Toronto Film Scene

TIFF 2010 Feed Issues

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:52:13 +0000

Hey there loyal feed subscribers!

Whether you subscribe to our feed by RSS, email, Facebook or Twitter, you may have noticed some funny stuff happening with it over the last couple of days. Further to our commitment to bring you the best TIFF coverage in the city, we’re trying to do it as simply as possible — which means you don’t have to do anything new… the coverage just comes to you!

We sincerely appreciate your patience while we get this issue worked out. We’re almost there! Keep hanging in. Don’t forget you can find all our awesome coverage at our microsite tiff2010.thetfs.ca.

Cheers!

The Toronto Film Scene staff

Elliott: Festival Video Diary #1

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:48:19 +0000

Click title to see Elliott’s first video diary.

Review: Soul of Sand (Pairon Talle)

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:46:23 +0000

Coming out of Soul of Sand (Pairon Talle), the most important question on my mind was, “Is the thriller genre the mode in which to address social concerns?” How can a voice for the unspoken be found in a film with looming archetypes who are never explored fully in a narrative where multiple story-lines converge and disperse quite rapidly? New Delhi director Sidharth Srinivasan attempts to address all of these concerns in this ambitious film about a doddling watchman, his wife, an abusive master and two young lovers.One of Srinivasan’s many focuses in Soul of Sand is providing a voice for those of the lower caste, which is done by way of Bhanu, a watchmen of an abandoned silica mine where he lives with his wife in servitude to his abusive, overbearing master. Included in the overall story, however, is Twinkle, the master’s daughter and Daya, her lower caste lover, who can never be together as Twinkle is arranged to be married, which further complicates the narrative. The two attempt to run away to be with one another, but their plans are foiled when a mysterious stranger arrives to hunt them out on behalf of Twinkle’s father.

So on one hand we have the story of the lower caste rising up and becoming an equal by defeating the upper caste’s sense of righteousness, and on the other hand we have the story of a cold-blooded hunter who stops at nothing to complete his task. The melding of these two ideas is tough and ultimately fails in Soul of Sand. The mysterious stranger not only looms in the picture, he steals it completely. It has been some time since audiences have had the chance to see such a ruthless character, and as he too functions as a member of a higher caste, lording over audiences, he ultimately restricts the viewer.

Granted Srinivasan does break ground for a new form of Indian cinema in the film by way of confident cinematography, that does not stray from a gruesome scene but rather pursues it fully, the multiple diegesis become muddled in a film that did not warrant it. The less-clever Bhanu could have become the hero of the film if the struggles of the lower castes were adhered to, however the stranger overwhelms Bhanu’s possibility out of the sheer mystery he creates.

For fans of the thriller genre this film delivers, however, those looking to witness the new wave of Indian cinema will find themselves underwhelmed by Soul of Sand. While it is a step in the right direction, a bit more refinement must occur before this new era truly unfolds.

TIFF ’10: Discovery Programming Announced

Review: The Fourth Portrait

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:43:15 +0000

Serious dramatic films centered around children are always a tough draw, and unfortunately a black and white issue. With so much focus placed on the child within the film the whole piece is either a success or a failure; there is very little room for compromise. Di Si Zhang Hua’s The Fourth Portrait is no different. It is a tale of a fractured family, and a little boy struggling to piece his life together in wake of the death of his father.Xiang, played quite effortlessly by Bi Xiao-hai, is a 10-year-old boy who loses his father in a quiet hospital room in the opening of The Fourth Portrait. The sense of quiet is carried throughout by young Xiang who approaches his new new status as an orphan with stoic grace attempting to fend for himself. Quite soon he befriends an elderly janitor at his school, who teaches Xiang the value of trash and manages to unite him with his estranged mother, now living in Taiwan. It is through the strained relationship with his mother and step-father that The Fourth Portrait truly shines. Xiang’s mother is revealed to be a prostitute and her husband suffers a murky past at the suggestion of Xiang’s older brother, who is now missing.

As mentioned, Xiao-hai’s acting is quite effortless and convincing in being a little boy lost in the world. While he does not enjoy as many lines as some of his co-stars, his silence provides them with enough atmosphere in which to work and craft their own niche in the film. This is seen in Xiang’s befriending of an twenty-something man by chance in a washroom. While their dynamic is certainly not of the brotherly variety, the camaraderie is easily felt as Xiang’s slight suggestions of happiness come across in waves. Similarly his uncertainty and timid nature is equally felt when with the mother he has not seen in many years.

Just as Xiang is mostly a silent character, Hua’s filmmaking is equally silent but does his film a great service through this technique. Through it’s fluid camerawork the audience is cast much like a ghost when viewing the film. We are allowed lingering glimpses into these lives without the burden of actually viewing them. In a sense we are much like Xiang’s older brother, and this ghostly vantage is solidified with Xiang’s step-father’s confessional which may be one of the most powerful moments on film in 2010.

For those with the patience for a slow-burning family drama slightly coloured by the influence of Ozu, viewers of The Fourth Portrait will be rewarded in spades by this gem.

Review: Mandoo

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:42:29 +0000

In the wake of this week’s announcement from President Obama that “Operation: Iraqi Freedom” has come to a close, it is fitting to view a film about Iraq and an Iranian family desperate to help their father/uncle back to their homeland in the wake of violence and failing health. Also in the wake of this promise for full control of their own nation, it is equally fitting that director Ebrahim Saeedi employs a unique cinematic style as a device to create identity.As violence in Iraq reaches a fever pitch Iranian Kurd Shaho decides to move his wife, daughter, and dying father back to Iran in hopes of peace and conditions conducive to his father’s health. Shortly before their journey begins Shaho’s cousin, Sheelan, an Iranian Kurd refugee now living in Sweden and practicing medicine, employs Shaho to bring his family to Sweden where conditions are much more favourable. This begins a struggle for the length of the film between the differing ideals of prosperity and safety, and the attraction and call of the motherland. Even despite his best attempts to shake Sheelan and leave her on the side of the road, this passionate woman keeps finding her way back to the van they are travelling in, much to Shaho’s dismay.

What makes this film interesting is not the story, rather it is director Saeedi’s decision to tell the story through the vantage point of the dying father. From the beginning of the film the audience is the father, granting the camera a sense of liberation which is not married to the narrative. In fact, numerous times due to the location of the immobile father, the narrative will continue offscreen or on a much more distant plane that is not entirely visible to the audience. As a member of the cinematic community in the middle east this is an interesting perspective for Saeedi. Too often directors attempt to tell a story rather than let a story unfold, and through the point of view vantage, the story of Mandoo certainly unfolds naturally.

Unfortunately Saeedi breaks the spell of enchantment that this film could have possessed. Though only a few seconds in length the audience is given its reflection in the form of the father looking at himself in a mirror. This is enough to completely change the feel of the film from something that could be experienced by any and all, to a very specific story with a very specific image in mind, as the father is presented quite differently than expected. By this token Mandoo is not a refreshing attempt to create national identity by way of cinema, rather it is another attempt to force a story on a nation rather than letting the nation tell its story through the camera.

Review: 40

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:41:48 +0000

Part of the appeal of international cinema is the opportunity (at least for North Americans) to view what the rest of the world makes of something that has become so commercialized, the meaning watered down. So what happens when a foreigner director makes a foreign film that borrows quite heavily from Hollywood action films? Usually you get a fresh look at a tired genre that focuses too much on the brawn and loses the story; luckily for Emre Sahin’s 40 this is not the case.

In a case of bad money gone missing, 40 is the story of three separate people who come into possession of errant funds they want to claim for themselves. The short version is that Metin is a runner for the local mafia with a streak of bad luck, who loses the bag of money in an earthquake which is found by lovesick Godwill who is hit by Metin’s car accidentally, who loses the money to numerology-obsessed nurse Sveda who eventually runs back into Sveda. That’s the box score version, but the journey of 50,000 Euros has never been so fun, and that’s the name of the game in this film – fun. Not once is the audience forced to side with any of the three or decide who needs the money most. Through odd documentary style interviews Metin, Godwill, and Sveda’s stories are told and we learn to root for each in their own way. For Metin we want this loser to only have a single shining moment; for Godwill we want him to reconnect with his childhood romance; and for Sveda we want her to escape her dead-end marriage.

It’s not just a refreshing story that makes these characters so enjoyable, but also the quality of the acting in 40 – it is superb. Ali Atay as Metin is hardly what we would consider a heartthrob, Deniz Çakir’s Sveda pulls off a numerology-obsessed yet outwardly composed nurse with grace, and Ntare Guma Mbaho Mwine as Godwill is beyond spectacular. This should come to no surprise to fans of TV’s Heroes and Treme, which Ntare delivered on both.

Structurally 40 is solid, briskly paced, and hardly wastes a scene. As a part of the “City to City” program we are not restricted to back alleys and unknown corners of Istanbul the way were were in Dark Cloud. In fact, Sahin utilizes the whole city and is not afraid to call it an intermediary destination, as is the case in Godwill, or a jumping-off point in the case for Sveda. Too often local directors become too enamoured with their city to call it what it ultimately is to some, just a city, a place to pass through. With this brutal honesty and a very clever “ah-ha” moment to tie the whole film together, 40 is bound to be remembered from this year’s festival, and if not, will be the sleeper hit that will get its due at a later date.

Review: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Review: Mother of Rock

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:41:07 +0000

A lot of credit is due to Australia and their recognition of some of greatest rock and roll acts before they ever became big. Well, credit is due to one particular Australian whose name is typically lost nowadays amongst the Lester Bang’s of the glossed over history of rock journalism – Lillian Roxon. Roxon’s history is the focus of Paul Clarke’s interesting and revealing documentary Mother of Rock.

As mentioned, Lillian Roxon isn’t as well-known as she once was but music fans the world over owe her a great debt. An Aussie immigrant who always had dreams of seeing the world and writing about it, Roxon saw a generation of rebellious youth set in motion in her home country, and then ventured to New York City to take on the rest of the world. Once establishing herself as the queen socialite of the new art and music movements, Lillian’s world became the world of a young Bob Dylan, Andy Warhol, Iggy Pop, and the infamous Max’s Kansas City.

Having passed away in 1973, we are left with Roxon’s writing, however her recorded phone conversations live on, as well as many of her contemporaries, so the wealth of information and anecdotes to draw from is remarkable. Clarke relies on speaking with any and all who knew Lillian, even if there was a level of animosity when she was alive. Clarke offers no judgements on Roxon’s life, but chooses rather to set a scene in which Lillian isn’t at the forefront, reminding the audience that she was part of a scene. It is through this painting that the purpose of the rock writer is to not be a trailblazer, but to rather mesh into their surroundings. Clarke coaxes this out through a splendid interview with Iggy Pop who has never spoken more vividly than he did in his interview in the film. In fact, one gains a greater appreciation for one of the leading frontmen of the time, who is more akin to a caveman after hearing about his days at Max’s with Andy Warhol, certainly a setting that isn’t expected.

As for Roxon she did her duty, she captured the moment in her Australian and American columns, noted the rising acts, but also the rising trends, such as feminism, and let the material and ideology speak for itself. If Lillian Roxon wasn’t known well prior to this film, then Paul Clarke certainly achieved his task by crafting a wonderfully fun rock doc for the world.

Review: The Human Resources Manager

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:40:07 +0000

If film and literature have taught audiences one lesson for ages it is that the journey is always more memorable than the location. But how much does the journey matter then when the journeyer is deceased? In Eran Riklis’ The Human Resources Manager he approaches the concept of location and the importance of a final resting place in this touching Israeli drama.

With no proper names attached to each individual character, the film’s title doubles as the label of the lead character – a human resources manager for a Jerusalem bakery. One evening he is called to explain the whereabouts of a missing employee, Yulia (the only character named in the film, if she can be called a character), who died earlier that week in a suicide bombing attack. After an onslaught of pressure from one feisty journalist, the HR manager is forced by his employer to ensure that Yulia receives a proper burial with her family in Russia. Here begins the journey for the group which includes Yulia’s son, the husband of the Israeli consulate, and a driver who enjoys his drink too much.

On an emotional level The Human Resources Manager certainly manages to connect with its audience. Each character, despite being nameless, is really fleshed out at moral level, and it is their moral nature that not only adds a touch of sentiment to the film, but also incorporates a level of humour that is just enough to offset the piece from being too weighty. The seamless nature of storytelling comes naturally to director Eran Riklis who barely wastes a moment on screen. If there is one gripe it would be the desire to make the main character, the HR Manager, too multi-dimensional by incorporating his personal life which is never really wrapped up in the film. In fact if this was removed we would still have an excellent portrait of a man lost in the corporate system who defines his true character through the burial of a woman he has never met.

Overall Riklis has crafted a fine piece of fare that is certainly worth considering. Rarely does his style impede the overall production which is more heartfelt than opinionated or political, and as such, the story reigns supreme. This is guaranteed to be a sleeper hit of the festival.

Human Rights Docfest 2010 starts Friday

Review: I am Slave

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:39:29 +0000

Gabriel Range managed to turn heads with his 2006 film Death of a President, the film that put forward a fictional account on the assassination of President George W. Bush. Now Range turns his camera to a more realistic form of fiction, creating a story centered around the rarely-discussed African slave trade that plagues Europe today in his film I Am Slave.

The film centers around a young Sudanese girl by the name of Malia who is a member of the royal family in her village. Her father, a proud and strong man, is ripped apart from his daughter in the night when northern raiders destroy their village and take the helpless youth to sell in the capital Khartoum. As a youngster of about eight-years old, Malia is purchased and put to work immediately by an overbearing housewife who trains her in the duties of cooking, cleaning, and minding the house. Malia’s age however results in a number of beatings from her “master” as tasks are not completed properly, or Malia lets her childhood spirit run free, such as playing with other children. Eventually Malia is given away by her master to a relative in London who needs help. Now at the age of 18 Malia is a virtual prisoner in the home she is responsible for in London, until the family driver urges her to find her freedom.

While Range’s previous work felt convoluted and amateur at best, a sense of maturity certainly shows itself in the work of I Am Slave. Not only is the acting memorable, Range manages to tell a tale of abuse that is coloured with hope as is seen in one key scene with Malia in Khartoum when she sees her father who has moved to the capital in hopes of finding her. Wunmi Mosaku, who portrays Malia offers a nuanced performance that is subtle but speaks volumes upon closer inspection. In fact, the closing scene which focuses on Malia, is one of the most gripping moments in film that hasn’t been seen in a long time.

The story of I Am Slave is eye-opening in itself and manages to make a very real problem a fantastic story with depth. By crafting the entirety of Malia’s story, the audience is drawn to her much more intimately. However Malia serves as the face of a very real problem, which Range never loses focus of. The gripping nature of the film creates a necessary dialogue about a problem many thought was over at the close of the 19th century; however we are shown that this past is still very much a problem of today.

Review: Norberto’s Deadline

Trista DeVries — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 05:38:55 +0000

What happens when an unsuccessful real estate agent finds his voice? In the case of Daniel Hendler’s Norberto’s Deadline he moves from one pillar of mediocrity to another while being sure to lecture audiences about the methodology behind acting through an amateur theatre production.

Hendler’s story is about Norberto (Fernando Amaral), a soft-spoken middle age man who has not found his purpose. Recently losing his airline attendant job, Norberto turns to real estate to give him a spark. Unfortunately the work is less than fruitful which causes stress in Norberto’s marriage to a wife who reaches wits end with her husband’s inability to find his calling. Norberto’s inspiration comes one evening at the theatre after which he signs up for amateur acting classes culminating in a final production.

For Daniel Hendler, an accomplished Argentinian actor, a film about actors, acting, and finding one’s voice, this story should have been easy to tell. This is not the case however in this feature-length directorial debut. What could have been a charming comedy instead feels awkwardly assembled and it’s difficult to connect with the humour of the entire situation. More often than not Hendler relies upon awkward and trying moments in Norberto’s life to provide comic relief; however these feel more painful than humourous (except for the instances with Norberto dealing with an elderly couple who are moving out of their apartment that he is attempting to rent to new tenants).

Additionally the film becomes very difficult for audiences since half way through, Hendler seems to shift his focus from the narrative to the art of acting. Norberto’s acting coach is too strong a presence amongst this weak cast, so his expounding upon Chekov and the nuances of the craft become a lecture to audiences rather than a story about a theatre production. To enjoy this film, one would have to have been immersed in the world of acting, the late night rehearsals and awkward classes, but for the majority the biggest deadline in Norberto’s Deadline is quickly exiting the theatre.