It can sometimes feel to me as if too many people in the UK (or, say, Australia or NZ, as other examples) look to race riots in the United States and feel somehow as if they are unrelated to struggles taking place in their own country, as if the toxic legacy of slavery in the US doesn’t somehow also apply to other countries, especially ones with their own long colonialist histories. Another sad theme of my week dedicated to the ‘cinema of resistance’ (as I’m calling it), is that struggles that were documented playing out decades ago, and sometimes centuries ago, are still relevant.
Looking to the situation in the UK, these two films were made almost 35 years ago, dealing with race relations — and, in the case of the first film (a documentary), race riots — playing out in the United Kingdom. The impetus to rioting may have been somewhat quelled by a report which identified institutional racism within the police and took steps to alleviate the immediate problems, but it’s certainly very far from the case that the police in the UK (or Australia or NZ) are somehow colour-blind or that there are no cases of violence against the bodies of minority ethnic people. You can look to more recent films like The Hard Stop or Generation Revolution to see that clearly enough, and the ongoing fight against injustice. Race, often intertwined with class, continues to be a source of conflict in most Western countries, and the police and forces of state violence continue to be the main actors, even under conditions where it seems unrelated (witness a report even just today in the UK linking Black and minority ethnicities to higher instances of COVID-related deaths).
For those interested, Handsworth Songs can be watched on YouTube (so look it up), though I can’t find anywhere you can see The Passion of Remembrance.
Continue reading “Two 1986 British Films about Race Relations: Handsworth Songs and The Passion of Remembrance”
If you’re looking to subscribe to the BFI Player there are no shortage of films directed by women, which they have collated into the useful Woman with a Movie Camera subscription collection. For example, amongst films I’ve seen and reviewed, there are: debbie tucker-green’s Second Coming; Naomi Kawase’s Sweet Bean; displaced-Iranian-in-London drama Gholam and the mindbending bit of French weirdness Evolution; Australian documentary Island of the Hungry Ghosts; great films by Lucrecia Martel and Annemarie Jacir; two of what I personally consider the films I’ve most underrated, Jessica Hausner’s Amour Fou and Anocha Suwichakornpong’s By the Time It Gets Dark; the list goes on and on. I’ve seen the film I’m reviewing today twice since starting this blog, yet have managed not to write about it either time, which is a mistake because it’s great.
A strange, at times disorienting, take on themes in European and Hungarian history. It ranges freely over themes, times and places that defined the 20th century (unsurprisingly, given its title) and yet it always retains a sort of light-hearted optimism, helped enormously by its double central performance by Dorota Segda as twins Dóra and Lili, separated in childhood, and living different aspects of the bourgeois struggle — one sexually libertine (and positively thrilled by it), the other with feminist anarchist ideals. Something about that Hungarian practice of post-synching dialogue gives a heightened sense both of diegetic sounds (not just words, but breathy little noises that the twins make) and also a sort of fantastic soundscape abstracted from the images, which combined with the diffuse ethereal electric lighting (Edison plays a key role) and the twinkling, chattering stars, has a beatific effect. You would never guess it was made in the 80s, having barely appeared to age. Indeed, on the big screen it truly shimmers with a radiant, crystalline yet slightly soft-edged monochrome beauty. It’s the kind of oneiric cinema that I wish were praised over the dark fantasies of Lynch, et al.
Director/Writer Ildikó Enyedi; Cinematographer Tibor Máthé; Starring Dorota Segda, Oleg Yankovsky Оле́г Янко́вский; Length 102 minutes.
Seen at Watershed, Bristol, Friday 27 July 2018 (and originally on DVD at home, London, Sunday 13 August 2017).
The now veteran television documentary producer Madeline Anderson got her start in filmmaking in the 1950s, after studying at NYU and falling in with vérité filmmakers like Richard Leacock and D.A. Pennebaker. She made a number of compelling early short documentary subjects focusing on Civil Rights at this time, which were shown in the UK by the Cinema Rediscovered Film Festival a couple of years back.
Continue reading “Two Civil Rights-Era Films by Madeline Anderson”
This week sees the release to UK cinema’s of Tehran: City of Love, a recent film set in Iran’s capital. As such, I’ve got a themed week of Iranian cinema, representing one of the richest cinematic traditions in the region. The first film I’m covering is another recent film, but one which looks back towards the past, before the Revolution that saw out the Shah.
I’m sure many of us have seen plenty of (serious, engaged) Iranian film made since their 1979 revolution, but what this documentary does is chart the popular cinema that held the country’s attention before then, linking it not just to wider cultural currents coming from Hollywood and the geographically closer regional cinemas of Egypt and India, but to the tensions within Iranian society too, as people turned against the decadence of the middle-class Pahlavi regime. It covers the character types which would have been familiar to viewers in the country, the strongly macho filmic terrain and it even makes the case for some more interesting talents among the evident dross (I am particular intrigued by Samuel Khachikian’s work). Narrated by the director Ehsan Khoshbakht (himself a programmer at Il Cinema Ritrovato), it exudes authority as much as it provides a fascinating insight to a largely lost filmic history.
Director/Writer Ehsan Khoshbakht احسان خوشبخت; Length 98 minutes.
Seen at Watershed, Bristol, Friday 26 July 2019.
Following contemporary women-authored stories set amongst communities within white Australia, like Celia (1989) and The Last Days of Chez Nous (1992), it took artist and photographer Tracey Moffatt to become the first woman of Aboriginal background to make a feature film, one distinctive and idiosyncratic enough that she never did make another. I saw it at Bristol’s Cinema Rediscovered festival, a fantastic long weekend of cinema which is modelled after Il Cinema Ritrovato, and takes place at the end of July each year.
An extraordinarily stylish one-of-a-kind film (not least because director Tracey Moffatt never made another feature), it has a heightened unreality that recalls not just studio-bound 50s Hollywood hothouse melodramas but arthouse experiments like Rohmer’s Perceval le Gallois (1978) or Fassbinder’s Querelle (1982). The three ghost stories share not just this visual stylisation but the way they leap between past and present with ease, for these are not just stories, but collective memories or perhaps cultural touchstones, channelling a sort of Australian mythology that (for a change) isn’t rooted just in white men ‘going bush’, but a wide variety of ethnic identities, not least Moffatt’s Aboriginal roots. It’s quite possible the range of reference points is too specific for me (a non-Australian) to pick up on much of it, but it’s a heady watch all the same, a knowing wink at the audience without the suffocating irony and cynicism that too many directors of the 90s considered cool. Maybe that’s why it never made much of a splash at the time, but it’s ripe (in every sense) for rediscovery.
Director/Writer Tracey Moffatt; Cinematographer Geoff Burton; Starring Tracey Moffatt, Lex Marinos; Length 90 minutes.
Seen at Watershed, Bristol, Saturday 28 July 2018.
The horror genre seems to attract far more men as directors and writers, though it’s certainly not short of women in front of the camera (usually being victimised, of course). That said, there are a significant number of women who are fans of the genre and have written about it at length (notably the Australian writer Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, who is working on a book called 1000 Women in Horror). There are even a few who have managed to get behind the camera, and I am trying to focus on as many examples as I can this week. The film today is more of a thriller than a horror, exactly, and its director Karen Arthur only ever made three feature films (before moving into a career in television).
This film is a lot. It’s at heart a sort of psychological terror film about a disturbed young woman, Cissy (Carol Kane, who at one point intemperately demands her sister explain what she means by “normal”), who acts out in a way that distracts her sister (Lee Grant) from her astronomy job. Yet there are many complex depths to their relationship, not least a sort of incest theme that left me wondering if they were in fact sisters, or whether something more was going on (at first I suspected a proto-Fight Club duality).
The specific manifestation of Cissy’s mental health issues is her fixation on her father, a deceased anthropologist. Cissy performs African tribal dances, obsessively plays field recordings, and wears African hairstyles, as if in an alternate timeline for Mean Girls‘ Cady. Moreover she tortures primates in the cage set up by their father for study (the “mafu” of the title seems to be a term used to refer generically to primates, or perhaps just pets). Thus the film seems to be enacting a confrontation between white colonisers and Africa (its fauna and its human cultures), perhaps hinting at a sense of guilt, but certainly a pathology of slavery and subjugation, while also being about family dynamics in a hothouse environment that (not unjustly) claims a particularly pervy astronomer colleague of Cissy’s sister.
There’s so much going on that I can’t pretend to cover it all, but it was certainly interesting (even if the surviving 35mm print we watched is rather degraded in its pink palette).
Director Karen Arthur; Writer Don Chastain (based on the play Toi et tes nuages by Eric Westphal); Cinematographer John Bailey; Starring Lee Grant, Carol Kane; Length 104 minutes.
Seen at Watershed, Bristol, Friday 27 July 2018.
My themed week of African cinema has seen a lot of strategies for dealing with post-colonial issues, but Nigerien (that is, from Niger) filmmaker Moustapha Alassane used the generic codes of that most American of genres, the western, to critique Western involvement in Africa. It’s witty and never outstays its welcome. Equally amusing are his shorter, animated films, most of all the glorious Kokoa (which may have been made in the 1980s, though most resources list its year of production as 2001). Needless to say, Niger isn’t currently one of the most highly-developed film-producing nations in Africa, although Wikipedia relates that it was once far more productive, with the ethnographer Jean Rouch being heavily involved in work there, followed by a number of native-born directors. Production in the last few decades has dwindled, although at a recent London Film Festival, I did see The Wedding Ring (2016) by a woman director, Rahmatou Keïta.
Continue reading “Films by Moustapha Alassane: Return of an Adventurer (1966) and Two Short Films”