REVIEW: Cinema Release: Honey (Bal)

Film: Honey (Bal)
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 15th July 2011
Distributor: Verve
Certificate: TBC
Running time: 87 mins
Director: Semih Kaplanoglu
Starring: Bora Altas, Erdal Besikçioglu, Tülin Özen, Ayse Altay, Alev Uçarer
Genre: Drama
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Turkey/Germany
Language: Turkish

Review by: Mark Player

Following on from his previous features Egg (Yumurta) in 2007 and Milk (Süt) in 2008, Turkish writer/director Semih Kaplanoglu completes his food themed trilogy with Honey (Bal) and thus, completing his exploration of these films' recurring protagonist; a man by the name of Yusuf.

In Egg, the thirty-something Yusuf (Nejat Isler) returns to his childhood hometown after hearing about his mother's death. In Milk, Yusuf (Melih Selcuk) is a high school graduate – with ambitious of becoming a poet – who must come to terms with his seemingly uncertain future. In Honey, Yusuf (Bora Atlas) is a small boy living with his mother and father in a small subsistent community out in the Turkish countryside.

Yusuf shares a very deep bond with his father, Yakup (Erdal Besikçioglu), and loves to be involved with his work; going out into the forest to collect honey from bee hives placed high up in the trees. However, the honey crop is dwindling, forcing Yakup to work in valleys that are further afield, and meaning that he must leave home for a few days. A distraught Yusuf is made to stay with his mother (Tülin Özen), who is worried about her son's future prospects. Yusuf also seems to be struggling at school, unable to read aloud from his study book to the class, but this concern is eclipsed by the world-shattering idea that Yakup might not return from his trip...


Honey is a very tonal, quiet and delicate film that will likely frustrate those who are accustomed to media that's more instantly accessible. The film offers a viewing experience akin to watching a slowly opening flower and, as a result, some will have the patience for it and others won't.

The first scene sets the film's ponderous pacing immediately; the opening shot being a wide locked off angle of Yakup trekking through the woods and selecting a tree to climb. This goes on for about five minutes, cutting to another angle only when Yakup starts to haul himself up the rope. However, when the branch supporting his rope starts to give, Yukup is left hanging with little keeping him in the air. But before we're given the satisfaction of knowing the outcome of this perilous situation (does he fall to his death or find a way of re-supporting himself?), Kaplanoglu cuts to the opening credits to prolong this unexpected moment of tension before introducing Atlas' lead, learning to read from a letter pinned to the wall of his house. It soon becomes apparent that the young Atlas' portrayal of Yusuf is one of the film's biggest assets.

Incredibly, not only does Atlas carry the entire film on his undeveloped shoulders, successfully masking the somewhat meagre narrative, but takes to the craft with such apparent ease that you forget that you're watching a fictional character; a tall order and a massive achievement for a 7-year-old. Bal would not be anywhere near as engrossing if left in the hands of a different, more self-conscious child-actor.

The chemistry between Atlas and his on-screen father is highly impressive and makes for the best and most endearing moments of the film; personified through their ongoing conversations in hushed tones. Likewise, then, Besikçioglu is also well cast as the humble patriarch and his scenes with Atlas form the film's heart – semi-autobiographical ruminations between Kaplanoglu and the relationship with his own father no doubt. One charming moment sees the mother give Yusuf a glass of milk to drink after dinner. Knowing that Yusuf does not like milk, Yakup obliges and quickly downs it without his wife noticing. But when Yakup is feared missing later on, there is no-one to drink Yusaf's milk for him, prompting him to consume it himself; a simple and effective metaphor for becoming self-reliant and taking on new responsibility in the wake of another's absence.

Baris Ozbicer's cinematography is thoughtful and well framed, beautifully capturing the northern forest regions of Turkey. Naturally, there is a strong emphasis on landscape here, both in terms of what's physically there in the shot and thematically. Yusuf seems most at ease in the forest with his father, learning the day-to-day of the honey collecting trade, as well as types of flowers and what kind of honey their pollen will produce. He is also able to read with confidence to his father, but cannot do the same in a more civilised environment - at school, for instance.

However, herein perhaps lies Honey's greatest drawback. Its narrative lacks tangible significance or any sense of event, instead focusing on the family's daily routine and Yusuf's days at school. While this is well executed and reasonably engrossing for the most part, it doesn't necessarily feel like time well spent. It becomes most apparent when Yakup leaves for the next valley in search of honey, removing the core – and most interesting – element of Yusaf interacting with his father. Soon after Yakup's departure, the film drifts into aimless delirium – much like its young protagonist – and what was once slow yet serene risks becoming just plain motionless.

Some moments still work quite well. Yusaf and his mother walk through the woods, triggering a well integrated day-dream of Yakup falling from a tree, in a manner reminiscent of the first scene. Other moments don't grip quite so well, though. Yusaf staying the night with his grandmother in what appears to be some kind of convent feels like padding, as does a trip undertaken by Yusaf and his mother to the local village on market day. Another fluff-up is that it’s suggested that the story is taking place in the present, but, if this is the same Yusuf from Egg, surely the narrative would need to be set circa 1970s for it to make chronological sense.


Honey's simplicity is both a blessing and a curse. The measured pace and lovely performances (Atlas in particular) make it a delicate and personal character study of a small boy who loves his father. On the flipside, very little actually happens during the narrative; only mustering a mildly satisfying climax that cynics would argue is not enough to warrant sitting through a one-hundred-minute-long film. The results are beautiful yet superfluous, but nevertheless, Honey remains intriguing and worthwhile enough for those who enjoy quiet and thoughtful cinema, and don't require the hollow pleasures that come with instant gratification. MP

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Last Year In Marienbad

Film: Last Year In Marienbad
Year of production: 1961
UK Release date: 8th July 2011
Distributor: BFI
Certificate: U
Running time: 94 mins
Director: Alain Resnais
Starring: Delphine Seyrig, Giorgio Albertazzi, Sacha Pitoëff, Françoise Bertin, Luce Garcia-Ville
Genre: Drama/Mystery/Romance
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: France/Italy
Language: French

Review by: Anna Attallah

Baffling and enchanting critics in equal measure, whether Last Year In Marienbad leaves you bewildered or firmly under its spell, it is a cinematic experience that cannot be ignored. Winner of the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival, this icon of European art house cinema influenced countless films, including Vertigo and The Shining, with a tale that is both enigmatically dreamlike and just plain weird.
In the beautifully intricate corridors and stately rooms of an imposing baroque hotel, a nameless stranger, credited as X (Georgio Albertazzi), stalks the elegant woman A (Delphine Seyrig), who he claims he had a love affair with the previous year.

As the story is built, layer upon layer, rotating seamlessly between the past and present, we learn that she supposedly promised X a year ago that after a year had passed they would meet again and run away together.

Shadowed by another sinister man who may or may not be her husband (Sacha Pitoëff), the woman vehemently denies she ever made such a promise, or, indeed, that they know each other at all, as fact and fiction become increasingly blurred.

Men in tuxedoes robotically fire pistols in an unexplained shooting gallery, elegantly dressed guests inexplicably freeze in mid-conversation and the layout of the hotel and gardens is constantly shape-shifting (the action was shot in three different locations).

Whilst events intensify and the flashbacks become even more surreal and threatening, the action builds to a dramatic crescendo, posing more questions than it answers...


This film tore up the cinematic rulebook in 1961 and is still provoking debate and dividing opinions fifty years later. Like all works of modern art, there are those who dismiss it as pretentious nonsense and those who claim it is a masterpiece, but even on a purely cinematic level, you cannot fail to be impressed by the way the camera transforms into an artist’s brush in the hands of Alain Resnais and his cinematographer Sasha Vierny. Long tracking shots and disjointed flashbacks create impressions and images which question whether the narrator’s memory is accurate or if he is making it up as he goes along. Unsettling organ music heightens the feeling of oppression, as the hotel, which should ooze glamour and sophistication, instead becomes an ominous prison populated by gorgeously dressed mannequins. The narration itself is also musical, elegantly poetic and endlessly cyclical, it rarely stops and has a hypnotic quality which heightens the disconcerting sense that this is all a dream – or a nightmare.

It is clear that many horror films owe a certain debt to Last Year In Marienbad, which shows that subtle tension can be created easily without scary CGI effects with something as simple as a woman and a bed. We can recognise the lingering long shots of the hotel’s corridors in The Shining and A’s ambiguous lover M, played by Sacha Pitoëff, wouldn’t look out of place as Dracula with his corpse-like looks and icy demeanour. Georgio Albertazzi seems innocent enough as the gloomy narrator, yet even he takes on a menacing air as we begin to question his motives and even his sanity when he becomes more and more insistent in his pursuit of Delphine Seyrig. It is a credit to her charisma that she doesn’t fade into the background; having minimal dialogue, in comparison to Georgio Albertazzi, she is practically silent for the whole film. Nevertheless, she is not just a seductive bit of eye candy dressed in striking outfits (designed by none other than Coco Chanel), she is an accomplished actress who drives most of the disquieting tension of the plot.

Given that the occupants of the hotel are so mannequin-like it is no surprise that the film recently served as inspiration for Karl Lagerfeld’s Chanel Spring/Summer 2011 collection, where the models strutted their stuff on a catwalk based on Marienbad’s immaculate geometric garden. This is the setting of the famous still where the people have shadows, yet the trees and shrubs do not, and it is these experimental touches which root this world in a sort of hallucinogenic reality.

Sacha Pitoëff is constantly shown playing what appears to be a completely pointless game of chance – a version of pick-up sticks which any 5-year-old could master. It is, however, an ancient Chinese game called “Nim”, which requires an enormous amount of mathematical precision and skill. This is clearly a sly wink to the audience from Resnais, a small reminder that although we suspect this is all just random self-indulgence, it has in fact been meticulously planned.


Last Year In Marienbad may have popularised a surrealist aesthetic which now seems dated, but it is also an aesthetic which walks a fine line between the sublime and the ridiculous. Whether Resnais succeeds is open to everyone’s interpretation, and it is this that gives beauty to this cult classic. A film that forces you to engage and puzzle over what it’s all about. One thing is certain, this is a film made to be seen on the big screen – and it’s a trance-like trip that is well worth it. AA

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Incendies

Film: Incendies
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 24th June 2011
Distributor: Trinity
Certificate: 15
Running time: 132 mins
Director: Denis Villeneuve
Starring: Lubna Azabal, Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin, Maxim Gaudette, Rémy Girard, Abdelghafour Elaaziz
Genre: Drama/Mystery/War
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Canada/France
Language: French/Arabic/English

Review by: Natalie Meziani

Adapted from the play ‘Scorched’ by Wajdi Mouawad, Incendies has been brought to the screen by Québécoise director Denis Villeneuve in this harrowing full-length feature. The film battles its way through a powerful shower of revelations in order to explore the fruitful life of Nawal Marwan, as her twin children return to their Arabic homeland to fulfil her dying wish.

Incendies begins with Canadian twins Simon and Jeanne receiving the will of their mother, Nawal, providing them with some bizarre burial instructions and a pair of unopened envelopes for them to deliver. Nawal asks the twins to return to her native soil in search of a father they had believed to be dead and a brother they didn’t know existed in order to deliver one letter to each. It is only then that she may be buried properly, for without this final act she claims that she is not worthy of the privilege of a grave.

In order to carry out their search, the twins are obliged to learn the facts of their mother’s past by exploring the place where she was brought up. Simon is initially reluctant to participate, but Jeanne immediately finds herself in the Middle East in search of her mother’s truth. This facilitates the revelation of crucial moments in Nawal’s life which they could never have even dreamt, painting a detailed and painful picture in order to gradually understand how to find their father and brother.

The twins soon realise that they do not know their mother at all. The events which she has endured have been completely buried during her time in Canada. We progressively construct her life through largely horrific chronological flashbacks, including Nawal giving birth after being raped during her 15-year imprisonment for shooting a political leader. The final scene surpasses the many shocking events witnessed during Nawal’s life, taking the audience miles past the point of comfortable fiction, but definitely into the territory of a masterpiece...


It is increasingly rare that visual art can have such a large part in the creation of emotion, and cinematographer André Turpin plays a brilliant role in executing this. The muted colour used in the depiction of Nawal’s life adds a subtle beauty to her horrendous past; creating a tone of sadness in the fact that such courage could ever exist. The transitions from present activity to flashbacks of Nawal’s life are allocated chapter headings, slammed onto the screen in a stark red lettering which further adds to the film’s strong character.

The political content implies that Nawal’s experiences occur in Lebanon, although no country is ever named. This suggests that the film is making a sweeping statement about the difficulties of war-infused life rather than making a point about Lebanese history, allowing Incendies the ability to uphold a widespread poignancy. This universal appeal undoubtedly places Villeneuve amongst the best of world-class film directors.

Villeneuve regularly uses still shots filled with crushing silence, which are almost necessary in allowing the viewer to digest each morsel of devastation before the next scene takes place. The use of Radiohead in the soundtrack haunts the screen and enhances the story’s distress, which is particularly well-placed in the opening scene. Such a huge contemporary band also links Incendies to the present era, giving us a larger capacity to be empathetically shocked.

The shattering pain of Nawal is spoken through the eyes of Lubna Azabal in some of the most moving acting to grace Canadian cinema; her manipulation of each individual trauma is exquisite. Maxim Gaudette plays the lesser tolerant twin Simon, while Mélissa Désormeaux-Poulin is the more determined Jeanne. The two create a delicately believable onscreen sibling chemistry, allowing the story to strike a chord in the audience’s hearts. Even minor characters in Incendies are incredibly apt at building emotion within scenes; there is such raw and realistic passion present in all the performances that one could easily assume they are acting out a true story based on themselves. The film’s biggest punch is based on an outlandish coincidence, and yet its creditability is not tainted thanks to the perfection presented by the script and acting.


Incendies has an abundance of awards under its belt and a Best Foreign Language Oscar nomination. This comes as no surprise. The film follows an explosive path of grandeur; it is dramatic, it is overstated, and it is drawn out. But the entire package is of such a high standard that it is necessary in all its excess – the austere visual and emotional content is of the highest calibre. NM 

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Rio Breaks

Film: Rio Breaks
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 3rd June 2011
Distributor: Mr. Bongo
Certificate: E
Running time: 84 mins
Director: Justin Mitchell
Genre: Documentary
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: USA
Language: Portuguese/English

Review by: Sarah Hill

At a quick glance, the new film by director Justin Mitchell, Rio Breaks, appears to be a documentary about the surfing culture in Rio de Janeiro. However, it soon becomes apparent that it is much more than that: it’s an examination of Rio’s youth-orientated gun crime culture that gives more than a nod to Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund’s 2002 film City Of God. More simply, it is also an exploration of adolescence.

Rio Breaks follows two young boys, 12-year-old Naama and 13-year-old Fabio, as they work towards competing in the annual surfing competition which could, potentially, offer them a sponsorship deal.

For these boys, and others like them, surfing is more than just a hobby: it’s a way out of Rio’s shanty towns, known as “The Hills”, where gun crime is rife. It’s the kind of place where, when confrontation arises, it’s impossible to guess who will shoot first – the police or the gang leaders. It’s a situation that both boys have firsthand experience of, having lost fathers and brothers to this pervading culture.

But as the build up to the competition escalates, can the boys’ friendship survive the constant lure of a life of crime, as well as the universal strain that comes as part of growing up?...


The film opens with the calming sound of waves infused with the gentle sound of Latin guitar. Two inquisitive young boys on their first ever boat trip are eagerly learning about an iconic patch of surf that very few have successfully rode from a group of older men whom they clearly look up to; these men were no doubt a lot like them a few years ago. The film then cuts to a series of fast-paced action shots of surfers. However, it soon becomes clear that these kinetic images are not just a celebration of surf culture; they also evoke a frantic sense of urgency because, as the voiceover informs us: “In Rio, surfing can save your life.”

In this part of one of Rio’s 500 shanty towns, a surf school has been set up in order to provide teenagers with free surfing lessons, so as to keep them away from Rio’s ever-present gun culture. With so few options available to them, it is little wonder that children like Naama and Fabio spend all their days on the beach. The appeal of the surf lifestyle is heightened by the careful juxtaposition of expansive shots of the beach with claustrophobic shots of the inside of the boys’ homes where most of the family reside. This sense of confinement is magnified by the fact that when one of the boys takes the documentary crew on a tour of his home, he stands on the spot and the camera doesn’t move an inch.

Despite their impoverished backgrounds, Naama and Fabio are like many teenage boys around the world; they spend all of their time together and engage in constant banter. Mitchell does an excellent job of depicting the relationship between them and ensures that their individual personalities are apparent throughout. Naama is sharp and cheeky and likes to make jokes, whereas Fabio is much more serious and likes to ponder over matters. This is demonstrated when the boys are shown playfully dangling their legs over a ledge and Fabio asks Naama: “Can you picture us falling from here?” Fabio’s morbid sentiments are hardly surprising given that he lost his father to Rio’s gun culture (which claims 15,000 victims per year) – he was killed by the gang he tried to leave. Although both boys talk about their experiences of gun crime in a worryingly relaxed manner, hearing Fabio describe how he felt when his father was killed is heartrending. It is moments such as these that give the film a depth which elevates it beyond a typical surfing documentary.

Despite this sadness, the film also contains some lovely comedic moments; such as when the narrator claims that, even though they are supposed to be practicing for the competition, the boys have “other things on their mind,” and Mitchell cuts to a shot of a beach full of bikini-clad girls. Girls are a frequent distraction for Naama, in particular, as he claims to have numerous girlfriends whom he likens to gum: “Once they stick, they’re hard to get off.”

However, it’s not just girls that are proving to be a distraction for the boys. As the film progresses, Naama and Fabio’s friendship is threatened by the lure of a life as a well-paid gang member. It seems as if life in a gang is a very real possibility for Fabio as he begins to spend less time surfing and more time fighting, eventually giving up surfing altogether. However, it is obvious that this new attitude arises from fear, as Fabio confesses that he is scared of dying. Although the film produces a few candid moments like this, it doesn’t always explore the feelings of the boys in as much detail as it could and sometimes their thoughts about their lives are skirted over somewhat.


Rio Breaks is an interesting and subtle documentary which unobtrusively follows two young boys as they strive to ensure that the gun crime which has blighted their past doesn’t destroy their future. As we witness them growing and changing in front of the camera, it seems that, sadly, for Naama and Fabio, this may prove to be more difficult than they had expected. SH

REVIEW: Cinema Release: The Round Up

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

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Cría Cuervos

Film: Cría Cuervos
Year of production: 1976
UK Release date: 10th June 2011
Distributor: BFI
Certificate: 12A
Running time: 110 mins
Director: Carlos Saura
Starring: Geraldine Chaplin, Mónica Randall, Florinda Chico, Ana Torrent, Héctor Alterio
Genre: Drama
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Spain
Language: Spanish

Review by: Patrick Gamble

The best years of life are universally regarded to be those of youth; a time filled with unadulterated fun and adventure with the constraints, monotony and rigmaroles of adulthood nothing but a distant enigma. Director Carlos Saura raises a rather compelling counter argument; he believes “it’s only our memory that tells us this period was a wonderful time, but that’s only because we don’t remember things.” Although a rather pessimistic view (Saura is no doubt referring to his own traumatic childhood growing up during the Spanish civil war), there are many that would agree with him. Cria Cuervos is a delightful exploration of one girl’s traumatic journey through childhood, giving us a warts and all portrayal of the true confusion that plagues this phase instead of glorifying it through self imposed misinformed nostalgia. Using a seemingly endless series of unhappy events, Saura throws us into a time of terrible indecision, cloaked in a suffocating atmosphere of fear. Highly regarded as one of the most insightful and politically charged pieces of Spanish filmmaking, this charming journey of child fantasy imbued in reality finally gets the re-release it deserves from the BFI.

It’s still very much Francisco Franco’s Spain when we intrude upon the Madrid household of the recently widowed Anselmo. He dies suddenly amidst the throes of passion with Amelia, the wife of his best friend and fellow army officer, Nicolas. However, it appears this was no natural death - he was poisoned! The apparent culprit of this calculated murder? None other than the second of his three daughters, Ana (Ana Torrent, Spirit Of The Beehive), a wise beyond her years girl who blames her father for the death of her beloved mother. Cria Cuervos literally translates as Raise Ravens, a Spanish proverb that reads “raise ravens and they’ll take your eyes” and is generally used for someone who has bad luck raising children!

Out of a sense of family duty, Anselmo’s sister-in-law, Paulina, soon moves into the large, yet moderately dilapidated house to care for the girls and their mute grandmother, instantly instituting her own domestic regime. The girls remain unfazed and continue with their lives in much the same manner as before, but as their summer holiday unfolds, we become privy not only to the family dynamic of this all woman household, but also the vivid fantasy world of Ana. Through a myriad of daydreams and other forms of escapism, this inquisitive, imaginative and possible deadly young girl comes to terms with the death of her mother, whilst maintaining her staunch hatred for her father and the oppressive regime he represented…


The most captivating element of Cria Cuervos has to be its seamless story, which impressively blurs together fantasy and memory, whilst maintaining a strong foothold in reality. These hauntingly vivid depictions of Anna’s numerous flights of the imagination are beautifully conveyed as a stark contrast to the repressed household she dwells within and the world around her. These flashbacks, dream sequences and daytime mirages could have easily resulted in a confusing and cluttered film, yet, through deceptively simple shooting methods (Ana’s mother wanders into the frame nonchalantly and is completely ignored by all except Ana), the camera work of Teodoro Escamilla manages to capture the intimacy of these fictitious moments between Ana and her deceased mother. This ability to let fantasy and actuality intertwine on screen, combined with the tension created by the tentative yet relentless movement of the camera, perfectly aligns us with Ana’s point of view. It all culminates in not just an enjoyably honest portrayal of childhood confusion, but a unique and exquisitely presented perspective on the gritty reality of bereavement.

Fans of Pan’s Labyrinth’s darkly unsettling, poetic depiction of child fantasy and fairytales, successfully mirrored against the violent backdrop of the Spanish Civil War, will instantly fall in love with Cria Cuervos. Both films undoubtedly share a similar thematic and stylish template, but stand out for the astonishingly professional performances from their young and engaging female leads. This in no way should detract from the enjoyment of both these films, but instead underlines how effective depicting sensitive adult themes through immature eyes can be. However, unlike Pan’s Labyrinth’s heroine, Ofilia, a young girl who radiated with childlike innocence, Ana Torrent’s performance is so frighteningly serious that you can’t help but believe that she’s more than capable of the most malevolent of acts. This, however, is a role which demands a broader range of emotion responses than your usual pedophobia thriller, yet Torrent’s expressive and incredibly watchful face never falters in portraying any of these.

The film was made whilst General Franco was on his deathbed, and was naturally seen as a metaphor for the last dying gasps of fascism and the dictator’s totalitarian regime. The film clearly stresses the disparity between Ana’s fantasy world and the political reality of fascism though numerous symbolic techniques. The house, whilst clearly quite grand, feels incredibly claustrophobic, and it can be no coincidence that the blinds on the windows seem like prison bars containing the girls from the outside world. The empty swimming pool in the garden, which the girls play around, could also represent the lost pleasures of the era or, indeed, their unfulfilled lives. Ana’s father, in his military attire, is evidently here to represent fascism within the family dynamic. His controlling nature over Ana’s mother (a once famed concert pianist) could easily be interpreted as the repression of artists such as Saura, making Ana’s murderous act seem almost revolutionary within this domestic microcosm. Unfortunately, the introduction of Paulina to rule the home, with her strict code of cleanliness and etiquette, seems to act as a warning that Spain’s transition toward democracy may not be as smooth as hoped for.

Paulina’s presence turns the home into an all female household that spans three generations; each is represented with its own distinctive soundtrack. The disparity between the girls’ incredibly catchy pop music and the classical music, which seemingly once filled the house, shows a shift away from tradition, which is equally apparent in their casual clothing - a stark contrast to the elegant dresses of their elders. It has led to many perceiving that Saura uses the female sex and their legacy of repression as a parallel to Spain’s troubled history. It’s a tenuous link, but the fact remains that many feminists still laud Cria Cuervos as a wonderfully subtle account of female socialization, specifically the way in which the girls reject the roles they are expected to fulfill. Ana’s interactions with Rosa, the maid, lead to some humorous and well crafted examples of this, but perhaps the dress up scene, involving the three girls recreating a domestic dispute, is the most obviously symbolic of them all. It’s a scene that we later realise, through one of Ana’s recollections, is an almost exact copy of an argument between her broken down mother and nauseatingly abhorrent father. Yet, in this delightfully charming recreation by the children, Ana’s portrayal of her mother is a far more assured and confrontational one, perhaps signalling a time of hope regarding women’s rights through this new rebellious generation, brought up within a new liberated Spain. It’s a subject matter dealt with cautiously by the director, who despite these countless depictions of youthful empowerment presents the future Ana (though some gently interspersed, straight to camera pieces) under an impartial light. Interestingly, Saura casts the same actress here as plays Ana’s mother, leading us to question whether young Ana is doomed to make the same mistakes.


The term ‘classic’ often gets thrown around too easily, without much regard to the importance and role of the adjective within cinematic history. Cria Cuervos, with its cultivated meditation on history, memory and childhood, combined with an intriguing political undertone, is a film which can be enjoyed on many, many levels. Whether you choose to view it as a reflective parable documenting the fall of fascism, a subtle allegory about the repressed roles of women, or just as a joyous journey into the fantasy world of an imaginative young girl, it rightfully deserves to be heralded as a true classic. PG

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Le Quattro Volte

Film: Le Quattro Volte
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 30th May 2011
Distributor: New Wave
Certificate: U
Running time: 88 mins
Director: Michelangelo Frammartino
Starring: Giuseppe Fuda, Bruno Timpano, Nazareno Timpano
Genre: Drama
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Italy/Germany/Switzerland
Language: Italian

Review by: Natalie Meziani

Le Quattro Volte is almost certainly not what you will expect to see. It is a film that manages to bypass even the most defiant of art house cinema; it takes all the rules and folds them into a happily drifting paper aeroplane. Director Michelangelo Frammartino has set his second full-length feature in the south Italian region of Calabria, where he uses goats, a tree, some charcoal and an old man to explore Pythagoras’ theory of transmigration – the idea that existence of the soul is dispersed amongst human, animal, vegetable and mineral. There is an absence of dialogue and music and human interaction, therefore its entire meaning depends upon the amount of work the viewer is willing to put in themselves.

Le Quattro Volte begins with a very brief glimpse into the life of an old goat herder, afflicted with a chesty cough, which he attempts to combat daily by taking a shot of water mixed with dusty scrapings from the local church floor. Superstition it may be, but one missed “medication” ends up as a fatal mistake. His imminent death leads to the second chapter in Pythagoras’ idea of a four-fold soul, as we traverse towards the animal stage: meet the chaotic goats. While the film’s single human character is on the verge of making a plodding exit, the herd of goats are left without control and thus run riot across the town.

There are goats everywhere: they are in the deceased herder’s house and they are on his kitchen table. After his body is carried away in a coffin, the screen turns black and re-opens upon the unrefined birth of a goat. The birth of said goat provides us with our next protagonist, as we follow the kid in its early stages of life, until one day it becomes separated from the herd. The goat comes across a tree, which is cut down and used in the town’s festivities the following year. Having finished their celebration, the tree is sold to coalmen who burn the wood into charcoal, metaphorically releasing the herder’s soul back to where it began…


The cinematography’s resemblance to real life gives the film a documentary-like feel, with no overt enhancement of colour and a consistent use of natural lighting. There is a relentless sound of bells as the goats traverse around the town, but there is otherwise very little background noise. There is most certainly no music or speech. But although this may initially sound dreary and far too pretentious, Le Quattro Volte has a certain indistinct charm in its diversity.

With no dialogue, the story is facilitated through the use of expression and scene composition. While the film’s content is essentially ominous and slow-paced, there is also something comical about watching the oblivious existence of the goats. The brilliant thing about Le Quattro Volte is its ability to run for 88 minutes without the audience craving dialogue. The metaphorical richness and the peaceful scenarios allow it to progress painlessly, which also permits the viewer to interpret the film entirely as they wish due to a lack of verbal direction.

The shepherd is portrayed as a quirky and traditional fellow: more pans than one man should require are hung on his kitchen wall; his stark bedroom consists primarily of a shabby bed and some chairs; and he spends a lot of time contemplating. Giuseppe Fuda plays the role of this slow-paced old man, sporting a constant vacant stare and moving with the deliberation of a hopeless soul. His behaviour appears entirely natural, leading you to forget that he is in fact an actor.

Vast colourless buildings complete what appears to be a relatively motionless town, with frequent landscape shots of an area where nature is a ruling force of calmness. There are regular extreme long shots which focus on still constructions, and so any human or animal activity is highlighted. The stillness of the camera also means that close-up shots hold a subtle poignancy - there is an early scene transition which fixates purely on falling dust particles, which Frammartino manages to pull off due to its sheer hypnotic simplicity.

Le Quattro Volte calmly captures the viewer in a bated gasp, with each breath slowly held back by the unknown course of the next scene. There are no sudden actions or miraculous surprises, but this in turn allows the richness of life to shine through. It gives the viewer a chance to run wild with their own existential thoughts, and escapes the fabricated fantasy world of predictable cinema.


For those unwilling to dedicate their attention to something so abstract and unconventional, Le Quattro Volte should be avoided at all costs. It requires 88 minutes of uninterrupted attention, but, as Frammartino whispers hopeful words into your subconscious, he allows all the doubts of man to dissolve into a wisp of charcoal smoke, giving the soul an immortality which most other films can only dream of. NM

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Life, Above All

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

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Heartbeats

Film: Heartbeats
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 27th May 2011
Distributor: Network
Certificate: 15
Running time: 97 mins
Director: Xavier Dolan
Starring: Monia Chokri, Niels Schneider, Xavier Dolan, Anne Dorval, Anne-Élisabeth Bossé
Genre: Drama/Romance
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Canada
Language: French

Review by: Patrick Gamble

French-Canadian writer-director-star, Xavier Dolan took the festival circuit by storm back in 2009 with I Killed My Mother. This promising debut quickly stapled his name onto every ‘up-and-coming’ director list around. Heartbeats was completed only a year later and critics now will get to decide whether Dolan is indeed the new ‘great white hope’ many proclaimed him to be, or simply another case of a young man who peaked to early.

Heartbeats depicts the tale of a doomed ménage à trois. Our two central protagonist are Francis (Xavier), a stylish gay man who longs to be loved, and Marie (Monia Chokri), a young girl with a delightful shabby chic style that aspires for that perfect partner with whom to overcome the sexual trappings of a relationship and find the perfect ‘spoon’ fit, which she believes is the secret to a long and meaningful partnership.

We join these two close friends who, whilst enjoying a leisurely lunch with mutual acquaintances, both land eyes on the same man, Nicolas (Niels Schneider), a young boy fresh from the country who’s newly arrived in town. As soon as they both coyly declare they have no interest in this fresh faced Adonis, we know what we’re in store for.

A series of intimate rendezvous leads the trio into an uncontrollable love triangle as both Francis and Marie fight for the attentions of this new object of their desires. The pair both eventually fall deeper into a pit of obsession and fantasy, and as their feeling escalate, it becomes clear that it won’t just be their emotions that are put to the test but also the resolve of their cast-iron friendship. Indeed, Nicolas become something of a poisoned chalice, and what at first starts out as a story of the poetic craziness of falling in love soon becomes more a study of the humiliation of rejection and the heartfelt pain that loneliness can bring…


The issue of a love triangle is nothing new in cinematic terms. Recent French cinema has already delighted us with Les Chansons d’Amour (a delightful love letter to the musicals of Jacques Demy) and Dreamers (a flawed but no less enjoyable celebration of classic cinema). Heartbeats attempts to shine a different light on the topic by focusing on the destructive element it can inevitably have on the ones it hurts. Whilst it may sound an attractive prospect, a relationship shared three ways generally only heightens the percentage of chance that someone will be cast aside when the novelty expires and the usual traumas and tribulations of a real relationship start to raise their heads. Director Xavier Dolan’s has decided not to shy away from this fact and has instead wallowed within it. However, its many flaws along the way prevent it from being the masterpiece he has set out to make.

The first place to start with this critique would be the seemingly redundant frame narrative that Dolan has wrapped around the story – where individuals give their views on sexual encounters and try to shed their own light on the reasons relationships so often fail. These ‘talking heads’ segments seem like little more than an obvious attempt to fill in the gaps of what is quite a superficial movie, which hasn’t the depth to cover the magnitude of these emotional issues. Unfortunately, Dolan’s attempts to cover all too many bases fails and what actually transpires is nothing more than an irritatingly, self-centered side piece that not only acts to disrupt the film’s pace but also never seems to gel with the incidents that surround it.

Following on with this theme of self-centered storytelling is the obvious issue of Xavier Dolan himself. There is always a hint of arrogance in the air with any director who decides to cast himself in the leading role. Numerous times throughout the film peripheral characters refer to his character as “cute” or “handsome,” and there comes a point when this glorification of one’s self becomes hard to stomach. The decision to take the role of a very self detrimental character also screams of nothing more than preposterous attention seeking and greatly influences the overall enjoyment of a film which ultimately feels like nothing more than a man singlehandedly crying out to be noticed. Dolan is quite obviously a handsome man with a lot of underused talent, so his need to act like this becomes infuriating for the less ‘glamorous’ members of the audience who no doubt aren’t even close to having the looks or artistic talent to rival this seemingly unfulfilled young man. He clearly has the opportunity to do great things if only he focused more on his art than what others think of him.

This try-hard attitude is also apparent within other elements of the film. The soundtrack, for example, is filled with classic ‘calling card’ bands and blares out at an uncomfortable decibel level, forcing you to pay attention regardless of whether or not the gratuitous over use of strobe lighting has already directed your attention away to other less objectionable sights in the cinema – like perhaps the plush velour of the seat in front or the inviting gleam of the exit sign. To be fair, though, there are moments where Dolan does manage to successfully navigate this fine line between high art and obnoxious pomposity (like a glorious use of a classical score to heighten the film’s more intimate moments).

This is certainly a film which falls into the category of style over substance, yet the stylish tricks performed, which don’t come across as overly gratuitous or farcical, all point to a talented filmmaker with an obvious eye for a shot and an ability to make the most from a modest cast list. He may wear his influences firmly on his sleeve (whether it be the slow motion imitation of In The Mood For Love or the obvious comparisons with Jules et Jim) and this ability to re-create such style whilst maintaining the film’s own unique direction is worthy of praise. Unfortunately, these flashes of brilliance only illuminate the numerous flaws of a director who’s clearly underperforming.


Heartbeats is a film you’ll desperately want to fall in love with. Yet Dolan’s attempts to mix high art with deadpan humour in a framework of emotional devastation falls just short, resulting in a somewhat cluttered, arrogant mess of a film that may well excite and titillate at first, but will ultimately leave you disappointed by the end – but like all immature crushes, given time, it’ll become completely forgettable. PG

REVIEW: Cinema Release: Julia’s Eyes

Film: Julia’s Eyes
Year of production: 2010
UK Release date: 20th May 2011
Distributor: Optimum
Certificate: 15
Running time: 112 mins
Director: Guillem Morales
Starring: Belén Rueda, Lluís Homar, Pablo Derqui, Francesc Orella, Joan Dalmau
Genre: Horror/Thriller
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Spain
Language: Spanish

Review by: Dave O Butnu

The return of giallo to the international film circuit will be just the thing many horror fans have been waiting for, and with recent successes like Amer, we can only wait with baited breath for the next crazy European psycho killer to mess with our brains. New Spanish thriller Julia’s Eyes could well be the next big thing. Anyone that’s seen The Orphanage will certainly have high hopes, given that it is made by the same team, but can such a mainstream aesthetic live up its more visually flamboyant predecessors?

The story follows Julia, who has a degenerative condition which leads to blindness. Her twin sister has the same affliction and is found hanged in a basement soon after losing her sight. The verdict is suicide, but Julia suspects something more sinister at play.

As she begins to unravel her sister’s personal life, she finds herself in a losing battle for her own eyesight. However, her growing obsession drives her on to continue hunting for the person that she is convinced has killed her sister.

The trail of clues leads to a nail biting conclusion, as Julia discovers how her sister died…


Just in case you’re not too sure what giallo is, it’s a genre that was popularised by some legendary filmmakers, such as Mario Bava and Dario Argento. Most giallo movies were made between 1960 and 1990, but in the last two decades, the genre has been something of a rarity in cinemas. It is a type of thriller/horror which originated in Italy. They are called gialli (plural), which simply means ‘yellow’, because many were based on detective novels which came with a yellow cover. Generally, giallo involves a number of characters who are all killed off one by one by a mysterious gloved/masked killer.

There is usually a strong psychological element, as well as sexual themes and a lot of focus on style and fashion. Julia’s Eyes features just about all of the tell-tale signs of giallo, with numerous plot twists and mind games at play. For most of Julia’s Eyes, we find ourselves frequently changing our minds about if there really is a killer and who they might be. In terms of its script and story, this film is a meticulously constructed rollercoaster of fear and suspense.

It may be obvious, but the dominant theme of Julia’s Eyes is vision and voyeurism, which is always a subject close to the heart of cinema. The power of the gaze is often regarded as a metaphor for sexual and physical dominance; however, when the gaze is taken away, we are infinitely more vulnerable and impotent. These concepts all manifest through Julia’s struggle to keep her vision, which is cleverly used to take us to some very dark places indeed. It is said that the most frightening films place the horror off camera, but Julia’s Eyes actually puts it in front of the camera and keeps us from really being able to see it. It’s almost as if this approach makes the most of both displaying and concealing at the same time, creating a whole new perspective on fear and edge-of-your-seat suspense.

This theme is explored through the dialogue and events, but, most strikingly, through the visuals. Unlike the vibrant, colourful imagery of Amer, and many other gialli, Julia’s Eyes mostly presents us with shades of gloom and grey. Many of the sets use very low key lighting and restrict what is visible, using what we can’t see to create tension and suspense. It also implements a lot of out of focus shots and shadows, further obscuring what can be seen.

Starring in the title role is Belén Rueda, who also played the lead role in The Orphanage. Belen seems to have an amazing talent for playing the distressed, as once again we see her as a character that is quite literally on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She conveys this distress so well that it envelops the audience in her hysterical panic.

Julia’s husband, Isaac, is played by Lluís Homar, who also appeared in the Pedro Almodovar film Bad Education (incidentally Almodovar produced Guillermo del Toro’s The Devils Backbone). Homar plays the role of Isaac brilliantly, with a thoroughly believable performance. His role in Julia’s Eyes is not an easy one. Isaac is a husband whose wife is apparently going crazy and blind, but his ability to adapt to each new twist in the story, with just enough restraint to make us question his virtues, is a truly uncanny ability.

One other notable element of this movie is the use of flash bulbs to blind people in the dark. This echoes perfectly the voyeuristic Hitchcock classic Rear Window, both visually and thematically. This light bulb homage is a very fitting reference, considering that Rear Window and Julia’s Eyes share a lot in terms of the themes that they both tackle, since both films feature amateur sleuths with not just disabilities, but restricted viewpoints.


Julia’s Eyes is a more subtle giallo than most, offering all the usual giallo hallmarks, but in a much more conventional and mainstream package. The plot will keep you guessing from start to finish and may also deliver a few (un)pleasant surprises, which makes Julia’s Eyes a must for any fan of European slashers and gialli, but perhaps, more importantly, a very accessible introduction for anyone new to it. Julia’s Eyes is an all round pleaser, ticking all the boxes and offering the occasional bit of gore as a bonus. DOB