ScreenFish

where faith and film are intertwined

Official Oscar entry

1982 – Love and War

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Oualid Mouaness’s 1982 is a story about fear and courage, love and war, innocence and maturity. The film is Lebanon’s official submission for Best International Film consideration.

For fifth grade student Wissam (Mohamad Dalli) the end of year exams aren’t a problem; he’s a top student. What he is worried about is if he will be able to tell classmate Joanna that he loves her. He doesn’t understand the import of what is going on in the world—that Israel has invaded his country.

His teacher, Yasmine (Nadine Labaki) is fully aware of the dangerous times. Her brother is going south to fight with the Christian militia. She has an ailing father. She is in the middle of the political conflict that is represented by her brother on one side and her fellow teacher and boyfriend on the other. As the school day goes on, the contrails and sound of planes are a constant reminder of what’s happening. In time the sound of explosions rumble in the distance, then nearer. Plumes of smoke rise out of Beirut where the students live. Dogfights happen in the sky above.

The story moves back and forth between Wassim’s attempts to get the courage to talk to Joanna and the adults in the story trying to deal with their own worries and at the same time keep calm in the classrooms. It makes for a useful contrast between the innocence of childhood and the dangers and troubles of the adult world. But in time, the film wants us to understand that relationships—and love—are a key to being resilient in the times of trouble.

The childhood storyline is really the more compelling one. As he talks with his friend about his desire to make himself known to Joanna, and Joanna talks to her friend about who could have left the anonymous note in her locker, the sense of the power of childhood love is very clear. It is at once both scary and something we crave. It is a reminder that even in the midst of terrible and fearful events love has the power to transform us. It has the power to save us. For Wassim, we see that power come forth in the end with a bit of magical realism to save not just his love for Joanna, but his city.

The film triggers in me a touch of a contrast between scriptures. The Apostle Paul wrote, “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I thought as a child, and I reasoned as a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.” That thought fits well with the adults in this story as they must deal with the realities of the war drawing close. But there is also the story, “[Jesus] called a child, whom he put among them, and said, ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”  1982 captures both of those perspectives. And it calls us live in the light of both.

1982 is available on VOD and via virtual cinema through local arthouses.

Photos courtesy of Utopia.

My Little Sister – Bonded for Life

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Switzerland’s entry for Best International Feature, My Little Sister (Schweterlein), from directors Stéphanie Chuat and Véronica Reymond, is the story of a bond between siblings. It also asks the existential question of what is life if we cannot live it out?

Lisa (Nina Hoss) is a playwright who has not been writing. Originally from Berlin, she now lives with her husband Martin (Jens Albinas) and children in Switzerland, where Martin is the head master at a private school. Lisa’s twin brother Sven (Lars Eidinger) has been battling leukemia and is now able to leave the hospital. Lisa takes him to a theater in Berlin where he was scheduled to perform Hamlet. But in his absence, another actor has been working in rehearsals. Sven’s desire to be back on stage is overpowering, but he’s not physically up to the task. Lisa is determined to give him one last chance to be on stage. But her efforts take her away from her family, both physically and emotionally.

As Sven’s health rapidly deteriorates, Lisa begins to write a play for him to perform—a monologue/dialogue based on Hansel and Gretel. The play is really about the bond between these siblings, who have been together for all their lives. But what will be left of her family once Sven is gone?

While the story of the issues facing Martin and Lisa are an important part of the story, the real emphasis is on the relationship between Lisa and Sven. They have an almost mystical bond. Both are tied to the theater. They create a kind of yin/yang. But what will happen if that bond must be broken?

The directors note that within the theater community in Germany, “An actor who doesn’t perform doesn’t exist. He is erased from memory.” That is a key understanding in watching this film. Is Lisa still a writer if she is not writing? If not, what is she? While Sven has been sick, is he “erased from memory”? And what about when he dies? Will he be permanently forgotten?

But this is not just about if we might forget loved ones who are gone. (We don’t.) It is about knowing how to live out who we are. That involves what we do and how that fulfills us. It also has to do with the relationships we have with others—family, colleagues, friends, strangers.

The irony of the story is that Lisa, in trying to give Sven life through a new play, actually finds her own connection to life in her writing. Often times it is in service to another that we can find our true selves.

My Little Sister is available via virtual cinema through local arthouses.

Photos courtesy of Film Movement.

Blizzard of Souls – Latvian Pride

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Latvia’s official entry for the Best Foreign Feature Oscar is Blizzard of Souls from director Dzintars Dreiberg. The film is based on a book by Aleksandrs Grins, which was banned in the Soviet Union. The film has been the most watched film in the history Latvian cinema.

The story follows Arturs (Oto Brantevics), a young Latvian farm boy, from the beginning of World War I. Latvia, at that time, was a part of the greater Russian empire. When Germany invaded Russia, the patriotic fervor swept all the men into the army—into a Latvian battalion. Arturs was too young to sign up (a few months shy of seventeen), but his father (who was too old, but well experienced in an earlier war) give his permission and the both, along with Arturs’ brother all enlist.  Training camp seems like a big game, with most of the younger men not taking it seriously. But soon they are at the front and the reality of war is overwhelming.

We follow Arturs through injuries, the death of those close to him, the Communist Revolution (which enlisted the army for support), eventually disillusionment with the Revolution, and enlisting in a new Latvia force to gain the country’s independence, which it held during the period between the wars.

The film is a Latvian version of All Quiet on the Western Front, in that it shows the dark side of the First World War with its trench warfare and the use of gas. The dream of fame and glory of those going off to war quickly becomes a matter of survival as all those around you die. The film is a realistic depiction of the brutality and horrors of war. It also shows the brutality of the Communist rule in the early days of the Soviet Union. (Which accounts for Grins being shot and the book banned.)

But unlike the Erich Maria Remarque book, this film ends with a celebration of Latvian nationalism. This film is clearly a film that speak to the Latvian people. Some of the history seen here would need no explanation to Latvians. North American audiences may feel that the transition from Russia to USSR to Latvian independence is missing a few steps along the way.

Blizzard of Souls is available through virtual cinema at local arthouses.

Photos courtesy of Film Movement.

Collective – The Press, the State, and Trust

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“The way a state functions can crush people sometimes.”

In 2015 a fire broke out in Colectiv, a Bucharest nightclub. Twenty-seven people died because there was only one exit. The corruption that allowed that to happen enraged the populace and led to the fall of the Romanian government. But after four months, thirty-seven other victims died in hospitals because of infections. Collective, from German-Romanian director Alexander Nanau, takes us into the controversy, the investigation, the governmental response to these new deaths, and the reasons behind those deaths.

We learn that while Romanian officials were telling their people that their hospitals were as good as any in Europe, in reality, they were a disaster. The main problem, we discover, is that the disinfectants that were being sold to hospitals were extremely diluted, making them completely ineffective. The company that made the products provided bribes and kickback to administrators and officials. As the investigation is underway, the owner of the company dies under mysterious circumstances.

Nanau has brought us an observational documentary. There are no interviews or voice overs. Rather the camera allows us to be present for a variety of events. It takes us into the newsroom of Sports Gazette (Gazeta Sporturilor) where Cătălin Tolontan leads a group of investigative reporters. We meet a burn victim who models for art photographs. We go to press conferences with the Minister of Health as he tries to defend the corruption being discovered in hospitals and the government. When a new Minister of Health takes over, he allows Nanau access to his meetings as a way of being transparent.

It may seem a bit strange that the investigation seems to be led by a sports journal. Tolontan had experience with investigative stories dealing with the government, mostly with the Ministry of Sports. His expertise was an important part of why the story ended up in that newspaper, which is among the most read in Romania.

One of the key issues involved in the film in many ways is trust. Whom can we trust? The government spokespeople? The reports from labs who test the disinfectants (those labs are accredited by the government)? The doctors who run the hospitals? The press? The filmmaker?

When Vlad Voiculescu becomes the new Minister of Health halfway through the film, he shows a great amount of trust by allowing Nanau to bring his cameras into his offices. Voiculescu, as an outsider, wants to establish transparency so that the people can have a sense of trust. The idea is that trust will beget trust. Voiculescu seeks to bring reforms to the health care system, but he is challenged by some who want to undermine his efforts.

I should note that the film doesn’t end on a hopeful note. As the new election looms in Romania, Voiculescu is faced with the idea that the reforms he was beginning could vanish when the next government takes over. That election, in 2016, reflected the populism that was also taking place in other countries, including the US and the UK. It may make us wonder about where we place our trusts—as individuals, and as a society.

Collective is the winner of several awards from film festivals around the world. It is Romania’s official submission for Best International Film consideration.

Collective is available in theaters and on VOD.

Photos courtesy of Magnolia Pictures.

Wednesday at AFIFest 2020

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My cat has enjoyed AFIFest 2020 Presented by Audi a great deal this year. She rarely has a chance to spend a whole afternoon on my lap when I actually have to go to movies. I doubt she realizes the qualities of movies she’s sleeping through. She’s missing out on some very good stuff.

The documentary Collective, by German-Romanian filmmaker Alexander Nanau, arrived at AFIFest with a load of festival awards. It takes place in the aftermath of a tragic 2015 nightclub fire that claimed 27 lives. The corruption that that fire exposed led to the fall of the government, and a new temporary government of technocrats. Yet, another 37 victims of the fire died over the next four months, mostly from infections. All the while the Minister of Health claimed the hospitals were among the best in Europe. When journalists discovered that the disinfectants being sold to hospitals were blatantly diluted, a new scandal erupted. This film takes us inside the controversy, the investigation, and the attempts at the new Minister of Health to create a better medical system.

The key quote I found in the film: “The way a state functions can crush people some of the time.” This is one of many films I’ve seen this year that portray the need of an independent and trustworthy press for democracy to function. Collective not only speaks to that need, but is clear that the power of government can be overwhelming. This film is Romania official submission for Best International Feature Film Oscar consideration.

In Ekwa Msangi’s Farewell Amor, an Angolan immigrant in New York is reunited with his family after seventeen years apart. Walter came to America following the Angolan Civil War, his wife Esther and daughter Sylvia went to Tanzania. It has taken all this time for Walter to get permission for them to join him. Meanwhile, their lives have gone in different directions. Esther has become quite religious. Walter has made a life for himself—with another woman. Sylvia, in high school, has her own dreams. There are chapters in the film that give us the perspective of each of these characters. It is interesting how dancing keeps coming into play within the film. The characters find identity, both separately and as family, in dancing. At times that dancing may be a source of conflict, but it can also be the beginning of healing.

You may wonder if there are ever any comedies at festivals. Yes, in fact I took one in yesterday with My Donkey, My Lover & I by Caroline Vignal. Antoinette, French fifth grade teacher, is having an affair with Vladimir, the father of one of her students. When he cancels a romantic getaway to take a hiking trip with his wife and daughter, Antoinette decides she will do the same hiking adventure and surprise him. Totally unfamiliar with hiking, she hires a donkey for the journey. Naturally, it becomes a comedy of errors as Antoinette must deal not only with Patrick the donkey, but with her total lack of hiking ability. When she does manage to run into Vladimir and his family, the awkwardness and revelations become a bit more than she expected. The trip turns out to be a way for Antoinette to come to better understand herself and opens up new possibilities for her.

Our Mothers – Fleshing Out the Truth

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The aftermath of the Guatemalan Civil War and genocide is the background for Our Mothers (Nuestras Madres) from Belgian-Guatemalan writer/director Cesar Diaz. The film received attention at various festivals, including winning the Camera d’Or at Cannes Critics’ Week. It was Belgium’s official submission for Best International Feature Oscar consideration.

Ernesto (Armando Espitia) is a young man who works for an agency that identifies the remains taken from mass graves. They assemble the skeletal remains, test DNA, and return the bones to families for proper burials. He has a personal stake in this process: his father was among those who were disappeared during the Civil War. When an indigenous woman from a rural areas asks him to exhume the bodies near her village, she has a picture he thinks might include his father in the group of guerillas. His mother Cristina (Emma Dib) tries to discourage him, but he wants to know the truth. When he arrives at the village, a number of women show up wanting to bear witness to what happened. We don’t hear their testimonies, but we see a series of visual portraits of the women.

When he returns home, and continues his work, he receives word that his father’s remains have been unearthed. It is at this point that the question of truth begins to come to the fore. Cristina is getting ready to testify at a trial of some of those responsible for the genocide. The truth she shares is not the story that Ernesto has heard all his life. There are things she has tried to shield her son from. But now it all becomes known.

The fact that much of this film takes place in the presence of bones provides an excellent metaphor. The opening shot is of bones being placed together to make a complete skeleton. The bones are not the whole person. They are not themselves the story or the truth. They only remind us of what once was. The real story must be built around this framework, and what is missing is as important as what we see. The bones are not the truth, but as we hear the stories told about these people, the truth takes on flesh.

In press notes, Diaz says he had started off to make a documentary about survivors of the genocide, but when he heard the accounts of rural villagers, he wanted a different way to tell those stories. He says that in the Guatemalan Indian tradition, things must be spoken to bring them into existence. The film is not actually about the stories (although we hear a few of them); it is more about the importance of speaking and hearing the stories.

The trial that is going on throughout the film has grabbed the attention of the society. It is on TVs and radios everywhere Ernesto goes. He is captivated by the stories. But oddly, when his mother is in the car with him, she keeps wanting to turn it off. We understand later that she does not need to hear the stories; she lived them. But is does become important for Ernesto to hear those stories—even the ones that Cristina tries to protect him from. The truth is not just what happened in the past. The truth only becomes real when it is spoken and heard.

Our Mothers is available through Virtual Cinema.

The Whistlers: Cops and Robbers and Robber Cops

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It is amazing how complicated heist movies can be. That’s their nature. Pulling a gun and asking for money doesn’t really make for a movie plot. But if you can steal something through various steps, and then twist things up with double and triple crosses, you have a story that even when we aren’t sure what’s happening, we want to see how it all works. The Romanian film The Whistlers from writer/director Corneliu Porumboiu is such a film. The Whistlers was Romania’s submission for Oscar consideration last year.

We first meet Cristi on his way to the Canary Islands. Here he reconnects with Gilda, an archetypical femme fatale. What we will discover little by little, is that Cristi is a corrupt police officer. He has been recruited by a gang of criminals to help a prisoner to escape. For this plan to work he must learn a whistling language used by criminals. (Yes, there really is such a language.)

Also, little by little we learn the background is that the gang has been laundering money through a mattress factory in Romania. They want their money. But when police begin to close in on the factory, the gang wants to get their money back. The leader of the gang is ruthless and deadly. But when the chance comes for some of the characters to get rid of the gang and keep the money, things get increasingly complex. And the complexity is mirrored in the fact that the film uses three languages (Romanian, Spanish, and English) intermittently. (Four languages if you include the whistling.)

This is not a film with good guys and bad guys. There are some people we are rooting for (especially Cristi and Gilda), but everyone is corrupted or corrupting. There are now Robin Hood type of motives involved here. The money isn’t going to be put to some noble use. The immorality of this group would lend support to the Calvinist belief in the total depravity of humanity.

We are, though, drawn to Cristi. Maybe because he doesn’t have a strong personality or will. He is seemingly carried along by the plot, rather that the mastermind. He takes advantages of situations, but isn’t really the instigator. The only thing he really has going for him is his love for Gilda. But is she really worth his devotion? Would she reciprocate? Or is it enough that Cristi acts to win her?

The film can be a bit hard to follow at the start. It helps to have brief overview while you get your bearings in the film that goes back and forth in time. But it is an enjoyable ride that ends up with a scene of great beauty.

The Whistlers is available for rent via Virtual Cinema. Check your local art house website or https://www.magnoliapictures.com/virtualcinema.

1on1 with Jan Komasa (CORPUS CHRISTI)

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I recently had the opportunity to speak by phone with Jan Komasa, director of the Polish film Corpus Christi, which is on the shortlist of films being considered for an Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Feature. The film is the story of a young man (Daniel) who impersonates a priest in a small town parish. The film is due to be released in the U.S. in the spring of 2020.

First off, congratulations on making the Oscar shortlist for Best Foreign Language Feature.

Thank you. Thank you. It came as a huge surprise, out of 90-some films. Yeah, a lot of people were working on this, at least to get it out to the members. Getting through a huge number of films, it’s a huge obstacle without a very big budget, because we don’t have a huge budget for promotion. We’re very happy.

 I see the film’s done well at film festivals. How has it been received in Poland?

So far, so good. About 1.4 million people saw it in cinemas, so the turnout is great. As far as I know the sales agent has sold it to around 40 countries, I believe. So it’s going great, for people with money.

That wasn’t my purpose to be honest, in the first place. I just wanted to make it sincere. To be honest, I’ve made some blockbusters already here in Poland, so I sort of know how it is. I’m not interested in big success. I’m interested in success, but not financial success. All of this, it might be overwhelming, but I don’t feel like I care that much about it.

This is a film that’s based on real event. Could you say a bit about how you heard of the story and made a film about it?

My scriptwriter, Mateusz Pacewicz, he was the one who heard about this. When he was eighteen years old he became obsessed with people pretending to be priests or people of faith in Poland—people of faith as officials of church. As it turned out there are several cases each year of imposters—fake priests. Not a lot people know about it because the Church is not happy with it either—being so easy to manipulate people with just wearing priests’ robes and collar. There’s such respect for priest, for Church, here in Poland, that people don’t ask you for credentials. They don’t check you out. They just believe that you’re not going to fool them or cheat them. Especially in rural areas.

So I didn’t know about it. We’ve heard some crazy stories about imposters every now and then. There was one case in 2011 where a guy was a fake priest for four months [including] May and June, which is during [the feast of] Corpus Christi, and he helped organize Corpus Christi in one of the small villages in rural Poland. That was the basis of Mateusz’s article in the newspaper. First it was a fiction short story, then he wrote it into an article. Thanks to the article he was approached by one of the top producers here in Poland who wanted to acquire rights for the story. And Mateusz decided to write it himself, with the help of the producer.

They found me and sent me the script. I was fascinated by it, but not too much. I sent them my commentary on the film and the process. They fell silent for two or three months.  After three months they sent me the revised version script, and it turned out they implemented ninety percent of my comments. It fit well with the script. I felt very, very lucky and I should appreciate it because while reading it I saw my film, but I also met this amazing guy, Mateusz, who I’ve already made another feature film with, and it’s finished.

What struck me with the film—with the project—at the beginning was, I’m Christian and my biggest fear—I have a huge family. I have three siblings. My parents, and my wife has four siblings. Everyone married. Almost everyone has kids. So when we sit at the table there’s thirty of us. My biggest fear is that—the family was always like a bubble. I felt secure in it. The family is like number one subtheme in my films. I have another project about family. So, I love family sagas like The Godfather. My biggest fear came when—I feel that around 2014-15 a huge national socio-political change came to Poland, not only to Poland, I could feel it going on everywhere, leaning towards ultra-conservatism. There’s been many reasons for it. But what happened with nations, with continents, is there turns out there’s a huge gap between tribes. There are tribes. That was the first thing to notice: there are tribes. The other thing is the gaps between tribes are huge. A gap of that size simply doesn’t allow people to come together and talk freely with each other.

Unfortunately it affected my family as well. The divide was not only cities and countries and streets, but families, and my family was one of them. My biggest fear was that one day it would all blow up, and people who were very close you feel are strangers. When I read the script for Corpus Christi I felt like it totally nails it—this fear of one community, which craves some kind of union, but it just fails. The community is broken, fractured. People know that and feel the hurt, but it’s just too much. It’s just too difficult for them to come together, to get over it.

The idea of a stranger coming to town and trying to do good, spread love, sort of learn the language of conversation using basic Christian values and approach—so Christian that sometimes it might be unheard of, even politically in the official Christian Church—at least in some places in Poland—that it might be revolutionary. Which is something, I think, is very basic today. Like, let’s just talk and come together. We’re not going to kill each other over differences. We’re all one species, so let’s just talk and do something about it. We don’t have to agree about everything. And the idea of having a healer, even when he’s fake, for me at least, was revolutionary and thrilling and refreshing. It just refers to a lot of my fear—and dreams at the same time.

One of the things about Daniel is that he’s broken too. When he comes to this community, he understands brokenness.

That’s right. Actually what’s tricky about this script, it might be very effective when it comes to creating paradox, which I really like in cinema. It’s great food for thought, if it’s written well. And here I think it was by Mateus remarkably well. We have two films in one. One film is about an imposter—a guy who uses his fake identity. I can easily imagine a film only about that. But there’s another film here about fractured community. I can also easily imagine a film about somebody, let’s say a real priest, but young, replacing the old priest at the parish and he comes and discovers there’s a mystery and a challenge, and he heals people. But here the two films are setting side by side together in one project and it gives a huge opportunity to play with paradoxes.

So for example, as you said, you have a broken person, who thanks to his brokenness, he relates to the broken community. We have a fake priest—somebody who cheats and lies. But at the same time he is able to squeeze out the truth from people. We have a patient from a juvenile detention center, and he runs a therapy on people who are not patients, but apparently behave like patients. We have a community which feels rejected by the overall society, and they don’t hesitate to reject other people too. Daniel is a broken character to start with, and he knows the bitter feeling of rejection himself. So when he finds that rejected people reject others, he finds the black sheep in the community, and he feels for her. He knows how it is to be out of the community—to be condemned by all. His mission becomes to get them together. I found it thrilling when I read it, and very rare in a feature film, that so many layers are conversing with perception and soul at the same time.

I saw in an interview that you think of this as a Protestant film. How so?

Protestant meaning probably a cultural thing. Poland is predominantly Catholic. Protestant in the way, at least stereotypically, in the way priests are with their community. In my understanding, there’s a certain wall between the priest and the community. At least here in Poland. The Protestant approach seems closer to people. Not every Protestant approach, obviously, but the barriers between someone who’s a priest, someone who’s a pastor and his community seem less severe, with less restrictions. I’m not saying there’s none because it’s impossible. It’s a function. It’s a social function, a church function. So it always creates some obstacles, obviously. But there’s a feeling that priests are not like regular people.

I was growing up with this, surrounded by this strong Catholicism. During Communism, Poland was very religious, because it was religion, but for fifty years it was religion that kept us going as a nation. Churches were the only places where we could gather freely—at least that’s what we thought. We felt we were independent in church. So a lot of intellectuals, people who are artists, people who today we would say they’re more affiliated with leftists—they found their home in church. That was the only place they could feel free—more free. After fifty years, when freedom was regained the Church sort of shelter wasn’t needed anymore. There’s a lot of people who after thirty years of being free as a country, we feel like the Church detached from the society to a huge extent. I feel the detachment is so great now, and I’m telling you, this as a Catholic, the Church became politically affiliated, especially with the right wing. They let nationalists, with the flag and the hate rhetoric, through its gates.

Suddenly, for people like me it became too hard to find our place in church. Not to say we were super active before, but still we felt—I felt too—that maybe, I don’t know, we became like two different species, tribes, too much. I just couldn’t find a relationship with church—my relationship with church—that significant. So I’m not the only one. But it doesn’t mean I’m not spiritual. I’m talking about me because it’s easier. I’m not generalizing. But I feel like I’m an example of many, many people who feel the same way. I feel like the community is still spiritual, as it was. Nothing changed in that matter. People need to talk about fundamental values and the sense of it all, not only philosophically and intellectually.

Since a lot of us felt we were sort of alone with this, but we don’t find any partner in Church anymore—the Catholic Church—we started to look for alternatives. That was probably Protestant church, which is not significant in Poland, became an option for a lot of people. A lot of now talk about Protestant church before talking about leaving church at all. I think that probably why Protestant church feels like the approach people are missing.

But that’s probably why this film, at least in Poland, was called a Protestant approach film. Like what is a guy who just wants to be closer with people without building too many walls around him because of the office he wields, just breaks barriers and wants to be very direct with people and more down to earth, almost like a pastor. Of course, it’s another generalization. To be honest, as I’ve said, we’re predominantly Catholic, so not much Protestant church in Poland, compared with knowledge as American about Protestant church. It’s complicated. I’m not an expert, but I feel like the Protestant approach is a bit more direct.

One of the lines that I find important in the film, and for me the theme of the film, is when Father Tomasz tells Daniel, “Each of us is a priest of Christ”. I thing that is often times seen as a very Protestant concept. We are all priests, not just the one who is designated as priest.

Okay. I think you’re right. I think that’s the theme. We don’t have to be designated to share Christ’s word, right?

Thursday at AFIFest 2019

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As AFI Fest 2019 Presented by Audi draws to a close, it is time to thank the festival and it’s press office for allowing me to attend and report on the festival. I also want to thank the countless volunteers who helped to make the festival run smoothly and make sure I got in the right line when it was time to do so.

I am one of many people who has enjoyed Oliver Sacks’s books about various neurological maladies. Oliver Sachs: His Own Life is a documentary by Ric Burns. Burns was given very important access to Sacks in his final months before dying in 2015. The film tells of his life, his struggles (which include drugs and coming to grips with being gay). Above all, though, it paints him as a man who was amazingly empathetic and curious about people—especially patients with various neurological problems. He says that he always wanted to know what it was like to be another sentient being—to be another human being. That empathy is what made his books such a joy to read. When I read them, it was not just seeing some strange person or their illness; it was a chance to learn what it was like to be them as they lived with their malady—or in some cases, their gift.

In Corpus Christi from director Jan Komasa, Daniel is paroled out of the juvenile penal system and sent to work at a sawmill in a distant town. When he arrives, instead of reporting to work, he goes to the church to pray. When asked, he says he is a priest. He has a clergy collar and is taken to meet the local vicar. When the vicar becomes sick the next day, he asks Daniel to fill in for him a few days. Daniel has served as an altar boy, and would like to become a priest, but his conviction prevents him from going to seminary. Soon he’s hearing confession, presiding at mass, giving last rites and all the other things priests may have to do. In time, of course, his past will catch up with him. What I found interesting about the film is that even while knowing what he was doing was wrong, Daniel strove to do what was right. He applies the kind of tactics the chaplain in his facility had used to help the villagers work through grief and anger stemming from a traffic accident that killed several young people. At times we also see the awe that Daniel feels as he realizes what he is being called to do. While some may think it is anti-church in saying there is nothing special about the priesthood, it does serve as a reminder of the idea of the priesthood of all believers. Corpus Christi is Poland’s official Oscar submission for International Feature. It will open in the US in the spring of 2020.

Tuesday at AFIFest 2019

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It’s nice to be able to compare notes with others at AFI Fest 2019 Presented by Audi. You get to hear what other people have seen and were impressed by, or just compare notes and confirm that what you saw was pretty bad. Sometimes such discussions can make you rethink your schedule.

I opened the day with Searching Eva, a documentary film by Pia Hellenthal about a young woman (at the time, see note below) in Berlin. She is a sex worker, blogger, and model. In the film she self-identifies as bisexual. I went in thinking this could be really bad. But she has an interesting view on the world and lives her life very freely and openly on her own terms. The film includes some of her blog posts and comments made by others on her blog—some supportive, some dismissive, some questioning. Whether her lifestyle and philosophy appeal to you or appall you, Searching Eva is an interesting look at a unique person. [Note: Prior to the screening, the festival program mentioned that the subject of the film has since transitioned to male. For the purpose of this review, I use female pronouns to fit the subject at the time of filming.]

An interesting coincidence with the next two films: both are stories about women, motherhood, and struggle. In Adam, from director Maryan Touzani, Samia, a young heavily pregnant woman, goes door to door looking for work and a place to stay. Abla, a single mother and baker, reluctantly takes pity on her letting her in for the night, then a few more. Abla’s daughter Warda is happy to have someone else in the house. Abla as tired, cold, and perhaps a bit bitter. As the days progress, the two women find strength in each other for their struggles. More, they find strength to hope for something better than life has given them so far. Adam is Morocco’s official Oscar Internationals Feature submission.

Maura Delpero’s Maternal is set in a home for unwed mothers run by a group of nuns. Lu, one of the mothers, is very rebellious. She is frequently in trouble with the nuns. One day she leaves, abandoning her young daughter Nina, with Lu’s roommate Fati, who has a son and a daughter on the way. Nina is very taken with a newly arrived nun, Sister Paola, who is yet to take her perpetual vows. Nina asks to sleep with Sr. Paola, and soon a very close bond begins to form. Does this cause Paola to have second thoughts about her vows? When Lu returns, what will that mean for Nina? Both Lu and Paola love Nina, but in very different ways. One is more spiritual, the other much more primal. Probably neither is completely what will give Nina all she needs in life.