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Film: The Green Wave
Running time: 80 mins
Director: Ali Samadi Ahadi
Starring: Navíd Akhavan, Payam Akhavan, Shirin Ebadi, Pegah Ferydoni, Mitra Khalatbari
Genre: Documentary
Country: Germany
This film will be screened at the Human Rights Watch Film Festival, which takes place in London between 23rd March and 1st April, 2011. Find out more about this event by clicking here.
Fourth offering from Azeri/Iranian director Ali Samadi Ahadi mixes animation, live footage and interviews in a sobering documentary about the controversial presidential election in Iran 2009. Although the subject matter has already been tackled by many others, for example The Real Fake (2010) and For Neda (2010), it still is a pervasive topic as the situation in Iran remains very much unchanged to this day.
The film charts the lead up to and aftermath of the Iranian elections in June 2009, where it is widely acknowledged that the incumbent Mahmoud Ahmadinejad tampered with results to give himself the majority vote. While it is impossible to conclusively verify or disprove the authenticity of the results, it is clear that in the days following Ahmadinejad’s success, the streets of Tehran and many other cities quickly filled with thousands of protesters voicing their anger.
In the weeks and month afterwards, violence erupted onto the streets as the military opened fire on the demonstrators. News outlets, media and the internet were all subject to heavy censorship, while hundreds of protesters, including journalists, were all arrested, imprisoned and tortured…
The Green Wave contains interviews from notable figures such as Shirin Ebadi and blogger Mehdi Mohseni, who alongside many other online activists, played an integral part in disseminating information about the protests to foreign media around the world. It is important to note the role of technology and the internet during this period, as websites such as Twitter and Facebook provided an essential platform to let others around the world know about the atrocities happening in Iran.
Throughout the film, Twitter feeds from June 2009 posted by the interviewees punctuate the scenes, capturing their immediate reactions, such as the shock and disbelief as the election results emerge. Much of the footage of the protests also comprises of mainly amateur video clips from bystanders, such as the infamous death of Neda Agha-Soltan. Videos such as these spread quickly online, and helped make people aware of the situation at a time when all news was censored, and foreign media broadcasts jammed in Iran.
The choice to mix this live footage with ‘motion comic’ style animation creates a powerful and moving statement. Each scene is beautifully drawn and coloured, accompanied by narration compiled from the thousands of first hand blog accounts detailing the events of 2009. These scenes, when juxtaposed alongside the shaky, gruesome video footage of the violence, immediately jolts you back into reality as you remember that these are real bullets, being shot at real people. The effect this has is similar to the end of Waltz With Bashir, in which harrowing news footage mirroring the animation is shown, shocking people with the reality of the situation.
Moreover, the animation in the film is also as much a stylistic choice as it is a practical one, for the task of filming in a country where foreign journalism is banned altogether is simply impossible. Therefore, the live footage and animation used in The Green Wave provides an alternative to the traditional documentary format, simply because there is a lack of real news footage of the protests of 2009.
The film is disturbing, at times, due to its imagery and immediacy, as the fact is all of these atrocities occurred less than two years ago, and many people are still imprisoned for political reasons in Iran today. It is possible to argue that the amount of footage showing real people being shot at, attacked or run over by the militia also desensitises you to violence somehow. Nevertheless, The Green Wave finishes on an optimistic note, with the animated characters vowing to rebuild the country they love. It is a hopeful, timid cry, but one which the people of Iran must believe in, and fight for.
Regardless of your knowledge on Middle Eastern politics, The Green Wave is a digestible piece of cinema that aims to inform and educate viewers about one of the most sinister and corrupt governments in power today. KW
Film: Kagemusha
Running time: 180 mins
Director: Akira Kurosawa
Starring: Tatsuya Nakadai, Tsutomu Yamazaki, Kenichi Hagiwara, Jinpachi Nezu, Hideji Ôtaki
Genre: Drama/History/War
Country: Japan
This film was screened at the Barbican (barbican.org.uk) on 9th December 2010.
Kurosawa’s epic historical drama details the demise of an aging Japanese daimyo and his crumbling empire. Kagemusha is loosely based on the real life story of Shingen Takeda, and the circumstances surrounding his death.
The noble warlord Shingen is wounded by a rogue sniper during a siege one night, much to the horror of his generals. During his transit away from the battlefield, Shingen tragically dies in his sedan, and discloses his final wish of wanting to live another three years to his generals. In order to fulfil the lord’s dying wish, his closest generals decide to keep his death a secret, employing the services of a lowly thief to impersonate Shingen in battle and as political figurehead at home.
The thief is initially plagued by haunting dreams and visions of the old Shingen, but soon grows into his role, mimicking Shingen’s mannerisms and language perfectly…
Like many of Kurosawa’s other films such as Rashomon and Throne of Blood, Kagemusha is very much concerned with deception, and the play between reality and illusion. If a lowly thief can successfully pass as a daimyo for three whole years, what does that tell us of nobility, birth and class? Do we judge a man according to what he does or what he is? In Kagemusha, Kurosawa explores these ideas and more, creating a world where the lines between reality and fiction, the good and bad, the past and present are all blurred and crossed.
The transformation of thief to the noble lord Shingen is a slow process that is more about him trying to understand the daimyo, and the power and authority he commands. As the thief is slowly immersed into his new world, the full extent of Shingen’s power is revealed through the scores of servants, concubines, bodyguards and generals who all dedicate their lives to him. True respect and authority it seems, comes from inspiring awe, not fear, within the hearts of your followers. During the Battle of Takatenjin, the thief is shocked to see the legions of men who literally use their own bodies as shields in order to protect Shingen, such is their loyalty to the lord. By stepping into the shoes of the great leader, the thief is equally inspired by Shingen’s power and strives to better himself accordingly.
One of the most common criticisms against Kagemusha is that the film feels somewhat detached and self-indulgent, with a running time of just under three hours and an estimated budget of $6 million. Unlike the traditional Jidaigecki, instead of the hero protagonist, we are left with an empty shell, in a stylised film that is more concerned with illusion and performance then substance. However, what can be interpreted in one sense as form over content, Kagemusha can also be viewed as a postmodern Jidaigecki, highlighting the effects of modernity on society.
For example, the Battle of Nagashino is won due to the volleys of gunfire that systematically destroy wave after wave of cavalrymen and foot soldiers. In addition, Shingen’s own death is also caused by a lone sniper, who manages to fatally wound him from a distance. The advances of technology, symbolised by the firearm, herald the demise of Shingen’s clan and renders the traditional styles of combat useless. The real Battle of Nagashino was considered a turning point in Japanese military history, as firearms became a crucial part of combat ever since. Military warfare began to turn away from the aristocratic samurai battles, towards a more industrialised and modern style of combat. Technology thus marks not just the personal end of Shingen, but the dawning of a new modern era.
What Kagemusha represents is an experimental Jidaigecki, portraying the beginning of the demise of feudal Japan, and the encroachment of modernity and upon its dying traditions. There is no outright hero or villain, and it is difficult to argue whether the protagonist is really the thief or Shingen. In one poignant scene, one of the retainers muses: “A double means something only when there is an original. When the original is gone, what will happen to the double?” However, in Kagemusha it is this meaningless double that we identify and sympathise with, demonstrating the postmodern idea of simulacra and signs. The thief is just a signifier for the real Shingen, who exists in the hearts and minds of his subjects as nothing more than a symbolic concept. Ultimately, Shingen’s power and influence is something that transcends the real Shingen, and is able to survive independently even after his death.
Kagemusha is an important piece of Japanese cinema that reinvents the Jidaigecki genre to reflect the concerns and effects of modern society. Its sumptuous costumes, epic battle scenes and skilful storytelling once again confirm Kurosawa’s place as one of cinema’s greatest auteur. KW
Film: Dream Home
Release date: 19th November 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 96 mins
Director: Pang Ho-cheung
Starring: Josie Ho, Anthony Wong Chau-sang, Michelle Ye, Eason Chan, Norman Chu
Genre: Horror
Studio: Network
Format: Cinema
Country: Hong Kong
Morbid new offering from director Pang Ho-Cheung has actress Josie Ho stopping at nothing to get her foot onto the (literally) deadly Hong Kong property market.
Set in the early days of the global financial crisis, actress and musician Josie Ho plays Sheung, a long suffering young woman forced to work two menial jobs in order to support her family. Her current living situation is reminiscent of many young Asian adults, forced to share her childhood home (a cramped and dilapidated flat in a high-rise tower) with her aging parents and brother.
The only real pleasure Sheung seems to get out of life is fantasising about moving into a prestigious block of flats overlooking the plush Victoria Harbour, a dream she has had since childhood. However, along the way a series of unrelenting estate agents, surly mortgage lenders, and heartless insurance salesmen all threaten to derail her dream.
Eventually, when she finally manages to scrape together the money for a deposit, her offer is rejected, causing her to go on a murderous rampage inside the building…
The film is not alone in its cynical and negative depiction of the property market. Earlier in 2009, Dwelling Narrowness (also known as Snail House), a highly popular television drama set in a fictional city similar to Shanghai, was banned in mainland China for tackling issues such as corruption, poverty and the real estate bubble. Although Dream Home focuses on the Hong Kong property market, themes such as regeneration, urbanisation and gentrification are universally relevant to most city-dwellers. Whilst it does not directly address the causes of such issues, the film highlights the commodity fetishism attached to the property market, and questions the idealised image of the ‘perfect’ home.
In many senses, this is not a conventional horror film. The killer is not a supernatural monster or a depraved maniac, but a relatable young woman. Her murders are carefully planned out, born out of a twisted desire to help her family, and her victims are always morally bankrupt individuals, undeserving of their wealth. However, one area where the film fails is the explanation for how normal, relatable desires can motivate an individual to commit, abnormal, psychotic acts of murder. Even though it delves into her background to some extent, the connections are tenuous, and not explored deeply enough, making the film simply unbelievable and a little silly at times. The ending of the film is also more than predictable, and provides a somewhat obtuse and crude moral to be gleaned from all the violence.
Nevertheless, any fans of horror will undoubtedly revel in the spectacularly gruesome death scenes the film has to offer. But this is not a typical Hollywood slasher film by any means. From the opening scene in which our protagonist disposes of a security guard using only a plastic tie and a Stanley knife, the violence is always brutal and shocking. Perhaps to show Sheung’s inexperience when it comes to killing, the murders are unbearably drawn-out, accompanied by agonising long shots of the disembodied victims writhing around on the floor.
Moreover, the tools she uses are household objects, making the deaths even more gruesome and slow due to their ineffectiveness as murder weapons. Whereas conventional Hollywood films would have already cut to the next scene or victim, the camera in Dream Home lingers on the struggling body of the victim, with only the sound of their last gasps of air punctuating the silence. The sadistic voyeurism of the cinematic gaze is undoubtedly present here.
Towards the end of the film, the violence becomes almost comical, with one victim disembowelled and another castrated. It does beg the question, would the film have worked better if had just been a gritty, well-acted drama about Sheung’s life instead. There isn’t anything that intrinsically links the property market to the horror genre, so, at times, the violence feels slightly forced, shoehorned in just to make the subject matter more interesting. Or that perhaps, to some degree, the violence detracts from whatever social commentary the film is trying to make, making it appear cheap and tacky. Whatever the answer, the concept of a ‘real estate slasher’ is peculiar, and Dream Home doesn’t quite manage to get the right balance of tongue-in-cheek satire, realism and horror in one mix.
An unconventional slasher film that isn’t sure whether it wants to offer serious social commentary on modern living and consumerism, or play it for laughs, yet it still manages to entertain with its enjoyable, gory violence. KW
Film: Last Train Home
Release date: 25th October 2010
Certificate: E
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Lixie Fan
Starring: Suqin Chen, Changhua Zhan, Qin Zhang, Yang Zhang
Genre: Documentary
Studio: Dogwoof
Format: DVD
Country: Canada/China/UK
Powerful documentary about migrant workers in China, Last Train Home is a moving depiction of a country in transition, struggling to reconcile old traditions with modern cultures.
Last Train Home is the first feature film from Chinese-Canadian director Lixin Fan, and follows the story of the Zhang family from rural Sichuan. Like the rest of the 130 million (and growing) other migrant workers in China, both mother and father work in Guangzhou, the third largest city in China, leaving behind their two children in the care of their elderly grandparents. The only real opportunity they have to see their children is during the annual public holiday at Chinese New Year, and we follow the couple on their cross-country journey, alongside the billions of other commuters at this time of year.
Although this documentary focuses on the phenomenon of Chunyun (the month long travel period around New Year), it uses the journey simply as a way in to investigate this new emerging migrant culture. For the Zhang family, and many others, the choice to work away from home is a bitter and painful decision, forcing themselves to leave their children in order to financially support them.
The irony in the separation between parent and offspring is that when the family is at last reunited, the parents can only anxiously enquire about report cards, lecturing their children to study harder at school. There is too much at stake here; how can the parents relax when everything they have sacrificed and worked for is to create a better future for their children? Yet for the children, it is this very burden, the knowledge that their parents must abandon them for their own benefit that drives a wedge between their relationships.
This problematic situation is further exasperated when the eldest sister, Qin, drops out of school in order follow in her parents’ footsteps and work in a factory in Guangzhou. The parents’ anger and despair is obvious. Why did they risk everything just so their daughter could end up with the same fate as themselves? It seems that financial support on its own is not enough to ensure that their children will have a better quality of life…
Some of the most striking moments in the film are the chaotic train station scenes, as the Zhangs embark on their journey home. Aerial shots of the endless throngs of people, pushing and queuing for days outside the station, convey the magnitude and logistical nightmare of a country trying to facilitate this mass migration. Hysterical women are pulled out from the crowds, clutching their belongings and screaming for their lost husbands and siblings. On-board the crowded train, migrant workers swap stories of their hardships in the city, all of them working for similar factories that export cheap goods to the West.
It is during these scenes that the reason why these people choose to live such gruelling lives is revealed. In a country of 1.3 billion people and no welfare system, the ability to spend time with your family is a luxury that many simply cannot afford to have. Having been deprived of the means to earn a living for so many decades, rural people are now capitalising on whatever opportunities they can find, even at the sake of their family. These people are all hungry for a slice of the wealth they have been denied for so long, because they know that there is simply not enough to go around.
It is a situation that is very much epitomised by the huge mobs of people at the train station. Although the commuters are all aware of the station guards’ pleas to stop pushing, every single individual knows they must shove their hardest to get to the front of the queue, because if they don’t, they will simply be left behind. In a country as big as China, there will never be enough spaces on trains or any other mode transport, never enough jobs to go around or places in schools for everyone. It is the most extreme example of survival of the fittest.
As we see the Zhangs emerge in a sea of faces at the station, we wonder what other personal stories of suffering and hardship do each of these millions of migrants have. How many other Qins are out there, and how many families are also struggling to piece back together their fragmented lives in this fast changing country? Although migration is a growing trend in many other countries around the world, China’s massive population means that everything is amplified, accelerated and intensified so many times over.
Last Train Home is a moving documentary that uses the personal and intimate story of one family in order to embody the countless experiences of the hundreds of millions of other migrant families in China. KW
Film: Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame
Release date: 10th November 2008
Certificate: PG
Running time: 73 mins
Director: Hana Makhmalbaf
Starring: Abbas Alijome, Abdolali Hoseinali, Nikbakht Noruz
Genre: Drama
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: Iran
Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame is the first feature length film by Hana Makmalbaf, daughter of director Mohsen Makmalbaf, and the youngest member of his illustrious film dynasty. While themes such as children and education is not a first for those already familiar with Iranian cinema (for example, 1997’s The Apple by Samira Makmalbaf, Hana’s older sister), Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame is still an impressive debut for the then 19 year-old filmmaker.
The film is set post-9/11 in Bamyam, a mountainous and remote area of central Afghanistan. It is also the site of the ancient Buddha statues, carved into the mountain cliffs, which the Taliban destroyed in March 2001.
News footage of the statues being blown up is shown at the beginning and end of the film, and the looming backdrop of the empty Buddha-shaped holes act as a constant reminder of the regime and its influence in this region.
The protagonist is a young girl named Baktay, and the film follows her as she tries to go to school, so that she too can learn the “funny stories” her friends are always reciting.
Baktay’s journey appears simple enough at first; her neighbour, a boy named Abbas, tells her that all she needs is a notebook and a pencil to attend school. Armed with four eggs, she heads off to the market to sell them for money. However, in the busy square no one wants to buy her eggs, and some of them get broken along the way. Eventually, having earned only 10 rupees, she settles for just a notebook and takes her mother’s lipstick to use as a pencil. The child’s quest for knowledge and education appears futile in an environment so poor that even the simplest items such as pen and paper become prized possessions…
One of the most disturbing and symbolic sequences of the film occurs when Baktay is on her way to the girl’s school, and encounters a group of boys ‘playing’ at being Taliban. The boys bully her using machine-guns fashioned out of sticks, and in a sinister twist, decide to play a ‘stoning’ game, punishing her for being sinful. They force her into a hole in the ground, and surround her with rocks poised in their hands. As Baktay begins to cry, protesting that she doesn’t want to play anymore, the boys grow more menacing, humiliating and taunting her. An innocent child’s game soon turns into a chilling depiction of female victimisation, and a brutal critique of the Taliban regime. In addition, it also shows how easily such violent practises are passed down and ingrained into the language and mind-set of the next generation. What other games can children play if all that surrounds them is war and conflict?
The choice to use child actors is as much an artistic decision as it is out of necessity. For Iranian filmmakers, censorship boards are so tight that it is difficult to film anything, especially if it involves women, without having the film banned altogether. One way for filmmakers to circumvent these restrictions is to use child actors (see 1995’s The White Balloon or 1997’s The Mirror), so that it is difficult to accuse the films of being decadent or promiscuous. Thus, the films automatically take on a more allegorical tone, forced to conceal their messages in the subtext.
The film’s pace maybe slow for some viewers, as it only spans across the events of a single day. But what the film lacks in action and pace, it makes up for by providing a fascinating glimpse into a way of life completely alien to most Western audiences. The image of a little girl in a yellow headscarf and bright green salwar kameez, scrambling across the top of a dusty, perilous mountain ledge just to reach her home is extremely striking. Moreover, the scenes of everyday life in rural Afghanistan are also absorbing to watch, such as making bread in a tandoor oven and threshing hay by hand. The fact that all the child actors were cast from local schools around Bamyam adds to the air of authenticity. In this sense, the film speaks more as a work of documentary than fiction. The fact that a film could even be made in a country where only years before all cinemas, television and other forms of entertainment had been banned is a testament itself.
Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame is an accomplished debut from a young filmmaker that addresses many problems surrounding the rebuilding of Afghanistan. While some might say it lacks the bravery to tackle these problems head on by using veiled allegories and metaphors, the force of its unflinching message cannot be questioned. KW
Film: Farewell My Concubine
Running time: 171 mins
Director: Kaige Chen
Starring: Leslie Cheung, Fengyi Zhang, Li Gong, Qi Lü, Da Ying
Genre: Drama/History/Romance/War
Country: China/Hong Kong
Region 1 release.
Chen Kaige’s epic historical drama is one of the pillars of the Chinese Fifth Generation, the film movement that gave birth to directors such as Zhang Yimou and Tian Zhuangzhuang, as well as influencing scores of modern filmmakers. Spanning across five decades, the film captures many pivotal moments in modern Chinese history, such as the Chinese Civil War and the Cultural Revolution, told through the personal experiences of a group of Beijing opera performers.
The film begins in a turbulent 1920s China following the end of the Qing Dynasty. The main protagonist, Dieyi, is the son of a poor woman who is forced to give him away to a Beijing opera troupe. It is soon discovered that Dieyi possesses a birth defect - an extra finger, and in the opening scenes, the troupe master is seen brutally chopping it off with a cleaver. This symbolic castration creates a grim omen for Dieyi’s fate, foreshadowing the difficult reconciliation between his identity and sexuality.
Due to the traditional nature of Beijing opera, women are not allowed to act and so men have to play both male and female roles. Dieyi, because of his effeminate build, is forced to train as a ‘dan’ – a male actor who only plays female roles. Soon, a friendship quickly develops between him and another boy, Xiaolu, the male lead. However, conditioned by always having to play the female onstage, Dieyi begins to harbour romantic feelings for Xiaolu. Unfortunately, for Dieyi, his affections are unreciprocated, sending him into a period of depression and opium addiction.
The climactic end of the film is set during the Cultural Revolution, in which the performers all suffer a tragic demise as Beijing opera is attacked for being a bourgeois form of entertainment. Theatres go out of business and are burnt, and the actors are forced to perform new, political plays, promoting the work of the Communist Party.
Throughout this period, Dieyi and Xiaolu, the main stars of the theatre, are attacked and persecuted by their understudies, made to write self-criticisms and paraded through the streets as class-enemies by the public. The two friends are beaten and reduced to hysterical wrecks, forced publicly to betray one another in order to save their own skins. As the baying mobs encourage them to humiliate and denounce each other, lifelong friendships are torn apart as both men compete to reveal one another’s most shameful and bitter secrets from the past…
Such a traumatic ordeal is far from fiction. Director Chen Kaige has stated in interviews that such scenes are based upon his own experiences as a Red Guard during the Cultural Revolution. With such brutal depictions of the violence inflicted upon society by the Communist Party, it is of no surprise that Farewell My Concubine was banned upon release in mainland China.
Moreover, the film also questions the nature of political movements and revolutions against the interests of the individual. Throughout the decades, such is the beauty of the Beijing opera that it manages to survive the invasion of both the nationalist and Japanese armies. Indeed, in one particular scene, Dieyi is invited to perform for a group of Japanese generals, who sit captivated by his craft. It is only the communists, who regard Beijing opera as bourgeois and imperialist, that try to eradicate it. Ultimately, it seems, despite the promise of liberation, quality of life worsens under communist rule, and ancient traditions and art forms are systematically destroyed.
A number of issues regarding gender and sexuality are also raised in the film. Do gender roles define our sexuality, and what impact does society and upbringing have on it? For someone like Dieyi, continually referred to as “a girl” by his peers, and sexually abused from a young age, his private self begins to take own his onstage persona, conflating reality with fiction. In order to truly take on his role as a woman, Dieyi is forced to give up his masculinity in the name of theatre. Life imitates art, and performance thus becomes a defining part of his identity, in terms of his profession as an actor, and in his everyday life, where he must ‘act’ the part of a heterosexual man in normal society.
In some senses, the film can be regarded as a valentine to Beijing opera, which is portrayed as a cruel yet magnificent institution, with its performers having to sacrifice themselves for their art. The lavish costumes and settings are all shot in epic, breathtaking scenes that convey the full glory and excitement of the theatre. Dieyi, during his performances as the female lead, radiates a fragile, androgynous beauty, made all the more poignant by actor Leslie Cheung’s real life controversy surrounding his sexuality, and subsequent suicide.
By using the metaphor of theatre, Chen invokes the idea of performance onstage and in everyday life, creating a contrast between the public and private self. The onstage persona of the actor mirrors the public persona of the individual. Do we not all, to some extent, ‘perform’ a role in society, and keep a part of our true selves masqueraded from everyone else, be it our sexuality, desires, or ideology?
Farewell My Concubine is a tour-de-force of Chinese cinema that unearths the shattered and untold personal histories of a troubled modern nation, liberated and subjugated by itself all too many times. KW
