Elaine

Hi, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab...

Every year, Harry’s friend Elaine writes us from Rotterdam with the picks of the festival, and this year’s no different. Here’s her first report, and it’s as good as we’ve come to expect from her...

ROTTERDAM INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL

Yes, it's that time of the year again. The time of year when I write loooong reviews which 95 per cent of you don't read because the films in question come with subtitles, while the remaining 5 per cent of you either diligently write down the names of the cool Japanese flicks and ignore the rest of the reviews or comment on the emptiness of the talkbacks.

So why do I continue doing it?

Simple. Because I want to share my love for world cinema with you. Because I believe that somewhere out there, among the thousands of AICN readers who think that subtitles are Evil and that it is their patriotic duty only to watch films in their own language, there are those who can be convinced to give arthouse cinema a chance - who are willing to partake of the miracle that is South Korean cinema and ready to open their hearts to the many charms Spanish cinema has to offer. And since I've been told that people have actually ordered obscure DVDs from online shops after reading my reviews, and have been grateful for being introduced to the films in question, I think (rather fancifully perhaps) that there's A Task for Me on this site.

Ahem.

So, er, that's why I'm doing it, and why I will keep on doing it despite the occasionally empty talkbacks. That and the fact that I get a press badge for it, which means I get to watch sixty films for free. Tee hee.

And now for Rotterdam itself.

Those of you who've read my RIFF reports before know the drill. You know, the part of my first report where I tell you why Rotterdam is one of the best festivals in the world, and why it should be taken every inch as seriously as Toronto, Sundance and those other perennial AICN favourites. But just in case you're unaware of Rotterdam's status in the industry, here's the rundown again:

(1) Both in terms of films screened and of the number of tickets sold (over 350,000 annually), Rotterdam ranks amongst the ten greatest festivals in the world. The official guest list alone comprises some 2,500 names. Journalists come from all over the world to attend the fest, and nearly every director is on hand to discuss his/her film.

(2) It is the greatest arthouse-and-world-cinema festival in the world. Cannes, Venice, Berlin and Toronto may get all the big international premieres, and Sundance may be the earliest showcase for many new American indie gems, but Rotterdam gets the weird, absurd, entertaining or just ethnographically interesting flicks from Indonesia, South Africa and Fiji. And amazingly, they sell out as quickly as the high-profile American releases.

(3) Rotterdam is about the pure film-watching experience. While better-known festivals tend to focus as much on glamour and star-gazing as on the films themselves, Rotterdam is all about the films. Forget about major awards or red-carpet photo-shoots; people come to Rotterdam to watch movies, not stars (which is just as well, given that very few stars actually make it to Holland). However, there are LOTS of directors on hand, and both journalists and fans get ample opportunity to exchange views with them. Which is nice.

(4) The atmosphere is incredible. At many international film festivals, viewers are not wanted inside the participating cinemas inbetween films. In Rotterdam, festival theatres double as cafes where people sit down to chat, sip their coffees, eat their tuna sandwiches and spinach-and-cheese crepes, write their reviews and discuss the films they have just seen. The atmosphere is extremely laid back, and rightfully praised by all who are used to having to queue outside cinemas for hours (hi there, my Torontonian friends!).

Of course, Rotterdam also has its drawbacks, such as the messiest ticketing procedure in existence and the fact that journalists are expected to pay thirty euros for the right to wear a press badge - a custom I have not encountered at any other festival. Thankfully, the films, the directors and the atmosphere more than make up for that.

So, to cut a long story short, what distinguishes the 2004 festival from previous editions? Well, other than the fact that the ticketing procedure was an even greater mess this year than it was last year (by which I mean it was an absolute fucking DISASTER), this year's edition is characterised by the ample attention it devotes to Roma (gypsy) culture and the political situation in the USA. Both the "Once We Were Birds" and the "Homefront USA" programmes show films and documentaries (old and new) about many aspects of the the cultures they are trying to map. Furthermore, this year's Film-makers in Focus are Raoul Ruiz (Chile), Ken Jacobs (USA) and Tunde Kelani (Nigeria), while the Artist in Focus is Britain's Isaac Julien, whose "Baadassss Cinema" screened at the 2003 RIFF. Aside from those 2004 special features, though, it's business as usual in Rotterdam. Lots of shorts, docs and films from all over the world, with emphasis being (as always) on Asian, European and South American productions. Since my own interest lies mainly with Asian and European cinema, that is what I will be reviewing in the next few days.

Now I confess I had some misgivings about this year's line-up. When I first leafed through the programme, I had the distinct impression that there were too many short films and too many feature-length films about things I simply wasn't all that interested in. I didn't particularly care for this year's Film-makers in Focus, either, and so for the first time since I began to attend the RIFF ten years ago, I found myself in a position where I couldn't come up with a back-to-back-film-viewing schedule because there were time slots when there simply wasn't anything to my liking. This worried me. I needn't have worried, though, for if the first half of the festival is anything to go by (and I have no reason to doubt that it is), the standard of the films screened in 2004 is as high as that of previous years, if not actually higher. Of the 25 films I have seen so far, just five were mediocre. The rest were either good, very good, or simply outstanding. The latter category so far comprises three films: Achero Manas' "November", Andrei Zvyagintsev's "The Return" and Kim Ki-duk's "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring Again". The latter is my favourite film of the festival so far, and I have a feeling it will probably end up being my favourite film of 2004. Which may seem a bold prediction to make less than four weeks into the new year, but isn't as outrageous as you might think. You see, it wouldn't be the first time I saw my favourite film of the year in January. It's happened to me three times before, and in each case I knew the film for the masterpiece it was as soon as I'd seen it. "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring Again" looks set to become this year's early discovery. It's a fantastic film which everyone who is remotely interested in foreign cinema should seek out.

Anyway. What have I got in store for you this week? First of all, reviews of some great, great, great Korean flicks, including the afore-mentioned "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring Again", "Memories of Murder" and "Save the Green Planet!", the latter of which should by rights become the AICN cult hit of the year 2004. Secondly, lots of reviews of hip Japanese flicks, including two films by AICN favourite Takashi Miike ("Zebraman" and "Gozu") and two by Kiyoshi Kurosawa ("Bright Future" and "Doppelganger"). Furthermore, I'll be reviewing some cool Chinese and Thai stuff, plus a pile of European films, mostly of French, Spanish and Russian origin. And finally, I will of course let you know what I thought of the two most controversial films of the festival so far: Kitano's "Zatoichi", which many here feel has been overhyped (the Kitano backlash in the Dutch media has definitely begun!) and Catherine Breillat's "Anatomy of Hell", which features some of the most graphic, most outrageous sex-related scenes ever committed to celluloid, without actually becoming outright obscenely pornographic. But more on those later. For now, I'll leave you with two long reviews, of Kim Ki-duk's "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring Again" and Guy Maddin's "The Saddest Music in the World", both of which are eminently worth tracking down. Enjoy!

SPRING, SUMMER, FALL, WINTER, AND SPRING AGAIN

(Written and directed by Kim Ki-duk)

Four years ago Kim Ki-duk burst onto the scene with "The Isle", a film about a floating-hotel-like retreat in the middle of a lake which despite its hauntingly beautiful, poetic quality got into many viewers' bad books because of the infamous fish-hook scenes and some pretty bad cruelty to animals. Now Kim is back with a companion piece to "The Isle", set on a raft in a lake in a remote Korean valley (hey, where have I heard that before?) and dealing, among other things, with retreating from the world and how to treat animals (shades of "The Isle" there, too). And yet it's a completely different film. As serene and peaceful as "The Isle" was dark and disturbing, "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring Again" is a tranquil experience which won't put off those who found the violence in "The Isle" a bit much. It is also one of the most beautiful films in the festival, at turns screamingly funny and heart-wrenchingly emotional, and may well turn out to be one of the best films of the year.

"Spring, Summer" is about the cycle of life - about the cycle of birth, growth, decay, death and rebirth that affects both nature and the people living in it. The different stages of the life of man are personified by two hermits living on a floating monastery in an idyllic-looking mountainous area in present-day South Korea: a Buddhist monk and his novice. In the "Spring" part of the film we see the novice (a young boy at this stage), bereft of human playmates, play games with the animals that live around the floating monastery, and learn a valuable lesson about cruelty and shame. In the "Summer" chapter the novice, a young man now, is lured away from his religious studies and secluded life in the valley by the arrival of a young woman with whom he falls in love. And although his master warns him that his lust will end in misery (because lust leads to possessiveness, and possessiveness inevitably results in tragedy), the young man is bent on following his heart. In the "Fall" and "Winter" chapters, we see how this worldly experience has affected the now-grown-up novice. And then, inevitably, the cycle is completed and the story starts afresh.

I know, I know. It doesn't sound like much of a premise, and yet this is film-making at its absolute, most gorgeous best. For despite the Buddhist setting, "Spring, Summer" tells a universal story which even those who are not the slightest bit spiritual or interested in Asian philosophies of life should enjoy. For a film set in and around a monastery, it features precious little religion. Yes, the novice learns a few Wise Lessons, and yes, there is a bit of Buddhist symbolism in the film, but one doesn't have to be conversant with Buddhism to get it. Nor does one have to fear getting Eastern wisdom shoved down one's throat, the way Martin Scorsese and Oliver Stone did in "Kundun" and "Heaven and Earth", respectively. Kim doesn't make an attempt to make Buddhism understandable to the lay viewer; he just shows why abstinence and a retreat from the world we live in may be a good idea for some people, without ever getting preachy or moralistic about it. Basically, what he does in "Spring, Summer" is tell a universal story which, despite the alien setting, is extremely recognisable and intensely emotionally involving.

You see, "Spring, Summer" is about people like you and me. Not superhuman, holier-than-thou monks, but real, human people whose flesh is weak and whose blood runs red. Many of the things the novice goes through (youthful mischief, shame, puppy love, etc.) are things that have happened to us, and they are put on the screen with such loving detail and such recognisable looks and gestures that they make one smile. For make no mistake about it: despite the serious overtones, there is a lot to smile about in this film. There is also a lot to laugh about, for there are moments which are so funny and so insanely original that they warrant big, fat belly laughs. This is especially true for the scenes that involve animals, which are put to some fairly, er, unorthodox uses in this film. I won't spoil anything for you, but I will say that the scene in which the old monk uses his cat for good old-fashioned Buddhist purposes has got the biggest laugh in the festival so far. Bigger than anything in, say, "Ong-bak: Muay Thai Warrior", which, as those of you who have seen "Ong-bak" can attest, is quite a feat.

It's not just about humour and recognisibility, though. What makes "Spring, Summer" the memorable experience it is, is the beauty of it. This is, quite simply, a magnificent film, well-written, well-observed and insanely beautifully visualised. If you thought the setting of "The Isle" looked great, wait until you see "Spring, Summer", which was shot in a national park during the seasons after which the five chapters are named and looks better than any other setting I've come across. And not only are the scenery and the painstakingly recreated floating monastery the most poetic eye candy one could imagine, but in cinematographer Baek Dong-Hyeon's hands they acquire a downright otherworldly quality, as if they belong in a time long gone or a different universe altogether. The remote, timeless atmosphere is so well drawn that it is actually quite shocking when two distinctly modern-looking women walk into view to remind the viewer that the story takes place in the here and now and has things to say that matter to us as well as timeless hermits.

So, yeah, it looks gorgeous. Check. It has a magnificent atmosphere. Check. It has humour. Check. Anything else?

Why, yes. Like all good Korean cinema, it is emotionally involving. Far more than an exercise in poetic beauty, "Spring, Summer" is a film that entrances and never lets go. Even if one can't identify with the kind of life the protagonists lead, and even if one finds their lack of friends, relatives, context and ambitions bewildering, this is a mesmerising experience, made more involving by the very pure emotions put on the screen and the brilliant music by which they are accompanied. At times, the emotions are rendered so beautifully, so poetically, that they move one to tears. Case in point? The stunning scene at the end of the "Fall" segment in which the old monk decides he has had enough of his lonely life and... no, I won't spoil that for you. I defy anyone to find a more beautiful scene in this year's cinematic output than that. The great climax of "The Return" (which I will review later) comes close, but in my opinion, it lacks the superb visual impact of the climax of "Spring, Summer", which is of an unsurpassed poetic quality.

Indeed, if I have one complaint about "Spring, Summer", it is that the emotional climax (the scene I just referred to) comes too soon. The end of the "Fall" segment is so hauntingly beautiful and so utterly heart-breaking that by contrast, the "Winter" segment feels rather cold and tacked on. However, Kim (who actually plays the not-so-young-anymore novice in the final two chapters) quickly re-establishes his emotional mastery of the film, and comes up with a second crescendo which, if not quite as moving as the ending to "Fall", is nonetheless impressive. It is a beautiful and worthy ending to a film that remains mesmerisingly moving and poetic to the very end.

I'm telling you now: this is one of the best films of the year. If you see one Asian film this year, make it this one.

THE SADDEST MUSIC IN THE WORLD

(Written and directed by Guy Maddin, based on a screenplay by Kazuo Ishiguro)

Guy Maddin is a genre all to himself. His style has been described as "Kino Delirium", and rightly so. Maddin's black-and-white melodramas aren't like anything else you will come across, either in cinemas or on the festival circuit; if anything, they resemble the German expressionist movies of the silent era, replete with fake sets, experimental cinematography, bizarre stories and way-over-the-top performances by the actors involved. This being the case, rabid devotees of realism would do well to steer clear of "The Saddest Music in the World", which is quintessentially Maddinesque in that it is melodramatic and extravagant to the extreme and features some pretty blurry, old-fashioned-looking black-and-white photography that will inevitably alienate some viewers. Others should make an effort to check it out, though, for bizarre though it is, this is Maddin's most accessible film to date - a bold, wildly entertaining yarn with a straightforward storyline and some mad laughs. You'd have to be devoid of all humour not to like it.

Set in Winnipeg during the Great Depression, "The Saddest Music in the World" tells the story of a contest organised by the literally legless beer magnate Lady Helen Port-Huntly (played with tremendous glee by Isabella Rossellini), a glamorous bitch whose cruelty may or may not mask a sensitive nature. The contest is a search for the saddest music in the world; the idea behind it is that if people are saddened by music, they will drink more beer, thus making beer magnates rich. And so Lady Helen, who craves only money now that she can't dance anymore, invites musicians from all over the world to Winnipeg, "the world capital of sorrow", for what is billed as "a cavalcade of human misery". He who plays the saddest tune will not only receive a fortune, but also a chance to dive into a pool of cool, frothy beer - a rare opportunity in the Depression era. And so, lured by money and alcohol, the musicians start pouring into Winnipeg and getting ready for the contest.

This story in itself (based on a screenplay by novelist Kazuo Ishiguro) would be enough of a challenge for most directors, but Maddin wouldn't be Maddin if he hadn't added some Freudian family drama about a father and two sons who are all after the same thing. You see, representing Canada in the contest is Fyodor (David Fox), a former suitor of Lady Helen's who was responsible for her losing her legs and now wishes to make amends by building her a pair of glass legs filled with sparkling beer. Representing America is Fyodor's slick son Chester (Mark McKinney), who just happens to be another of Lady Helen's exes. And representing Serbia (...) is Chester's brother Roderick (Ross McMillan), a hypochondriac haunted by the memory of his dead son (whose heart is in a jar he always carries with him) and his vanished wife. And to complicate matters even further, there's Chester's girlfriend Narcissa (the ever-charming Maria de Medeiros), who takes no decisions without first consulting her tapeworm and who might just be... no, I won't spoil that for you. Together, but at the same time very much against one another, these characters enter Lady Helen's contest, which for them isn't just about beer and money, but also about love, loss, pain and redemption. And while they do their best to come up with mournful tunes, they really are after the happiness that has eluded them for so long.

There is some tremendous fun to be had here. Most of it is situational (the Siam-versus-Mexico contest is a particular hoot, as are the scenes where Lady Helen uses her newly-fitted glass legs), and an equal lot of it stems from the characters, who are a right bunch of eccentrics - gloriously over the top, but never anything less than likeable. However, most of the genius of the film lies in the dialogue, which is packed with weird one-liners and absurd non-sequiturs. As is often the case in Maddin's films, it is the women who get the best lines, and they deliver them with great aplomb. Thus we get De Medeiros saying, in her most beguiling voice, "I'm not an American. I'm a nymphomaniac," while Rossellini (who makes a sensational Lady Helen, despite her odd accent) gets to spit out lines such as "If you're sad and like beer, I'm your lady" and "OK America, you're on." Combined with the bizarre plot, the deliciously over-wrought acting and Maddin's assured direction and editing, the dialogue makes for a wonderful viewing experience which, despite the amount of mournful music on the soundtrack and the tragic characters who line the plot, isn't sad at all. Quite the contrary, "The Saddest Music in the World" is a film that keeps you smiling for minutes on end, frequently makes you laugh out loud and leaves you wondering, quite admiringly, what Maddin will come up with next, now that he has finally found a style that does his originality justice.

In short, it's a great film that deserves more viewers than it will ever get.

Right, that's it for today. If all goes well (but you never know during festivals!), I'll be back tomorrow with a look at three cool Asian flicks (Takashi Miike's "Zebraman", Kiyoshi Kurosawa's "Bright Future" and Jang Jun-hwan's "Save the Green Planet!"), and I'll try to dispense with the long intro and cut straight to the chase.

First I'm going to watch some more films, though. After all, that's what attending a festival full time is all about.

Elaine

Can’t wait for the next one. As always, thanks.

"Moriarty" out.