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Song Without a Name – A Steep Climb

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Life is hard for those on the edge of society. It is often made harder by official indifference of authorities. It is even worse when the authorities feel free to take advantage of such people. Melina León’s film Song Without a Name shows just how such injustice can take place.

Inspired by real events, the film is set in Peru in 1988. There is economic chaos with astronomical inflation. But for Georgina and Leo, an indigenous couple in the Andes, life is lived day to day. Leo is a traditional dancer, Geo sings traditional songs, and they get by selling potatoes on the street. Geo is pregnant, and when she hears a radio ad about a clinic that will provide free medical care for expectant mothers, she takes the long bus ride into Quito for an exam. When she goes into labor, she takes that long bus ride again, gives birth, and encouraged to sleep. When she wakes up, she’s told the baby is at the hospital, and forcibly ushered out of the clinic. When she returns the next day, the clinic is gone. It was part of an operation to provide black market babies for adoption abroad.

On her first visit to the clinic, there were children jumping rope in the courtyard. As the jumped they chanted, “Single, married, widowed, or dead, divorced mother or not, you are worthless.” That rhyme reflects the official indifference that Geo encounter when they report the kidnapping to authorities. The police ask for her identity number, and when she doesn’t have one, she’s asked how they know who she really is. It seems to end any caring by the police, because to them she is a non-person.

It is only after she goes to a newspaper and finds a journalist willing to investigate that we discover that this is an ongoing concern that has official protection. But even when it is brought to light, there is likely nothing to be done about finding Geo’s daughter.

The film is an interesting mix of this story, and a look at the life of indigenous people such as Leo and Geo. The film begins with Leo and others dedicating his new dance clothes, and a celebration of dance and song. Those folkloric interludes show the richness of life that they share in, even if their everyday life may seem a struggle. For those who treat them as “worthless”, these scenes are a statement of the great value they actually have.

The songs are also very much tied into the grief and pain that Geo is going through. Lyrics include, “Time is the longest distance between two places”, “I don’t want to die alone far away”, and “Express bus, where are you taking me”.  These all reflect Geo’s emotional turmoil. The height of this is when we hear her sing a lullaby to her absent daughter. The emptiness she feels is palpable.

The cinematography of the film (which is done in Black and White with a 4:3 aspect ratio) places us in a world with steep landscapes. Geo and Leo navigate those difficult ascents and descents day by day. Their life is a constant uphill climb. Theirs is a precarious life. But others have their own uphill battles, as we see in a subplot involving the journalist as he enters into a relationship with an actor in his apartment building. Being gay also puts him on the edge of society, even though he has a respected professional position.

I first saw this last year at AFIFest. It’s interesting that when I recently watched it again, I made almost as many notes as I did with the first viewing—and mostly about other things I was noticing. That speaks to the abundance this film provides at a variety of levels. It is a blend of  emotional, spiritual, visual, and aural components that invites us to consider the lives of those we may see, but not truly see.

Song Without a Name is available on Virtual Cinema through local arthouses.

Photos courtesy of Film Movement.

I Used to Go Here: Starting Over Where You Were

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Written and directed by Kris Rey (It Was Great But I Was Ready to Come Home), I Used to Go Here tells the story of Kate Conklin (Gillian Jacobs), a young author about to release her debut novel. When her receives less-than-stellar reviews, Kate is hurt and frustrated by the response. When she receives an invitation from her former professor and old crush (Jermaine Clement) to speak at her alma mater, Kate jumps at the chance return to her old college as a published author. However, as she revisits her past haunts and relationships, she soon begins to slide back into her old life as a student with all its misadventures and misplaced feelings for her former professor.

Entertaining and earnest, Go Here is a fun coming-of-[middle] age comedy that looks at what happens when the dreams of our youth never truly meet reality. The latest film produced by Lonely Island, Go Here continues to develop their brand as having an eye for comedy that never loses the honesty and soul underneath. While the film features an enjoyable cast of newcomers (Long live Tall Brandon!), it’s veterans Gillian Jacobs and Jermaine Clement that truly anchor the piece. A veteran of notable comedies like Community and Netflix’s Love, Jacobs continues to bring an affability to her characters that also shows inner courage and strength. In Go Here, her talents are offset beautifully by Clement’s David, a professor who is struggling with his own sense of self-worth and stability as well. 

Held up as both mirror images and polar opposites of one another, David and Kate are both weighed down by the decisions they’ve made in their lives and the regrets they carry. While David fades away in a fractured marriage, Kate struggles with the compromises that she has made within her writing in order to get published. However, whereas David seems trapped within the outcomes of his life choices, Kate’s heart years to rediscover the youthful passion for life that she once held before the ‘reality’ of adulthood set in. (“Life is not like school. It’s not a safe place to try things out,” she exclaims, frustrated.) Though far from immature herself, Kate’s return home stirs an attraction to the innocence that she felt as a college student. 

Yet, in this film, nostalgia can only take you so far. 

Though visiting the past can be life-giving, Go Here also recognizes that remaining there can be toxic as well. Having moved on with her life, Kate’s return home may offer some sense of renewal and refreshing but she herself doesn’t quite fit in anymore. The draw to step into her old life seems appealing on the surface but she remains hesitant. (In fact, even the title of the film itself suggests the value of being one who has moved on.) To Kate, old friends and sites are welcoming as she looks towards the next chapter of her life, yet she still struggles to find a future there. 

After all, she has changed, even if her hometown has not. 

As such, at its core, I Used to Go Here points to the idea that hope may lie in the future, even if some form of refreshment lies within the past. Filled with heart and humour, there’s an indelible charm within the Rey’s script that keeps the film engaging throughout. Embedded with a mature youthfulness, Go Here speaks to what it means to rediscover what we have by taking a look at what we had.

Even if we can’t really go home again.

I Used to Go Here premieres on VOD on August 7th,, 2020.

A Thousand Cuts – Journalism vs. Authoritarianism

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“She believes that shining a light is the most important thing.”

A President who claims news outlets lie. Social media bots that spread misinformation. Intimidation of reporters by both governmental and unofficial sources. A leading reporter arrested multiple times. The government, meanwhile, is conducting its war on drugs by killings across the country. Yet the press continues to strive to bring truth to light. A Thousand Cuts shows us the way the freedom of the press is under attack in the Philippines, and by extension in other places.

Documentarian Romona S. Diaz began to do a film about President Rodrigo Duterte’s deadly war on drugs, which has resulted in nearly 30,000 deaths. Duterte is a populist who pushes a culture of fear and portrays an image that relies on toxic masculinity taken to an extreme. He makes no excuse for the killings. When questioned about the legality of it all, he threatens (without subtlety) reporters who raise the issue. He also uses networks of social network bots to spread his venom toward specific reporters, putting them in danger.

Soon, Diaz shifted to focusing on the reporters who are striving to maintain a free press in a hostile environment. The most obvious focus in Maria Ressa, a woman who was included in the 2018 Time People of the Year group of “The Guardians” (reporters around the world facing persecution and arrest). Ressa heads the Philippine news service Rappler. Even when faced with the power of the state, she and others continue to seek the truth. Ressa is arrested twice during the filming. She posts bail and keeps at her work and travel.

As Americans are in the midst of an election season, we may want to pay close attention to the ways news is shared—and often misused. When Duterte’s propaganda people seek to put out misinformation, they use a network of online bots. It is noted that 26 fake accounts can influence 3 million other accounts. (And you wonder why there’s so much political trash filling your Facebook page?)

While it may be easy to make comparisons between Duterte and President Trump (and there are several parallels), it has to be said that Duterte easily outdoes Trump in terms of vulgarity and overt hostility to the press. But because there are some clear similarities, it is worth taking noted that this is not just an issue half a world away. As implied by Time naming The Guardians to its prestigious recognition, a free press is integral to democratic government. When those in power attack the press, they erode the foundations of democracy.

In one scene in the film, Maria Ressa is questioned by someone from the public of why it should matter to them that the press is being harassed, as long as their communities are free of drug dealers. (They aren’t really, but the government keeps killing the poor under the rubric of a drug war.) Ressa riffs on a famous holocaust poem by Pastor Maritn Niemoller, by adding a line, “First they came for the journalists; we don’t know what happened after that.”

How do we judge our sources for news? Are Fox News and MSNBC just two sides of one coin? Do we trust what the government tells us? Do we trust the fact-checking sites? Do we trust the many claims we find in Tweets and Facebook or Instragram posts? If a lie is told often enough and loud enough does it become its own truth? The role of journalism in keeping us informed is vital to any country’s hope of making wise, informed decisions about government.

A Thousand Cuts is available on Virtual Cinema through local art houses.

Photos courtesy of PBS

Peninsula: When Zombies Mirror Reality

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A sequel to the South Korean zombie film Train to Busan, Peninsula is set four years after the events of the initial outbreak and follows a new cast. Jung-seok (Gang Dong-Won), an ex-military and survivor of the outbreak, and his brother-in-law, Chul-min (Kim Do-Yoon) are treated as second class citizens after escaping the now quarantined South Korea and flee to Hong Kong. Wanting to change his life, Chul-min decides to take a deal with a Chinese gang in order to acquire millions of dollars. The catch is that the money is in a truck that is stuck in the now apocalyptic South Korea. Worried about Chul-min’s safety, Jung-seok joins him and his squad to get the money. Intent on surviving the hell that awaits them, they must fight both zombies and the psychotic survivors of South Korea in order to get their money and leave.

Directed by Yeon Sang-Ho, Peninsula showcases the pain of the survivors of the outbreak and the manner in which they handle their pandemic. As we endure the reality of a global pandemic ourselves, this movie couldn’t have been timed better either. As they fight to survives, selfish human behaviour is fully on display. For example, in the beginning of Peninsula, as Jung-seok leaves South Korea, he abandons both a family begging for help and his elder sister and child in order to save himself. Considering himself a good man, Jung-seok tries to convince himself that he did all he could under the circumstances. Survivors hoard food. Factions divide the population.

While the film was completed far before the global pandemic, actions such as these mirror the self-justifications that we have seen in real life. For example, when faced with the outbreak of COVID-19, people raided grocery stores took as much as they could for themselves and their family with no regard for others. Even now, as the current pandemic has slowed, people are refusing to wear masks as they value their own comfort than the lives of others.

In an ironic twist, while on his mission in South Korea, Jung-seok encounters a horde of zombies and is rescued by the very same people that he abandoned four years earlier. Faced with his own selfishness, Jung-seok has a chance to do all that he can to help them. As the film goes on, the classic opportunity for redemption arises and Jung-seok must decide whether or not he will attempt to pay back the very survivors that he had left for dead in the first place.

I loved Peninsula. Director Yeon Sang-ho creates a truly immersive apocalyptic world. There’s lots of great shots of the destroyed South Korea that show the audience the vastness of the destruction, and how South Korea has fallen as a country. This is especially true within the set design of 631 unit’s compound, which creates a realistic—and horrifying—area for survivors. Throughout the film, there was never a moment where the film feels unrealistic in tone, and the CGI moments are well-implemented.

While the zombie theme has become a common in recent years, I personally think Peninsula is one of the few films that gives the genre new life. Peninsula handles its narrative extremely well and, through no fault of its own, is also timed perfectly, considering the current global situation. Through Jung-seon’s journey, we see that human selfishness and greed lead to nothing but misery to those involved. Peninsula understands that, by working together, we are able to get through hell which, frankly, is something we need to hear during the very real pandemic that we find ourselves in today.

Peninsula is in select theatres across Canada on Friday, August 7th, 2020.

The Art of Horror: 1on1 with Jay Baruchel (RANDOM ACTS OF VIOLENCE)

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It takes a lot to scare Jay Baruchel.

As a long-time fan of horror, he believes that the genre has fallen creatively stagnant as of late. So, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

With Random Acts of Violence, his latest turn in the director’s chair, Baruchel (who also co-wrote the script with friend, Jesse Plemons) decided to take matters into his own hands and create the type of film he wanted to see onscreen. Though Violence does not fail to offer all the blood and gore that the title suggests, it also maintains a psychological edge that drives the narrative. Having passionately crafted the film over the last decade with friend Jesse Chabot, he could not resist the opportunity to create something unique that fought against the current trends that he has seen onscreen.

“As a fan of the genre, I find myself just rarely scared by anything that I see,” Baruchel observes. “Rare is the horror film that is a good movie and actually scares me. I just also kind of developed a bit of a personal distaste for this kind of idea of what a horror film had to be. Basically like 10 or 15 years ago, a bunch of investors realized that they could put a little money into something that would make them a bunch. Then, all of a sudden, we had this rash of self-contained genre films, which are very transparent in why they were created. For me, it’s an art form that is terribly important to me and I cannot separate my love of cinema from my love of horror movies. I think, when it’s at its best, it’s a very pure, very direct art form and it lends itself to some pretty special stuff. So, I just tried to make the movie that I wished was out there.” 

Random Acts of Violence tells the story of Todd Walkley (Jesse Williams), the creator of Slasherman, an R-rated comic book series based on a real-life serial killer. Having decided to end his wildly successful series, he ventures out onto a press tour with his publicist, Ezra (Baruchel) and his girlfriend, Kathy (Jordana Brewster) in order to promote the final issue. Along the way, they visit the town where the original Slasherman caused so much harm in the past and inadvertently awaken the same murderous beast that Todd’s story sought to idolize.

While Baruchel has a deep love of horror, he also maintains a passion for the world of comic books. (He even recently invested in Chapterhouse’s revival of classic Canadian hero, Captain Canuck.) Based on a comic of the same name, Random Acts of Violence finally gave him the opportunity to bring a comic to life onscreen himself. Given his experience in the industry, he felt like he could create a story that both celebrates the source material and brings something new to life as well.

“It really starts from there being a really interesting story and staring off viewpoint in the comic book,” Baruchel explains. “It just got stuck in Jessie’s head and in my head. At a certain point, the only thing that matters is serving the story as well as we can. So, at a certain point, we allow the document we’re creating to start to live its own life, which means it’s beholden to its source material but only to a certain point. There comes a moment where the movie starts to want to be something on its own. You have to decide [if this] thing that it wants to be that is different than the comic is worth doing,”

“In terms of the aesthetics, I think maybe subconsciously, we wanted it to look like that,” he continues. “But I think, more than anything, our way in with our camera and our lighting and our color palettes was more just kind of arch. We wanted really strong arch colors and light and shadows and that happens to be how a lot of comics are created. So, it ends up looking like that. Now, in terms of what my experience with ChapterHouse and Captain Canuck lent to it, I knew exactly what it would be like to be on a Comic-Con tour and the cramps and headaches that the owner has to look forward to arriving at a venue. So, I think there’s some [place] in the movie where I’m yelling at the guy who owns a comic book shop about a box that he can’t find. That seems to happen at every Comic-Con. That seemed to be a bit of a comic industry banality that could be something funny and real. So, some of my years in admin in that world definitely informed vibes in this movie.”

When he thinks about who has most influenced his work, Baruchel believes that some of the best aspects of the film stem from both the comic world and classic horror cinema. Though most of his examples are well-known classics, his recognition of one of Kubrick’s most famous works stands out as surprising.

“Alan Moore’s [work in] From Hell, I think is as good as use of the comic book medium as has ever been created,” Baruchel points out. “I would also put Preacher up there. Everything Garth Ennis did for the years that he wrote ThePunisher [is] really, really, really important to me. Then, I would have to say, for horror flicks, it would be The Exorcist, the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre by Tobe Hooper and John Carpenter’s The Thing. To be honest, I think still The Exorcist is probably the scariest movie ever made but I think what might be neck and neck with it [is something that] people don’t think of it as a horror movie. I think I would argue that 2001: A Space Odyssey is probably the scariest movie ever made. So, I will spend my life trying to recreate even a moment from that film.”

As is the case with any work of art, both comic and horror culture are digested and viewed differently with each audience member. For example, while some may celebrate horror for its grit and darkness, others feel uncomfortable and even angered by what they see. In regards to this, Violence opts to discuss the relationship between artist and audience and, in particular, the creative power and responsibility that the creator may (or may not) recognize that they hold.

“It’s an inherently kind of relative experience as an audience member consuming a work of art,” says Baruchel. “I was trying my best to show every bad thing that can come from this. It was a sort of mental target. It’s more about this idea that one can divorce oneself from responsibility for anything one puts out into the world, which I think is as absurd as the concept that video games and comics make people kill people. I think those are both two very facile, silly, absurd philosophies… When Todd has made a Faustian bargain and even if he thinks that his book is victimized by critics, part of him as a rational man has to agree with at least part of what they’re saying. So, he knows ultimately that even if he believes his work has more merit than people seem to believe it does, he knows what his fan base looks like and he knows ultimately how will come across in the cold light of day. So, it’s about the sort of spectrum of responsibility that he was able to keep at arm’s length, getting closer and closer to him until the end.”

Having said this, one of the great debates surrounding horror films is the distinction between violence as art and fetishizing evil. Asked where he believes the line between exploitation and art lies in the genre, Baruchel believes that, while that line is subjective, it often stems from the author’s sense of authenticity.

“I think it’s a question that we don’t necessarily provide a clear answer to which is deliberate,” he answers. “I think there’s some stuff which the film kind of takes a specific moral philosophy and standpoint on but there’s other stuff that is more kind of contributing to a debate and a conversation that I feel should happen. That being said, with those movies that I watch, I know in my heart of hearts when something is feels truthful and something feels kind of fetishistic. I’d point to a Quebecois movie, Les 7 Jours du Talion (which is called in English, 7 Days), and that movie is really harsh. It’s just one guy torturing another guy in a room basically for a whole movie and [with a] great degree of realism. That’s a harsh watch but never once does it feel cheap or false. Never once does it feel like a love letter to violence and it doesn’t seem to be sort of wallowing in it. So, to answer the question, I think it’s kind of hard. It’s this almost amorphous thing that we call truth. I think you can tell when something warrants its aesthetic and, I feel, I think you can [tell] when it is ugly for the sake of ugly. I think it’s a terribly relative thing because every single one of us watches the same movie [and we are] going to have some different reactions to it. So, that would be my kind of instinct is that it speaks to more the truth behind it. [For example,] why Seven is important and a lot of other movies about a serial killer aren’t.”

Within Violence’s healthy dose of blood and gore, it’s also interesting to note the significant amount of religious imagery in the film that is often used to give depth to the murderous mayhem. Having grown up in a religious family, Baruchel recognizes that the emotional challenges of his upbringing serve as an influence within the film’s visuals.

“Basically, I’m kind of a child of two cultures to a degree. My dad is Sephardic Jewish, first generation, and my mom [comes from the] type of Irish, English, Scottish Canadians, and deeply Catholic,” he responds. “Some of the most impactful, not necessarily best, but most impactful moments in my childhood are tied to religion and Catholicism specifically. I was in Catholic school from Grade One through Six and have hated the entire time as a result of it. I like to tell people that I was raised with two different, but very potent, forms of guilt from Jewish culture and Catholic culture. This is the best way I can say it. I remember my mom reading me the Bible when I was a kid and she got to the story about Noah. I started like bawling my eyes out uncontrollably. At three years old, [I was] bawling my eyes out. Why would God want to do this? And then, Catholicism has a lot of really beautiful stuff but it is very deeply violent. You grow up going to church and in class and seeing Christ eviscerated and brutalized. It’s drilled into you. So, it’s impossible for me to kind of separate blood from awe, because it was drilled into me from a childhood and from years and years and years in church. My relationship with the church is still kind of like a weird, tenuous one. I reject most of it and yet I still feel a degree of safety and comfort when I’m in one. So, there’s a sort of push and pull in me that kind of finds it finds its way out and manifests itself in this movie.” 

Of course, a unique blessing for Baruchel is the chance to film within his home country of Canada. While he admits it might have been easier to work somewhere else, he feels that one of the great blessings of filmmaking is the opportunity to contribute to the cultural make-up of his home country.

“This is my home. It’s where I’m from, and this is where I’m most comfortable,” he begins. “The other piece of it is I feel what many could call a silly obligation to English Canadian cinema. I want to know that, for better or worse, I contributed to the cinematic language of my country. I want to know that I added something to our kind of cultural tapestry. It would be more convenient, I think, for me to have gone elsewhere potentially but I know that, at the end of the day, even if I got to create some really special stuff, I would’ve contributed to another country’s culture.” 

“For me, my great shame is that I never joined the army, if I’m being perfectly frank. That’s not a joke. That’s something [that’s always haunted me since I was a kid, that I didn’t do a lot of my uncles and my granddad and my cousins did. I don’t mean to say that I am comparing this movie to what any of my uncles or grandad or cousins did and join the army but it is, in some way, a way that I can kind of contribute and help. Countries come and go, but art sticks around. I would like to add to this country as best as I can.”

For full audio of our interview with Jay Baruchel, click here.

Random Acts of Violence is available on VOD on July 31st, 2020.