: Les Maudits” Series dedicated to cult and genre classics. Screenings take place on Feb. 28 at 9 p.m. and March 8 at 7:15 p.m. Tickets are available online or at the box office. For more details visit cinemamoderne.com

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Arts

Birds of Prey: Cathy Yan takes flight

Absolutely all over the place, loud, bright and crazy

Prior to Birds of Prey, Cathy Yan was a relatively unknown director. Yan’s directed three shorts and one feature before, but has pretty much remained off the map. Until now.

With this Harley Quinn-focused DC film, the director makes quite the entrance into Hollywood. If I were to describe the style of the film in one word, it would be “manic.” The film was full of colourful, saturated images that burst with a soundtrack consisting of original and covered hip-hop and pop tracks. However, the film’s writing fell short.

I absolutely loved the look of Birds of Prey. It doesn’t shy away from vivid colour palettes, distinguishing it from other DC films. Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), breaks the fourth wall, and Yan depicts this with on-screen text inspired by comic book aesthetics. The soundtrack to Birds of Prey is definitely awesome on its own, featuring songs from artists like Doja Cat, Saweetie, Charlotte Lawrence and more. It adds an extra level of energy to a film that’s already full of it. However, during some scenes, the music was overbearing and distracted from the story itself. Often, these songs played during fight scenes, and since they don’t always carry along the plot, watching them felt like a music video rather than a film.

The premise is very simple, Harley Quinn goes after teenage thief Cassandra Cain (Ella Jay Basco) to save her from Gotham’s new evil menace: the Black Mask. Cain swallowed a diamond containing information valuable to Black Mask (Ewan McGregor). However, this premise was overly convoluted due to the non-linear structure of the film and its fast-paced editing. The non-linear storyline didn’t seem to add anything valuable to the film and instead made it a little rusty. There were offbeat tonal changes. Some scenes felt very out of place, particularly those with violence against women (which was included in the film to emphasize the intensity of the villain’s character.)

The performances were fun and hilarious, with Robbie and McGregor in the lead, and Basco, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Rosie Perez, Jurnee Smollett-Bell and Chris Messina supporting. Robbie gives an exaggerated and amusing performance. McGregor takes the cake, managing to play an awful person while still being ridiculous and weird. In terms of acting, everyone is on their A-game and delivers the right amount of absurdity without being irritating.

Ultimately, I loved Birds of Prey’s sense of personality. The film was obviously from Harley’s point of view, and everything in the film supported that, from the loud music and wild colouring to its odd story structure. Even the production design feels like it belongs in a Harley Quinn movie, including weird, provocative decor, abandoned amusement parks, and colourful nightclubs.

Even with its issues, Birds of Prey knows Harley Quinn well. The film was all over the place, loud, bright and crazy. But in the end, Yan wasn’t afraid to use her own style and because of that, Birds of Prey is a load of fun.

 

 

Illustration by @joeybruceart

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Arts

Intricacies of a morally-conflicted mind

Brotherhood showcases the struggling humanity of a war-torn family

There’s a lot that could be said about Concordia Alumna Meryam Joobeur’s Brotherhood. The short film was nominated for an Oscar in the live-action short-film category. In its simplicity, the film showcases the deep disturbance and shifting family dynamics caused by the emergence of the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS).

Centred around a distrusting and hardened father, Mohamed, the 25-minute short follows the story of his moral conflict upon the arrival of his eldest son, Malik, who had left to fight in Syria with ISIS. Malik returned a year later with a very young and pregnant wife, clad in a niqab— forcing the father into a deeper conflict within himself.

There are a couple of things about the North-African and Middle-Eastern cultures that are important to know. Family is a founding value in this culture; a father’s responsibility towards his family is heavy and permanent. This responsibility is emphasized in the dialogue between Mohamed and his wife, Salha, where he says “I have slaved away my life for these boys.”

Salha, the boy’s mother and Mohamed’s wife, is mostly passively present; not so much taking part in the moral conflict that is set throughout the whole story. In a way, it’s reflective of the passive role of mothers in dealing with life-changing decisions. Although her role is not active, her presence certainly is; she welcomes Malik back without a second thought, expressing “as long as he’s alive, I’ll stand by him and defend him.” There’s a word in Arabic that perfectly embodies what a mother represents: hanan. It means tenderness. A mother’s love is never distrusting, always loyal to her children, and never-fading.

Watching this film was like reading a book—there was a lot left for imagination, for your own understanding. Nothing is said explicitly, nothing is forced upon you. There are a myriad of ways to interpret the struggles of Mohamed’s family. The underlying pressures of societal family values combined with this family’s faith and morality are all challenged when Malik left for ISIS. As an Arab, I think of what must have been going through Mohamed’s mind when Malik returned: he is my son, but he brought shame upon us. He is my son, but he joined an immoral killing machine. He is my son, but he impregnated a child. 

Mohamed’s inner struggle to accept the moral wrongs of his son is the core of Joobeur’s short. There’s a never-ending battle between unconditional love for his flesh-and-bone and loyalty to his moral grounds, and what he believes his religion, also his son’s, actually stands for.

The film is raw, and not very easy to watch. The very opening scene sees Mohamed and his middle-child, Chaker, looking at a flock of sheep that had been attacked by a wolf—a sheep was bleeding profusely, and the father and son went to kill it. The togetherness of this act strengthens father-and-son narrative, while also highlighting the contrast between the two characters—the father as a hardened man, and the son, sensitive and hesitant to kill. This contrasts directly the idea of Malik killing with ISIS— something Mohamed accused him of in one of the scenes, even though Malik said he never killed anyone.

The soundtrack consisted of wild sounds, setting a rural and haunting environment for viewers, forcing them to listen to the tension that is almost palpable on screen. In a scene where Malik takes his two younger brothers to the beach, a moment of confession ensues: “I regret going to Syria,” Malik told Chaker. “Promise me you will never go.”

It’s reflective of how misconceptions and false propaganda hurts people. 

In parallel to Malik’s confession, Mohamed makes a call. An argument between him and Salha leads Malik’s young wife, Reem, to confess that the baby was not his—she was forced to “marry” many fighters. In other words, she was raped by ISIS terrorists and got pregnant, and Malik, while running away, chose to help her even though he knew it would only make things worse with his father. That call was to authorities to take Malik away, a deed Mohamed instantly regretted as he ran towards his sons at the beach, calling for Malik in breathless shouts—only to realize it was too late.

Something that stood out to me was the portrayal of different facets of Islam: Joobeur sets a clear and hard line between the supposed “Islam” of ISIS, and that of a normal, rural family. The Arabic language has a different name for ISIS that recognizes their work isn’t that of Islam—something that Western languages never did. It’s called Daesh. There is no mention of the religion of Islam in this title. This is significant for a simple reason: a name reflects the identity of what it is that you’re introducing, dubbing a terrorist group as an Islamic state automatically associates Islam to terrorism. No matter how many times someone can say “this is not representative of Islam,” there’s no way the stain of that title can ever be removed.

Brotherhood, in asserting the difference between the Tunisian-Muslim family and ISIS, very subtly says that ISIS is not Islam. I’ve read great reviews of the film, but none of them recognized this—most of them related the strain between Mohamed and Malik to the latter leaving family responsibilities, and none highlighted the fact that he left to join a terrorist group, and that was the source of Mohamed’s moral conflict.

ISIS shook the Middle-East and North-Africa. It shook the world of Islam and only fed Islamophobia further, it justified the West’s pre-existent bias and discrimination. Brotherhood depicts how torn families suffered the aftermath of such a phenomenon in the rawest and most simplistic way—strictly humanized, embellished in nature, and thriving in moral conflict.

 Brotherhood can be watched online, on vimeo.com.

 

 

 

Collage by Laurence Brisson Dubreuil.

Categories
Arts

The Irishman is a marvel of a film

Strong themes make this long film worth the watch

Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman is a complicated film. Bound to the confines of a nursing home, truck-driver-turned-hitman, Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro) narrates several decades of his life, discussing entering organized crime and the hits of his career. Sheeran enters this world through a Pennsylvania mob family, the Bufalinos, and along the way meets Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino), the leader of a labour union with connections to organized crime. On the surface, The Irishman is a story about a man climbing the ranks in the criminal world. Underneath, there’s so much more to it, with themes of guilt, loyalty, relationships and family.

Although the premise is simple, several chapters in Sheeran’s life are depicted nonlinearly. The timeline of the film is edited expertly by Thelma Schoonmaker, who has been Scorsese’s editor for over 50 years. With that in mind, The Irishman takes very striking liberties with its editing, from abrupt music cues and cuts, non-simultaneous intercuts, out-of-place jumpcuts and shots that only make narrative sense once the movie is over. At some points, the time jumps can be confusing, making some scenes difficult to follow, but the film was easy to understand even with that uncertainty. Needless to say, the editing was risky and seemingly unusual at times.

The film had a great sense of time, place and character. Everything was thought of meticulously, slowly building up to a climax in the film’s final scenes. Of the three and a half hours, the first two were fantastic, and the last 15 minutes were extraordinary. The pacing was strong and the tension was there. But, there was a lump in the middle that lost my interest and was difficult to get through. I’ll admit, it is a very long movie, and it does feel that way. For young people who didn’t grow up with Scorsese gangster flicks, it could even seem boring and hard to finish. It took me more than a day to watch it, so don’t be afraid to take your time.

The Irishman could be interpreted as a simple gangster flick, but it transforms into something more. We feel Sheeran’s family crumble as his daughter rejects him, his friends become more and more powerful and difficult choices about loyalty emerge. By the end, you realize it’s a story about relationships and, sadly, regret. It asks questions about growing old, and makes you wonder if Sheeran’s actions were actually worth the loneliness they would cause later on.

The core message of the film could have been conveyed in two hours. But, Scorsese made it three and a half, and somehow, none of that time feels unwarranted. Sure, it’s slow, but it takes its time with each scene. It allows dialogue to flow, it allows actors to become cemented into their performances and it allows the scene to resonate with the audience.

The Irishman is a refreshing break from the onslaught of films that are paced way too quickly, and for that reason, I think Schoonmaker and Scorsese did it right. 

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Arts

Jojo Rabbit: a comedy about nazis. What could go wrong?

Director Taika Waititi teaches us to laugh at the idiotic nature of war

 

No, this isn’t a review for Peter Rabbit 2… Today we’re focused on Taika Waititi’s nazi comedy Jojo Rabbit.

Jojo Rabbit is a film focused on a little boy named Jojo who idolizes his country and its ruler, Adolf Hitler in the midst of World War II. As he trains to one day become a soldier, Hitler appears to him as his imaginary best friend and Jojo dreams of being in his inner circle. However, Jojo has to question his values and priorities when he discovers that his mother is hiding a Jewish girl in their house. Written and directed by Waititi, it is certainly an interesting movie when you think about its subject matter in relation to its genre; a comedy about Nazi Germany. Yet, somehow, Waititi pulls it off.

Waititi portrays Hitler with no regard for historical accuracy and instead plays an eccentric figure who encourages Jojo to be the best of the best. He’s exactly what a little boy’s imaginary friend would be, with no relation to the real person. This creates a distance between the actual historical figure and the version of Hitler Jojo has in his mind. This distance makes it clear that Jojo does not really love Hitler, but simply thinks he does. We never see the real Hitler, only the man interpreted through Jojo’s imagination. In that sense, the film poignantly explores ignorance and blind patriotism from the perspective of an impressionable young boy, a theme that carries weight today; through social media, many young people are encouraged to hate others before they even have a chance to learn about them. This can be seen on something as simple as a plethora of hate comments on a YouTube video to entire websites dedicated to hate groups. Jojo Rabbit follows this idea. It does not focus on nazism more than it needs to, it instead focuses on the outcome of its existence. Jojo Rabbit is a comedy with a purpose; to take a child unaware of what he really stands for and to put you in his shoes.

Along with its hilarity, Jojo Rabbit is also a very innocent film because of its perspective. There are many joyful moments as we see the world through a child’s eyes, and only as adults can we think of the repercussions of the situation around him. Roman Griffin Davis gave an excellent performance as Jojo, with great comedic timing and an ability to emotionally connect with the audience. At the age of 12, he’s got a huge future ahead of him, and I look forward to seeing where he goes next. Sam Rockwell, Scarlett Johansson and Thomasin McKenzie also had notable performances in this film and made for a great supporting cast.

There were frequent and jarring tonal shifts throughout the film, where you would laugh one minute then feel completely shattered the next. Although these shifts were striking, I believe that they were necessary thematically. As Jojo’s perception of the world around him and of himself changes, so does the film.

Jojo Rabbit makes you laugh at the absurdities of hate but still forces you to look at the suffering that comes from that animosity. In that sense, Waititi is a genius. He’s able to make a hilarious comedy about Nazis that retains emotional resonance about its subject matter. Keep an eye out for Waititi in the future, I have a feeling he has tons more in store.

 

 

Graphic by @sundaeghost

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Arts

5 Must-See Films of the 2010s

Selected highlights from a decade of gems

The 2010s were undoubtedly an interesting time for cinema. The decade saw the rise of superhero movies and shared universes, the popularization of streaming services, the standardization of digital de-ageing, innumerable sequels, and even reboots and remakes that no one asked for. Still, the last 10 years gave us some incredible, wholly original and unique films that are absolutely worth your time.

Here are just five of them.

Cold War (dir. Paweł Pawlikowski, Poland, 2018)

By the time the credits roll at the end of Paweł Pawlikowski’s period drama Cold War, you cannot help but be overcome by an astounding sense of melancholy and emptiness. Pawlikowski’s film is bleak and despondent, allowing its viewers very little in terms of consolation or assurance; but it is that very same bleakness that lies at the essence of Cold War’s efficacy.

The film tells the story of an ill-fated relationship between a male musical director and a young female singer. Beginning in post-World War II Poland, the film bounces between several time periods and settings, and follows the couple as they are repeatedly separated but ultimately brought together again under different circumstances. Cold War boasts a beautiful black and white visual aesthetic that accentuates the coldness of the film and the detachment of its characters.

 

Shoplifters (dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda, Japan, 2018)

“What makes a family?”: a question Japanese director Hirokazu Kore-eda sought to answer in his 2018 film Shoplifters. Time and time again, Hirokazu has proven himself a master of the modern familial drama, crafting thoughtful, contemplative films that assess the intricacies of family life. The 2018 Palme D’Or winner follows a group of shoplifters that steal a young girl from a broken home, “adopting” her into their household. Despite not being biologically related, the characters are kept afloat by an intimate bond that fastens them together as a family.

Hirokazu’s leisurely-paced film examines familial relationships and dynamics, stressing the importance of having people to care for and depend upon. Although the situations presented in the film are likely far removed from the realities of its viewers, Shoplifters still somehow manages to carry an indescribable familiarity with it. The moments when the family members are idly lying about, spending a day at the beach or stepping outside to catch a glimpse of nearby fireworks, each tap into a certain universality that recalls distant memories.

 

Certified Copy (dir. Abbas Kiarostami, France/Iran, 2010)

Director Abbas Kiarostami’s first film outside of Iran is arguably one of his best. William Shimell plays an author that meets an antiques dealer on a trip to Tuscany. At first glance, what seems to be a romantic comedy turns out to be anything but, as the film slowly reveals itself as something richer and more complex than initially anticipated.

The film opens with Shimell’s character, James, holding a press conference to discuss his latest book in which he examines the worth of an original piece of art compared to a replication. This opening scene sets the stage for themes and ideas that Certified Copy will spend the remainder of the film exploring: the fluidity of identity and the value of truth.

A remarkable shift occurs midway through the film, in which the man and the woman who we had believed to have just met, begin acting as though they are on the last legs on a lengthy marriage. From that point on, things begin to get even more intricate and strange, and details become increasingly obscure and unverifiable. Juliette Binoche’s character switches seamlessly from French to Italian and then to English, and it has us questioning the validity behind everything we’ve been told thus far. What, then, happens to truth? To meaning? How do we know if something is authentic or not? Certified Copy will leave you wondering.

 

Poetry (dir. Lee Chang-dong, South Korea, 2010)

Like the aforementioned Cold War, Poetry is a difficult watch. South Korean filmmaker Lee Chang-dong’s heartbreaking film tells the story of a woman in her sixties, Mi Ja, trying to cope with an inundation of life altering news. Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and informed that her grandson was involved in a horrible crime, Mi Ja meanders through her days disconnected and adrift. It is not until she enrolls in a poetry class that she begins to find meaning and purpose in her life.

The performance of lead actress Yoon Jeong-hee is understated yet captivating, with tiny gestures and expressions conveying the ways in which she is quietly aching. Chang-dong’s Poetry is a consistently gut-wrenching film that examines personal struggles and suffering and how we choose to deal with our circumstances.

 

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Thailand, 2010)

Upon first viewing, Uncle Boonmee may seem like a hard film to crack. But perhaps director Apitchatpong Weerasethakul intended it to be that way. In a 2010 interview, Weerasethakul told The Guardian: “Sometimes you don’t need to understand everything to appreciate a certain beauty. And I think the film operates in the same way.”

Weerasethakul’s ethereal, dreamlike film follows the last days of the titular Boonmee, a dying man who is visited by the ghost of his deceased wife and an apparition of his long-lost son in a non-human form. At the same time, Boonmee is having hallucinatory visions of previous lives he may have lived. These glimpses are sudden and without explanation and there is little to explicitly connect them to Boonmee. But much like real-life instances of déjà vu, sporadic memory flashes, or concepts of afterlife or reincarnation, the film’s vignettes defy any sort of logic or explanation. It eludes us because we, too, do not have the answers.

The film perhaps raises more questions than it resolves, but its non-linear, almost stream of consciousness-like presentation will envelop you in a trance and leave you hypnotized.

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