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Film: The Round Up
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 17th June 2011
Distributor: Revolver
Certificate: TBC
Running time: 115 mins
Director: Rose Bosch
Starring: Jean Reno, Mélanie Laurent, Gad Elmaleh, Raphaëlle Agogué, Hugo Leverdez
Genre: Drama/History/War
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: France/Germany/Hungary
Language: French/German/Yiddish
Review by: Qasa Alom
The bar has been set mighty high for films concerning the persecution of Jews during the Second World War by the likes of Schindler’s List, The Pianist and Au Revoir Les Enfants. In more recent times, even the warped brilliance of Quentin Tarantino’s Inglorious Basterds has managed to treat the harrowing topic in a different and fresh manner. Thus it’s hard to have imagined how The Round Up (La Rafle) could compare. However by using two-and-a-half years of intense research, eye witness accounts and a stellar cast, former investigative journalist Rose Bosch’s picture brings lost memories back to life to make it essential viewing.
Set in 1942’s Paris, the film begins with Joseph Weismann, played by 12-year-old newcomer Hugo Leverdez, forced to go to school with a yellow star sewn onto the breast of his jacket. Met by just as much derision as sympathy, he and most of the Parisian Jews – from both affluent as well as more modest backgrounds – are forced to take refuge in the hills in Montmartre.
Rumours, anxiety and hardship are all rife in the air until, finally, on the night of the 16th July, their worst fears come true and the French police, with the country under the occupation of the Nazis, arrest over 13,000 Jews and cram them all into the Winter Velodrome. Some of them, such as 12-year-old Anne Traube, manage to escape through a mixture of cunning, good fortune and the compassion of French civilians; however, the rest, such as Jo and his family, face the appalling conditions, limited supplies and non-existent sanitation in the enormous gym before being transferred to prisoner camps.
To help the Jews in any form possible, volunteer nurse Annette Monod (played by Inglorious Basterds’ femme fatale Mélanie Laurent) acts as the imprisoned population’s very own Florence Nightingale and forms a strong connection with Jewish doctor David Sheinbaum (Jean Reno).
After the decision to transfer all the captives to the Beaune La Rolande prisoner camp is made, Monod decides to go with them in order to keep as many of the adults and children alive as possible…
The film is shot in an elegant and straightforward style that does not override its content at any point. The constant use of extreme close-ups and lingering static shots renders it easier for the viewer to see what the characters are feeling in a subtle manner without making the picture too word-heavy and bogged down. Much of this can be attributed to Bosch drawing on Roman Polanski for inspiration.
Moreover, Bosch stays true to her research and her chief eye witness’s (Joseph Weisman) account by filming the whole picture from the eye level of a child. This minor alteration, coupled with the hints of nostalgic sepia tone to the picture, transmits a powerful sense of innocence to the viewer about the atrocities they are witnessing, which ultimately enable them to follow the story through the eyes of somebody who lived it.
The only technical extravagance comes in the Winter Velodrome scene that lies at the crux of the film. A long craning CGI intense shot begins by following one person navigate the stadium, concentrating on small details such as children laughing, old women’s faces or police whistling, and ends by slowly zooming out to show the chaotic magnitude of having 13,000 people crammed into one venue.
Whilst the cinematography is generally settled and passive, the same cannot be said about the use of music. The haunting ethereal use of strings throughout the story is a clever tool to direct the viewer’s emotions and is quite reminiscent of Spielberg’s usage in Schindler’s List. The real masterstroke comes with the final scene of the film that for once befits the use of Debussy’s beautiful ‘Claire de Lune’. The soft and tender notes dance with the final pictures in a manner that can only be described as magical.
However, ultimately, it is the characters that bring the film alive and raise it to the level of something more than a historical drama. With an ensemble cast of over seventy speaking roles in the film that covers three different narrative worlds, it would have been very easy to get lost. However, Bosch intertwines the political tussles of Pétain and Hitler with the various personal story arcs of the Jewish community, as well as casting a light on the dilemma for many French Civilians with ease – we even pause for some more poignant moments without making the film’s pace uneven or stilted.
Many of the standout performances are from characters that only appear in a few scenes, such as the French firemen who work tirelessly to make sure every person gets a cup of water; the angelic orphan boy Nono who doesn’t understand what is happening to him; and the sinister camp Marshall, played by Denis Menochet (another actor from Inglorious Basterds), who points out the Jews hiding under his floorboards to Colonel Hans Landa.
The Round Up is a tremendous achievement that has ensured that one of occupied France’s worst crimes is not forgotten. Indeed, with almost half of the initial 3 million viewers in France being under 20 years old, it’s clear that the film has managed to combine intensive research and dedication to real life stories with a beautiful narrative structure that just about permits it to sit side by side with The Pianist and Schindler’s List. QA
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Article by: Qasa Alom
Rio Breaks is a film about the colourful, dangerous and poverty stricken favelas of Rio and the two teenage boys trying to escape them through their dreams. On the surface, the picture seems to simply be following a well trodden path epitomized by the iconic Cidade de Deus in 2002. However, director Justin Mitchell looks closer at another aspect of favela life culture, away from the glamorization of crime, to tell the powerful real life story of 13-year-old Fabio and 12-year-old Naama.
subtitledonline.com caught up with director Justin Mitchell whilst touring England to find out some of the reasons why he made the documentary…
What did you set out to achieve with this film?
I saw a story that I thought was worth telling, so in terms of achievement - from an independent film making standpoint - we wanted to get people to see it, learn of the story and see another side to the favelas. I'm a surfer, but I've also worked in documentaries for a long time - both my parents work in it and I used to work in music documentaries - so I've always thought that surfing would be a good world to explore. Having said that, though, I wanted to have a little twist on it and not just make your average surfing film. So, the idea behind it was to take the aesthetics and the trappings of a ‘surf film’ and find a story that we could tell using those aesthetics - almost veiling it within that to bring them closer and pulling them into a social documentary.
It definitely came across like that. How did you find this story then?
Well, I guess I was in the right place at the right time. Vince Madeiro, the writer, has produced pieces for numerous surf magazines and I was always on the lookout for a surf story that would be the genesis of my film. Then one day I spotted something that Vince had written in a magazine called The Surfers Path that looked at the Favela surf club. Ironically, very few people, perhaps maybe one person from the film itself, were actually in the article as well, for a number of reasons, such as the club always changing hands, but when I read it, I instantly knew that this was what I was looking for.
So then I immediately contacted Vince through the internet and basically said: “We have to make this film!” At first Vince was rather apprehensive, he’d never made a film before, but I was just constantly saying, “Don’t worry about it…let’s just meet in Rio.” So, then we were out there just filming or talking to various people and that was the foundation of our film.
Earlier on you mentioned the “surf aesthetic.” What did you actually mean by that?
I love all the classic Surf films, Endless Summer…the film’s from the ‘70s, etc. They were all shot in 16 mm. The way you would shoot those films is that you’d have like a hundred meters of film and then, when you’re out there, you have to take your time with it because you’ve realistically only got the chance for about 7 takes - you’ve really got to be sure that it’s something you want to be shooting. Then you flash forward to the ‘90s, and you have films from people like Thomas Campbell, who brought that style back and shot it with 16 mm as well, so I really wanted to recreate something like that. In fact, I sort of went in with my mind made up of how that’s the way I wanted my film to look, because it gives you a new love for looking at the images and gives it the surfing feel.
Then, though, I actually realised soon after the first trip that it would be very expensive! So, what I did was look for the best alternative at the time for me, which was a 35mm lens adaptor that goes on the front of your HD camera - so we were shooting in HD, but using two or three old NIKON lenses and that was a very big decision that we made early on. I must admit, at the time, it was a slight risk, but a judgement call that I think paid off. You needed to have the aesthetics right, to show the love and care in each shot for the surfing, the landscapes and the story, so I think it worked pretty well to give it that veil.
You mentioned feel there as well, and I suppose I can’t let you escape without talking about the City Of God feel to the picture. Was that intentional?
Yeah, you’ve really hit the nail on the head there. In the early days, in order to get funding, we were pitching it as “Endless Summer meets City Of God,” but it was only really a way of getting the money or attracting people to it.
After the film, people’s views of the favela were all very singular because what was shown in City Of God was all that they knew about it. What we had in mind was showing that actually there was so much more to it, and even so much more than we’ve touched on in the film. We wanted to take care to show other aspects of everyday life down there, that maybe City Of God didn’t look at, because there’s a lot of people in places like Rio that perhaps don’t love the film as much. So, we tried to use surfing to show that there are actually a lot of other positive things that are going on in that community.
And then how did you find the two boys, because on screen they had fantastic chemistry, as well as possessing great personalities that highlighted different aspects of human nature?
Well, I wouldn’t even say that we found them, because they found us really. That’s the best way to describe it. I think Fabio is such a great character; both of them are such intelligent and interesting people, so I suppose they saw us with our cameras on the beach and they just knew they wanted to be a part of it. What was interesting, though, was that I actually thought that we would be looking at kids who were a little bit older than Favio and Naama – kids who are like 15 or 16, because at the time I was of the impression that they were the kids with clear distinctions, who were either in a gang or surfers, whereas the 12-13 year olds were kind of on the brink of it.
What we found, though, was that at the other age – much like teenagers anywhere, I guess, really – is that they really will just do whatever they want to do, and if they’re not interested in you one day then you’re not going to get much help from them. Sure, they might want to help you a couple of days later, or when they’re free, but it’s much harder to structure something with them, whereas with Fabio and Naama, we had their complete attention, and they really wanted to be a part of it, so that really helped a lot. I think they enjoyed that for once the spotlight was really on them, because they were just kids that nobody really cared about or paid much attention to day to day, so to go from that to having camera’s on them all the time - I think they really got a kick out of that and a good buzz.
When I was watching the film, you could certainly see that. The surfing was great but the standout beacon in it really was the characters, they really added an extra dimension to it. Did you notice this at all when you were filming it?
Oh yeah, for sure. We had a number of other characters that could easily have been the focus of the film, or people who could have had bigger ‘roles’, I suppose, such as Maicon, who does a load of flips at the end and eventually joins the circus. There were a few others as well, but all of them personality-wise didn’t really bring it to life in the same way as Flavio and Namal did as a dynamic duo.
For instance, I don’t speak a word of Portuguese, it was always Vince who did the talking, but even on the very first day of meeting them both, I could tell exactly what they were saying, just by their energy and the way they were relating to each other. There was something really special there between them, and I think that it’s really powerful to have that in a film because you can get some sort of deeper meaning - and it’s easier to relate to them without having to speak the language.
And since then, do you think that relationship’s still there?
Well, I can’t really go into details here, but what the film does show by the end is actually the reality of Brazil. A lot of times in the media, or our world and in films, there’s a huge draw to just paint things in black-and-white, good and bad... The reality is that, so much of everything that happens in this world is actually in the middle. People choose different paths all the time, it’s just part of life really and it kind of fits in really neatly to what I wanted to explore throughout the film and through surfing. QA
Film: Life, Above All
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 27th May 2011
Distributor: Peccadillo
Certificate: PG
Running time: 100 mins
Director: Oliver Schmitz
Starring: Khomotso Manyaka, Keaobaka Makanyane, Harriet Lenabe, Lerato Mvelase, Tinah Mnumzana
Genre: Drama
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: South Africa
Language: Germany
Review by: Qasa Alom
Much has changed in the seventeen years since the Apartheid in South Africa ended and that is most certainly reflected in the country’s newest and arguably most powerful film. Replete with secrets, tension and unbearable sadness Oliver Schmitz latest picture, based on the international award winning novel ‘Chanda's Secrets’ by Allan Stratton, explores the country’s newest battle against segregation without holding back any punches.
Set in a small, sparse and dusty South African town where all the neighbours know each others business, Life, Above All centres around Chanda (Khomotso Manyaka), a bright and feisty young girl with wisdom and confidence that surpass her meagre 12 years. Although very keen to study hard and perhaps even one day attain a medical scholarship, Chanda faces the heavy burden of helping her widowed mother Lilian (Lerato Mvelase) look after the family, whilst also stopping her absent and drunken step-father from sporadically returning to steal their savings and fuel his vice.
The film opens with Chanda skipping school in order to buy a tiny coffin for the funeral of her newly born half-sister. Heartbroken and falling seriously ill Lilian is unable to take care of the family any more, which leads Chanda to re-prioritise her life and take on more responsibility for the wellbeing of her two infantile siblings.
Consequentially, the once studious Chanda becomes isolated from her peers and forms a strong bond with Esther (Keaobaka Makanyane), a charming but troubled orphan girl eschewed by the neighbourhood, who has had to turn to prostitution to support herself. The pair promise to always be friends, despite reproaches from Lilian that inevitably lead to tragic abandonment.
Though initially the tight-knit community support Lilians’ plight and invite her to continue her role helping out in the church in any way she can, rumours about her medical state begin to spread like wildfire and, soon enough, much like Esther, Chanda and her family are also shunned by the whole neighbourhood.
Even Mrs Tafa, Chanda’s next-door neighbour who had been helping to look after the two children, cannot alleviate the growing community resentment and convinces a sickly Lilian to leave for a short ‘vacation’ back to her old village to calm the situation.
Unable to take the strain of life without her mother, and with her two siblings constantly questioning her authority, Chanda yearns for knowledge of when their mother is going to return, leading to an epic journey of discovery that culminates in a realisation of one of South Africa’s biggest taboo topics…
The film benefits from dealing with delicate issues in a manner that retains global relevance. Thus despite many people in the West being in a more fortunate position than that of Chanda’s – dropping out of school, having an extremely sick mother, taking responsibility for raising younger siblings at a pre-teen age – the viewer is still able to not only sympathise but relate to the film and the central character’s plight. Moreover, the subsequent consequences in the film, such as isolation and being an outsider, are also common issues that people can engage with regardless of their background or connection to South Africa. Therefore, one of the film’s biggest strengths is fully immersing the viewer into the story to create a powerful emotional bond between spectator and characters.
Of course, none of this would have been possible without the support of a talented cast, and though the performance of Mapaseka Mathebe, who plays the unruly younger sibling of Chanda steals some scenes, adding colour and depth, Khomotso Manyaka is completely magnetic in her portrayal of 12-year-old Chanda.
With the whole film ultimately revolving around her, Manyaka portrays a wide variety of emotions, from youthful exuberance to the coy flirtations of a first love, with aplomb and even revels in the more morose or serious moments, with a subtle facial expression or look in the eye betraying her vulnerable, yet determined character. However, it is in the chemistry with the other characters that she elevates herself and indeed the film to another level, packing the picture with an emotional punch.
The relationship with Lerato Mvelase, who plays her mother Lilian, is utterly moving, with their roles reversing as the film progresses. Then there is the tender bond with Esther, which effortlessly elicits all the nuances and complexities of a friendship between two people heading in different directions. Finally, though, it is when Chanda and Auntie Tata are on screen together that sparks really fly. Both scowl and frown their way through the 100 minute running time, with the tensions between the pair constantly bubbling away beneath the surface; sure enough, it finally culminates in an electric argument where the two characters provide vastly different mindsets of two generations in South African society.
That is not to say that the film is without its faults. Technical aspects are often quite laborious or out of synch with the natural ease of the film’s content. Sound and lighting in particular is used on more than one occasion to illustrate a certain atmosphere or mood; however, instead of enhancing the moment, they simply jar with the plot to create a scene that is simply excessive, reminding viewers that they are watching a film and obviously telling us what to feel. The technique of using stormy weather and rain to foreshadow tragic scenes is overused and detrimental.
Schmitz also has difficulty in achieving the right balance between light and shade; although the picture’s subject matter is very serious and quite ambitious for what it’s trying to achieve, the overriding messages are ladled on too thick without giving the viewer much of a break. This inevitably creates a rather stodgy film in parts that may even come across as quite didactically preachy.
Life, Above All is a grand, inspirational and very important picture for South Africa that has worldwide appeal. The characters are all more than likeable, which helps the viewer to engage with the story, and Schmitz also succeeds in portraying the contrast of mindsets in South Africa, from people who still shy away from progress and modernity, to those who are trying to give everybody a chance. Although, at times, the picture becomes rather instructive, the warmth and emotional power renders the film a huge success for South African cinema. QA
Film: Wild Strawberries
Release date: 25th February 2002
Certificate: 15
Running time: 88 mins
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Starring: Victor Sjöström, Bibi Andersson, Ingrid Thulin, Gunnar Björnstrand, Jullan Kindahl
Genre: Drama
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Sweden
Somewhere in the midst of dreams and reality, connecting past memories to the present, bitterness with regret and emotional detachment to nostalgia, Ingmar Bergman delivers one of the most introspective films on man’s existence and what it means to have truly lived. It’s no wonder, then, that Wild Strawberries won the Golden Bear Award for Best Film at the 1958 Berlin Film Festival.
Professor Isak Borg – played flawlessly by Silent Film director Victor Sjostrom – is a 78-year-old physician set to receive an honorary doctorate from Lund University. In his old age, he’s chosen to isolate himself from social contact, and lives a perfectly content life engrossed by scientific study.
On the morning of his special day, though, the widower has a profound dream in which he finds himself in an unfamiliar part of Stockholm where none of the clocks have minute hands. He sees a hearse approaching ominously, and as the carriage passes by it gets caught on a lamp post leading to the coffin falling out of the back. The professor edges closer cautiously, and to his horror, an outstretched hand tries to pull him inside.
After this episode, Borg changes his housekeepers’ meticulous plans, and decides to drive to Lund himself via a visit to his mother. His estranged daughter-in-law, Marianne (Ingrid Thulin), who was residing with him throughout marital problems, chooses to accompany the professor on his journey so that she can return to her husband and reconcile their marriage.
During the ride, Marianne reveals to Borg that despite his external charm, the people closest to him recognise his manipulative and selfish character to the extent that his own son despises him. Thus in a bid to build a rapport with his daughter-in-law, Borg veers off-course to show Marianne where he used to spend his childhood summers.
Unexpectedly for the ageing Professor, though, the break awakens a sense of reminiscence from deep within, and he begins to have flashbacks of his first love Sara. Subsequently on his journey to Lund, Borg meets a number of hitchhikers such as young frivolous Agda and a middle-aged bickering couple, who all contribute to him re-evaluating his life...
Essentially, Wild Strawberries is a straightforward road movie, however, Bergman’s use of symbolism, flashbacks and some fine nuanced acting, particularly by Sjostrom, give the film enough depth to transcend its genre and provide an emotional hook for the viewer.
In the film’s opening scene, Borg is established as the archetypal lonely, cold and successful man by being introduced with markers of his lavish life, such as the grand house, an honorary degree, and his selfish actions towards the housekeeper. As the film progresses, though, the use of narration acts as a gateway inside Borg’s thoughts, rendering him more vulnerable and emotionally available.
Thus Bergman uses the road movie format not only as a physical journey from Stockholm to Lund, but a mental journey that explores Borg’s past as well, so that he can redeem himself from being unloved and troubled, to an endearing old man at peace with life. The style is pivotal to the film’s power, as it gives the film a solid enough structure - both in terms of plot and character development – to make it accessible to even mainstream audiences, which has often been a criticism of the Swedish director’s other films.
Another surprising aspect of the film, not often found in many of the director’s other dramas, is the use of subtle humour to gives the film a more watchable pace. This is particularly evident, though not exclusive, in the bickering between Borg and his housekeeper, which resembles a charming old married couple squabble over domestic issues such as packing a suitcase properly. This use of humour not only gives brief respite from the more serious issues but contributes into giving the film a warm ambience that complements the picturesque Swedish landscapes, soft affectionate tones and camera work.
Indeed, all of these characteristics are at their most potent in the nostalgic scenes from Borg’s past at the summer house. The laughter, music, variety of people and carefree gaiety in these scenes is a direct contrast from the present, which often has very controlled and self-conscious scenes with only one or two people in them. The resultant effect of this contrast creates a lasting yet intangible impression of lost youth certain to strike a chord with the majority of viewers.
Finally, the use of relationships between the characters is perhaps the film’s biggest strength, as each of them, from the carefree idealist youths to the married couple full of resent - and even Borg’s strong but callous mother isolated in her mansion - highlight different aspects of human nature. Bergman uses all of these characters to provide an overall positive message that it is better to let go of past regrets and take a chance on life than wither away all alone.
Wild Strawberries manages to combine a deeply profound and powerful message with mainstream accessibility that puts it instantly into the category of timeless classic. QA
Exiled Iranian film director Rafi Pitts is motivated just as much by the aesthetic beauty of Cinema as its political power. Having made his name in France with Sanam (2000), hailed as “the Iranian 400 Blows,” Pitts has consolidated himself as one of the Middle East’s most prominent film makers with Golden Bear Nominee It’s Winter (2006) and his latest film The Hunter (2010), for which he managed to return to Iran to film it.
subtitledonline.com spoke with Rafi to discuss the recently released The Hunter, censorship - and Cinema Paradiso…
What was your inspiration behind The Hunter?
It comes from several sources I suppose (he drawls out nonchalantly through puffs of his cigarette – QA) - y’know when you have an idea there is not just one reason, but I would say that one of the primary reasons was that I wanted to make a film that spoke to a young generation living in a very young country. The majority of the country is under the age of 30 and I wanted to make a film from that point of view that broke down the boundaries of realism and asked some questions.
In the film itself, there is a huge preoccupation with sound and image more than words. Was this something you did on purpose?
Yes. It’s a symbol of the character not being able to express himself. That’s why he reacts the way he does within the film. It has to be believable as someone who can’t express themselves losing everything and becoming unstable. However, I do feel that in the film – you know a lot of people say there isn’t much dialogue – but I say it’s full of dialogue because sound is a form of dialogue; y’know sound always suggests what an image is, whereas an image never suggests what a sound is. And I used a lot of sound because you can do or say a lot with it and give the impression of a feeling, and you can also add tension to the film. It’s more subtle in a way than normal dialogue because it plays on the mind of an audience without telling them what is going on.
There is an obvious split in the film, the first half is certainly very art house whereas the second half changes and becomes more tense or psychological. Would you say this is a fair observation?
Yes, sure, I mean when you make a film, you don’t want to make it one-dimensional because all the films I like in the history of cinema have had several readings to them. So here, too, there is a political dimension, there is what I call a neo-realist western dimension, and there’s a classical tragic story of a man who is simply out for revenge. So you sort of try and give it as many layers and dimensions as possible so the audience can choose which dimension they want to see, and they will choose one depending on their own personality and experiences.
In the film, there are quite a lot of shots of cars, motorways and symbols of modern technology…
Yes, this was definitely my intention. I wanted to make it clear that I was speaking of the feelings of today, and that’s why I started off with that music and a picture from the Iranian revolution. You know the majority of the population wasn’t even born at the time of the revolution and today people are asking themselves why did we even have one, and what were the consequences of this revolution. So, it’s a backdrop to the film if you like and then, sure, the film takes its own course, but it was also a warning to what might happen if we can’t express ourselves.
Exactly what were you warning the newer generation against then?
What I try to do as a filmmaker is hold up a mirror to what is going on in society. And today in Iran, what’s going on in our society is that we don’t have that much time to live. You know the economical dire straits we’re living in, we have very little left, and I was trying to portray what would happen if the little we have left, such as spending time with our family, was taken away with us, and how we would react upon that. So, in that sense, it concerns a lot of people in Iran - we’ve become ticking time bombs because of the way the system is trying to rule us.
Do you think you were successful with this then?
(Pauses) Success isn’t something you should ask us filmmakers (he laughs – QA), but the success for me is on the viewers’ point of view. But really, it was a miracle that we managed to make the film over there in Iran. You know, really, to get the authorization to shoot such a film only came about because, at the time, the Ministry of Censorship thought that Iran was about to change, open or reform, and I think that’s why we managed to shoot the film. So had we not shot the film in that particular space of time, we would never have been able to shoot it. Had we tried three years earlier, I don’t think they would have given us permission, had we tried to shoot it after the riots in June 2009, it would have been impossible, so it was in that case a success. There is this expression I like you know where they say “luck is where opportunity meets preparation,” so there was definitely that going on I think.
How difficult is it then to make a film with the censorship laws on directors?
Extremely difficult, but having said that, we used to say it was difficult before June 2009 and sure it was! But now, though, it’s become practically impossible…
As you might have heard, two of our filmmakers, who are also two friends of mine - Jafar Panahi and Mohammad Rasoulof - have both been given a prison sentence for an idea of a film they wanted to make. It’s not even a film that they’ve made! They wanted to reflect on what had happened during those riots and for that they’ve been charged with six year prison sentences, twenty years not allowed to leave the country and twenty years of not being allowed to practise their profession. So that gives you an idea of what’s facing the Iranian film industry at the moment.
You wrote an open letter last year to Ahmedinejad about this. Do you think this sort of behaviour will continue then?
I don’t think it’s going to continue because I can’t see how a government can have the false pretence of thinking they can stop young people being who they are. If you look at the history of the world, you’ll see the beauty of youth and that it knows how to take care of itself, and they’ll go and get it if it’s not at hand to them.
Today, in Iran, people feel that their future has been taken away from them, that they have nothing left, so people will go out and get it. It’s very natural the youth are full of enthusiasm and they want to have a future, so they will go out and get it. The question is, will it take one year, or ten? Obviously, we want this to happen as soon as possible, we want to move forward, and we want this to happen, of course, without the threat of violence.
The protests that have happened in Egypt and elsewhere, can you see that happening in Iran?
Yes, I can (he pauses, and the mood has evidently shifted, with more weight, lengthier pauses and consideration behind each word – QA). For every woman man and child in Iran, if you feel you are being stopped of having something, what are you going to do? You’re going to go out and try to get it. So I don’t think there is any way of stopping that. I don’t think people are just going to be resigned to their fate anymore - people need to go out and…get their future. You know, it’s a very natural thing that’s happening right now.
Going back to the film, there’s a particular scene near the end of the film where the two policemen have a little squabble. What were you getting at here, was it highlighting a contrast between young and old, criticism of the corrupt system, or something else?
It was a symbol of what our society has become. The fact that there is a conflict between those two police officers shows you the diversity of what we’re dealing with and how much a uniform is only the cover of a book; you have to ‘read’ the book to know what’s going on because the cover won’t tell you. I wanted to show the discrepancies in the system because one of the police officers is very much for capital punishment whilst the other is a humanitarian very much against it, so already this shows up the contrasts in the systems and the quarrels that can exist within it.
So, was this a message to people not to judge the police and the system as all bad then?
I’ve never been keen in giving messages because I come from a country where they are giving us messages all the time! For me it’s always been about giving the audience the freedom of choice (he leans back and starts to relax with a glint in his eye – QA). Of course, you give them a narrative and, of course, you offer them a story, but I always tend to think of a film as a…okay, let me put it like this: in Iran, when we invite guests over for dinner, we place in front of them at the table several dishes, but we never tell them what they should eat; we leave them the choice of what they want to eat in whatever order. In my films, I try to offer them the same sort of choice; I give different dimensions and expect some people to take up one angle or perspective and certain other people another. If you look at the end of the film, there are several readings and I’ve never liked full stops but three dots to leave it open. For me it’s a way of respecting the audience.
What were your influences as a child that made you want to become a director?
Well, when I was younger, in Iran we saw a lot of American films from the 1970s that influenced us. Obviously, we saw them all dubbed in Persian, so not in English, and even older films by John Ford with John Wayne and (he starts to chuckle wistfully – QA) I remember the first time I heard John Wayne speak in English and I freaked out because I couldn’t believe this was the guy I’d known for years! I’d known him as this Iranian wise guy and now he was American. So, cinema, of course, influenced me, but also I lived under the post production studio in Tehran, so, obviously, I spent a lot of my childhood with editors in the offices above and I never felt like I was ever out of the film industry or that I was ever going to do anything outside of cinema.
Sounds like Cinema Paradiso…
I know right! (he smiles wildly and takes excited puffs of his cigarette and continues animatedly - QA). But Cinema Paradiso is maybe a more romantic and idealised version.
Yeah, well I lived with my mother as a child, and she was only 17 years older than me. The reason why we lived under the post production studio was because she felt there would be people there who could look out for me. And then, over time, those people became my family in a way, so that’s why I’m still now so attached to the Iranian film industry.
Now that you live in France, what cultural differences do you notice then between the different Arab Diaspora’s; like, for example, the Maghreb who live in France and those who’ve stayed in Iran?
You know, we all come from different cultural backgrounds; I think it’s unfair to just label people as from ‘the Arab world’. I find it such a strange thing to say because the Arab world is such a diverse world. It’s like an Iranian saying the ‘European world’ when there is so much diversity even in Europe, from France to England to even other places. Also, with language, too, I mean in Iran, we speak Persian, so is that the Arab world? Let’s say then that people mean the ‘Muslim’ world – well even there are so many differences in the countries. So there’s a great diversity and by trying to simplify it is like trying to simply Europe – it’s not possible.
Does it annoy you then when people from the West label everything from the Middle East together?
It doesn’t annoy me as such, because you get that from both sides. People tend to want to simplify things because they feel that by simplifying things, they’ll understand it better – but I just think that the beauty of humanity is its depth and the surface is just the surface. Once you acknowledge the depth and difference in cultures things get interesting. I mean even if you were to look at nationalities, I’ve never really met anyone in England who for me completely represents what is English. An individual comes from a cultural background, his own personal background and becomes what they are, and that’s what’s fascinating. We have a tendency, though, to simplify individuals to represent their nationalities, which I don’t think is right.
So, let’s talk about the future of Iranian directors. Can you see a new younger generation of filmmakers coming through behind you? Is there a future for Iranian Cinema?
Well, that’s what was about to happen before all of these events took place in a way. Our cinema, which the world knows as Iranian neo-realism, became more anti-social realism, and became more aggressive with the way we looked at things and the way we would approach our problems in society. At the beginning of all this, there was the film No One Knows About The Persian Cats and there were a lot of films out there being made to point out the points of view of the younger generation (he starts to regain his confidence and previous manner apparent through a louder voice – QA), and I don’t think that now it’s going to stop. It might have come to a sudden stop now, but it’s only natural that artists and filmmakers and young people will find ways of expressing themselves. Now film might take on a modern and new dimension, but I don’t think that Iranian cinema will stop simply because the government wants it to stop. And, in fact, as you probably notice, as soon as a government wants to put a stop to something, this only gives the artist or filmmaker more enthusiasm and drive to make it because an artist doesn’t have any other choice. That’s his profession, that’s his being and you can’t stop people from…being.
What’s the future for you then? Have you got any more ideas in the pipeline?
There are ideas, yes, of course. I’d like to go back to Iran and make another film. I hope (he stresses – QA) I can go back to Iran and make another film…and I’d like to think that one day I can. Because, somehow, we need to believe in possibilities, as that’s the way we keep on going forward. Where I come from, it’s a country where you live by the day; you don’t really calculate the next month or the next year, you just go through your day, and by the end of the day that’s what your life is about. It creates a sense of urgency in people, so I won’t stop making films, and I’ll find a way of going back and doing it. QA
Film: Winter Light
Release date: 19th November 2001
Certificate: PG
Running time: 81 mins
Director: Ingmar Bergman
Starring: Ingrid Thulin, Gunnar Björnstrand, Gunnel Lindblom, Max von Sydow, Allan Edwall
Genre: Drama
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Sweden
Ingmar Bergman is considered to be the epitome of high brow art house cinema, combining human angst for the exploration of big themes such as faith, mortality and the meaning of life with a deeply innovative and sober auteurial style that has led to many labelling him as the antithesis of Hollywood. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the second of Bergman’s ‘faith’ trilogy, Winter Light.
Set in a rural and isolated part of Sweden, the film takes place in a three hour window between midday and 3pm on a winter’s Sunday, and revolves around the village pastor Tomas (Gunnar Bjrnstrand), who has been suffering from a crisis of faith since the death of his wife four years earlier.
The film opens with the end of midday mass for a tiny congregation, including an easily distracted child presumably dragged to church by his devout grandmother, an atheist schoolmistress (Ingrid Thulin) with an ulterior motive for attending, and a young fishing couple.
Following the congregation, Tomas coughs and splutters his way through preparations for his next mass in the neighbouring town of Frostnas, when the troubled young couple come to him for advice. He swiftly sends them away, advising Jonas Persson (Max Von Sydow) to return for a more in-depth chat later. Subsequently, Marta, the schoolmistress, slips into the pastor’s office to enquire about her unread letter, and declares her love for him before leaving.
When Tomas is finally alone, he reads her scathing letter that makes him doubt his faith, and finally has time to reflect before Jonas returns, anxiously seeking counsel for why God would allow global atrocities to take place. Tomas, however, cannot provide answers but merely more questions regarding God’s silence, and admits that his own faith wavered after the death of his wife. Jonas leaves more confused than when he arrived, whilst Marta is overjoyed that Tomas has finally decided to renounce God for love.
However, as they start to make their way towards Frostnas for the 3pm mass, some unforeseen events prove that God moves in mysterious ways…
The films sombre and austere mood is set right from the opening bleak shots and silence; only punctuated by ominous church bells. This is a special kind of film, in which all of its aspects - the camera work, desolate sound, lighting, script and acting - are restrained, working in shadows and low key to conversely create a spiritual exploration for a God greater than the sum of its parts.
This contrast is no more apparent than in the twelve minute long opening scene. Bergman juxtaposes large open spaces shot in wide frame and extreme long shots with the tiny congregation to highlight not only the isolated environment of his film but how isolated man is from God as well. Then this effect is recreated through image and sound as the confident church organ, hymns and Tomas’s laborious preachy words exclaim devotion, yet the tight and intense camera work focuses intimately on solemn faces that betray doubt, fear and anxiety.
The stark use of light and shade is another key element in the film. Reportedly Bergman and his cinematographer, Sven Nykvist, spent days studying how the natural Nordic light created shadows in the church before shooting the film. A key example of the use of light is in the pivotal scene where Tomas – at his most vulnerable and isolated from God - echoes Jesus on the crucifix with his question: “Why have you forsaken me?” In this scene, after being in shadows for the whole film, surrounding by questions, he finally renounces God and is bathed in sunlight, as if being baptised by the Pagan, and earthly god symbolises his choice of corporeal love.
Indeed this leads to another of the Bergman’s techniques that make this film a cerebral masterpiece; the use of symbolism. Bergman makes every one of his ‘believers’ in the film have some physical ailment and cause of pain - from Tomas’s cold and the loss of his wife and Marta’s eczema-ridden hands to Algot’s limping leg. Each of the believers are suffering, and the film subtly investigates how much humans will endure for their faith.
Concurrently, Bergman puts his viewers through this dense dreary and claustrophobic film to ask them: “How much will you endure for the sake of art?” Although this is a motif he uses more pertinently in later films such as Cries And Whispers, it’s brilliantly implemented here in Marta’s 6 minute monologue, when Ingrid Thulin talks directly to the viewer. Framed tight and in an unflattering fashion, she details her insecurities and thoughts towards Tomas directly at the audience, rendering the viewer to feel completely uncomfortable with no escape.
Whilst Winter Light is one of Bergman’s shortest and bleakest films, the beauty of its craftsmanship, profound subject matter and simplicity lends to repeat viewing, and gives it an ageless quality. Perhaps the film was best summed up by Bergman’s own wife, who said "Ingmar, it's a masterpiece. But it's a dreary masterpiece." QA
