REVIEW: DVD Release: Men On The Bridge

Film: Men On The Bridge
Year of production: 2009
UK Release date: 13th June 2011
Distributor: Drakes Avenue
Certificate: 15
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Asli Özge
Starring: Cemile Ilker, Umut Ilker, Fikret Portakal, Murat Tokgöz
Genre: Drama
Format: DVD
Country of Production: Germany/Turkey/Netherlands
Language: Turkish

Review by: Natalie Meziani

Men On The Bridge does exactly what it says on the cover – it follows the tall dreams and futile lives of three men who work along the Bosphorous bridge joining the east and west halves of Istanbul. After winning the Golden Tulip Award for Best National Film at the Istanbul International Film Festival, the film stands out as a talented export from the lesser known field that is Turkish cinema. Director Asli Ozge produces a collective portrait of her three protagonists, briefly detailing their mundane lives without any requirement for an extensive plot.

Men On The Bridge has three central characters: Umut Ilker, Fikret Portakal and Murat Tokgoz. Umut is a taxi driver whose wife, Cemile, persistently worries about finding the perfect apartment despite their financial difficulties. His tedious job leaves him constantly stuck in traffic, but with the scare employment opportunities in Turkey, he cannot afford to quit.

Fikret spends his days walking past drivers in traffic jams, attempting to sell beautiful roses, but, seemingly, without success. His flower business is in fact illegal, and so he attempts to get a job in a café, but his lethargic manner and nonchalant approach result in him being fired. He is 17; we see him hanging out with his friends and singing out-of-key Turkish hits, we see him smoking and being generally unproductive, and we see him rummaging in dustbins for useful objects to sell or consume.

Murat is an easygoing traffic policeman who likes to explore the world of internet dating in his spare time. Using online messaging to find girls, he is awkwardly persistent; sometimes he meets them in real life but never achieves relationship status. He finds the city intimidating and misses his cosy village and family.

The three men remain oblivious to the interconnection of their lives, barely overlapping or merging the film’s three separate dialogues, and yet they unknowingly cross paths every day on the same bridge. The film spends 87 minutes detailing the lives of these characters, and presenting their daily struggle, with little money and few prospects…


The film makes use of a handheld camera and avoids including an accompanying soundtrack, portraying Men On The Bridge as more of a documentary than a fictional drama. The real-life Umut, Cemile and Fikret play themselves and Murat’s brother plays him due to a Turkish law which prevents police from appearing in films. Having never acted before, the use of the authentic characters facilitates the realism already implied through the camera techniques. There is not much to say for the performances; they are neither good nor bad, they are just very real.

The dialogue is loosely scripted, but is often improvised and natural; there is little visual aid in terms of stylistic effects – thus it is unclear whether the compassionate subtlety of the finished product is due to the director’s talent or simply because of the humbly honest settings. The barely fabricated script is unlike the majority of films, leaving Men On The Bridge somewhat in the hands of the viewer’s response to real life.

The unobtrusive and fruitless lives of the three protagonists give the film a depressing outlook, as nothing is embellished and gaps of conversational pause or directionless actions are left un-edited. The characters, therefore, appear constantly apathetic due to Ozge’s reluctance to tamper with the truth, which leaves the viewer lacking in emotional participation. The characters’ working-class efforts to survive in a frantic city environment can be universally empathised with, but the fusion of authenticity and simplicity also invites an element of alienation. Luckily, her directorial intuition chooses the appropriate moment to change scene in order to deter the intervention of boredom.

There is an interesting parallel between the gridlocked cars on the bridge and the socially halted lives of Ozge’s characters. Nobody is progressing and Ozge has captured this overtly and metaphorically, whether intentional or not. Her empathetically attentive eye has liberated the unknown and modest lifestyles of real people, thus resulting in a rewarding snapshot of life. She presents the characters in an unbiased manner, allowing their prejudices and difficulties to be exposed without being exploited: the accepted sexism of a Turkish man, the pointless focus on consumerism in a place where money and work are equally sparse.


Turkish cinema doesn’t often have the chance to showcase films outside its border, so it is interesting to catch a glimpse of this lifelike docu-drama, which is a true representation of regular citizens and the artificial promises of their country. There is an undeniable force present in the starkness of Men On The Bridge, but its detached plot and slow pace means that it just falls short of being labelled profound. NM

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Bothersome Man

Film: The Bothersome Man
Release date: 28th January 2008
Certificate: 15
Running time: 95 mins
Director: Jens Lien
Starring: Trond Fausa Aurvaag, Petronella Barker, Per Schaaning, Birgitte Larsen, Johannes Joner
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Fantasy
Studio: Drakes Avenue
Format: DVD
Country: Norway/Iceland

Urban dystopia has been a popular theme for filmmakers over the years. The Bothersome Man takes that tried, tested and clichéd formula and breathes new life into it by combining Orwellian menace with black humour - and more than a touch of Groundhog Day.

Following his apparent suicide, Andreas (Trond Fausa Aurvaag) arrives in a nameless Scandinavian city where he is employed, provided with an apartment and falls effortlessly into a relationship. Unsurprisingly, he soon realises that something is amiss: life is too easy, food is tasteless, and children are conspicuous by their absence. Worse still, booze no longer gets people drunk.

Increasingly anxious, Andreas attempts to inject some excitement into his life by embarking on an affair, before realising that his only option is to escape the homogeneity of the city. Predictably, his efforts are thwarted and hope seems lost – until he befriends Hugo (Per Schaaning). Secreted in Hugo’s cellar is a crack in the wall from which beautiful smells and music are emitted – could this be the escape route Andreas is looking for?


The film opens in a railway station with a scene of the least romantic kissing ever committed to celluloid. It’s distinctly uncomfortable watching a male and female character joylessly chewing each other’s mouths off as the sounds of their lip-smacking are amplified. So uncomfortable, in fact, that Andreas – the tension building on his face – takes the only way out. From the platform, he throws himself under the wheels of an oncoming train. It’s testament to how effective the scene is that his extreme actions seem entirely appropriate.

The film is ambiguous about exactly where Andreas wakes up. Clearly, he ought to be dead. But following a silent bus ride, and a half-hearted welcoming committee, he finds himself in an apartment which apparently belongs to him. Utterly impersonal and decorated in muted colours, it sets the tone for the rest of the unnamed city in which he finds himself. After reporting to an equally nondescript office block, he is given a vague job description, a functional office, and left to get on with it.

So, where has our protagonist found himself? There is a certain Ikea-style blandness and coolness which marks the city out as Scandinavian, but that remains the only certainty. There’s easily enough evidence to suggest that Andreas is in heaven – life is simple, everyone is provided for, and everyone has a purpose. But by the same token, a world where everything is bland and ‘pre-packaged’, detached and emotionless could well be interpreted as hell. Maybe he’s in purgatory? Or perhaps the film is an attack on modern, homogenous living? It’s a strength that events can be interpreted on so many levels so effectively.

It requires an excellent performance from Trond Fausa Aurvag to carry such ambiguity so convincingly - and he really delivers. It’s a role which requires a range of acting talents and Aurvag pulls off slapstick, hangdog, understatement and wild-eyed delight with aplomb. He carries the movie from start to finish: there’s barely a moment without his enigmatic presence.

A number of scenes are key to establishing the other-worldliness of The Bothersome Man, all of which are stylishly underplayed. The first of these occurs as suspicions begin to grow in Andreas’ mind that things are not as they seem. He subsequently severs one of his own fingers in a paper-cutting machine. Spouting blood, his colleagues seem oblivious to the harm he’s done himself – despite the fact that the scarlet blood seeping from his wound is the most colourful thing in their office.

A wonderfully matter-of-fact montage explains the story of how Andreas comes to be in a serious relationship with a woman he barely knows. Over the course of a meal in a restaurant, he flirts clumsily. This leads to a series of short scenes of perfunctory sex and dull interior décor, which perfectly illustrate the alarming ease with which such events occur in the narrative.

Thoroughly disenchanted with his ‘off-the-shelf’ life, Andreas again seeks the answer in suicide. In a revisiting of the opening scene, we again see torturous kissing and a man throwing himself in front of an oncoming train. Only this time it makes more sense – and carries an air of déjà vu. How Andreas survives this attempt is more clear cut – although no more explicable.

Perhaps liberated (or reawakened), Andreas becomes determined to get to the bottom of his predicament. His focus becomes the mysterious Hugo – a man who wears black and white shoes, grumbles vociferously whilst defecating, and lives in a cave-like cellar adorned with a sea of light bulbs. It’s a beautifully understated set, and it becomes key to the denouement of the film, as Andreas and Hugo attempt to unravel the mystery which lurks behind the magical (and peculiarly vaginal looking) crack in the basement. Here, the film seems ever more absurdist (and calls to mind Being John Malkovich) as it speeds towards its inevitable conclusion.


The Bothersome Man is an excellent film. The visuals are stylish, the performances assured and the direction skilful. It draws the viewer into a world which is indefinably strange yet utterly compelling. It adds a new twist to an old and familiar story, weaving elements familiar to the audience with imaginative new ideas to create a film worthy of the many awards it has garnered - and worthy of wider notice than it has received. RW

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Time That Remains

Film: The Time That Remains
Release date: 11th October 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 110 mins
Director: Elia Suleiman
Starring: Matthieu Sibony, Elia Suleiman, Saleh Bakri, Leila Mouammar, Bilal Zidani
Genre: Drama
Studio: Drakes Avenue
Format: DVD
Country: UK/Italy/Belgium/France

In 2002, Elia Suleiman won the jury prize at the Cannes Film Festival for his film Divine Intervention. Sadly, as a representative of Palestine, the film was not allowed to become an Oscar contender thanks to the contentious decision not to recognise Palestine as a ‘legitimate nation’. It’s perhaps unsurprising that his latest production, The Time That Remains, has been presented as a product of Italy, France, Belgium and the UK. But is it a film deserving of awards?

Opening with director/star Elia Suleiman as a grown man in the back of a taxi, a sudden storm begins to batter the cab. Elia is lost, and barely seems to be found as the movie moves through its narrative. Covering the life of his father and himself, the film can be split into three distinct parts.

The first concerns his father, Fuad, (Saleh Bakri), an elegant freedom fighter in Nazareth. As his attempt to furnish the resistance with guns is uncovered, he is beaten and left for dead. This leads to the film’s second phase, which sees Fuad as an older man. Clearly a hero to his son Elia, we see him commit acts of bravery, thereby inspiring his son to quietly acquiesce with his views. As a grown man, the last chapter of the film sees the adult Elia observing modern-day Palestine in his detached, unemotional way…


The Time That Remains is a remarkably handsome film. Composed almost exclusively of wide-angle camera shots, it places its characters at the centre of enormous landscapes, in the midst of epically huge buildings, and even manages to make domestic scenes appear far bigger than they ought to – all thanks to the distance between the protagonists and the camera. Some of the resulting imagery is breathtaking, and a number of frames linger long in the memory: the blindfolded captives on their knees in an olive grove is particularly striking.

The long, clean lines which dominate the landscape of the film are not limited purely to the architectural views of Palestine. Scenes in cars feature windscreens wider than the screen itself, and the incoming tide reaches far beyond the peripheries of the frame. At times it feels slightly curious, but it fits perfectly with the detached view the director has taken to the events depicted.

There’s something very mannered about the majority of the film. The occupation of Nazareth is almost silent; eerily peaceful and beautiful. As the Brylcreemed Fuad, Bakri demonstrates on old-fashioned heroism which recalls actors like James Stewart. His upright posture and almost quaint approach to his illegal activities gives an otherworldliness which contrasts sharply with the savage beating he takes as he is left for dead. The stillness and relative calm is breached horrifically as he is attacked with rifle butts - and the scene is all the more effective for it.

Sadly, other contrasting scenes do not work quite so well. Although laced with surreal humour throughout, two episodes of out-and-out slapstick seem incongruous. These occur at the signing of a treaty which plays more like an outtake from the Benny Hill Show (including comedy fez), and an old fashioned slapping incident which makes very little sense in context.

Perhaps the most interesting segment of the film is the one in which Elia grows up. Shot as a series of episodes, we are able to live life through the eyes of Elia’s mother. She corresponds with exiled family members via letters, which are touching in their one-sidedness. Meanwhile, Fuad completes a series of lightly comic acts of kindness. Most notably, he helps save the life of a soldier trapped under a burning truck. More interestingly, he repeatedly saves the life of his deranged elderly neighbour – a man determined to ignite himself with damp matches after dousing himself in kerosene. The stoic way in which Fuad repeatedly deals with these pathetic (in the traditional sense of the word) episodes serve only to underline his understated heroism.

This repetition is mirrored in the conversation Fuad has night after night on his fishing trips. Constantly quizzed by patrolling soldiers, his responses never alter. It’s a device which serves to suggest that very little changes under the occupying forces. And so things continue, time passes, and characters come and go until Elia becomes the focus of the film.

At times, his silence frustrates. It’s evident earlier in the movie that he is capable of speech, so it’s safe to assume that his wordlessness is a signifier for something else. What that is, however, is unclear. Does he represent the futility of speaking out? The quiet acceptance of his own plight? As the film moves to its climax, many questions are posed and never fully resolved. It’s frustrating, especially as the final scene plays out – a series of new characters make their way across another typically wide frame. They are in an accident and emergency department, arguing, suffering – possibly being healed. It’s possibly a metaphor too far.


The Time That Remains is a glorious film to look at. Its visual style, stillness and calm make it the cinematic equivalent of a corridor full of beautiful landscapes. But for anyone not wholly familiar with Israeli/Palestinian history, it is perhaps too obtuse to be entirely enjoyable. As a series of set pieces it is a delight, yet as a whole it lacks the consistency to grip from start to finish. RW 

REVIEW: DVD Release: 24 City

Film: 24 City
Release date: 27th September 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 107 mins
Director: Zhangke Jia
Starring: Jianbin Chen, Joan Chen, Liping Lu, Tao Zhao
Genre: Drama/Documentary
Studio: Drakes Avenue
Format: DVD
Country: China/Hong Kong/Japan

Part documentary, part fiction; 24 City gained international recognition when it was nominated for the Golden Palm at Cannes in 2008. Jia Zhangke mixes interview with short fictional scenes to tell his story of commercialism in modern day China.

24 City takes place in the city of Chengdu, where the state owned Factory 420 has been sold to a private company who plan on turning the site into a luxury apartment complex, which will be called 24 City.

The film centres on five interviews with three generations of people for whom the factory has played a huge part in their lives, serving not only as the place where they worked, but where they lived, were educated, got married and raised families respectively.

Interspersed with these interviews are four short fictional scenes (still filmed in the documentary format), which show characters either working in the factory in its final days of production, interacting with each other in the living areas around the factory, or looking around the desolated remains of the building before it is razed to the ground to make way for the apartment block…


Through both of these techniques we learn a great deal about how the factory has affected the lives of those who lived and worked in it, and how it will be missed by many.

The trickiest thing about making a documentary film with a subject matter that is specific to one community living in one city in China is to make it engaging to those watching to whom the issue is not pertinent. This is something that Jia Zhangke addresses from the very opening of 24 City, in which we witness the factory in production, before seeing the ceremony in which ownership of the factory is handed over. So beautiful and powerful is the music and Zhangke’s framing of each shot that, even before we reach the first of the interviews (the emotional core of the film), it is clear that we are dealing with the end of an important era for both the factory workers and their families, and for Chinese industrialism as a whole. From this, we are drawn into the story of these ordinary people, many of whom have lived extraordinary lives, and for all of whom Factory 420 has played a huge part in their lives.

The interviews themselves are carefully selected to give a broad scope on the kinds of people who have lived and worked at the factory over the years, and also to show the way the factory has affected people over the generations for which it has been open. The passage from older factory workers who toiled daily on the factory floors to the children of workers who have more glamorous and leisurely jobs is an indication of the way China as a whole has developed over the years, which helps to make clear why the closure of a factory in favour of an apartment complex is an inevitable part of the country’s progress. They range also in tone, as some reflect happily on their memories from the factory, such as the television presenter who realised from a young age that he was not cut out for factory work. Others are more solemn in tone and truly harrowing, such as a woman who describes the moment she was forced to leave her son behind after he had gone missing on a stop-over as she made her way by boat to Chengdu. These shifts in tone and subject matter keep the film moving along nicely and give a good indication of the huge scope of different stories that have taken place in relation to the factory.

One drawback of the film is that it is, at times, not as concise and to the point as it should be. For example, we are afforded long shots of people looking into the camera, which last for a surprisingly long amount of time, and occur a little too frequently. Zhangke is trying here to make the film seem personal by forcing us to confront the people who will be affected by the factory’s closure face to face, but the interviews are affective enough that there is no need to artificially create an empathy that, for the majority of viewers, will occur naturally. The scenes in between interviews are far more effective when we see the contrast between the factory in full production and its barren, empty hallways and shattered windows in the days before it is brought down. Through what we have learned in the interviews, there is a real feeling in these shots of the history that has taken place in the factory, and each shot is carefully selected in order to bring out the strongest possible response from the viewer.


Wonderfully shot, engaging and deeply affecting, 24 City ticks all the right boxes for documentary film making. While Jia Zhangke is, on occasion, guilty of trying to force us into an emotional response, he more often than not gets it right in terms of tone and presentation, providing us with documentary which is both entertaining and interesting. PK

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Headless Woman

Film: The Headless Woman
Release date: 12th July 2010
Certificate: 12
Running time: 89 mins
Director: Lucrecia Martel
Starring: Maria Onetto, Claudia Cantero, Inés Efron
Genre: Mystery/Drama
Studio: Drakes Avenue/New Wave
Format: DVD
Country: Argentina

The follow-up to Lucrecia Martel’s La Niña Cannes nominated La Nina Santa (The Holy Girl), sees the director tackling and exploring weighty issues such as guilt and emotional repression.

At the beginning of the film, Vero (María Onetto) is driving home from a family gathering and hits something with her car, bumping her head in the process. What follows is a study of Vero’s increasing anxiety as she begins to believe that she has killed someone, and a dazed and confused look at the inner workings of her strange and secretive family...


It is difficult to define exactly what is happening throughout most of the film, both in terms of what is happening in the story and in terms of the abstract, disjointed position that Martel’s camera chooses to place the viewer in many scenes of the film. Often we are not entirely sure what we are seeing, or where we are seeing it from. Sound is also used to this effect, with conversations being scarcely heard through thick windows, or taking place in the background of crowded and densely layered scenes. These techniques work to intriguing and often visually striking effect. Martel’s attention to detail is admirable, as is her use of depth of frame, meaning most of the film is aesthetically indulgent. As well as this, the distracted and unfocused mode of delivery serves as a window into the world of Vero, who is often slow to respond when asked a question, and seems to wander around in a dream-like state of apathy; her cheery half smile masking a vacant and world-weary look in her eyes.

However admirable Martel’s attempt to frame the world of the film through Vero’s perspective may be, it is in doing so that she encounters the film’s biggest problem. In creating a world so dreamlike and unfocused, she has also made a film which is fairly dull and unfulfilling. So little happens in the course of the film that we are left to ponder what, if anything, it was all about, and several aspects of the story of which more could have been made are subjugated in order that the camera may linger on several shots which, beautiful though they are, always seem to last a few seconds longer than they should.

Narrative ambiguity is always risky territory for filmmakers, as some viewers are always going to demand some kind of definite idea of what is going on, nevertheless an ambiguous ending can be rewarding if it comes at the end of a story that is gripping and layered, that provides material for viewers to discuss long after seeing the film, and demands to be seen again. This is clearly the effect that Martel is aiming for, but she has not left enough interesting material within the framework of the narrative to make any attempt to understand the sub-textual implications worthwhile. The film certainly does drag on, rarely has a film with such a short running time managed to seem so long and this is because we are moving from scene to scene waiting for something to happen, waiting for something to get our teeth into and ponder - something which never arrives.

It is in the nature of arthouse cinema to offer character studies rather than coherent, fast paced narratives, and this is perfectly fine in many cases because we see characters with such complex psychologies that delving into them and exposing what makes the character behave in the way they do is the most interesting aspect of the film. Vero, sadly, is no such character, and this is not a failing on the part of Onetto, who plays the role very well, but of Martel’s in deciding to make a film based on such a character. The whole point about Vero is that she is distracted, that she finds it difficult to engage with those around her, and that she has a lot of internal conflict that she does not allow to spill over into the surface. The fact that there is no penetration of these exterior characteristics, no supporting character who gets in side her head and exposes to the viewer what she is really feeling, leaves the viewer with very little to gain from watching the film, as it doesn’t really work either as a drama or as a character piece.


If Martel’s story had the strength of her artistic vision, she could have made a truly powerful, gripping drama. Instead what we are left with is a visually impressive but ultimately unfulfilling film, which leaves the viewer looking for answers, but not particularly willing to revisit the film in order to find them. PK

REVIEW: DVD Release: Tulpan

Film: Tulpan
Release date: 12th April 2010
Certificate: 12
Running time: 100 mins
Director: Sergey Dvortsevoy
Starring: Askhat Kuchinchirekov, Samal Yeslyamova
Genre: Comedy/Drama
Studio: Drakes Avenue
Format: DVD
Country: Russia

Sergei Dvortsevoy demonstrates how an age old formula, in the hands of a talented director, can become a beautiful, award-winning film. Now released on DVD, two years since its 2008 theatrical release, the film received the Un Certain Regard award at Cannes.

The story features lowly farm hand Asa (Askhat Kuchinchirekov), who longs to move away from his brother-in-law, Ondas (Ondasyn Besikbasov), and his steppe to build his own yurt and family, and set up a flock of sheep of his own. In order to do so, he must find a wife, which proves difficult considering that there is only one suitable woman in the area who rejects Asa with the excuse that his ears are too big. Unwilling to accept her refusals, Asa continues to pursue Tulpan, only to discover that she plans to leave for the city. This encourages his best friend, Boni (Tolepbergen Baisakalov) - the comic relief of the film - to move forward with his own dream to leave for the city with Asa.

Meanwhile, Ondas is haunted with troubles; his flock slowly dwindling from too many stillborn lambs, and his family falling apart from unfulfilled dreams of leaving the steppe, in addition to arguments surrounding Asa’s presence. He represents the stereotype of the harsh father of the household – for example, he neglects his children even though they all repeatedly make attempts to please him (Maha (Mahabbat Turganbayeva) with her singing and Nuka (Nurzhigit Zhapabayev) with his endearing mischievousness).

Beke (Bereke Turganbayev) also searches for the respect of his father, as the oldest son who helps on the steppe, and recites news broadcasts for his father, adding a political insight to the story for both Ondas’ character and the viewer. At one point during the film, the children are seen massaging Ondas after he has spent a long day on the steppe, while arguing with each other clearly in an attempt to fight for his affections and respect. However, his affections are required elsewhere, as he endeavours to individually save his other children - the new born lambs…


The film is punctuated with two contrasting musical styles throughout the soundtrack. Firstly, a repeated use of Rivers Of Babylon by Bony M, played by Boni in his car to remind himself and Asa of their dreams of paradise - he, surrounded by attractive women in the city, and Asa on his own steppe with a family (his “little corner of paradise”). The other music is purely diegetic, featuring the two main female characters: Samal (Samal Eslyamova) and her daughter, Maha, singing. Samal’s voice is beautifully poignant, as she sings her children to sleep, appearing to be the only part of Ondas’ life which makes him show any form of emotion - smiling and finally showing affection towards his wife. However, Maha barely speaks, preferring to communicate through repeatedly singing the same song, which never pleases Ondas, instead becoming an annoyance to both himself and the viewer.

The prospect of escape is forced on Asa from many angles, so much so that the viewer is left questioning whether he actually wants to leave, or whether it is simply expected from his generation. Boni constantly talks of his dream of the two in the city, and Nuka echoes these dreams by pleading for Asa to take him away - when he finally meets Tulpan, he discovers that she plans to leave for the city and gain an education. All signs seem to point to Asa leaving the steppe, although he never expresses any desire for the life that everyone else seems to want for him. Nevertheless, Kuchinchirekov delivers an excellent performance as a young man attempting to prove himself to his brother-in-law/boss, and the woman he plans to marry but has yet to meet.

Considering the plain and uninteresting landscape that Tulpan is set against, as well as the lack of creativity with the basic story formula (although telling the classic story of the fight for the ‘American Dream’ from a Kazakh perspective does warrant recognition for originality), it is surprising that Dvortsevoy has succeeded in creating a film that is both compelling and emotionally involving - the viewer hoping for Asa’s success from start to finish as a relatable, simple character with simple dreams - while simultaneously depicting a moving portrayal of the hardships of a Kazakh steppe.

Although it is not a laugh-a-minute comedy, there are a number of comic moments in the film, focusing largely on dry humour and reaction comedy. For example, Boni often acts as the comic relief of the film with his laddish dreams of constant sex when he moves to the city, and the magazine cut-outs of naked women plastered all over the inside of his car. The odd facial appearance of Asa is also a running joke within the film, beginning with Tulpan’s rejection of him due to his big ears.


Tulpan is a compelling film with simple characters, and although the story lacks originality, Dvortsevoy has succeeded in creating a film which is both emotionally involving and relatable. HB

REVIEW: DVD Release: Tricks

Film: Tricks
Release date: 22nd February 2010

Certificate: 12

Running time: 96 mins

Director: Andrzej Jakimowski

Starring: Ewelina Walendziak, Tomasz Sapryk

Genre: Comedy/Drama
Studio: Drakes Avenue

Format: DVD

Country: Poland

Long days and early nights – summer can be boring if you’re a 10-year-old child. Growing up in a sleepy Polish town doesn’t help either, but director Andrzej Jakimowski obviously felt he could inject some excitement into this premise.

Stefek is a bright and observant, intelligent child with oodles of imagination - which is a good thing. He also has no friends. This is a bad thing. It means his summers are spent engrossed in trains, eating watermelons, monitoring pigeons and distracting his sister’s potential boyfriend, Jerzy, with whom he spends more time than her.

When he isn’t doing all of the above, Stefek is attempting to bribe fate; manipulating it in order to make things happen the way he wants. His sister Elka, being the master, insists that all you have to do is declare your purpose, sit back, and wait for life to catch up. Stefek, being the apprentice, has other, more impatient ideas. He believes you have to force it to happen, hurrying it along with military precision in order to reap its rewards.

Convinced that a stranger he spots on a train platform is his estranged father, Stefek decides this is the test that will ultimately prove his theory correct; his sister’s stubborn refusal to accept his claim only adds fuel to the fire. Elka, however, has other things on her mind than a destructive parent. She has an upcoming interview for a job that could change her life for the better – only her mother’s dependency on her to look after Stefek is hampering her progress.

Whereas she juggles babysitting her brother and boyfriend whilst washing-up at a local restaurant, and trying to learn Italian to help land her that dream job, Stefek marshals toy soldiers and pigeons whilst urinating on her future employers car, trying to bribe fate with savings and sluts to bring his father back home. It’s no surprise when Elka misses the interview (twice); settling on God’s will to truly decide whether or not her family will be reunited once and for all…


It’s very hard to praise something in which not much happens, although you’re happy to go along with it. Rooted in tedious realism, how it sustains any level of interest for ninety minutes is at times baffling. It does have charm, though. The two lead characters, Stefek and Elka, played by Damian Ul and Ewelina Walendziak respectively, cover up the cracks in the erratic plot with fine performances; their onscreen relationship believable and, at times, bewitching.

However, the story is too straightforward, lacking any kind of conflict whatsoever - even when Stefek manages to ruin his sister’s chances of landing her dream job. The reason for their father’s estrangement is also glossed over as Elka tells Stefek that he was “trapped by a lady” - and that’s it. With no friends his own age (in fact, he appears to be the only 10-year-old child residing in this post-communist town) Stefek relies on the most ordinary of objects to take on some kind of spellbinding significance. The trouble is he relies on them time and time again. Director Andrzej Jakimowski may as well just copy and paste the scenes involving pigeons, toy soldiers and throwing coins onto the railway track because they’re identical, adding nothing new each and every time.

Elka’s relationship with Jerzy, the man in her life, is confusing, as is his relationship with Stefek; seemingly preferring the company of the boy to hers. Other characters have no real significance to the wafer-thin plot at all – the sluttish neighbour and the used-car man shift the focus away from the story but add little, not even characterization. The film is only interesting when Ul and Walendziak are buzzing around the screen – Stefek competing against his sister as they attempt to bribe fate offering scenes of interest. In fact, the opening scene involving a burger, a hungry dog and a homeless man is as good as it gets.

The photography and observational direction manages to make this dreary town almost dream-like at times, but it can’t mask the humdrum premise that fails to captivate.


A subtle look into the world of a 10-year-old boy, Tricks offers little in the way of plot and often struggles to hold interest. The two lead performances are commendable but Director Jakimowski’s train-wreck of a movie is more likely to carry you into a coma rather than its intended destination. DW

REVIEW: DVD Release: Still Walking

Film: Still Walking
Release date: 24th May 2010
Certificate: U
Running time: 114 mins
Director: Hirokazu Kore-Eda
Starring: Hiroshi Abe, Yui Natsukawa, Kirin Kiki, Yoshio Harada, Kazuya Takahashi
Genre: Drama
Studio: Drakes Avenue
Format: DVD
Country: Japan

Not all films are created equal, and neither are they meant to be. It is often the artistic intention, above everything else, that guides and ultimately defines how a film will be regarded.

That is to say, a samurai showdown flick must primarily be judged against other samurai films. Ostensibly then, Hirokazu Koreeda’s latest offering, Still Walking (Aruitemo Aruitemo), seems to belong to the family drama canon (file under sub genres: troubled reunions). We spend twenty-four-hours in the life of a Japanese family as the dislocated members gather for an annual remembrance.

In practice, however, it so completely devoid of the histrionic-trappings that are associated with the genre, it so beautifully sidesteps all the tears, slamming doors and clean third-act closures that films of this kind so readily embrace, that it manages to transcend the small worlds these movies inhabit, and becomes something altogether more special...


Ryota Yokoyama (Hiroshi Abe) is forty-something and between jobs, his second wife Yukari (Yui Natsukawa) is a widower and her son Atsushi (Shohei Tanaka) is still reluctant to accept his new stepfather. Together they travel to the suburbs on a sun-dazed summer day, to take part in the Yokoyama family’s annual gathering, commemorating the death of eldest son, Junpei, who fifteen years prior died saving a drowning boy out at sea.

Waiting for Ryota’s arrival are his mother, Toshiko, and his father, Kyohei - alongside his elder sister, her husband and their two young children. Over the course of the day, the family prepare food, eat together, tend to the grave and take a walk to the beach. There are nearly no “events” to speak of, no moments in which the narrative drama spikes. Instead, with meticulous care, Hirokazu Koreeda constructs a portrait of a family, not defined by their grief, or their difficulties, but by the nature, banal as it may be, in which they live with loss. A beautifully realised set of characters whose lives you believe in and who, as an audience member, you are subsequently willing to invest in.

Still Walking is full of great performances, from actors wholly inhabiting their roles, in particular, a mesmerising turn by screen veteran Kirin Kiki, as the female head of family, Toshiko. She embodies wonderfully the duality of old age, a captivating mixture of pathos and reverence. A character brimming with love and grief. There are two scenes in particular, the darkest of the film, in which her fragile grip on reality slips, to devastating effect. In contrast, an early scene sees her preparing a banquet with daughter Chinami (You), and the script simply sings - full of hilarious and brilliantly observed mother-daughter verbal sparring.

Elsewhere, Kazuya Takahashi provides the film’s more conventional comic relief, as frustrated car salesman, Nobuo, whilst Yoshio Harada is great as the stubborn patriarchal Kyohei, a retired doctor whose pride prevents him from reconnecting from his increasingly distant son. It is his sudden outbursts that counterpoint a lot of the script’s more humorous moments, and it is his limping passage through the hazy suburban streets that bookends the film.

The visual language of Still Walking is equally as subtle and coherent as the performances. The leaf-fringed lanes and nearly empty corridors of the neat little residential area, where the Yokoyama home is built, is perpetually bathed in sunlight. A limited palette of pastel blues, greens and yellows drift under the over-saturated light, and it give the proceedings the look of a memory receding - a half-remembered Kodak summer. Indoors, the balanced tones and beautifully framed compositions provide an interesting backdrop that never distracts from the story. Occasionally, in sequences that nicely pace the film’s flow, the audience is left to dwell on flowers, or broken bathroom tiles and a dusk-lit lawn.

Still Walking’s success lies in the moments that are unsaid, the silences that ring between the old and new generations, whilst in the background far-off sounds of activity in the house - cooking and children playing - distant, as if already resigned to memory. Importantly, though, lingering atmosphere of loss and regret that permeates the film is never allowed to fully take hold, and is always balanced by disarmingly funny dialogue and moments of laugh-out-loud humour.

It is a narrative arc that may trend no new ground, but it is affecting nonetheless; a story about people’s inability to communicate until it is too late. Providing a superb script, complimented by touching and mature performances, Hirokazu Koreeda never allows himself to be hamstrung by the constraints of the genre, and maintains a balance between focus and ambition.


The artistic intention here was to create a beautiful, graceful lament to the passing over phase in a family’s life. In that respect, the film is a triumph - short and sweet. Even if you have no interest in the genre, this is still a film that is worth seeing. It should move anyone who has ever has ever owned a heart.

REVIEW: DVD Release: Kontroll

Film: Kontroll
Release date: 18th April 2005
Certificate: 15
Running time: 106 mins
Director: Nimród Antal
Starring: Sándor Csányi, Csaba Pindroch, Zoltán Mucsi, Eszter Balla, Zsolt Nagy
Genre: Thriller/Crime/Drama
Studio: Drakes Avenue
Format: DVD
Country: Hungary

A darkly comic thriller filmed in the Budapest underground railway, Nimród Antal’s debut feature kicks off his career with style and character.

The Budapest underground is watched over by a power hungry, overworked group of misfits for whom abuse and contempt are an everyday occurrence. Battling through day by day, Bulcsú (Sándor Csányi) has been spending his nights asleep on the platform afraid to go back to the surface. Pale and dirty, rivalries between the different troops of ticket collectors get more bitter and violent. His outlook changes, however, when he meets Sofie, a train-driver's daughter dressed as a teddy bear.

Meanwhile his troop of ticket inspectors are dealing with the recurring struggles of the job - violent passengers, psychological assessments and a torturous nemesis known as “Bootsie”. As the number of people killing themselves by jumping on the tracks seems to be on the rise, the paranoia and suspicions only exacerbate the ever-growing stress. Add to this the dangerous past-time of “railing”, the underground is a far from safe workplace…


An opening statement from a spokesman for the Budapest Public Transport Co. takes time to set out the fictional context of Kontroll, stating it's faith in the audience in understanding the line between the real Budapest underground and the world created on screen - it's understandable and refreshing to see why, with the onscreen universe of the underground being so engrossing and well rounded. It takes guts and conviction to keep the film set solely within such a confined space, and it works. There is a whole system of feuds, hierarchy, raves and power struggles which is deeply engaging, believable and enjoyable.

The film deals with the central idea of fear and escapism very well. The lead character of Bulcsú grows and develops throughout the film in subtle and realistic ways, yet more obvious character thickening twists are thrown in without feeling too tacked on. He has a fear of himself, what he was becoming and essentially what he is now. His position in his job is a form of escape - he quite literally lives underground to avoid what he is on the surface. This is not to say he is a bad man, he's just not what he wants to be.

This film throws out some obvious Nazi references in the structure and design of the hierarchy within the underground workers. The red arm bands worn by the ticket collectors and the new uniform given to a rival group are obvious visual references, as well as the incredibly Gestapo-esque unit that work for head office - the leader of which has a birth mark on his face that wouldn't look out of place in a Batman comic. These references are not to be read too far into though - more of a subtle comic dig at the situation of workplaces throughout the world than a deep social political commentary.

Kontroll rarely sets into a solid underlining plot, and works with a flowing episodic structure, which creates this underground society. The chronology is spelt out by the condition of Bulcsú’s face. Throughout the film he takes such a physical and mental battering that by the end he is littered with bruises, cuts and blood. This style leaves it free to move through sub-plots and characters easily, from the darkness of killings, overstressed workers, violence and rivalry, and then skip across to the comic elements.

Muki (Csaba Pindroch) and Tibi (Zsolt Nagy), two ticket inspectors on Bulcsú’s team are genuinely laugh out loud funny. Muki is an angry narcoleptic, not helped by the fact that it is his anger which triggers his narcolepsy, an attribute that people seem more than willing to take advantage of. Tibi's naïve outlook and blank expression is a great contrast - a scene in which they all undergo psycho analysis is hilarious (as his work mate tells him before he goes in “Can't make waves if you don't have any water”).

The obvious star of the show has to be the underground itself. The scenery and lighting sets a dark tone for the film, cladding the onscreen world with dirty off-white marble tiles, forever humming and glowing florescent lighting, industrial concrete dirt and neutral colours. This works as a brilliant canvas for the story, as well as the darker fantasy/dream elements, which grow towards an underground rave. It does also live-out some long thought out fantasies, being able to run down the tracks from platform to platform, spending nights wandering around in unused carriages and sliding down escalators.


Kontroll is a brilliant debut film with guts and character - it’s a shame Nimród Antal has gone on to direct mediocre Hollywood blockbusters after such a promising start. Full to the brim with atmosphere and personality, with characters that keep you glued to the screen. A real treat for any film fan. JP