Category: Foreign

The Guilty

Directed by: Gustav Möller

Screenplay by: Gustav Möller & Emil Nygaard Albertsen

Produced by: Lina Flint

Starring: Jakob Cedergren, Johan Olsen, Jessica Dinnage, Omar Shargawi, Jacob Hauberg Lohmann, Katinka Evers-Jahnsen.

2018 Sundance Film Festival

WINNER: World Cinema Dramatic – Audience Award

Opening on a blank screen, the phone rings.

Asgar (Jakob Cedergren) answers, ‘Emergency Services.’

Set entirely in the room housing the work spaces for those answering and directing the urgent calls incoming, the film focuses on the mysterious Asgar as he shows the classic signs of burn-out: a short temper, the wringing of hands as he attempts to help yet another drunk and abusive caller.

When he receives the call from Iben (Jessica Dinnage) he soon realises she’s been kidnaped, as she pretends to be calling her young daughter while Asgar attempts to find out where she is to send help.

The jaded Asgar comes to life as the tension rises – he makes a promise to Iben’s daughter he’ll get her mother home, even if he has to go off-book to help her.

But there’s something not right with Asgar.

He says he’s a protector, ‘We protect people who need help.’

He’s also a mystery.

The Guilty is a tense psychological thriller as we’re taken down a dark road of murder, fear and the frustration of being on the end of the phone trying to get to the person on the other side.

Director Gustav Möller states, ‘I believe that the strongest images in film, the ones that stay with you the longest; they are the ones, you don’t see.’

Möller has used this concept to build the suspense and mystery as Asgar tries to piece together the crime unfolding on the other end of the line.

We don’t see the crime; what we see is the warning of a red light switching on when the call is taken; the staring into space as aspirin dissolves into bubbles; the ringing of hands as they shake.

The silence is broken by the phone ringing, the soundtrack of the film, as the mystery of the caller and Asgar are revealed like, ‘A big blue silence.’

This is a gripping film that’s more a character-driven story who’s mystery is revealed in the suspense of solving a crime we can’t see.  What we hear is the fear in a voice, a knocking on a door, the traffic in the background and the sound of tyres on a road taking the unwilling somewhere Asgar needs to find out if he’s going to save the person on the other side of the call.

Capharnaüm

Rated: MCapharnaüm

Directed by: Nadine Labaki

Screenplay by: Nadine Labaki, Jihad Hojeiy, Michelle Kesrouani

Screenplay in Collaboration with: Georges Khabbaz

The Participation of: Khaled Mouzanar

Original Music: Khaled Mouzanar

Produced by: Khaled Mouzanar, Michel Merkt

Starring: Zain Al Rafeea, Yordanos Shiferaw, Boluwatife Treasure Bankole, Kawthar Al Haddad, Fadi Kamel Youssef, Haita Cedra Izam, Alaa Chouchnieh, Nadine Labaki.

A slice of life taken from the streets of Lebanon, Capharnaüm means chaos: a place where kids get washed-down by hoses at a car repair garage, old men wear cockroach-man costumes with sticky tape wound around the wing of glasses, and to stop kids crying out in hunger, they’re feed ice cubes dusted with sugar instead of food.  These are the details that give this film life.

Capharnaüm is a story of fiction based on many true stories.  This is a story about Zain (Zain Al Rafeea) who eventually sues his parents for being born.  Into a hell, to be constantly told to f*#k off.  Without papers, to be nothing but an insect.

But without children, ‘you’re not a man’, explains his father.

To keep the tone of the film as close to the true stories director Nadine Labaki heard as she researched the project for three years, walking through the streets and detention centres, she cast non-professional actors to play a part very similar to their own lives.  The judge is an actual judge.  The Daraa clashes in Syria (2012) forced Zain’s parents to move to Lebanon with four children.

Nadine walked with cap and sunglasses until she found the source for the story she wanted to convey – one of destitution, courage, the want to be a good person and all the eating of shit to survive.

Zain lives in a household where his parents fight for every scrap, the children too poor to go to school.  Twelve-year-old Zain is sent to work at the landlord’s market where he carts containers of water while watching a school bus, front grill packed with children’s backpacks, the bus a place where he should be: talking about tests coming up, notebooks to be filled.

The little man in a blue jacket, white stripes down the sleeves – he watches.

When his parents sell his adored sister off to the landlord in marriage at the age of eleven, he leaves home.

I immediately warmed to this kid, his courage and maturity, his love for his sister Sahar (Haita Cedra Izam), trying to protect her from the world he understands too well.

Fending for himself on the street, Rahil (Yordanos Shiferaw) an Ethiopian woman and illegal worker who can’t afford to renew her forged papers, takes Zain home.  She has a baby, Yonas (Boluwatife Treasure Bankole) to care for and no one to look after him while she works.  It’s a calculated risk shown in the look of a mother leaving her baby with an eleven-year-old stranger.

And what a beautiful baby.  I could not watch this film and not fall for this child.  So adorable, even the guys in the audience were captivated by Yonas’ clapping hands and sudden grin.

It’s the characters who take the hand of the audience, to lead through the squalor, where the small sparks of beauty are made more touching.

We see Zain struggle until eventually he’s incarcerated: ‘Stab the son-of-a-bitch!’ Zain yells when he’s being held in jail.  To be taken to court, to sue his parents.

Capharnaüm doesn’t have the tone of a drama or even a documentary.  There’s something in-between here – a picture of how it goes when your parents are too poor to get a Birth Certificate, to be not recognised as a person, not exist: to be no one.

There’s this moment where Zain patiently corrects a girl selling funeral wreaths that the man’s name is ‘Aspero’, not ‘Ospero’.  I’m sure this was off-script but another moment to add to the story.  To see more of the boy, Zain.

There’s something so refreshing about the honesty of this kid.

The camera is shot low, to show the point of view of these no-one kids, trying to be good.  Trying to survive.  Trying to tell the adults not to be idiots.

Yes, it’s a sad story.  But I found myself filled with a faith in humanity, to see the courage and love from the ones that society is supposed to be taking care of.

Ironically, the ones who are no-one made me want to believe in people again.

Let The Sunshine In

Directed by: Claire DenisLet The Sunshine In

Screenplay Written by: Claire Denis & Christine Angot

Produced by: Olivier Delbosc

Starring: Juliette Binoche, Xavier Beauvois, Philippe Katerine, Josiane Balasko, Sandrine Dumas, Nicolas Duvauchelle, Alex Descas, Laurent Grevill, Bruno Podalydés, Paul Blain, Valeria Bruni-Tedeschi, Gérard Depardieu.

I wrote my thesis on, A Lover’s Discourse – Fragments (Ronald Barthes (1977)), using Hemingway’s writing in, The Garden of Eden (1986), Across the River and into the Trees (1950) and also his short fiction piece, Hills Like White Elephants (1927) as an illustration of Ronald Barthes theory:

That love cannot be expressed through language, that love is expressed through the ‘nothing’ that is not language, that it is the actions and gifts given because of love that signpost to the reader that the characters in the story are in love, or conversely, not in love.  Because of the nature of writing love, I have utilized Hemingway’s writing as a basis for Barthes’ theory – it is Hemingway that writes love and it is Barthes that writes of love.

Let the Sunshine In was originally based on the Discourse then evolved into a screenplay written by Claire Denis (also director) & Christine Angot where Isabelle (Juliette Binoche) falls in love, only to have her heart broken, to love again… and again…

Divorced and the mother of a ten-year-old daughter, we only see briefly as a face behind the window of a car pulling away, Isabelle mirroring the outline of her hand on the other side of the glass.  The love of her child is not what this film’s about.  This is a series of moments as Isabelle opens a dialogue with the men she means to love and all the complications and baggage finding love at an older age brings.

She’s not old; she’s not young.

Isabelle laments to a friend that she feels her love life is behind her.  The impossibility of each relationship revealing itself in complicated exchanges, each trying to find a way towards or away from the other.

The camera pans back and forth from the cheating husband who bluntly describes his extraordinary wife he will never leave, to the realisation on Isabelle’s face when she can’t find a way back to the love with this man after his blatant denial – no matter how charming he finds her.

We’ve all been there, the wondering of how much to give, how much to take.  For love.

Here, we see the pulling apart of feelings that are there, or not.  And the language, the limit of language as the lovers try to get past all the talk to find the physical connection.  And then, to keep it.

It’s a complicated film that manages to avoid melodrama, replacing physical expressed emotion with words.

I wonder how much was lost in the translation from French to the English subtitles, yet Barthes’ Discourse is what’s being translated with the depth of meaning still conveyed.

Putting love into words is a difficult conversation.

The expertise and experience of Juliette Binoche shines here.  I couldn’t imagine another actress portraying the vulnerability of Isabelle, the willingness to follow the reasoning behind the emotions from the other.  A heavy burden but a successful one.  Like reading a play because it’s all about the dialogue and the tears and expression and never-ending search for love.

Let the sunshine In isn’t a love story, nor a drama; it’s not sad.  It’s a lover’s discourse.

Boys Cry (La Terra Dell’Abbastanza)

Rated: MA15+Boys Cry

Directed by: Damiano D’Innocenzo, Fabio D’Innocenzo

Screenplay by: “D’Innocenzo Brothers”

Produced by: Agustino Giuseppe, Maria Grazia Sacca
Director of photography:  Paolo Carnera

Starring: Luca Zingaretti, Andrea Carpenzano, Matteo Olivetti, Milena Mancini, Massimiliano Tortora.

Winner of Best First Film at the 2018 Nastri d’Argento Awards

Manolo (Andrea Carpenzano) and Mirko (Matteo Olivetti) have been through primary and high school together.  They have girlfriends and dead-end jobs delivering pizza.

When Mirko accidently runs down a guy, killing him, Manolo tells him to keep going – his dad will know what to do.

From that moment their lives change.  An accidental hit and run that happens to take out a snitch of the mafia makes them think they’ve won the lottery when the accident ends in an induction into the mafia – going from zero to a thousand in a moment making a rags to riches change in their lives.

All they have to do is kill and pimp out underage girls.

Mirko’s girlfriend asks, ‘If you and me broke up would you cry?’

When he doesn’t answer she says, ‘I would’.

Boys Cry isn’t about Manolo and Mirko crying, it’s about a sickness that slowly eats away their lives until there’s nothing left.

The film is blunt and at times boring, like life.  Even down to a mafia henchman making sauce on the same stove-top as a bubbling concoction of drugs: the every-day in the setting of crime making the crime seem every-day.

Boys Cry isn’t a fast-paced thriller, yet it was hard to look away as these two young guys waste their lives and sell their soul because they don’t realise what they’re giving away.

It’s a comment on the value of life.  Where the reaction to wrong isn’t emotional but a physical sickness.  Where empathy is replaced with ambition.

When a high-risk job comes up the Captain of the mafia knows the stupidity of asking the new recruits to complete what really should be done by an experienced killer.  But what have they got to lose?  Two kids?  Slowly turning into psychos?

Some of the camera work gets creative, focussing on the eyes; panning above to show a map of attack, to distance the action only to grip when the action is filmed inside – simple yet effective.

But the film is driven by dialogue, by the conversation between the two friends as they descend into a space where they cease to feel.

C’est La Vie

Rated: MC’est La Vie

Directed by: Olivier Nakache and Eric Toledano

Written by: Olivier Nakache and Eric Toledano

Produced by: Nicolas duval adassovsky, Yann Zenou, Laurent Zeitoun

Starring: Jean-Pierre Bacri, Jean-Paul Rouve, Eye Haidara, Benjamin Lavernhe,  Gilles Lellouche, Vincent Macaigne and Alban Ivanov.

What would you do if you were minutes away from serving main course to a wedding party of 200 guests and the food was ruined? While this would have to be any event planner’s worst nightmare, this is merely one of the catastrophes looming over the ‘sober, elegant, chic’ occasion that Pierre (Benjamin Lavernhe), the self-obsessed groom, has ordered for his special day.

C’est La Vie is a behind the scenes look at 24 hours in the life of wily, irascible wedding planner, Max Angeli (Jean-Pierre Bacri) and his unruly, uncooperative and inattentive staff as they attempt to orchestrate a 21st century wedding extravaganza in a 16th century château, complete with dodgy wiring.

If Max is to survive this reception with his reputation and his business intact, he will need to draw on 30 years of his of experience in the trade, but he has his own troubles too. His lover has insisted that he leave his wife and until she sees some action Josiane (Suzanne Clement) is brazenly pursuing one of the waiters. At the same time, Max is feeling so jaded that he is secretly negotiating the sale of his business. Or he would be, if only he could master the predictive text function on his phone. Unwittingly, Max has invited his buyer to, ‘come and lick me up’.

Much of the humour in this ensemble comedy derives from language wielded with the precision of a chef’s knife fileting the hapless creatures laid out on the cutting board; especially, the exquisitely barbed insults flying between the staff from the various departments—catering, music, photography, even lighting and special effects—as they each seem to vie to undermine the other. Filmed at the Château de Courances, the setting is breathtaking, while the subtle cadences of Avishai Cohen’s musical score add layers of texture to the slow burn of the script.

Contrary to the expectations set up by its publicity, this film does not follow the well-established Hollywood tradition where a series of disasters, each more cringe-making and improbable than the last, ramp up to a great, big, rousing finale.  While I heard several chuckles and a few belly laughs from the small audience during the pre-screening, the experience was more a smile in the dark than a roll about in the aisles kind of thing. Rather, this film plays with verisimilitude, relying on artful misdirection to produce something that is so deliciously absurd and quirky that it confounds expectation.

In a scene that does break with the sense of realism, two of the hopelessly distracted staff manage to lose the groom. Quite literally. And nobody, not even his bride, seems to mind. It is in this moment, when chaos threatens to ruin everything, the staff show that they have the single qualification that counts in their line of work. They know how to party. Under any circumstances.

As the bemused international crew observes, ‘The French, they’re really something else.’ And this comedy is quintessentially French, right down to its beautifully crafted, easy to read, subtitles.

Dr. Knock

Rated: PGDr. Knock

Directed by: Lorraine Lévy

Based on the Play by: Jules Romain

Produced by: Olivier Delbosc, Marc Missonnier

Starring: Omar Sy, Alex Lutz, Ana Girardot, Sabine Azéma, Pascal Elbé, Audrey Dana.

 An adaptation of the famous French play written by Jules Romain, Knock ou le Triomphe de la médecine (1923), director Lorraine Lévy has brought the story forward in time to the 1950s and has replaced an older white gent with a tall and handsome black, Dr. Knock (Omar Sy). 

The play is a French favourite and I can see why: the setting a quaint village with its inhabitants fully formed characters that are both delightful, terrible and most importantly all know each other a little too well. 

Dr. Knock, although a stranger, arrives charming and smart and different, sweeping the villiagers off their feet. 

But I wasn’t always convinced of Dr. Knock’s good character. 

Knock, formally a gambler down-on-his-luck, finds fortune when escaping his debts by applying to be a doctor on board a ship, enthusiastically waving to his debtors as the ship departs.

He has found his calling.  After finishing his post, he takes himself to medical school to five years later fill the job of country GP in the beautiful provincial village of St-Maurice.

Conman-turned-GP, Dr. Knock plans on getting rich by making up as many illnesses and treatment plans as he can suggest to his willing patients.  

‘Healthy people are merely unaware sick ones,’ he exclaims to much agreement.

He has an uncanny ability to infect the healthy, explaining to a rich widow the cure for insomnia is to imagine a crab or giant spider eating away at her brain, while extending his fingers and dancing them in front of her eyes like spider legs.

His charm and business sense allow him reverence in the village, all the people thinking of him as a saint.  Except, ironically, the priest (Alex Lutz).

When meeting beautiful Adèle (Ana Girardot) it is the first time we see Knock lost for words and we begin to see the softer side of the man: she recognises him for who he truly is.  Yet the audience is still left to wonder: Is he a charlatan?  A doctor?  Or both?

The film is sweet and amusing with the slapstick humour of the French, alcoholic post office worker falling head first with his bicycle in the village fountain, included.

In the end, I was won over like the villagers as the film elevated above the usual human condition (and health issues!) into something more: you can’t make happiness happen, it just happens.  But you can try.

What Will People Say (Hva Vil Folk Si)

Directed and Written by: Iram HaqWhat Will People Say

Produced by: Maria Ekerhovd

Executive Producer: Alex Helgeland

Music Composed by: Lorenz Dangel, Martin Pedersen

Starring: Maria Mozhdah, Adil Hussain, Rohit Saraf, Ekavali Khanna, Ali Arfan, Sheeba Chaddha, Lalit Parimoo, Jannat Zubair Rehmani, Isak Lie Harr, Nokokure Dahl.

Released in Australia as part of the Scandinavian Film Festival 2018

Winner: Audience Award, AFI Fest 2017

Official Selection International Film Festival Rotterdam 2018

Official Selection Toronto International Film Festival 2017

It took many years for director and writer, Iram Haq to tell the autobiographic story of her past.  To be able to tell of her experience as a sixteen-year-old, in the film known as Nisha (Maria Mozhdah), growing up in a Pakistani family living in Norway.

Now, after enough time has passed, Iram is able to show the pain of being betrayed and kidnapped with an unflinching eye.

No mean feat as the pain of this difficult time was caused by her family – her betrayal, the threat to kill, her abuse – all because, what would people think of her behaviour?

What Will People Think is an apt title as the embarrassment of the family is more important than the life of a girl growing up, just like her friends; the film about her father (Adil Hussain) as much as about her because it’s his over-reaction when finding a boy in her bedroom that sets the course of her life.

And the family follow his instruction.  His son; her brother partaking in sending her back to Pakistan against her will, telling her to enjoy the trip, talking to his father about how cool the new BMW is while Nisha has no idea of her fate.  Her life, not her own.

We are taken from the cold and snowy world of Norway, where kids play basketball and go to parties, to the heat of Pakistan, the crumbling old buildings and markets and mosquitoes showing the contrast of two completely different worlds.

What Will People Say

It’s a nightmare that deepens as Nisha’s left with relatives in Pakistan, trying to make her way, only to be betrayed again and again, all under the guise of being for her own good; the continued harassment and relentless discipline, to do what she’s told under threat of death, her constant reality.

There’s a fierce emotive story here, told without dramatisation so the performance of Maria Mozhdah as Nisha hits harder, digs deeper.

The times I did have tears spring to my eyes were those warm moments when Nisha was seen, heard and loved – a little sister giving her a hug, or the simple attempt to fly an orange kite upon a rooftop.

And the humanity of members of the family are shown through their love of being together: cooking, eating, praying, bickering.  All normal family stuff.

It’s the terror of stepping outside the social boundaries, of being found-out and shunned that turns good people into fearful people, into something cold.

The Norwegian Child Welfare Services are brought in to assess and act when the family show behaviour unacceptable in the culture they’re living.  Yet the family isn’t all bad, the film showing love and warmth making it harder to see the turning away – the authoritative stance and abuse giving insight into the culture clash that stuns the sensors.  To see a father spit in his daughter’s face, for her to lack any control makes me furious because it’s so unfair.

But the film isn’t about anger or hurt, in the end it comes down to courage and I was left with a lingering admiration of Nisha’s bravery.

In Times of Fading Light

Rated: 18+In Times Of Fading Light

Directed by: Matti Geschonneck

Screenplay by: Wolfgang Kohlhaase (based on the novel by Eugen Ruge)

Produced by: Oliver Berben, Sarah Kirkegaard, Dieter Salzmann

Starring: Bruno Ganz, Alexander Fehling, Sylvester Groth, Pit Bukowski, Evgenia Dodina, Stephan Grossmann.

Based on the semi-autobiographical 2011 novel of the same name by Eugen Ruge, and screening as part of the 2018 German Film Festival, In Times of Fading Light concerns several generations of an East German Communist family gathering to celebrate the 90th birthday of Wilhelm Powileit (Bruno Ganz), a staunch supporter of the Communist Party who is also about to receive a medal in recognition of a lifetime of service to the Party.

The action takes place over one day in 1989 in East Berlin, not long before officials opened the Berlin Wall for the first time in 28 years (its demolition officially began on 13 June 1990 and finished in 1992). In addition to family and friends, there are also some Communist Party officials present, but they quickly leave once rumours start to reach them of people defecting to the West (but whether the officials are joining the stampede or trying to stop it isn’t clear).

My knowledge of the sudden building and eventual destruction of the Berlin Wall is sketchy at best, nor was it particularly enhanced by the way this film unfolds, given its setting mainly within a family home and with the focus on an old man’s stubborn adherence to a political ideology that is being threatened by change.

The ensemble cast is composed of a number of apparently distinguished European stage and film actors, but not being familiar with any of them, and not understanding German, I relied on the subtitles to help navigate my way through the murky political and historical waters. This tended to distance me from becoming too engaged with the characters and their interactions, but there was enough significant information gradually revealed to keep me from losing interest.

The film benefitted from good production design and was effectively photographed to capture Eastern Germany in the late 1980s, with the home kitted out in what would have been the typical furnishings of the time, and with everyone appropriately costumed in keeping with their frugal lifestyles.

A drawback for me was that the film tended to be rather stage-bound, particularly in the earlier scenes, as if lifted from a Chekov play with people trapped within a defined space and uttering their lines with a sense of revealing lots of ‘Important Things’. As the day progressed, this stage-like aspect lessened, or perhaps it was because the audience became caught up more in the unfolding drama and relationships of the various relatives and friends whose convivial smiles started to freeze and crack as secrets and long-buried grievances seeped to the surface.

Bruno Ganz as the focus of the celebratory gathering was aged effectively with make-up, and was convincing as a firm believer in a political ideal who struggled to maintain his faith as others around him surrendered to the inevitable passing of a particular time in Germany’s history. The old wooden table loaded with celebratory food and the patina of many earlier gatherings represented a set of values and its eventual fate served as a metaphor for inescapable change and how not everyone can accept that change even when faced with incontrovertible proof.

If you enjoy period drama in a foreign language, with characters in no particular hurry to reveal their secrets, you may find this offering to your liking.

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Abracadabra

Rated: 18+Abracadabra

Director/Writer: Pablo Berger

Produced by: Pablo Berger, Ignasi Estapé, Mercedes Gamero, Mikel Lejarza

Music by: Alfonso de Vilallonga

Cinematography by: Kiko de la Rica

Starring: Maribel Verdú, Priscilla Delgado, Antonio de la Torre, José Mota, Quim Gutiérrez, Joep Maria Pou, Javier Anton and Rocίo Calvo.

Language: Spanish with English subtitles.

If it was a choice between an egotistical, abusive and dismissive husband or a loving, appreciative but crazy murderer, who would you choose?

Abracadabra is kind of a love story, if you can call the choice between a chauvinist and a murderer romantic, mixed with weird humour and eye-brow raising moments of blood and drama and fantasy.

After Carmen (Maribel Verdú) with daughter, Toñi (Priscilla Delgado) finally drag husband and father, Carlos from watching the football to a wedding, they wonder why they bothered when he continues to listen to the football match with headphones shouting, Yes !!! right as the priest asks if anyone contends this most romantic and completely loved-up couple from marrying (their current feeling expressed in precious promises the complete opposite to Carmen and Carlos).

The wedding reception show-cases Pepe (José Mota), the mighty hypnotist, (and obsessed with the sequined, gorgeous but somewhat gaudy Carmen) daring an audience member to volunteer.  Carlos doesn’t like the way Pepe looks at his wife, so volunteers confident in his domination over the powers of the eye-lined hypnotist, Pepe.

While mocking the powers of Pepe an opportunistic ghost possesses Carlos changing him from macho-nasty to doe-eyed lovely, breakfast-in-bed included.

When Carmen and daughter Toñi realise it’s too good to be true, the last straw his greeting of Pepe with a kiss and hug, they consult the mighty Dr. Fumetti (Joep Maria Pou) to find the truth of who inhabits the body of Carlos.

And on the story goes, reaching into the bizarre with a flavour of comedy that held the film from falling into a complete mess of over-dramatisation.

It was those subtle details that were funny: the vibrant white of Dr. Fumetti’s teeth while posing as a dentist; the frothing and spitting of the real estate agent to re-enact blood spurting as a mother’s head was sawn off by the hand of her schizophrenic son… I love a bit of dark humour and there were many moments well executed (ha, ha!) by the cast.

If you don’t like funny-strange humour, then stay away.  The film was also melodramatic with emotion shown with that, hand to mouth, Oh! face, often.  But as the film plays out there was a bit of lead in the story.

An interesting movie experience into the unexpected and absurd, with the drama of weddings and unrequited love and madness that was surprising and silly, pushing the suspension of belief as the script skipped across disaster by keeping the underlying humour present in those unexpected and bizarre details.

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Pop Aye

Rated: MPop Aye

Written & Directed by: Kirsten Tan

Produced by: Lai Weijie, Deng Li, Zhang Jianbin, Huang Wenhong

Onset Photographer: Lek Kiatsirikajor

Composer: Matthew James Kelly

Starring: Bong (as Popeye), Thaneth Warakulnukroh, Penpak Sirikul, Chaiwat Khumdee, Yukontorn Sukkijja, Narong Pongpab.

Foreign Language: Thai with English subtitles.

Winner Sundance World Cinema Dramatic Special Jury Award
Winner Rotterdam VPRO Big Screen Award
Winner Best International Feature Film Zurich Film Festival

Popeye is the name of an elephant, a street elephant, lost now found by Thana (Thaneth Warakulnukroh), an architect reaching middle-age and realising that everything he’s worked for is now broken – like his first building about to be destroyed to make way for a new design, a new building aptly named: Eternity.

Finding Popeye (named after the cartoon ‘sailor man’) on the streets of Bangkok, it feels like a chance, a new beginning; the broken Popeye the only Being in the world to understand what it is to be taken for granted.

Leaving his wife, Bo (Penpak Sirikul), job and city, Thana sets out on a journey, taking Popeye with him on the roads of Thailand to return the elephant to his childhood home, their home.

It’s the circle of life, suddenly finding the world different – changing, always moving forward and brutal in leaving the old and weak behind: like nature.  But in nature it’s a slow process.  In the city it’s not about watching the day pass, it’s about money – and it passes fast.

The film is a classic tale of a man having a midlife crisis but shown in the unique setting of Thailand with colourful trucks, ladyboys and the relationship a man can have with an elephant.

Writer and director (debut feature) Kirsten Tan is able to show the animals with real personality – the antics of Popeye as he makes a break for it to continue his own journey from a shopping carpark, shopping trolley being dragged behind; to confused dogs barking at a giant immovable adversary; to long-eared cows lost without their cowbell to announce their coming and going.

There’s a bitter-sweet tone to this film, watching Thana project his life-crisis onto his lost childhood pet, because life is bitter and sometimes sweet.

As Tan states: “Tonally, I believe that life is—and has always been—simultaneously tragic and comic. It only depends on the perspective and distance with which one is watching events unfold. In my films, this inadvertent mixing of tragedy and comedy is important, because that is the truth of life.”

Money is an important part of life, but so is that wondering about what happened to past loves, the yearning to return home – the acceptance of others.

Pop Aye is a quiet film to show the cruel and the kind and those on their own path and how each can connect or break apart shown in a timeline that shifts back and forth but always back to Thana and his struggles – the simple things have meaning like the offer of sandals to ease tired feet, the response to hesitation, ‘They’re old not dirty’.

The meeting of the fortune teller able stop time, to ‘feel a bit like a tree.’  And Thana wants to stop the world turning.  ‘But even trees have to die.’

Pop Aye’s a film to absorb and ponder – a journey to lift the soul; not a fast-paced entertainment.

And I can relate to reaching a crossroads and the wanting to wander ‘til it all makes sense; to be able to slow down time, just for a little bit.

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