The Florida Project.
In the shadows of Disney World, lies the Magic Castle motel, a housing project home to Halley, a young, single mother struggling to find work, and her hyperactive six-year-old daughter, Moonee. Moonee has inherited a bad attitude from her mother and regularly misbehaves, causing mischief for the residents of the motel. Halley, more interested in having a friend than a daughter, doesn’t discipline Moonee, and refuses to take responsibility for her daughter’s constant troublemaking. The manager of the Magic Castle, Bobby, is exasperated by Moonee’s antics, and though the motel’s poverty-stricken residents approach him for help, he is struggling just as much as they are. The Florida Project tells of a typical summer vacation at the Magic Castle, rather than follow a traditional plot we see the day-to-day situations and hardships that arise for it’s residents as the perpetual cycle continues to revolve. Sean Baker’s tragically authentic film is an all too realistic inspection of poverty, reminiscent of a scorching, humid Ken Loach docudrama, the relatively unknown cast (with the exception of the brilliant Willem Dafoe) adding to the authenticity, while the irony of being a stone’s throw away from “the happiest place on earth” is not lost. Innocence, friendship, poverty and privilege are at the forefront of this fantastic drama.
The Red Turtle.
A man, stranded in the ocean. Storms rage above. Waves wash over him. He awakens ashore. Alone on a lush, green island, he initially struggles to survive. He builds a raft and sets sail off the island. After being attacked by an unknown assailant, the raft sinks and the man returns to shore; upon constructing a larger raft, the same fate befalls him. Retiring into the bamboo forest, presumably accepting death, the man suffers hallucinations. Making what will possibly be his final attempt at salvation, the man constructs yet another raft and sets sail once more. While vigilantly watching for attackers, the man sees a giant red turtle that subsequently destroys the raft. The man returns to shore, shortly followed by the turtle, who the man attacks in a fit of rage. After days of laying on its back, a crack appears in the turtle’s shell as the reptile transforms into a woman. This provides the man another opportunity at salvation, as he now has a reason to live rather than just to survive. I’ve come to expect beautiful animation and artwork from Studio Ghibli productions (co-production in this case with Wild Bunch), but The Red Turtle is also accompanied by an exquisite score that dictates the tone for a film without dialogue: the man obviously was not afforded a volleyball to talk to. As writer and director Micheal Dudok de Wit has stated, the film is less of how one survives on a desert island but the emotions one experiences there, and he portrays this concept superbly, showing in the process that animation does not require big-name casts or huge production costs to create magic. On a basic level, The Red Turtle is story of humanity and family, while for those looking deeper: a rich, harrowing-yet-joyful metaphor of adult life can be found. A terrific animated fantasy.
Silence.
In early-mid 17th century Japan, Catholics are being persecuted, and have been for the last twenty years. They are executed or, at the behest of the Christians themselves, tortured to death in a display of their devout faith. Meanwhile in Portugal, a letter is received from a renowned figure in the Catholic Church, Father Ferreira, who had been engaged in missionary work in Japan, claiming that he has publicly denounced his faith. Intent on discovering the truth of the apparent apostasy, two of Father Ferreira’s pupils, Rodrigues and Garupe, travel to Japan. As their journey continues, the two priests learn of the fear the Christian Japanese villagers live in as they pray in secret, and as Rodrigues’ path becomes the focus of the story, we follow his crisis of faith: what God would remain silent in the face of such suffering and death? Silence (or Apostalypse Now as I’ve nicknamed it) is an insightful inspection of how religion governs the lives of believers, but also of their strength of faith, a recurring theme in Martin Scorsese’s other religious epic The Last Temptation of Christ. Culture, philosophy and morality are further questioned in a wonderfully shot film that remains compelling from the first minute to the 161st.
Endless Poetry.
My first foray into renowned Chilean multimedia surrealist Alejandro Jodorowsky’s work is the second of his autobiopics, Endless Poetry. This audio-visual memoir of the poet/filmmaker/artist recounts his teenage and young adult life in Chile, and the effect poetry has had on his life. In a working class neighbourhood of Santiago, the teenage Alejandro works at his authoritarian father’s store looking for thieves. After Alejandro is ordered by his father to beat such as thief, he discovers a book of poetry, left behind by the crook. The book changes Alejandro’s life, though his father feels great shame upon finding his son reading from it, as he wants his son to become a doctor. Undeterred, Alejandro begins writing poetry in secret, haunted by his father’s disapproval and, after a breakdown at a family gathering, finds sanctuary with other artists. There he hones his craft, while also exploring the medium of puppetry, developing close friendships with other artists, poets and performers, before meeting his muse Stella and later his best friend, fellow poet, Enrique. A number of circumstances befall Alejandro culminating in his decision to leave Chile, at the climax of the film, for Paris, not before a final confrontation with his father at the docks. Jodorowsky’s surreal fantasy of his formative years is a refreshing experience. With a tangible plot it is more accessible than other surrealist films, while aspects of Endless Poetry are even comedic in their absurdity; Alejandro’s mother only able to sing her dialogue and the black suited “stagehands” taking objects from characters add a certain charm and quirkiness to the picture. While it is true that all art is a self-portrait of the artist them self, it is intriguing to actually witness the life of an artist through their own lens; Jodorowksy reveals his musings on life, what he has learnt from his experiences and confronts his regrets as he approaches death. Won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but it was mine.
The Handmaiden.
Part 1. A young woman, Sook-Hee, escapes the Korean slums to become the handmaiden of a rich Japanese man’s niece, Hideko. The sadistic uncle cares more for his erotic literature than his family; Hideko has been imprisoned in his mansion all her life, she has no friends or confidants. Conversely, the handmaiden was raised by thieves and con-artists and her employment is part of an elaborate scheme to rob the heiress of her inheritance. Sook-Hee is to spy on her mistress while Count Fujiwara, the handmaiden’s accomplice, courts Hideko. The two are then to be married before the Count abandons Hideko in an asylum, collecting a fortune for himself and Sook-He. Part 2. Hideko’s childhood with her loving aunt and monstrous uncle is told, as the path that leads to her predicament at the end of part 1 is revealed. Part 3. The extended flashback of part 2 ends as the events following the end of part 1 unfold. That’s me trying to be coy and not give too much away. Chan-wook Park’s romantic, erotic thriller, The Handmaiden, is a truly breathtaking film. The photography is beautiful, every shot as magnificent as the paintings coveted the despicable master; the screenplay is expertly crafted, certain words and phrases weaved throughout like a thread; the score wonderful; the acting brilliant; an absolutely flawless picture. Wanted to watch it again as soon as it finished, it’s so utterly engaging for the entire 145 minute run-time that a second viewing may reveal details I didn’t pick up the first time. Mesmerising. S-spellbindingly beautiful.
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