Three Films Make A Post: “The Best Film of the Year”

Fallen Leaves aka Kuolleet lehdet (2023): I’m not quite as enthused about this Aki Kaurismäki film as most professional critics seem to be, and would prefer his previous two movies to this romance with difficulties, but then, I always found that Kaurismäki’s directing style, his use of Brechtian/Mamet-type acting, his love for stiffly posing characters in the frame, works better in his more comedic films. Here, where humour is still there and accounted for but really not at the centre of attention, the conscious distancing and stiffness gets a bit in the way for me, overemphasising concepts in favour of characters in what is for all sense and purpose actually a character piece.

This doesn’t mean I don’t see this as a worthwhile or artfully made film. It’s just not one I’m burning to revisit soon.

Return to Seoul aka Retour à Séoul (2022): Staying with arthouse favourites that didn’t quite connect with me, I found Davy Chou’s years-spanning tale of a French woman (Park Ji-min) with Korean birthparents repeatedly returning to Korea often visually stunning, but also rather frustrating in its unwillingness to connect some dots about its main character Freddie for the audience. Where mainstream films tend to overexposit and feel the need to explain every damn thing in them, Chou goes the other way, never expositing or explaining, even when a bit of a hint or two might provide a deeper understanding of Freddie. As it stands, her behaviour often feels random and a bit disconnected from what we know about her, her trauma an abstract thing rather than one to empathize with.

And yes, yes, I get it, this does of course mirror Freddie’s lack of deeper connection to the people and the world around her, as caused by her issues, but that doesn’t mean it is a satisfying way to go for a movie; it’s more an abstractly interesting one, and I’m not terribly interested in the abstract in my film watching experience. I can feel disconnected very well on my own, thank you very much.

Mad Fate aka 命案 (2023): On the other hand, I did connect with this complicated film about the horrors of destiny, the weight of grief, and the nastiness of coincidence/the gods, rather a lot more than with the first two in this entry. It’s not as if director Cheang Pou-Soi is out to make anything easy for his audience. His characters – including deeply disturbing performances by Gordon Lam Ka-Tung and Yeung Lok-Man – are certainly not what you’d normally call “relatable”, while the plot is as finicky as you can expect from a film where the destructive force of destiny hangs over the characters like a badly-humoured cat. The whole affair has a somewhat curious disposition as well,where it finds a degree of hope in a manner bound to make you uncomfortable.

Yet there’s a drive to push the audience into the film’s world Return to Seoul only has visually, Fallen Leaves not at all, and a willingness to let the audience into the head of the characters as well as its ideas the other two films of this entry lack, and that really makes this something special.

Three Films Make A Post: On the other side of death, on the other side of regret, on the edge of mystery…

Children of the Mist aka They aka They Watch (1993): This Showtime TV movie by John Korty turns Rudyard Kipling’s delicate story “They” about the loss of a child and grief into melodramatic pap, and also features the least frightening child ghost I can remember seeing; it doesn’t help that it makes overdubbed owl noises.

Nobody involved really seems to want to bother putting effort in: Edithe Swensen’s script turns everything into a cliché, Korty mishandles melodrama and ghosts alike, and the actors mostly seemed to have checked out mentally. Vanessa Redgrave gives a non-performance quite below her usual level, and I’m not even sure what Patrick Bergin thinks he’s doing at all. He’s certainly not acting like anyone who has encountered a grieving human being before.

The Other Side of Hope aka Toivon tuolla puolen (2017): This Aki Kaurismäki movie about a Syrian refugee looking for his sister and a place to be, and a former salesman’s increasingly absurd attempts at running a restaurant does cover similar ground to Le Havre, made six years earlier. This one isn’t quite as optimistic about the kindness of the working classes anymore (shitty racist Nazi types have arrived in Kaurismäki’s world, though never unopposed), but it is also not as hopeless about it as it could be. There’s still solidarity, compassion and kindness to be found, as well as the small happinesses that keep us alive. Formally, this breaks up the heart-breaking story of the Syrian Khaled (Sherwan Haji) with Kaurismäki-style shenanigans, which never feels like the cop-out it could be, but like the statement of a guy who doesn’t really want to put a divide between tragedy and farce. Which sometimes means that the farce helps the character from the tragedy survive (see also, curiously enough, Ladyhawke).

The Scythian aka Skif (2018): Rustam Mosafir’s sort of historical adventure movie is quite the thing. Always willing to turn everything – non-plausibility, fights and men’s friendship, betrayal, and general craziness – up to eleven, this often feels like the grandchild of cheap Italian sword and sorcery movies in its wild abandon, just made with more money, and most probably talent. There’s little scepticism towards warrior cultures and manly men doing manly stuff on display, of course, so if you can’t or won’t cope with these things, this is just going to make you angry. On the other hand, the film also has an anti-imperialist streak a mile wide, clearly coming down on the Barbarism side on the Howard Barbarian versus Civilisation scale while it’s at it.

It’s also simply a great, riveting piece of adventure filmmaking full of clever and fun set pieces, craziness and awesome manly bullshit.

Three Films Make A Post: In the Arthouse, there are no taglines

Le Havre (2011): I’ve always had a fondness for the films of Finnish master of the absurd deadpan and delicate emotions often hidden behind a façade of the farcical Aki Kaurismäki, though I haven’t really followed him for some time. This one’s a pretty special film, positing the kind of individual solidarity between the white European working class and refugees that leads to solidarity and genuine kindness instead of burning refugee centres. From today, that’s a rather optimistic view of these things, but Kaurismäki makes it convincing by underplaying everything sentimental in a way that reaches genuine emotions exactly by not making a big thing out of them.

Good Morning aka Ohayo (1959): When people recommend Ozu movies for beginners to the man’s body of work, they do tend to go for the (quietly) emotional wringer of something like (the incredible) Tokyo Story rather than this comedy about a small neighbourhood, and the the sort of quotidian problems, wins and loses movies have their trouble making interesting for anyone but film critics. The film includes many of the director’s thematic preoccupations, especially his much favoured generational rifts, but treats them in a decidedly non-quietly-heart-breaking manner. It’s not that Good Morning lacks the emotional depth of Ozu’s more obvious movies, it is just lighter in its approach, and therefore in its emotional pressure on an audience. It also features rather more fart jokes than you’d probably expect, and is all the better for it.

Osaka Elegy aka Naniwa ereji (1936): I have seen rather fewer Mizoguchi movies than those by Ozu, apart from the obvious ones for a guy of my tastes (so Ugetsu and that hammer to the head made film, Sanjo the Bailiff). Watching an comparatively early film by the director like this drama with comedic elements about a telephone operator becoming the mistress of her lecherous boss to help her family out of various troubles only to become ostracized for it doesn’t quite bring up great revelations to me, though I do see the quality and individuality in Mizoguchi’s approach; his long shots and ability to build emotion in a style nearly completely eschewing close-ups is damn impressive. Just one thought (and by the rules, one thought is enough for a “Three Films Make A Post” entry into this blog): if this were an American movie made at about the same time, this would have become a screwball comedy, where the sexual elements of the plot wouldn’t have been quite as clear, but where our heroine would have gone to some kind of happily-ever-after.