EUFF ’11: The Invisible Frame & Rabbit a la Berlin

For most mere mortals, the non-narrative experimental film and the travelogue rank amongst the least engaging of film genres. Yet, unlikely enough, a film that combined elements of both spawned a sequel of sorts. In the waning days of the Cold War, filmmaker Cynthia Beatt followed Tilda Swinton as she biked around the Berlin Wall in Cycling the Frame. With the fall of the Wall and the reunification of Germany, it made a certain amount of sense to revisit their trip twenty-one years later in The Invisible Frame (trailer here), with screens with the superior Oscar nominated documentary Rabbit á la Berlin at the 2011 European Union Film Festival.

Beginning and ending at the Brandenburg Gate, Swinton does indeed peddle around the Wall, or at least its remnants. We see the few odd standing fragments and looming watchtowers, decaying ghosts of a tragic period of German history. She frequently stops to examine the many monuments to the victims of the GDR regime, such as Günter Litfin, the first reported escapee killed by his Communist captors. In her voice-overs, Swinton occasionally offers some navel-gazing ruminations and recites some poetry (the most appropriate being some untitled verse by Soviet dissident Anna Akhmatova).

Frame shows viewers a whole lot of peaceful countryside, which might be pleasant, but also gets repetitive. Still, it is quite the contrast to our general mental picture of the Wall and its environs. At her most insightful, Swinton muses on the clarity with which one can see how dramatically the Wall divided people and neighborhoods, through its absence. Unfortunately, Frame makes a wholly inappropriate analogy in its final dedication to the people of so-called “Palestine.” For shame.

The Berlin Wall never saved a single life (quite the contrary), whereas Israel’s security barrier has saved hundreds, perhaps thousands. Relatively unobtrusive over most of its length, with regular established crossing points, it is protective rather than imprisoning, bearing no comparison to the Wall. Indeed, those committing acts of terror in Israel are much closer akin to the Communist guards, firing at fellow Germans like Chris Gueffroy, the final victim of the Wall, whose memorial is also found along Frame’s route.

Unquestionably, directors Bartek Konopka and Piotr Rosolowski’s truly original Rabbit á la Berlin (trailer here) is the main event of the double bill. During the immediate post-war years, a hearty band of rabbits survived by raiding the garden patches on Potsdamer Platz. Much to their supposed surprise, sheltering walls were suddenly erected around the bunnies in 1961. With a nice grassy run, plenty of shade, and precious little human contact, the whiskered critters made like rabbits and multiplied. The East German guards even began adopting them to help pass the time.

However, for many West Berliners, especially artists, the rabbits’ ability to burrow beneath the walls made them symbols of something greater—coyote tricksters for their divided age. Then, as escape attempts became more frequent and daring, the rabbits’ peaceful lives were upturned. Their lush grass was destroyed so that fugitive footsteps would be more easily tracked in the exposed dirt. Formerly their protectors, the guards declared open season on the rabbits, like a red army of Elmer Fudds.

One of Rabbit’s many surprises is the extent and quality of the archival film capturing the Berlin rabbits in their former environment. Credible simply as a wildlife film (even featuring the smoothly placid narration of Krystyna Czubówna, a well-known Polish voice-over artist for nature docs), it also has a slyly subversive sensibility, particularly when it incorporates news footage of the likes of Fidel Castro and Yassir Arafat (take note Beatt) gawking approvingly at the Wall. Wistful without being nostalgic, it was one of the more inventive and entertaining documentaries to play in New York last year. Highly recommended (but Frame not so much), Rabbit screens Sunday (3/20) and Wednesday (3/23) as part of the EUFF at the Siskel Film Center in Chicago.

EUFF ’11: Army of Crime

The French love of liberty was so great they had to outsource freedom fighting. Those willing to do the dirty work the French just would not do were primarily immigrants from Eastern Europe, Italy, and Spain. They were also largely Communists. At least, that is the portrait of Vichy-era France not surprisingly painted by Robert Guédiguian, the French-Armenian Communist filmmaker, in Army of Crime (trailer here), which screens tomorrow as part of the 14th Annual European Union Film Festival in Chicago.

Missak Manouchian was a lover and a poet, not a fighter. However, he became the celebrated leader of a French resistance cell. A committed partisan, Manouchian sees strong parallels between the Armenian genocide that killed his family and the reports of German concentration camps just starting to reach France. No stranger to Vichy prisons, Manouchian is fortunate to be at liberty. However, the dogged anti-Communist Inspector Pujol has a potential informant who, though somewhat removed from the action, could jeopardize the entire Manouchian Group.

As hagiography told in flashback form, it is only too clear how Crime will end. One cannot have a saint without the requisite martyrdom. Still, Guédiguian stages several tense operations with a genuine eye for the cinematic. Ironically, Crime’s best scene involves an aborted operation and the resulting mad scramble for a grenade pin.

However, Guédiguian’s screenplay, co-written with Serge Le Péron and Gilles Taurand, is structurally problematic. Rather than building up the suspense of the Manouchian Group’s final mission, the assassination of the odious General Julius Ritter, Crime shows it relatively briefly and matter-of-factly. Likewise, there is no real suspense during the final round-up. As a result, the extended twenty minute endgame somewhat diminishes the power of the intended emotional crescendo.

As history, Crime is also a rather so-so affair. There is a mumbled mention of the Molotov-Ribbentrop treaty between Hitler and Stalin, but the fact that French Communists were under strict orders from Moscow to collaborate during the first year of the German occupation is scrupulously ignored.

Frankly, Guédiguian is most successful humanizing Manouchian. Indeed, Simon Abkarian’s performance is shrewdly restrained and nuanced, suggesting a sensitive soul, happier quoting poetry than Marxist dialectics. In the quiet moments allowed by Guédiguian, he also develops some pleasant chemistry with Virginie Leyden as Manouchian’s wife Mélinée.

Crime’s title explicitly references the notorious Vichy propaganda poster that labeled Manouchian’s group an “Army of Crime.” It also clearly seeks to establish a kinship with Jean-Pierre Melville’s dark resistance-era masterpiece The Army of Shadows. While it certainly accomplishes the former, it falls well short of the latter. A decent (if a tad overlong) WWII drama, Crime pales in comparison to Melville and even contemporary films like Max Manus and the upcoming Winter in Wartime. It screens tomorrow afternoon (3/6) and Wednesday (3/9) during the 2011 EUFF at Chicago’s Siskel Film Center. Viewers can also stream Crime on Netflix.

EUFF ’11: Amer

Imagine V.C. Andrews with a European accent. Though the dialogue is sparse, that is definitely the vibe of Hélène Cattet and Bruno Forzani’s macabre feature debut. Billed as a tribute to the so-called Giallo genre of Italian exploitation shockers, the French language Belgium film Amer (trailer here) certainly has a Euro sensibility, appropriate in its way for the 2011 European Union Film Festival in Chicago, where it screens this Saturday.

Ana’s creepy family manor might not be the best environment for a child in her formative years. There appears to be a mad woman shut away in the room next to hers. In another room her (apparently) dead (maybe) grandfather lies desiccated. Instead of providing reassure or guidance, her mother constantly nags at her, when not having explicit sex with her father in what seems to be the only unlocked room in the house.

Her relationship with her mother is little better when the audience next encounters Ana as an adolescent in Amer’s briefest episode. Eventually, a fully grown Ana returns to the (presumably) deserted home of her childhood. Of course, once she disrobes for her bath, viewers know to expect some serious Giallo business.

If creepy atmosphere and lurid imagery are your things, then Amer is a definite go. Conversely, those who get hung-up on narrative cohesion should give it a wide berth. The rest of us mere mortals who might be intrigued by the premise should be advised, Amer privileges style far above substance. Cinematographer Manu Dacosse perfectly captures the lush malevolence of Grand Guignol productions. Yet, even with the ready stock of genre excuses, Cattet and Forzani’s screenplay has considerable issues of logic and consistency. At times, the combination of strobe lighting and rapid editing cuts even makes it tricky to discern the actual action on-screen.

Relying heavily on the three Anas, Cattet and Forzani probably get the best work from the youngest: Cassandra Forȇt. Indeed, the first episode is arguably the strongest, effectively exploiting the claustrophobic setting for gothic chills. While the third at least delivers the genre goods as well as a measure of closure, the connecting adolescent chapter is really just a big shrug.

Despite its rich look, seriously cool opening credits, and a funky soundtrack drawn from vintage Giallo films, Amer never really gets under the skin in the way a good horror movie should. Adventurous viewers will probably leave the theater scratching their heads, mumbling “I suppose that was interesting.” While never dull, there are far superior films at this year’s EUFF, including Disco and Atomic Warfare, Kawasaki’s Rose, Rabbit a la Berlin, Red Chapel, Portuguese Nun, Letters to Father Jacob and the opening night selection, Bibliothéque Pascal. For Giallo diehards, it screens during the festival at the Gene Siskel Film Center this coming Saturday (3/5) and the following Wednesday (3/9).

EUFF’11: Bibliotheque Pascal

Bookworms are creepy. Just ask Mona, a Hungarian woman trafficked into a life of sexual servitude in literary-themed brothel. The story of how she got there and how she might escape constitutes one of the darker cinematic fairy tales to grace screens in recent years. Given its subject matter, writer-director Szabolcs Hajdu’s Bibliothèque Pascal (trailer here) might be an unlikely choice to launch the 2011 European Union Film Festival, but its distinctive style and assured execution will make a strong impression this Saturday at the Gene Siskel Film Center. For those who will not be in Chicago, it is also already available on i-tunes.

Mona Paparu has led an eventful life, as she explains in flashback to the Hungarian social worker who has taken custody of her young daughter. It all started when she had a falling out with her Roma saxophonist lover. Parting ways, she is more-or-less taken hostage by a fugitive on-the-lam. The clueless Viorel is only around long enough to conceive Viorica, the daughter he will never know, but who inherits his ability to project his dreams.

Through a particularly grievous betrayal, Paparu finds herself tricked into a life of bondage, laboring as Joan of Arc (a la Shaw’s St. Joan) in the high-tech dungeon of the Liverpool sex club bearing the name of its deceptively cherubic proprietor, Pascal. Yet, in the spirit of the fairy tales Paparu tells at carnivals, a generous helping of magical realism awaits in the third act. Anyone who might have a problem with any of this should probably steer well clear of Biblio.

Officially submitted by Hungary for best foreign language Oscar consideration, there was no way Academy voters would go for a film as edgy as Biblio. However, unlike the in-your-face perversion of György Pálfi’s Taxidermia, a previous Hungarian submission, Hajdu’s film has a soul beneath the lurid material, all of which is in the film for a definite purpose. In fact, Hajdu juggles the sensational bits with the fabulist elements rather deftly.

Likewise, cinematographer András Nagy also shows tremendous versatility, conveying the clinical coldness of the Bibliothéque, as well as the golden warmth of the shared dreamscapes. The jazz-influenced soundtrack, featuring electro-ambient themes of Flanger and some Roma jazz helps propel the film through its more unsettling moments (the choice of a high church rendition of "Silent Night" for the closing titles is a bit of a head-scratcher though).

Despite its narrative structure, Biblio often confounds expectations. The nuanced iniquity of Shamgar Amram as Pascal is a case in point. His sharply written scenes with Orsolya Török-Illyé, as the resilient Paparu, crackle with intensity. Indeed, he is one of two highly memorable villains in the film—the other being Razvan Vaslescu as Paparu’s profoundly problematic father Gigi.

Rendered with verve and surprising sensitivity, Biblio features a strong heroine and a consistently intriguing supporting cast. Though not for all tastes, it represents accomplished filmmaking, recommended for sophisticated patrons when it screens at the EU Film Fest this Thursday (3/3), Friday (3/4) and the following Monday (3/7) at the Siskel Film Center.