Mad Heidi

Switzerland has gone fascist. Maybe it was funded by some of those Swiss accounts looted during WWII, the last time the Swiss were showing some fascist tendencies. Cheese is the instrument of control for President (for life) Meili. It makes the Swiss people docile and stupid. Consumption is mandatory and lactose intolerance has been criminalized. However, Meili’s storm-troopers pick the wrong mountain lass to mess with in Johannes Hartmann & (“co-director”) Sandro Klopfstein’s Mad Heidi, which has a special nationwide Fathom Events screening this coming Wednesday.

It is still relatively peaceful up in the Swiss Alps, where the orphaned Heidi lives with her grandfather Alpohl, a former revolutionary, when she isn’t rolling in the hayloft with Goat Peter, a (not so lonely) goatherd and underground fromager. Unfortunately, there will be no mercy when Kommandant Knorr busts Goat Peter for illegal cheese trafficking. After his summary execution, she is sent to a women’s prison clearly inspired by nazisploitation movies, such as Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS.

Being behind bars with predatory body-building women will make Heidi stronger, instead of breaking her. However, she will need help from the spirits of Helvetian warriors to reach her full battle potential.

If you believe Troma represents the pinnacle of cinematic accomplishment than Mad Heidi will be your kind of movie. Yet, the truth is: it is a little too much like Hobo with a Shotgun. The gory mayhem is often more mean-spirited than humorous. It is the sort of mash-up than requires the ambience of a rowdy late-night theater audience to distract from its shortcomings (and the relentless cruelty it depicts). It certainly makes sense for Fathom to screen it as a special one-off, which is the only way anyone should consider seeing it.

Olga, a Ukrainian Story from Switzerland

After the brutal Russian invasion of Ukraine, we almost forget the thuggishness of Viktor Yanukovych, the deposed president, who aspired to be Putin’s puppet. However, this young gymnast will not forget it anytime soon. Following the attempted assassination of her journalist-mother, she will be forced into exile, for her own protection, in Elie Grappe’s Olga, which opens tomorrow in New York.

Olga’s late father was Swiss, so Olga’s rattled mother arranges for her temporary residence in the neutral nation. Olga also happens to be a very talented gymnast, so the coach of the Swiss junior team is happy to have her. Initially, she is a bit rusty, but she quickly rises to the top of the team. However, she will be distracted by news from Ukraine.

Before she left, her mother complained about the Ukrainian public’s apathy. Then, the Maidan demonstrations start. At first, they give Olga hope, but when Yanukovych unleashes his violent Berkut shock troops, Olga fears for her mother and her friends, who are often present at the protests. She believes she should be there, especially as some of her friends start to resent her absence.

Much like the Latvian film January, Olga incorporates real footage from Maidan Square, alongside the dramatic scenes featuring the titular Ukrainian. For additional authenticity, Olga and her main teammates, both in Ukraine and Switzerland, are portrayed by real-life gymnasts. They have the athletic chops, but they are also pretty good thesps, especially Anastasia Budiashkina, who does excellent work conveying the guilt and confusion of simultaneously dealing with the pressure of competition, teen angst, and national trauma.

The Unknown Man of Shandigor, Starring Serge Gainsbourg

Life is cheap when you are a spy, especially when you are in a spy-spoof. You could die at any moment for your country, but there is a good chance viewers might laugh when it happens. There is a pretty high body-count in this spoof, but at least one of the fallen agents gets a requiem serenade from none other than Serge Gainsbourg. The mayhem is goofy but unusually stylish in Jean-Louis Roy’s Euro-spy send-up The Unknown Man of Shandigor, which releases tomorrow on BluRay.

Everyone is interested in the “Canceler” formula developed by the mad scientist Herbert von Krantz that holds the power of neutering nuclear war heads. Just about every spy in the business is out to get it, including the Serge Gainsbourg ‘s aptly named “Baldies” from France. There are also the Americans, led by the Eddie Constantine-like Bobby Van and the Soviets, commanded by Shostakovich. Frankly, it is a little unfair to make him the composer’s namesake, considering the real-life Shostakovich had a very complicated and sometimes uncomfortable relationship with the Communist Party.

The formula is safely tucked away somewhere inside Von Krantz’s weird split-level suburban McMansion, but only he and his albino assistant Yvan know where. Not even his neglected daughter Sylvaine is privy to his secret, but it is somehow related to their last happy family vacation to Shandigor. Understandably, she still carries a torch for the dashing Manuel, whom she met there—but can she trust him when they eventually reunite?

Shandigor is a lot like Godard’s Alphaville, but the story is easier to follow, the comedy is broader, and sets and backdrops are even more stylized. Roy shrewdly used the ultra-modernist buildings of Geneva’s NGO district and Barcelona’s Gaudi buildings to create a trippy environment for his espionage frolics. Frankly, the story is more than a little ridiculous and it is riddled with le Carre-esque moral equivalence for each network of spies. However, Shostakovich is arguably the most sinister of the bad lot.

Sundance ’17: My Life as a Zucchini

They have big heads and even bigger problems. They might be stop-motion animated figures, but they understand they are too old for adoption to be a practical possibility. Instead, they will have to make the best of things in Claude Barras’s My Life as a Zucchini (trailer here), which screens during the 2017 Sundance Film Festival.

If nothing else, Barras teaches us “courgette” is the French word for zucchini. Nine-year-old Icare prefers his rather odd vegetable nickname, for a host of complicated reasons. That was what his drunken mother used to call him, before Zucchini accidentally killed her in an instinctive act of self-preservation. Since his father has long-absconded, he is remanded to an orphanage, where his preferred moniker will draw the bullying attention of Simon, a longtime resident. Why yes, Zucchini has been picked up by GKIDS, why do you ask?

For a while, things look decidedly Dickensian for Zucchini. However, Raymond, the kindly policeman who worked his mother’s case, periodically drops by to check on him. Life takes a turn for the better when the spirited Camille moves into the home (following her parents’ murder-suicide). He takes an instant liking to her and it seems to be mutual. However, unlike the other children, she wishes to stay in the foster home rather than moving in with her shrewish, exploitative aunt.

Obviously, Zucchini/Courgette is not your typical merchandising-friendly animated film. Adapted from Gilles Paris’s YA novel (which is reportedly even more naturalistic than the film), Barras and screenwriter Céline Sciamma (a prominent French filmmaker in her own right) are dealing frankly and forthrightly with some serious subject matter. They do so in a way that will make young viewers appreciate not being talked down to and have animation fans admiring the way they stretch the dramatic use of the art form.

Clearly, Zucchini was a labor of love for Barras and his design team, because all the sets, backdrops, and costumes have been crafted with extraordinary care. As grim as things get, there is something about the look of the orphanage that inspires hope. Ultimately, the narrative also gives viewers a bittersweet glow. This review is based on the original French language dialogue track, which features some unusually sensitive vocal performances, particularly Michel Vuillermoz as Raymond the copper, so the English dub cast better not screw it up. In fact, it sounds downright terrific thanks to Swiss jazz-crossover musician Sophie Hunger’s lightly grooving soundtrack.

At just under seventy minutes (FYI, with a short stinger midway through the closing credits), Zucchini stirs quite a few emotions in a relatively short span of time. Rather deservedly, it already has a reputation as the little-film-that-could, having secured a Golden Globe animation nomination and a spot on the best foreign language Oscar shortlist. Indeed, just about anyone should respond to its deep humanistic embrace. Very highly recommended, My Life as a Zucchini screens again this afternoon (1/22) and this coming Saturday (1/28) in Park City, as part of this year’s Sundance.

Fantasia ’16: Aloys

Aloys Adorn is a private eye, but he follows more in the tradition of Alain Robbe-Grillet’s The Erasers than Hammett or Chandler. Nondescript and unassuming to a fault, Adorn is perfect for divorce surveillance. Following the death of his father (who was also his partner and roommate), Adorn withdraws from life in a manner worthy of Bartleby the Scrivener, but a strange neighbor will try to pull him back, sort of, in Tobias Nölle’s Aloys (trailer here), which screens during the 2016 Fantasia International Film Festival.

It is not like a lot of people are yearning to engage with Adorn, but he will freeze out any who try. That includes his rather odd neighbor Vera. Apparently, she was so frustrated with him, she stole his video camera and digital tapes. That would be before her accident-slash-suicide attempt. He used to watch his old surveillance footage each night, in lieu of having a life, but she will force him outside his comfort zone instead.

She calls it “telephone walking,” but it is essentially a mutual visualization exercise. In this case, it might actually work. Soon Adorn is projecting himself to a mossy forest, where he meets the hospitalized Vera. Or maybe it is an idealized version of her. Regardless, he soon starts to feel some kind of something for her, especially when she joins him in his apartment for groovy, retro-1970s console-organ party.

Aloys is a very strange film, but also an understated one, as you would perhaps expect from the German-speaking Swiss. Nölle’s mastery of mise-en-scène is conspicuously evident in each and every carefully composed shot. He and cinematographer Simon Guy Fässler make Euro drabness look dramatically stark. Yet, he might be too thorough when it comes to problematizing ostensive reality. Once the telephone walking starts, he never lets viewers get their feet back under them, though not all cult cinema fans will object to that.

Without question, Nölle elevates style over narrative, so be prepared to deal (or not). However, the hypnotic control he exerts is almost eerie. There is substance to the surreal flights, but do not look for easy, programmatic symbolism. Just call it an existential trip. Recommended for the adventurous, Aloys screens again this Wednesday (7/27) as part of Fantasia ’16.

Ithaca Fantastic ’15: Polder

The grandly hyped “Red Book” would sound a little alarming, even if the Neuroo-X gaming corporation were not partly based in China. Supposedly, the immersive virtual reality device makes in-game time feel subjectively longer. In theory, this should prevent gamers from missing out on the real world around them. As is often the case, practical reality is a different matter. That is probably why the company’s nebbish founder halted his work on the Red Book project right before his untimely death. His Japanese widow will try to follow the clues he left behind in Julian M. Grunthal & Samuel Schwarz’s Polder (trailer here), which screened at the 2015 Ithaca International Fantastic Film Festival.

You have to give credit to any film that starts with a John Clute quote: “Polder: an enclave of compressed reality demarcated by boundaries from the surrounding world.” It also serves as a handy explanation of the inelegant looking title. As the film opens, we meet Marcus through a digital imprint of his personality, which also introduces us to the key figures in his life: the childhood friends he cofounded Neuroo-X with, as well as his widow Ryuko and son Walterli.

After the accident, Ryuko become something of a basket case, neglecting Walterli while she obsesses over the heavily encrypted laptop that presumably holds the secret to everything. It turns out the code to crack is of a somewhat different nature. Regardless, Marcus will reveal much to her from beyond the grave. Unfortunately, due to the nature of Neuroo-X technology, virtual threats have very real world ramifications. Following an attack by a mythical Japanese witch on Walterli, Ryuko will place him in a specially protected polder to recuperate. Of course, there are plenty more revelations to come regarding the nature of the game and ostensible reality.

Films have been diving into video games and coming out the other side of normalcy ever since the original Tron. As a result, a lot of Polder’s big twists are practically mandated conventions. However, there are a number of widely inventive scenes along the way. Grunthal & Schwarz’s aesthetic choices are also unusually daring. Frankly the initial twenty-minutes or so are deliberately hard to follow. However, once they shift focus from Marcus to Ryuko, Polder really starts to click. In fact, an observer character within the film essentially acknowledges as much.

The Danish-Japanese Nina Fog has by far the most substantial and complex role in the film, but she makes the most of it. As outlandish as the narrative is, she makes Ryuko’s arc of empowerment quite powerful to behold. Somehow she perfectly reconciles the protective mother and grieving wife side of her persona with an existential action figure. She commands the film, but young Pascal Roelofse is also quite winning as Walterli.

Polder represents a new look for cyberpunk, but it works. The hills are definitely not alive with the sound of music. Nor is the fact that the Swiss-German company also operates in China an insignificant detail. Indeed, when we peak into that side of the business, it is quite consistent with what we know of human rights in the socialist state. It is a strange film, but the work of Fog and production designer Gerald Damovsky really sell it. Recommended for fans of cyber-based science fiction, Polder should have more stops ahead on the genre fest circuit after its screening at this year’s Ithaca International Fantastic Film Festival.

NYFF ’14: Clouds of Sils Maria

Taking stock of German filmmaker Arnold Fanck is a rather complicated business, considering he was a close associate of Leni Riefenstahl. Still, he remains one of the most accomplished mountaineering filmmakers of the silent era, so it is not outrageous when his documentary short Cloud Phenomenon of Maloja assumes a prominent place in Olivier Assayas’s Clouds of Sils Marria (trailer here), which screens as a Main Slate selection of the 52^nd New York Film Festival.

Fanck’s silent film never ceased to fascinate the soon-to-be-late Fassbinder-ish Wilhelm Melchior, who titled his most famous play The Maloja Snake in reference to the serpentine cloud formation it documents. Maria Enders’ career ignited when she appeared in the film version, also directed by Melchoir, playing a ruthlessly manipulative young woman engaged in a lesbian relationship-slash-power struggle with an older, more sophisticated woman. Although many years have passed, she is reluctant to accept the more mature and tragic role, for a variety of reasons rooted in insecurity and superstition (the actress who starred opposite her died shortly thereafter). However, her personal assistant Val thinks it is a fine idea, because of her respect for the innovative director, Klaus Diesterweg, and her prospective co-star, the Lindsay Lohan-esque Jo-Ann Ellis.

Val and Diesterweg apparently prevail, but Enders constantly threatens to pull out of the production. She is profoundly uncomfortable with the different meanings she finds in the text after her reversal of roles. In fact, it seems to speak directly to her relationship with Val, especially when they rehearse her lines. The tabloid circus following Ellis also spooks the extremely guarded Enders.

If the Weinsteins had picked up Clouds, Juliette Binoche would have been an instant Oscar frontrunner. It is a performance of strange and understated power, befitting the character clearly modeled to some extent on herself. The implied self-referential nature of the film thereby makes her scenes with Kristen Stewart’s Val feel even bolder and revealing.

Unlike the clumsy play-that-becomes-real in Polanski’s wildly over-praised Venus in Fur, Assayas stages the uncomfortably charged rehearsal sequences with such subtle ambiguity, we often lose our narrative bearings within the film, despite being on guard against that very contingency. Of course, everyone has known Binoche is one of the best in the business for some time, but the degree to Stewart matches her intensity is almost revelatory. It is an especially bold performance for her, given the added meta-dimensions, such as Ellis’s affair with a married writer that echoes certain media feeding frenzies Stewart would probably like to forget.

While the film works best as a two-hander, Hanns Zischler is devilishly effective as the older actor with whom Enders once had an ill-advised affair, whereas Chloe Grace Moretz looks the part, but never really adds to our understanding of a hot mess like Ellis. Arguably, the third act is somewhat flat compared to the action that came before, in large measure due to Val’s deliberately mysterious exit. Yet, it is still fascinating to see Binoche’s Enders navigate the world of international celebrity they both know so well. While all signs seem to indicate her time in the spotlight is coming to a close, the Ellises of the world might just be playing Enders’ game after all.

Even with its late pacing issues, Sils Maria is a quite a wry valentine to actresses and the personal assistants who put up with their diva-ness. It is unusual when a film this smart is also so forgiving of human weaknesses. Helmed with considerable sensitivity, it also represents a return to form for Assayas after the messy and somewhat didactic Something in the Air. Recommended for fans of Binoche, Assayas, and Stewart (which really ought to cover just about everyone), Clouds of Sils Maria screens this Wednesday (10/8) and Thursday (10/9) at Alice Tully Hall, as part of this year’s NYFF.

The Little Bedroom: Nurse-Patient Commiseration

Crusty old Edmond Berthoud is reaching the point when his natural cantankerousness can no longer compensate for his failing body. Nevertheless, he wages a cold war against his grown son and the Swiss visiting nurse service, but reaches an unexpected détente with his newest care-giver. Perhaps because she has plenty of her own issues, the nurse and her charge develop genuine empathy for each other in Stéphanie Chuat & Véronique Reymond’s The Little Bedroom (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Berthoud hardly knows his grown son Jacques’ American fiancée and likes her even less. He is not exactly devastated by Jacques’ impending move to Chicago, but all the resulting fussing about becomes a considerable annoyance. As usual, he tries to take it out on his new nurse, Rose, but she has more gumption than her predecessors.

On paper, Berthoud would appear to be a terrible assignment for Rose’s return to work, following the still birth of her baby. She is still not over it, as her husband Marc can tell only too plainly. Eventually, the frustrated Marc will temporarily move out and the recently hospitalized Berthoud will move in, in defiance of patient protocol and without the knowledge or consent of his son. However, his decision to sleep in the eerily preserved children’s room rather throws the still grieving healthcare professional for a loop.

Bedroom is a very nice little movie that never gets excessively saccharine or simplistically pat. Chuat & Reymond’s screenplay shows a sensitive understanding of life’s messiness, but it can be a bit pedestrian at times.

Regardless, veteran French screen actor Michel Bouquet puts on a clinic as Berthoud. Flinty yet vulnerable beneath all the gruffness, he subverts all expectations of cutesy senior citizens borne out of films like Marigold Hotel. He doesn’t do quirky, but he develops some realistic chemistry with Florence Loiret Caille’s Rose. Their relationship might be short-lived, but it feels lived-in. Loiret Caille also goes all in as the faithful nurse, looking like the personification of a migraine.

Bedroom is a small film that treads down a rather well worn path, but (metaphor alert) it does so quite sure-footedly. It is not essential, but fans of French language cinema will appreciate the finely wrought work of Bouquet (Pierre-Auguste Renoir in Bourdos’s Renoir and Scrooge in a mid 1980s French television Christmas Carol, among scores of other screen credits). Respectfully recommended, The Little Bedroom opens this Friday (9/26) in New York at the Cinema Village.

Ursula Meier’s Sister

Simon is definitely from the wrong side of the ski lift.  While some kneejerk critics will rush to call him part of Switzerland’s 99%, he was not done a lot of favors by broken homes led by single parental figures that prioritize self-indulgence over responsibility.  In fact, his only family is the title character of Ursula Meier’s Sister (trailer here), Switzerland’s official foreign language Academy Award submission, which opens this Friday in New York.

Simon lives with Louise in a high rise project in the valley beneath an upscale ski resort.  Just about every day Simon rides up to the ski lodge where he steals high end gear.  It might be ethically problematic, but at least it constitutes a job.  That is usually more than Louise can lay claim to, spending most of her time partying with men she knows are only after one thing.  Indeed, it is the younger Simon who takes care of the older Louise, not vice versa.

This might be Simon’s reality, but he realizes something is not right with the picture.  He has a yearning for something more stable and supportive, which is why he develops an attachment to the wealthy single English mother he meets during his slope prowling.  Consider it a parental crush.  Though far from perfect, Simon’s life with Louise is not at an equilibrium point.  Her self-sabotaging behavior is not sustainable.  Nor is Simon’s chosen line of work.

If you are looking for a light comedy with a pat happy ending, Sister is profoundly wrong for you.  On the other hand, it is a rather remarkable showcase for young Kacey Motten Klein’s acting chops as Simon.  It is also interesting to see Gillian Anderson pop-up in another European production, playing the English woman, who could represent a variation on her Miss Havisham in Masterpiece’s Great Expectations.  Frankly, she is rather good in a role intended to be frustrating.  Yet, she is nothing compared to Léa Sedoux’s Louise, a depressingly realistic portrait of self-centered arrested development.

While Sister’s warmed over class consciousness gets a bit stale, particularly when the titular Louise begs for a strong dose of root-hog-or-die tough love, Klein, Seydoux, and even Anderson deliver consistently fine work.  Though not exactly shocking, Meier handles the third act revelations quite smoothly, building towards a surprisingly powerful (and cinematic) payoff.  Recommended for those who appreciate naturalistic family dramas, Sister opens tomorrow (10/5) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

J’Adore ’12: Operation Casablanca

Switzerland’s national police has plenty of experience with diplomats, but they are about to get a crash course in Islamist terrorists—not that there is much difference between the two.  Unfortunately, a bad case of mistaken identity puts an illegal economic immigrant on the run in Laurent Nègre’s light-hearted Opération Casablanca (trailer here), which screens today and tomorrow in Denver as a selection of J’Adore: Focus on French Language Cinema.

Saadi is a Moroccan passing for El Salvadoran passing for invisible.  When his restauranteur boss Michel sticks him in the cooler to avoid labor inspectors, the hard worker gamely complies.  However, when the sleazy employer pushes him too far, Saadi walks—straight into the kidnapping of UN Secretary General Takahata.  Being the profoundly wrong guy in the wrong place, Saadi is roughly interrogated by the Swiss authorities (better late than never, guys) and Takahata’s security specialist, Isako.  She would be the one in the Emma Peel wardrobe.

Maybe half believing Saadi’s innocence, the Swiss browbeat him into impersonating the real terrorist.  Right, what could go wrong with that plan?  Fortunately, Isako goes rogue to team up with the amateur infiltrator.  Actually, Saadi thinks fairly well on his feet for a put-upon schmuck, but he still has difficulty sussing out the evil scheme big league Hassan expects him to implement.

Casablanca definitely follows in the tradition of the OSS 117 franchise, but it is slightly less silly.  For a Swiss film featuring a lovable undocumented worker, it is also surprisingly forthright in its depiction of terrorism.  For Hassan and his cohorts, it is not about jobs or social welfare.  It’s all about Islam.

Tarik Bakhari has a likable screen charm and a nice, not too over the top flair for physical comedy.  The French-Cambodian Elodie Yung (due to become internationally geek famous when the mercifully postponed G. I. Joe sequel finally lurches into theaters) brings plenty of action cred and an intriguing presence to the film as Isako.  Veteran Swiss actor Jean-Luc Bideau sure hams it up though, as Michel.

Essentially, Casablanca aims to please, while presenting a portrait of a working class Muslim who rejects the violence of his extremist co-religionists.  Neither of those are bad goals.  There are also some relatively clever developments in Nègre’s script, as a small bonus.  Energetic and upbeat, Opération Casablanca should be a pleasant palate cleanser amongst the more serious fare at the Denver Film Society’s J’Adore series.  Handled internationally by The Yellow Affair, it is worth checking out when it screens this afternoon (6/22) and tomorrow night (6/23).

A Life Made Possible by Language: The Woman with the Five Elephants

Svetlana Geier understands only too well the Finnish and Baltic World War II experience. As the daughter and wife of a Ukrainian kulak purged by Stalin, Geier and her mother welcomed the Germans as liberators. In an era well before the internet, rumors of the National Socialists’ mass deportations of Jews were widely dismissed as crude Soviet propaganda. Needless to say, Geier and her countrymen soon learned otherwise. Yet by that time, her demonstrated aptitude for translating Russian into German earned Geier German patrons, setting in motion a literary life fraught with irony. Shortly before her death, Vadim Jendreyko documented Geier (nee Ivanova, 1923-2010) at work and finally revisiting her Ukrainian homeland in The Woman with the Five Elephants (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York at Film Forum.

Geier’s elephants are the five great novels of Fyodor Dostoyevsky that collectively could crush a man of sleight frame. For reasons she explains at length, Dostoyevsky is a touchstone figure in her life. His work has a richness and complexity that always yields up something new whenever she tackles him. Yet, she repeatedly stresses Dostoyevsky’s conviction that a problematic means never justify the ends, despite the rather obvious implications of Geier’s life, which could easily argue otherwise.

As the film begins, Geier’s day-to-day routine largely seems to revolve around her last great commission: definitive new German translations of Dostoyevsky’s elephants. However, Jendreyko’s camera slowly insinuates itself into the private Geier’s life. Eventually, we learn Geier’s son, a middle aged shop teacher, sustained injuries in a freak workshop accident not unlike those her father suffered at the hands of his Soviet torturers. With this grim symmetry in mind, Geier finally decides to revisit the Kiev she left mere steps ahead of the Soviet re-conquest, bringing one of her granddaughters along for moral support.

Frankly, Geier’s eventful story is far more interesting than she is as an on-screen interview subject. While she certainly has plenty of insight to offer on Dostoyevsky and the translation process in general, her rare offerings of current events commentary are rather wan conventional wisdom.

Indeed, since few audiences outside of Geier’s Germany and Jendreyko’s Switzerland will have occasion to appreciate her translations, it is a shame Elephants did not double down on the WWII era drama of her story. In particular, one cannot help wondering about the ultimate fate of Count Constantin Stamati, a high ranking official at the Ministry for Occupied Eastern Territories, who was banished to the Eastern Front for his part in granting Geier and her mother legal sanctuary in Germany.

Jendreyko is clearly a sensitive interviewer, coaxing Geier to forthrightly examine the extraordinary circumstances of her life. Indeed, the period beginning with her father’s brutal imprisonment under Stalin up through her flight to Germany would make an engrossing narrative drama. As it stands, Jendryko’s film will definitely broaden general audiences’ perspective on history and literature. Definitely recommended (though more for the former than the latter), Elephants opens this Wednesday (7/20) at New York’s Film Forum.

Existential Nothingness: The Sound of Insects

A well fed corpse decays quickly. Ironically, when an anonymous suicide sets out to slowly starve himself into nothingness, his lean, dehydrated body is nicely preserved through natural mummification. It is an unfathomable way to go, agonizingly conveyed in Swiss director Peter Liechti’s cinematic essay, The Sound of Insects: Record of a Mummy (trailer here), which had its American theatrical premiere last night in New York at the Rubin Museum of Art.

Whoever the nameless starvation artist was, he was not missed. Though based on a Japanese novel by Shimada Masahiko, which in turn was based on real life incident, Sound is not a dramatic adaptation, per se. Rather it is an impressionistic representation of person X’s final sixty-two days, through evocative natural imagery and voice-over narration of his deathwatch diary (which comes in both English and German variations). Even in that final testament, he offers no clues to his identity or back-story, but graphically details his extreme physical deterioration.

Clearly, Sound is not a film for mass audiences, but it fits nicely with the Rubin’s current programming focus on Buddhist concepts of an all encompassing totality often translated as nothingness. Its Japanese lineage should also appeal to patrons of the Tibetan art museum, even though Liechti shifts the setting to Austria (a move that makes no practical difference, aside from some faceless crowd scenes). X also makes the occasional reference to the Buddha, but is more preoccupied with western death motifs, such as the River Styx, at least according to Masahiko’s text, as adapted by Liechti.

Though grim, there is a certain existential poetry to X’s journal for about the first fifty days or so. Unfortunately, the final two weeks become something of a forced march, with X’s writings primarily restating the “why is this taking so agonizingly long” theme. Aside from the inelegant looking digital opening, Liechti creates some striking collages, mixing POV scenes from the site of the deed, with murky archival film footage, much in the style of experimental filmmaker Jay Rosenblatt. Indeed, had the overlong Sound’s running time been roughly equivalent to that of Rosenblatt’s long shorts, it would have better maintained its macabre lyricism.

While Sound is not a documentary, it has won European documentary awards. Essentially, it is experimental filmmaking with literary credentials. To say it is not for all tastes would be a crushing understatement. Indeed, Liechti’s integrity of vision engenders great respect, but also taxes the patience. Still, it is an interesting example of the Rubin’s ambitious programming, which includes first-run film screenings like Sound and Journey from Zanskar, Frederick Marx’s excellent documentary about the efforts of the indomitable Tibetan Buddhist monk Geshe Lobsang Yonten to bring a small group of geographically isolated children to the nearest Tibetan school. The endearing spirit and fundamental goodness of the Zanskar students really stays with you after viewing the film, so to support the Geshe’s efforts go here. Sound continues its debut engagement at the Rubin with nine further screenings on December 26th, 29th, January 2nd, 5th, 8th, and 9th.

BIFF ’10: The Welfare Worker

Ponzi schemes are not just for high-rolling financiers. As we know from recent headlines, self-appointed community organizers are just as likely to be involved in financial shenanigans. Such appears to be the case in Switzerland as well in Lutz Konermann’s The Welfare Worker (trailer here), which opened the 2010 Brooklyn International Film Festival Saturday night.

Hans-Peter Stalder enjoys social work. Unfortunately, he amassed quite a bit of debt keeping a mistress on the side. People are starting to talk, even his clients. To save face, Stalder tells a little white lie, claiming he has an in with a powerful economist, allowing him access to exclusive investments guaranteed to generate ridiculous rates of return. Rather than scoffing at his incredible tale, people start approaching him to invest with the mysterious “Dr. Moser” on their behalf. It all works just fine as long as there is a steady flow of new money into the pyramid scheme.

Even after being exposed, escaping from prison, and being convicted in absentia, Stalder still has a queue of fresh suckers trying to get in on his bogus investments. Like George C. Scott’s Flim-Flam Man, Welfare argues you cannot cheat an honest man. However, Konermann’s film is lighter in tone, closer to Catch Me If You Can, but perhaps a bit more sentimental. Notwithstanding all his mistresses and swindling, Welfare lets its anti-hero off the hook, presenting him as just an old softy, who only wants to make other people happy. A real-life Stalder would deserve a far worse fate, but as a roguish protagonist in a relatively diverting comedy, he gets a pass.

As a slovenly ladies man with suspiciously wig-looking hair, Roeland Wiesnekker is suitably likable as Stalder. Likewise, Katharina Wackernagel brings genuine warmth (if not believability) as Orsina Rocchi, the great Italian love of his life. However, no one really stands out amidst the rest of the large supporting cast, despite the long parade of marks and women marching in and out of Stalder’s life.

Konermann keeps the proceedings pleasant and mostly upbeat, deftly navigating the flashbacks-within-flashbacks narrative structure. No, crime does not pay in Welfare, but it probably gets off easy, which is fine, since it hardly positions itself as a great morality play. Not exactly a film of great depth, Welfare is well-paced and easily accessible with the potential to do quite well on the art-house circuit should a boutique distributor pick it up. It screens again as part of this year’s Brooklyn International Film Festival on Tuesday (6/8) at the Brooklyn Heights Cinema.