The opening film, Helen Simmons and Julia Cranney’s Measure (2023), follows a mother, Jen (Callie Cooke), taking her autistic son to a birthday party and the horrors that follow. It begins in the car, the two of them going through the order of the event: “car, cake, car, bed”. What Jen can’t account for, of course, is the sheer overload of it all. The jelly wobbles. The room is packed. Her childhood bully, Bryony (Lydia Rose Bewley) is there. And she’s “still a bitch”. No detail is spared by Simmons and Cranney in their depiction of how, even seemingly small, elements can combine into one busy, overwhelming muddle. In the post-film Q&A Simmons and Cranney explain how their experiences as neurodivergent parents informed Measure, the isolation and exhaustion of this made palpable by a particularly prophetic shot of party attendees staring at Jen through her rear car window. Simmons and Cranney, inspired by “the horrible things that children do”, turn a mundane suburban scene into one of vengeful horror.

Zoe Hunter Gordon’s Better (2023) sees Ruth (Ellie James) following her Mum’s orders to bring her chronically ill sister Kitty (Milly Zero) back home. The life that Ruth and Mum propose to Kitty is one of never missing a doctor’s appointment, constantly dealing with other peoples’ worry and judgment for using a wheelchair. The life she has built for herself is one of laughter, beach parties, her wheelchair on the sand lit up by fairy lights – a particularly striking shot, though this film is full of them. As Ruth is confronted by the reality of her sister’s life, her insistence that Kitty has “made herself worse” dismisses Kitty’s right to live as she wants, the right to be happy, and even, the right, were this the case, to make herself worse. Better is, as Gordon explains in the Q&A, about “the way we police peoples’ bodies”. The representation of using a wheelchair as something which opens up a life rather than restricting it is testament to this, and speaks to Gordon’s intent of “re-assessing the idea of ‘being well’”. 

Then, Frøydis Fossli Moe’s Fish eye (2023), a complete change of pace. Moe makes her audience a fly on the wall at a film shoot and Oddvor, literal fish in a bowl, is the subject of a controversy which deeply divides a team of young filmmakers. The director announces, much to her team’s dismay, that it is time to shoot a scene where a man falls in love with the fish. A furious debate on animal welfare and ethics breaks out, and soon the view of the director’s morality is seen as inseparable from the focus of her art. Moe’s work is as hilarious as it is sharp, with the film not hesitating to lean into the sheer ridiculousness of its topic and earning many laughs from the audience as it did so. Most impressive of all, Fish eye is shot in one take, a feat achieved, Moe discloses, in only twelve attempts. I was particularly amused to learn that this short was inspired by a real life experience Moe had on set, not only was the fish real but so too was the heightened emotion: “I’m a vegetarian” laughs Moe, “but I wanted to kill that fish”. 

Another shift in tone as we settle into the stillness of Olivia J. Middleton’s A90 (2022), set in a roadside cafe. The atmosphere Middleton achieves with so little dialogue is to be commended, the constant noise of the traffic combined with the liminal space of the cafe creates a simultaneous sense that nothing is happening and that anything could happen. We are in the in between, the pit stop. A90 beautifully portrays the significance of little moments that build to a finite romantic encounter between waitress Anette (Marli Siu) and customer Morgan (Sinead MacInnes). The camerawork is intimate, capturing Siu’s face through the rotating blades of a fan, MacInnes’ tentative tapping of her fingers in correspondence with the musical overlay, the movement of the women as they dance together. There is something meditative, almost religious about the world of A90 – much like its colour palette, it’s muted and gentle. 

And finally, Tracey Lopes’ The Girls’ Room (2023). Warm and inviting, this film shows just how much a director can achieve in a fixed setting. Not once does the camera move from Lopes’ setting of the pink walled, council flat bedroom shared by two -occasionally three- sisters (Bukky Bakray, Bola Akeju & Miai Leonie Phillip), yet the pace is fast, my attention not lapsing for even a moment. As the girls change, the room – almost a character in its own right – changes with them: posters of boys swap out for one touting ‘Girl Power’, the amount of mess on the floor ever changing as the sisters mature, the way it suddenly feels cold and still the night Tatiana (Phillip) isn’t picked up from school. The Girls’ Room is clear in its style and focus, its Tracy Beaker-esque music, pop-art font and fun yet believable representations of family life all combine to make a memorable, thoroughly enjoyable love letter to childhood in the early 2000s. 

A fantastic evening of films each unique in their voice, yet simultaneously harmonious as they transitioned from one to the other. Thank you to all the directors for sharing your work, and to those who came to the post-film Q&A. The opportunity to see the many approaches taken to the medium of short film was exciting to witness.

Written by Florence Strang Boon.

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“I’ve learned to value ordinary life. And I still have a wish to portray that.” – Hirokazu Koreeda

Hirokazu Koreeda is one of the greatest contemporary Japanese directors of this generation. Often being considered as the next Yasujiro Ozu, his masterpiece films show gentle, heart-warming, yet bitter sides of human life.

Koreeda was born in Tokyo, Japan. Influenced by his mother’s love of watching films, he grew a passion for them too as they would often watch movies together. He started his career in television documentary and directed his first film, Lessons from a Calf, in 1991. However, he gained recognition for his first feature film Maborosi. His latest acknowledgement was when he won Palme d’Or in Cannes Film Festival from the film Shoplifters in 2018. It was the first Japanese film that won the Palme d’Or in over 20 years. His last film was a French film, The Truth, and he is currently producing a Korean film.

Most of the filmmaker’s feature films highlights the theme, ‘family’, approaching the slices of daily life and its perfect and imperfect forms, the happy and unhappy moments. Thus, he is constantly being compared as the next Ozu – a prominent director during Japan’s Golden Era of Cinema in the 50s. However, Koreeda has shown his own uniqueness. He brings us closer to the essence of humanity through ordinary family lives, and shows us the hardship in life and the society we are living in. Koreeda reveals the things we know and the unknown situation, the fact that family comes in many forms and society can sometimes be too quick to judge. Furthermore, he has stated that he was more inspired by Hou Hsiao-Hsien, Ken Loach and Mikio Naruse.

Hirokazu Koreeda shows strong emotional connections in all of his films. He uses simple visual cue to convey how the characters are connected to each other and to the world around them. The commonplace activities show the familiarity of characters and open their lives for observation. Instead of using extra dialogue to explain their current states, he uses cinematography to capture each character’s feelings and how they overcome them. In most of his films, he uses location involving water to depict how the protagonists decide to forget or forgive their past. Moreover, he also uses overhead power lines to add tension to the narrative and aesthetics. Koreeda captures reality and the social connections by creating a space to question society’s shortcomings. He succeeds to acquire the difficulties in life, the challenges to change ourselves and the troubling circumstances. The honesty of Koreeda’s lens is what makes his filmmaking so meaningful.

5 Recommended Hirokazu Koreeda Films

Shoplifters (2018)

A magnificent work that portrays a family with no blood ties but connected through crime. Koreeda questions the nature of family bonds and challenges our moral senses. To find the greatness and the attraction in this family even though what they do is questionable. A bittersweet exploration of the bonds and ties the family together. Moments that are tender, desperate and devasting. Winners of Palme d’Or in Cannes Film Festival in 2018 with the Cannes Jury president Cate Blanchett describe Shoplifters as “one of the quietest, loveliest and most emotionally enduring films in the competition”.

Our Little Sister (2015)

A lovely story about three sisters welcoming their half-sister into the family after their father’s death. With minimum dramatic conflicts, Our Little Sister is full of the simple pleasures and joys of a small family, each working through their lives in work, relationship and at home. The film shows the beauty of nature and family love even the three sisters lack love from a father figure. The youngest sister, filled with father’s memories, is well adjusted and happy in her new home and school, yet she struggles and feels complicated with her existence in the family. It’s a rich, sentimental, and emotional family drama.

Like Father, Like Son (2013)

A heart-rending film that plays with two families as they discover their children were switched at birth. The film shows two kinds of Japanese families coming from a different social background with a different perspective that coexists in contemporary Japanese society. Facing the dilemma of making their life-changing decision whether to keep their bloodline or the child, they build a strong bond through the exploration of parenthood and complexity of the parent-child relationship. Like Father, Like Son is a touching and heart-breaking family drama. Winner of Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival in 2013.

Nobody Knows (2004)

A masterpiece based on a true story, Nobody Knows is about four children abandoned by their mothers in a small apartment in Tokyo, with each of the children having a different father. The oldest member Akira, a 12-year-old boy (Yuya Yagira), is given the responsibility to take care of his other siblings with the limited amount of cash left. Presented with the tragic situation, there aren’t dramatic outbursts or tears shed; instead, Koreeda allows us to observe the children in how they find the little things of their life delightful and ways to survive in this society. They are four souls left alone in their own world, forgotten and unloved, believing that the mother will return one day. Koreeda grew his reputation as a master of directing children, with Yuya Yagira, the youngest winner of Best Actor in Cannes Film Festival in history. Nobody Knows is heart-breaking but still shows the pure and innocent side of children. It’s definitely a must-watch film as a perfect entry point of Koreeda’s work.

Maborosi (1995)

Maborosi is Koreeda’s first feature film. It follows a widow who tries to rebuild her life after her first husband commits suicide. She relocates in a quiet coastal village to find happiness, but she can’t forget the weight of tragedy she bears on her shoulder – an unsolved emotional trauma. The film explores loneliness, grief, humility, and secrets, and notably doesn’t show any close-up of the main female protagonist in the first hour of the running time. It’s a beautiful slow-paced film that unhurriedly reveals the characters deepest pain. A rich and stunning mise-en-scene in every shot which won Best Cinematography at the 1995 Venice Film Festival.

The post Filmmaker Spotlight: Hirokazu Koreeda appeared first on Norwich Film Festival.

A Korean family makes a new start in Arkansas in the 1980s, where they find new challenges and struggles in the farming business and from within the family itself. The film beautifully balances their harsh reality with heart-warming and bitter moments. Nominated for six Oscars, Minari stands tall as one of the best films this year offers.

Directed by Lee Isaac Chung, Minari is a beautiful story of a family of five encountering multiple challenges as foreigners in the US. Hoping to achieve the American dream, Jacob (Steven Yeun) escapes from working in a hatchery back in California separating chicks by gender. Ambitious to start a new life, he buys his own land to grow Korean fruits and vegetables. Meanwhile, his wife Monica (Han Ye-ri) is concerned about their son’s health and the hospital being an hour away from home. She is also disappointed with her new life and anxious – without friends and unable to distinguish chicks’ genders with much speed. The daughter Anne (Noel Kate Cho) takes care of her brother David (Alan Kim), as well as the house while both parents are working. The arrival of Jacob’s mother-in-law, Soon-Ja (Youn Yuh-Jung) displeases David for not being a “real grandmother” because she “smells like Korea” and real grandmas “bake cookies, they don’t swear, they don’t wear men’s underwear”.

Before Minari, Chung produced films for several years and almost gave up on directing. As a semi-autobiography, the film mixes things that did and didn’t happen in his life; the role of Jacob and Monica working as chick sexers, moving to Arkansas from other US cities and his father farming. From the cinematic perspective, the film’s narrative is sentimental with a mixed point of view. Its cinematography and camerawork are delicate and beautiful, as are the performances.

Steven Yeun is the first Asian nominated as ‘Best Actor’ at the Academy Awards. He produces a great performance as Jacob, as multifaceted problems hit one after the other. Yet he keeps believing in his land even with the rollercoaster mood-swings between joy and despair. Moreover, the actress Youn Yuh-Jung playing the grandmother also presents an excellent performance that recently won the Best-Supporting Actress at the BAFTAs, and she is now nominated in the Oscars for the same award. “I really loved the spirit that she embodies,” says Chung. Likewise, Alan Kim has illustrated one of the best child performances in my recent memory, bringing a powerful mixture of emotions on screen. The performance of every character is on point, revealing profound and touching slices of ordinary family life.

Minari definitely continues the rise of Asia and Asians on-screen in today’s cinema. There is still much to look forward to in the future, continuing from last year’s four-Oscars winner Parasite (Bong Joon-Ho, 2019), and other films like Lulu Wang’s The Farewell (Lulu Wang, 2019), Crazy Rich Asians (Jon M. Chu, 2018), the animation Raya and the Last Dragon (Carlos López Estrada, Don Hall, 2021) and the winner of the short animation Bao (Domee Shi, 2018). The Korean American experiences in Minari have undoubtedly touched the hearts of all Asians that live in a foreign country. One important aspect is the interchanging language within the family, where the children are more ‘American’, but the grandmother’s use of language reminds us of the Korean culture. Furthermore, the existence of racism is highlighted while the family is in the church and one child asks David, “Why is your face so flat?” and another girl makes random sounds, wondering if anything sounds Korean. Even though the film focuses on the 1980s, racism is still present. Along with the recent Black Lives Matter campaign, racism is still everywhere. In relation to the STOP ASIAN HATE campaign, it hurts that Asians are being attacked out of nowhere. Even though Minari doesn’t over-emphasise the topic of racism, certain elements are presented. Remarkably, with a similar background, I feel very attached to this film—there are moments in which the stereotypes of culture and the decline of traditional values are captured so accurately.

Minari is the Korean name for water celery that is often used in Asian cuisines. It was planted by Chung’s grandmother, and it is known for growing well where other plants struggle. This makes the name of the plant a suitable title for the film about coping and struggling to settle into a place, even though many challenges and issues come from external forces and the inevitable reality like finances. The most important elements are the bond between the family, whether they can adjust to the changes, the struggles with the weather, an extra member at home or a new life. Minari is told with tenderness, tension, simplicity and sensitivity, a work worthy of us cherishing its every moment.

Minari is available to rent on digital VOD stores in the UK now.

The post Minari (2020) – Film Review appeared first on Norwich Film Festival.

Tangerine’s premiere at the 2015 Sundance Film Festival sparked a flurry of critical commentary; critics were astounded over the reveal that the film was shot entirely between three iPhone 5s smartphones. Shot on a budget of $100,000 in the streets of Los Angeles, director Sean Baker broke through conventional filmmaking techniques, impacting the industry and proving that a big budget, expensive camera equipment and studio space are not necessarily requisites to creating and producing a piece of cinematic art. Its unconventional method of filmmaking brought the film an incredible amount of attention, celebrating and inspiring amateur and up-and-coming filmmakers who dedicate their lives to creating cinema with limited resources. However, whilst this aspect of the film is noteworthy and undoubtedly worth celebrating, it is the cast and the story that functions as the film’s true defining factor, which in itself broke through more conventions and deserves every ounce of attention it received, if not more.

Tangerine takes us through the streets of West Hollywood on Christmas Eve, following the lives of best friends and sex workers Sin-Dee Rella (Kitani Kiki Rodriguez) and Alexandra (Mya Taylor). Fresh out of jail and upon the revelation that her pimp boyfriend Chester (James Ransone) has been cheating on her whilst she was locked up, Sin-Dee embarks on a revenge mission to find the woman Chester has been seeing behind her back, much to the dismay of Alexandra who lives her life drama-free. The film is a rollercoaster of emotions; it’s a dramatic frenzy interweaving comedy with tragedy, friendship and betrayal, anger and resolution, but most importantly, and what was failed to be mentioned at the Sundance Film Festival, is that Sin-Dee and Alexandra are trans individuals. Even more importantly, Sin-Dee and Alexandra are portrayed by trans performers, and the film’s main area of importance is the exploration of the African-American and Latino trans community that has failed to receive any attention or representation on screen, and that is often overlooked in events and days dedicated to celebrating women, notions of femininity and the feminine, such as International Women’s Day.

The reason that not only is the fact that the film represents and explores the story of two trans characters and that these characters are played by two trans women is important, it is that Tangerine was released in a period in which there was much discussion over trans representation on screen and within the film industry. The film follows a wide array of films and cinema that feature trans characters within their narratives, but cast cisgender actors and actresses to play these roles, such films include Boys Don’t Cry (1999), a dramatization of the story of Brandon Teena – an American trans male, played by Hilary Swank, Transamerica (2005) which stars Felicity Huffman as a trans woman, and more recently Dallas Buyers Club (2013), a biographical drama that stars Jared Leto as Rayon – a fictional trans woman. All three stars won various awards for their performances with Leto receiving the Best Support Actor Academy Award – the problematic nature of this has since been a core argument for many discussions surrounding the disregard of casting trans actors in trans roles. There has been an increasing amount of discussion amongst cis and trans performers alike over Hollywood’s disposition for casting cis actors in trans roles, the core worry being that casting non-trans actors in said roles is dehumanizing and that more often than not, these roles and characters function as spectacles or jokes within their narratives. Which is why Tangerine is such an important film to discuss not only in general, but especially on International Women’s Day.

Tangerine treats the trans community with respectfulness and tactfulness, it is a celebration of transwomen, women of colour, and transwomen of colour; marginalized identities and communities whom are often starved of any sort of representation on screen, let alone any positive representation. Rather than treating these women as spectacle or fuel for jokes and ridicule, Tangerine provides a rare and refreshingly tender insight into the struggles faced by transwomen of colour within their day to day lives. Additionally, Sin-Dee and Alexandra are both sex workers – a profession that unfortunately receives its own abundance of oppression – which only elevates the hatred these women face; the film addresses the resentment around and towards sex work/workers, but does not victimise them. Transphobic acts of violence are shown, calling attention to the very real threats these women are forced to deal with, due to the groups within society who show a lack of respect for those members who have been ‘othered’ by these same groups due to their refusal to depart from archaic heteronormative notions. The aftermath of these acts of violence are treat with care and respect, and does not detract from their suffering, rather it is acknowledged, and the strength of these women is brought to the forefront; admiring Sin-Dee and Alexandra’s defiance and their unapologetic nature.

In addition to foregrounding marginalized communities and identities, the film also highlights the importance of sisterhood; towards the denouement, Sin-Dee and Alexandra face internal problems within their friendship, with the revelation that Alexandra betrayed Sin-Dee by sleeping with Chester – understandably this deeply hurts Sin-Dee, and she attempts to pick up some clients as a means to take her mind off of the news, however she is met with more hate and discrimination, having urine thrown in her face and transphobic slurs spat at her. Her clothes and her weave are ruined – fundamental components of her identity and things that Sin-Dee cannot afford to replace. In an act of reconciliation and arguably the most touching scene of the film, Alexandra pays for Sin-Dee’s clothes to be dry cleaned, and offers Sin-Dee her own weave – which is more expensive, and is of finer quality. In the closing shot, Sin-Dee takes Alexandra’s hand in forgiveness; the importance of this shot and preceding scene is undeniable; it foregrounds the pair’s unbreakable bond, and acts as a tool and a figure of hope, symbolising and affirming the importance of female friendship and sisterhood – that nothing can come in between these women – not boyfriends, not poverty or the discrimination that they face.

Tangerine affirms that trans women of colour deserve to have their stories immortalised on screen and are worth representation. Tangerine is a symbol of hope and a celebration of female solidarity and it deserves to be recognised and to be appreciated this International Women’s Day, for its unapologetic and respectful exploration of trans women of colour. The film demarcates itself from past attempts to represent the trans community that have been let down by a failure to include trans performers, by presenting an authentic depiction that not only showcases and brings attention to transwomen within culture but also celebrates them. It is a beacon of hope and a wonderful paragon that exemplifies that we are moving forward in society; transwomen are finally receiving the recognition they deserve, not only within society as a whole but also within workforces and contemporary notions of gender identity – something that deserves to be celebrated this International Women’s Day.

Written by Rhiannon Talbot-Arnold

The post Why Tangerine (2015) is more relevant than ever this International Women’s Day appeared first on Norwich Film Festival.

The film’s first section tells the story of a teacher, Yuko Moriguchi (Takako Matsu), who reveals to her class of primary-schoolers that she intends to quit, due to the recent death of her toddler daughter. Through a lengthy monologue, a much more sinister reality is revealed, swiftly turning the plot towards one of revenge. This segment is short, fast-paced and tightly written, gradually disseminating exposition to the audience through Moriguchi’s soliloquy. However, whilst this style of gradual exposition is engaging, the choice to explain the film’s plot through a ‘show-not-tell’ format leads to some of the more dramatic moments falling somewhat flat. This is particularly true of the revelation of the crime’s perpetrators, which is framed as a dramatic twist despite the culprits responsible never being introduced to the audience before that point.
The second section of the film, which makes up the remaining runtime, focuses on the lives of the young perpetrators after the earlier events, as well as several of their classmates and family members. Like the first section, this narrative is framed largely through first-person narration, however moves between many different characters giving their personal accounts of events. This idea is particularly interesting, as it allows for a deeper dive into many of the initially one-note characters of the films first section- whilst exploring their distinct moralities and emotional reactions to the preceding events. This is particularly true of the film’s initial antagonists, who’s psychopathic and villainous demeanours quickly falter when their perspectives are shown.
However, unlike the short and concise first section, this part of the film is long and sprawling in terms of narrative flow. Whilst the movement between narrative perspectives is engaging, it often leads to the film repeating the same events over and over with little to no differences each time. Furthermore, as the plot goes on the more fanciful and ridiculous the story gets – almost to the point of farce. Several times throughout I ended up chuckling at what were meant to be gut-wrenching moments, due to them being framed in such an unbelievable and ridiculous manner.

Whilst the films narrative is somewhat spotty and mixed, its cinematography and post-production are absolutely fantastic. The camerawork is solid, with a variety of angles and perspectives that frame the emotions and tone of the scenes beautifully. Particularly of note is the film’s lighting, which is spectacular at certain points. It maintains a dull grey, borderline chiaroscuro aesthetic for the most part, contrasted by the varied use of bright sunlit skies and dark shadows during the films frequent flashback sequences. A personal favourite lighting technique is the use of a spotlight on a character’s face during their inner monologues – a particularly effective and creative idea to highlight personality and emotion.

The editing is crisp and sharp, with a variety of sudden cuts between scenes that keep the action exciting whilst creating a distinct air of menace and unpredictability. These sharp cuts can also be felt within the film’s sound design, which is equally exciting; completely shifting the tone of a scene in a matter of seconds. However, whilst the editing of the music is excellent, the film’s choice of soundtrack can often be somewhat jarring. Whilst sometimes utilising generically traditional instruments such as pianos and strings, the film mostly chooses to follow a score of hard rock music which undercuts much of the tone created by the other techniques. A particularly egregious example is after one of the early emotional revelations within the film an electric guitar heavy Radiohead song begins to play; completely obliterating all emotional investment held and replacing it with sheer confusion.

One final point that should be made about the film is its poor handling of certain sensitive topics, particularly that of HIV. The virus is used as a plot device several times throughout the movie, and the topic is handled with very little grace or decorum. Of course, the same could be said regarding many other plot aspects common within the thriller genre, such as infant death and physical assault, however the use of HIV left a particularly bad taste in my mouth.

Overall, Confessions is a fairly solid, creatively made picture taking a relatively simple narrative, small cast and handful of locations and creating a continuously engaging and interesting film largely through its techniques. That being said, its bloated, confused and downright bizarre plot, coupled by its overextended runtime and curious split, made it somewhat more difficult to fully enjoy. The film is unavailable in most digital formats, however second-hand copies of the DVD are common and cheap. On the other hand if you’re interested in a different film focusing on psychopathy and violence amongst Japanese high schoolers with an emphasis on morality, philosophy and psychology, I’d instead recommend Kinji Fukusaku’s Battle Royale (2000) or the 2006 anime and manga series Death Note, which invoke similar tones and feelings without a single Thom Yorke song.

Review by William Schofield

The post Confessions (2010) – Film Review appeared first on Norwich Film Festival.

There is a pivotal moment about one third of the way through Joanna Hogg’s latest film, ‘The Souvenir’.  It comes courtesy of a scene-stealing cameo appearance by Richard Ayoade, during which he berates the lack of good British musicals. The actual revelation is obvious to his character, but a bombshell to Julie (Honor Swinton Byrne).  The young wannabe filmmaker from a privileged background had begun a seemingly innocent relationship with the older Cambridge educated Anthony (Tom Burke), who claims to work for the Foreign Office.  His smart and seemingly sophisticated, charming air comes with an aloof and somewhat arrogant persona.  Whilst we can see the attraction for Julie, as Anthony provides some stability to her insecurity and makes her laugh, but the audience might have reservations from the beginning about his motives.  Anthony has a lot of input into Julie’s blossoming ambitions and keeps her motivated, despite his pointed criticisms and knock backs from some sceptical film producers, who query not wanting to create a story closer to her own experiences.  We can see seduction taking place and Anthony’s initial generosity, which includes a trip to the Wallace Collection to see a painting by Fragonard – ‘The Souvenir’ of the title – and to Venice. We meet both sets of parents, including Julie’s ‘conservative’ mother (Tilda Swinton) who insists they have separate bedrooms. We are reminded of the early eighties’ era through a typewriter which literally punctuates the narrative and dated film cameras. ‘Ghost Town’, ‘Stop The Calvary’ and most important to Julie’s film idea, ‘Shipbuilding’ (as sung by Robert Wyatt) pepper the movie with songs from that time. There is also some operatic injections and classical pieces, which remind us we are predominantly in middle (upper) class territory.

We are drip-fed evidence of Anthony’s troubles, as there is bruising to his arms, he borrows the odd tenner, then tellingly allows Julie to start paying for dinner. Furthermore, a burglary is not all it seems. She remains besotted and persists in hanging in there as she has ‘invested’ so much into the relationship.  But it’s not the hope that kills in the end.

It’s an intriguing piece of personal storytelling, made even more remarkable by the fact there was no script.  Hogg’s possibly unique style is to mix actors with non-actors, use improvisation techniques and get genuine reactions. We are, therefore, watching the main characters learn developments in the story organically, as they are being filmed, without knowing how things will pan out. What is unsaid speaks volumes as they digest the new information. Equally characteristic are the lingering fixed camera shots which make the audience feel like they are intruding in a fly-on-the-wall style drama. Extensive serene outdoor shots mirror the inner turmoil of her characters.

Hogg’s semi-autobiographical tale is raw and drawn from her own memories. It is clearly a film that needed to look and feel just right.  According to Associate Producer/Location Manager, Crispin Buxton, in the Q&A afterwards, from Joanna’s perspective she had the awareness early on that here was her personal story that would one day be told, naturally on film.  All the apartment scenes were shot in an aircraft hangar in West Raynham, Norfolk.  The meticulous attention to detail were created by replicating Joanna’s flat in Knightsbridge, using floor plans and all the props in that set were her actual possessions.

Honor could not attend the showing in person, but kindly recorded a video message whilst holding the stuffed toys featured in the film and told the Norwich audience she was there in spirit.  She also revealed a sequel, already principally filmed, would begin two days after the events of the first.

Written by Phil Longwell (@teacherphili)

The post Event Review – The Souvenir appeared first on Norwich Film Festival.

However, watching it for the narrative alone would ignore the exceptional tonal and generic qualities which also merit acclaim. Whilst the suspense and tension throughout are notably strong, they tend to falter here and there. Much more notable is the film’s quirky and exciting sense of humour, underlying much of its drama without undercutting it. Again, it’s difficult to discuss examples without spoiling several key moments, but the unusual blend of tension and humour pairs perfectly, helping the film be marketable to both comedy and action fans.

Possibly my favourite aspect of the film is its use of music throughout. With the protagonist being a pianist, he spends much of the film doing what pianists tend to. Allowing for a great utilisation of diegetic sound, having much of the film’s score both expressing the tone and tension of a scene, whilst also serving to further the plot. The scene within the apartment of Pramod Sinha (Anil Dwahan), a retired actor who’s hiring of the protagonist Akash (Aushmann Khurrana) to serenade his wife (Tabu) was gripping and acted as the linchpin of the plot. Equally, the succeeding scene in the restaurant is a perfect example of intensity and suspense, and had me glued to the screen. Don’t worry, you’ll know them when you get to them.

One of the best aspects of the film was its exciting and largely unpredictable plot. However, its within this excitement that the film’s biggest blemish exists, as it can often grow somewhat messy and confused at times. In order to remain suspenseful, the film jumps from plot-point to plot-point quickly, eventually leading to a degree of tonal whiplash. Other films such as Memento (2000) and Elephant (2003) feature similarly rapidly shifting and changing plots in order to create suspense. However, these films follow nonlinear narrative structures, and as such the shifts ironically feel less jarring as any unresolved threads are explained later within the film. On the other hand, Anandhun’s single linear narrative means that any plot points or themes that are moved away from are often simply left behind. Furthermore, characters frequently make odd and seemingly illogical decisions which, while moving the plot in unexpected and interesting ways, somewhat make it difficult to suspend disbelief. This can particularly be seen when certain characters repeatedly put their faith and trust into others, when those figures have been nothing but antagonistic to them in the past. I say ‘certain characters’ not to avoid spoilers, but because it happens multiple times with multiple characters, all of which will likely result in a single raised eyebrow from the audience.

In my eyes, the greatest victim of this tonal jumping is the overall abandoning of the romantic plotline between Akash and Sophie (Radhika Apte) that makes up the first third of the film. Unfortunately relegated to just a subplot in the second act, by the end it is nothing but an afterthought. It was the chemistry between the two, and the unique dynamic that the plot establishes, that had me initially invested. As such, it was a great disappointment when I realised a majority of the film would have nothing to do with them, and even more of a disappointment when it became clear the poster had effectively lied to my face. Perhaps this is a matter of personal taste, but I ended the film with a somewhat bitter-sweet feeling; having felt the grief of losing the film it could have been.

Ultimately, Andhadhun is definitely recommended for film fans of all shapes sizes, provided they don’t mind subtitles. Whilst it occasionally falters in terms of pacing and narrative progression, it more than makes up for it with creative cinematography, an astounding soundtrack, and an overall suspenseful and grippingly original plot. And, with the film being available on Netflix, there really is little excuse not to see it.

Review by William Schofield

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Pain and Glory, albeit slow and wistful, delicately tells the tale of Banderas as a film maker who reconnects with the lead actor from his most successful and decades old film, played by Asier Etxeandia. An interaction which serves homage to the real life relationship between Almodovar and Banderas whom once had argued and lost communication over a disagreement on a previous film. Combined with Salvador’s personal tripes with health and suffering as well as the telling of a motherhood through the eyes of Penélope Cruz, as Jacinta. The interactions between all three plots begin flippant and nonsensical but magically caress into one fluid story with plentitude of depth. In a similar fashion to Julieta (2016), Pain and Glory is largely focussed on recollection with fondness and regret of the past. Whereas in Julieta the timeline of the film is more comprehensive; however, in Pain and Glory this is introduced with less clarity and as a result inspires and surprises the audience with the final scene – truly encapsulating the entire film as one successful story.
Created as an almost spiritual ode to Almodovar’s incredible career, Pain and Glory is rich in emotion and sacrifice. A pivotal exploration in the film focuses on Salvador’s struggles with drug abuse which mirrors thematically with his own struggles with progressive cinema and a creative crisis. Much of Salvador’s character is a reflection of Almodovar’s own life, even though a fictional story Almodovar has self expressed that the film was conceived around his own life noting that he can no longer hide behind the character of Salvador Mallo. This authenticity gives further momentum to an already impressive film – it adds reality to fiction and impact to memoirs.

The beauty of the film can be found in an amalgamation of the photography and cadence of the language spoken throughout. White washed walls illuminated by the scorching sun paired beautifully with soft spoken syllables and words echo a rather enticing environment which helps to propel the feature along its patient pace. It’s slow progression allows the audience to become fully immersed within the hypnotising plot lines and guarantees a clarity which is juxtaposed through the lack of early congruence in the film.

In true Almodovar fashion, Pain and Glory teases audiences with a paradise of cinema which results in a satisfying pay off by the end scene. Pain and Glory may have been named so for Mallo’s narrative journey but for audiences the film remains Glory and Glory.

Review by John Cheshire 

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Midsommar opens with breathtaking stills of snow-covered trees under a twilight moon accompanied by relaxing choral music immediately halted by the transition to a busy city overlaid with a blaring car horn. An emotive hint at the progression of stress throughout the film. Dani (Florence Pugh; LADY MACBETH (2017)) is soon taken aback by some unfortunate circumstances within her immediate family lending to her persona quickly souring. The majority of the film sees Dani either upset or angry and this negativity is often in the company of her wavering boyfriend Christian (Jack Reynor; SING STREET (2016)). Tensions develop between the two which appears to be a driving force for the necessity for both to attend the mythic Midsommar festival in deepest rural Sweden. A complete contrast from the initial busy city to desolate countryside where everyone is bathed in white cotton fabric and appears somewhat ethereal and definitely not of this world – a genuine thought which came to mind when trying to decipher the plot twist before it happened on screen.

Dani and Christian are shown many unique but equally tantalising amenities in the minute inbred culture of the Midsommar festival which does very little to calm any doubt Dani has at any moment. The film insists on portraying future events through ornate Scandinavian depictions on tiles, paintings and drawings. These depictions are often used in great quantity without appearing obvious to the audience as if they were almost ‘Easter Egg’ style clues to be enjoyed on subsequent viewings. Many are brightly coloured and childlike with a sinister depiction which is an honest interpretation of how this story unfolds.

The prejudice audiences should have going into this film from the trailer and poster are enough to maintain a unnerving essence of suspense during pleasant and innocent scenes. At first the community are very welcoming and ultimately foetal in nature. A large amount of time is spent wondering how could a society so polite knowingly be so sinister? Soon answered after a disturbing double event, justified as an innocent ritual, shocks Dani and her friends and harks the first of many terrifying actions from unfolding.

The film is split into four quarters which mark the progression of Dani’s character from initially depressed to her newfound confidence towards the final minutes. Director Ari Aster (HEREDITARY (2017)) has said he wrote the story based upon a relationship breakup he had unfortunately experienced and this is subtly echoed throughout the film in a most shocking intense ending. Compared to his previous work, Hereditary, Midsommar is a break away from the ghoulish scare the former was laden with and spends most of its time utilising suspense and false promises to maximise uncertainty.

Hereditary is a very dark film by both nature and lighting whereas Midsommar is almost the opposite, especially when concerning the lighting. Set mainly in daylight in a town where it never really gets dark contrasts dramatically with the underlying sinister intentions of the film. Midsommar is rated an age certificate of 18 and exposes audiences to intense gory imagery. Although the certificate is accurate for small fragments of the film isn’t necessarily a valid interpretation for the film in its entirety. However, it’s the moments between gore strengthened by the unknowing of what to come which allows Midsommar to excel at filling its niche.

Florence Pugh has a tantalising comfort to her voice and personality which transfer beautifully to Dani as a confused and manipulated individual surrounded even by so-called friends in an unknown environment. The cast of Hålsingland natives instil a perfect notion of confusion and unnerve which allows Florence and the other cast members to become completely involved in Midsommar with no immediate sense of security or escape.

As a second feature from Aster, Midsommar is a beautifully unique endeavour which bears all the hallmarks of an Aster directed film. Being so thematically different from Hereditary it would be very interesting to see which ideas are explored in his third feature project. However, it is safe to assume that Ari Aster has found his specialty and is able to delivery time and time again.

By John Cheshire 

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Next up was the bluntly titled Little Shit (pictured below), about a small boy living in a housing project who proves to be more than the title suggests. The black and white cinematography as well as the concrete environment recalls La Haine, but Little Shit veers off into unexpected territory, involving human connection, fishing and our young protagonist’s compassion for his ailing mother. Youthful aggression is juxtaposed with tenderness, resulting in a grim but ultimately hopeful portrait.

The following film took the grimmest turn of all with Hope Dies Last. Based on actual records, this is a Holocaust drama about a concentration camp prisoner who served as barber to the camp commandant. Super text at the end of the film gives the viewer the accounts behind the story, but even before then the understated dread of the film has created an atmosphere of crawling fear. Director Ben Price’s great technique here is shallow focus, as the head of the commandant becomes a minefield as the prisoner carefully and precisely scrapes his razor across the skin. Never do either man speak nor do we see their faces in the frame at the same time. It is a chilling nightmare of fear and control, the sound of blade over stubble reflecting the pressure on the prisoner’s soul.

Things got subsequently lighter with Five Star Fouad (pictured below), a knowing and warmly affectionate heist comedy about a thoroughly incompetent bank robber. Dominic West is Gary, the aforementioned thief, who takes the time while leaving the bank to pick up a leaflet and then learns that his getaway Uber driver Fouad (Ken Davitian), is not where he was supposed to be. The ensuing journey involves cheerful banter that contrasts Gary’s desperation with Fouad’s cheerful acceptance. Throw in some comedic pratfalls and a sly ‘Hello To Jason Isaacs’ in the credits, and you have a fun little journey.

Profane and painfully funny truths were provided by F*ck (pictured below) in which parental bliss meets sexual frustration for a young pair of parents who find it hard to have intimate time together. The conflicting needs and desires of both parents are recognisable and likely relatable for many viewers. What is really remarkable is that the film expresses a remarkable amount of story and character within its compact narrative, ensuring that the viewer spends enough time with the characters to get a proper sense of their lives, without having to stick around so long that they become annoying.

The weirdest film of the evening was Leash (pictured below), a vicious social drama of Brexit Britain. A young Polish woman in a Welsh town runs afoul of a local gang who treat her nationality as an excuse for abuse and bullying. Spray paint, bicycle locks and cider cans play brutal roles in this tale of humanity’s inhumanity, which culminates in an outburst of violence and a strange suggestion of something more than human and even occult. Arguably, the film’s conclusion might suggest support for the anti-immigrant stance, or it might be a more explicit revenge fantasy. Either way, Leash makes for an uncomfortable but compelling viewing experience.

Another weird film came next with The Overcoat (pictured below), a dystopic comedy that somehow channels Terry Gilliam’s Brazil into a pub story. In a bleak city, a meaningless bureaucrat devotes himself to acquiring a new overcoat, to the exclusion of all other concerns. When he seems to find a means of engaging with people around him, all too quickly he loses it all. Or does something remain? With actors playing multiple characters, a roving camera that sweeps the viewer into the grimly funny world of the film, and an arresting production design, The Overcoat was a well-deserved nominee for Best Short Film.

To close the evening, the audience was treated to Sam Did It (pictured below), a deliriously bonkers dissection (literally) of morbid star worship. When Sam (writer-director Dominic Burgess), a morgue medical examiner, is brought the body of his favourite actor, Alfred Molina, he collapses into grief, adoration and some rather interesting fantasies. Worth it for the single moment when Sam beats his fists against the concrete floor only to discover that such beating hurts, Sam Did It keeps the viewer uncertain but amused throughout its engaging running time.

Norwich Film Festival is a marvellous event that showcases new talent and gives audiences a chance to see things they might not otherwise think of. Should anyone out there get a chance to see any of these films, do take that chance – you will not be disappointed.

Review by Vincent Gaine

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