SiftPop

by Cris Mora-Villa, Contributing Writer

One year ago, I attended the 59th Chicago International Film Festival. The experience of taking part in one of these festivals was unlike anything I had ever encountered before. The sheer effort and scale on display in dedicating so many resources to celebrate a community’s collective love for the movies resonated with me greatly. That introduction all but guaranteed my return for the following year, which begets this series’ very existence. And so it brings me great joy to be able to share my thoughts on the films I was able to watch at this year’s festival. I began with an in-depth look at Andrea Arnold’s Bird, but that was just one of the movies I saw. Continuing on from that, I’d like to have a look at six more in a prime example of what a global affair this festival really is. Introducing World Excursions (Part I).

Transplant — Low Side of Liked It

What sold me on Transplant was the early word of mouth from the festival curation espousing how positive the reception was from this movie specifically. Pitched as Whiplash mixed with Grey’s Anatomy, Transplant comes from the selection of films competing in the New Directors Competition. I bring that up because it feels like the most appropriate lens for which I can expand upon my praise for the film. Akin to Whiplash, the viewer observes a psychologically abusive relationship between a promising surgical resident, Jonah (Eric Nam), and his heart surgeon mentor, Dr. Edward Harmon (Bill Camp). Whiplash is in my estimation, one of my finest films ever made. Inviting comparisons to such a work is certainly a bold choice, but it’s not an unfair evaluation. The film has moments where tension is at an absolute boiling point. Changing the main setting from a music conservatory to a working hospital in New York naturally heightens the stakes from one’s infatuation with a perfection of the arts to the absolute zero margin for error of the surgical suite. With the lives of others literally being left in the hands of Jonah and Dr. Harmon, there is definitely room for the imagination to run wild with what could happen should either man reach a breaking point with the other. And while the movie does waver against those possibilities, I’m not sure it can fully give itself over to the pulse pounding drama it aims for. This admittedly makes some sense, as director Jason Park’s attention is very much focused on exploring the moral and even racial implications of Jonah’s position in being subservient to Harmon and his all conquering management style. I think that’s a fair avenue to take if it lines up with Park’s preferred vision; I ultimately just vibe with the picture more when it leans into the tension. But Park’s vision is still worth validation as it is nonetheless, a quietly impressive feature debut.

Happy Holidays — High Side of It Was Just Okay

In going through last year’s festival lineup, something I didn’t pay much mind to when looking at a particular movie is the country from where it emanated. Not out of a lack of interest, but more so a kind of faith I had that regardless of where the film was produced, I would find myself engrossed by whatever the story was. I wanted to give said film the chance to affect me on its own merits. This year, there was one exception to that mentality in one specific location that had garnered my invested interest: Palestine. There were three films screened at this year’s festival which originated from Palestine, of which I was only able to see two. And in the first of these films which revolve around Palestinian families, we have Happy Holidays. The story is told from four different perspectives, covering the various goings-on between two interrelated families as individual members deal with a multitude of personal issues involving relationships, social status, and cultural divides. As vague as that description may sound, there’s a lot more at play in this film, bordering on excessive even. There is certainly some resonance to be had throughout, but it’s largely due to the film’s structure that stands in the way of allowing it all to congeal properly. External factors do contribute to that being the case, as there is another film that played at this festival which employs a very similar story device resulting in a much more affecting experience. Under its own merits, however, the divvying of screen time across its four plot lines result in a less than desired effect resembling four stitched together short films with overlapping characters. Some segments are stronger than others, particularly its bookends, as those are the sections that hold a richer weight to them. But in recognizing the movie’s setting, that is where I think Happy Holidays earns the majority of its credit. Without ever delving into cliché, the movie paints an interesting portrait of universality in the culture of Palestine, and how in many regards, it’s hardly different from any other family.

The Rule of Jenny Pen — Low Side of Liked It

In one of the more taboo offerings from the festival, The Rule of Jenny Pen comes from the land of New Zealand, and is one of the few films I caught under the festival’s banner of horror/thriller selections. We follow an embittered judge, Stefan Mortensen (Geoffrey Rush), who, after suffering a near fatal stroke, is admitted into a nursing home where he must contend with the unrelenting torment at the hand of another patient, Dave Crealy (John Lithgow). In laying out the bare bones of the story, what we have is a fairly grounded game of cat and mouse between two very capable forces. Mortensen on the side of a strict adherence to justice, and Crealy on the opposing end with a craving for malevolence. Both Rush and Lithgow commit wholeheartedly to the characters as we come to know them, but their portrayals do result in some level of disparity in regards to finding an emotional entering point to the story. The tension that is able to to be siphoned out of Crealy’s increasingly odd and borderline perverse actions is not insignificant, but it is kind of difficult to take seriously when Lithgow goes so far in relishing over his own vindictive antics that it ends up clashing with what Rush is doing. In his own inimitable way, the surly and arrogant disposition that Rush bestows in Mortensen isn’t just a case of an old man yelling at clouds. There are traces of genuine pathos behind that attitude which convey a fear of Mortensen losing the last vestiges of himself. If there is any thematic takeaway from the movie, it would be the meaning of legacy and how it affects one in old age. With this in mind, the movie is a bit more than the cheeky thriller. As a thriller, while the film is lacking in some areas, such as its repetitive plot mechanics and issues in suspension of disbelief, there is still some originality to be found. Its nursing home setting is not one you often see in contemporary thrillers, which ultimately makes for an actively refreshing viewing experience. So while the movie may not be at the very top of my list for what played at the festival, even its position as an under the radar selection is well worth going out of your way to see.

Fréwaka — Low Side of Liked It

I can think of exceedingly few films that I would’ve seen that use Irish Gaelic as a primary language. Prior to my viewing of Fréwaka, the only other film I’ve seen with that distinction is Colm Bairéad’s The Quiet Girl. In spite of all the films’ differences, their use of the same language with deep generational ties to its country of origin is itself a statement on how important that element of the movies is in telling its story. In the case of Fréwaka specifically, the movie uses the Gaelic language to further the development of the backstory for its characters, as well the wider religious mythology it introduces in detailing a story of the generational trauma inflicted upon women. The film centers around a home care nurse named Siubhán (Clare Monnelly), who, while mourning the death of her mother, is tasked with taking care of an ailing woman in Peig (Bríd Ní Neachtain) who harbors a dark secret. In what’s been a fairly jam-packed year for the horror genre, Fréwaka certainly stands out from the pack. Not necessarily for being one of my favorites, but for adding a real sense of diversity to the canon in how unapologetically Irish the film is. In much the same way that A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night was touted as the first Iranian vampire western, this film aspires for a similar badge under Irish folklore. And while perhaps not as stylistically daring as Ana Lily Amirpour’s seminal feature debut, there’s still quite a bit to Fréwaka that left me feeling especially disoriented above anything else. How the picture is able to achieve this is through establishing an air of implausibility to what it is the viewer is seeing. Having to separate what’s true from what’s not through the eyes of Siubhán. When backed by the film’s marvelous production design, we arrive at a visually striking confection that isn’t afraid of delving into a part of Ireland’s history plagued with pain and suffering.

The Return — Liked It

When it comes to the world of highbrow literature, there are countless examples of culturally significant works which I know very little about. Homer’s Odyssey is a prime example of one of those works. The Return is not an all-encompassing adaptation of said text, but rather a portion of the story which, at the festival’s post-screening Q&A, director Uberto Pasolini roughly described as an adaptation of the portion of the story which people can most relate to. I can adamantly confirm that his intended mission statement is executed quite studiously. The film covers the sudden return of King Odysseus (Ralph Fiennes) to the kingdom of Ithaca (Greece). After 20 years of fighting in the Trojan War, he must continue the fight to reclaim the family and home he has lost. Considering how ultra-specific the focus is on where in the Odyssey the viewer is dropped into narratively, Pasolini is very adept in being able to construct the implication of a grander tale which both precedes and follows the events of the film. We come to meet Odysseus as a man who carries with him the scars of an endless battle physically, but even more so emotionally. Through Fiennes sensitive yet carnal performance, Odysseus leaps off the page in a way that a lot of the supporting cast aren’t quite able to reach. Performances are still ostensibly strong, but there is a performative overlay to some scenes which don’t focus on Odysseus that do take the viewer out of the film, albeit only slightly. When the film does focus on Odysseus and his emotional plight, investment in the narrative is certainly at its peak. A portion of that does rest on how good Fiennes is in the role, but for someone who has never seen a Pasolini picture, there’s clearly a great deal of his proficiency on display. He’s able to foster a rich sense of the home that once was Ithaca to serve as the backdrop of the film, as well as wisely imbuing a bit of a modern touch to Odysseus by modeling the character after someone with PTSD. All told, The Return makes for quite an absorbing tale loaded with fated mythology and a gratifying conclusion for the viewer.

Listen to the Voices — Liked It

Set on the territory of French Guinea, we witness the story of a 13 year-old Melrick, who, while visiting his grandmother for the summer, comes to use the power of music as a means of mourning his deceased uncle. Listen to the Voices has the distinction of being the film with the shortest runtime out of everything I saw at the fest, finishing at only 77 minutes. In the midst of what was a jam packed schedule of film screenings split across 12 days, I can’t say I wasn’t drawn to the ones that leaned on the shorter end of things. So while the film may have had that going for it, I more so believe that it’s the contents of the film itself that allowed for it to turn out to be one of the biggest surprises of the fest. Maxime Jean-Baptiste is quietly stellar in the director’s chair, as he makes a strong case for how capable he is when it comes to making bold choices. From the off, the viewer is breezily transported into a culture with a most enchanting vibe consisting of soulful music and vivid color. It is truly one of the most beautifully depicted coming-of-age stories that I’ve seen in recent memory, but the film is able to extend past that into a whole other plane thematically. With touches of documentary positioned throughout, Baptise constructs a deeply personal love letter to not only the place he calls home, but where his cousin Lucas tragically lost his life. Grief and forgiveness lay at the center of this tale, a feeling that has persisted to affect those who knew Lucas a decade on from his death. Under different circumstances, his passing, while saddening and tragic, would be something that could be accepted through the process of grieving. It’s the inclusion of the unwelcome violence of it all that distorts that process. And while Melrick and his family try to make peace with that fact, we don’t leave the film having reached that end, as that’s not how grief works. What we do have is an embracement of a celebratory nature, remembering Lucas with love, and in Melrick’s case, through the music.

You can read more from Cris Mora-Villa, and follow him on Letterboxd and Twitter