Portrait of a Lady on Fire (Portrait de la jeune fille en feu)

In Portrait of a Lady on Fire, there’s a moment where the characters discuss the fate of Orpheus and Eurydice. Sophie, the third wheel, argues, why would Orpheus turn around when he was told not to or he would lose his love? I like Marianne’s explanation, “He chooses the memory of her. That’s why he turns. He doesn’t make the lover’s choice, but the poet’s.” Like Orpheus, Marianne knows Héloïse is not hers to keep. She must get married or choose her sister’s fate. And Héloïse acknowledges this, releasing Orpheus’s blame, “Perhaps she was the one who said, Turn around.” Céline Sciamma’s Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a powerful, hypnotic film full of where passion slowly blooms, beauty cannot be restrained and a forbidden love lives on in only memory.

Céline Sciamma’s story centers around a young portrait painter, Marianne (Noémie Merlant), sent to a remote island to paint a young woman, Héloïse (Adèle Haenel) before she is married. Marianne is the second painter summoned, Héloïse’s mother tells her that Héloïse refused to pose for the first one, as she opposes the marriage. Héloïse is also the second bride, her older sister so strongly opposed the marriage she jumped off one of the island’s high cliffs. Now Héloïse is told that Marianne will be her walking companion. Marianne must study Héloïse on their walks and paint her by memory in secret.

The deception is only the first act of the film. When Marianne finishes the portrait from memory, she shows it to Héloïse and confesses her deception. The portrait is too perfect, it could be any woman with Héloïse’s features. It lacks life, Héloïse’s fierce flash of anger, the tired red eyes bagged with grief. Marianne destroys the painting and to her surprise, Héloïse agrees to pose for her. Her mother will be away and they have until she returns to finish the portrait.

What unfolds is a mixture of an affair between artist and muse, Héloïse’s first taste of womanhood and her last taste of freedom before marriage. The slow burn, hypnotic tension between Marianne and Héloïse rises to romance and brings forth a sexier love story than most films can muster between heteosexal leads. Yet, there are no sex scenes, unless you count the couple lying in bed, breasts exposed with Marianne drawing secret portraits in a book, using a perfectly placed mirror.

Their portrait scene where Marianne tells Héloïse all the little nuances she has noticed about her and Héloïse shooting back saying, “When you’re observing me, who do you think I’m observing?” put the traditional artist/muse relationship on it’s head. Usually those relationships are very one sided, the man being powerful, the woman the silent idol. But here, Héloïse’s spunk and the fact that they’re both women make it equal.

During the mother’s absence, the maid, Sophie (Luàna Bajrami) reveals that she is pregnant. Marianne and Héloïse help her to rectify the situation, first by herbs and exercise, later by visiting an older woman who preforms a 18th century abortion. As Sophie lays back during the procedure, a baby no older than 2 holds her hand and plays with her. Later, Marianne paints a recreation of the scene, with Héloïse posing as the practitioner. The symbolism in these acts, these people around Sophie in her moment of need is astounding.

I’ve never seen a film so full of raw, powerful feminism and I love it. Along with the obvious subjects, the film is completely driven by women and their relationships together, whether as lovers, friends, artist/subject, mother/daughter. The actors bear natural beauty, even displaying body hair that rarely graces Hollywood films without a grimace. There are only a few men in the film, none of them have important speaking roles. Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a beautiful, bold and empowering and enthralling film that I hope inspires more female filmmakers to bring their stories to the world.

“It’s a life that has advantages. There’s a library. You can sing or hear music. And equality is a pleasant feeling.”

Parasite (Gisaengchung)

In Bong Joon Ho’s Parasite, the Kim family live in a small, filthy, basement apartment. There are stairs to up a toilet they have to crouch to sit on. It’s also the best place to get free WiFi. At their tiny table they drink beer, look up to the sidewalk and regularly see drunk men urinating right outside their window. They’re poor, take odd jobs and con jobs to survive. Then a friend brings them an odd rock that is supposed to bring wealth and the son, Ki-woo (Woo-sik Choi) fakes his way into becoming a tutor for the wealthy Park family. 

The Park family lives in a spacious, modern, beautiful house. Once on their property, it’s like living in a private oasis. The elevated yard’s treeline keeps the rest of the city out. As Ki-taek works with the family’s teenage daughter as an English tutor, he finds an opportunity to get his sister a tutoring job with their young son. Then the kids get their father working for the family, and then their mother. The Kims enjoy making money off the all too trusting Park family. Then… well you’ve just got to see this movie to believe what happens next. 

The writing in this film is phenomenal. The basic premise between rich and poor is engaging and sets the tone perfectly. Details like the way the Parks react to smell sear into our minds and affect how we perceive these characters. Every twist and unexpected turn is great, satisfying us in either elation, heartbreak or just shock. Every character is fleshed out and believable, never a simple caricature. Without giving too much away (cause seriously, do not spoil this film!) I love how there are no clear heroes or villains in this film. Every character is both flawed and sympathetic. There are great moments that make us laugh, turn away in horror and always hang on to every word. 

Visually, this film is unexpectedly beautiful. I loved the shots in the rain storm, especially as the family heads back down to their basement home. The sewage water rising and sputtering, a man pushing a floating door, the power lines crossed like spiderwebs as they walk down alleys and stairs are powerful images. And with their juxtaposition between the pristine Park home we understand Ki-taek’s rage. 

Parasite is nominated for six Academy Awards including Best Picture, international feature film, original screenplay, cinematography and film editing. Bong Joon-Ho earned his first nomination for director. Let’s be honest, Parasite has the international film award in the bag and possibly a few more.

Parasite is a rare kind of film that is exciting to watch unfold. Please, American audiences, do not be afraid of the language barrier in this film. As Bong Joon-Ho said in his Golden Globes acceptance speech, “Once you overcome the one inch tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.” No matter the language, film is universal. Plainly, Parasite is one of the best films I have seen in years.

“You know what kind of plan never fails? No plan. No plan at all. You know why? Because life cannot be planned”

Amour

Last weekend, my husband and I took a little road trip into Tennessee to see the final film nominated for best picture, Amour.  At the theater, Amour was tucked away in a small, far back theater, where we were joined by no more than twenty other viewers, all of whom seemed to be over fifty.  I guess most young people would rather watch Bruce Willis in another Die Hard episode than a quiet film in French about an old couple slowly facing mortality.  C’est la vie.

Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) and Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant) are our starring couple.  They are retired music teachers now in their eighties who quietly reside in their small Paris apartment.  One day, their lives are interrupted by a small moment where Anne seems to blackout and become unresponsive.  We never see her in a hospital, but as Georges explains to their daughter, she had an operation to remove a tumor, but it didn’t work.  This leaves Anne in a wheelchair, partially paralyzed.  We watch as more and more of Anne’s independance slips away and Georges takes care of her, making sure to keep his promise to never let her go back into a hospital.

At the age of 84, Emmanuelle Riva has become the oldest person ever nominated for best actress.  Her portrayal of Anne is moving, beautiful and sadly truthful.  She brings a wonderful sense of wit and quiet determination to Anne on her better days in the early half of the film.  As Anne declines, Riva’s performance grows more powerful.  It must be very hard to be so convincing as someone laying in bed dying, desperately trying to say something that comes out not making much sense.  Moments where Anne feels that she is becoming more of a burden for Georges, we can see a sense of shame and sadness in her eyes, even though she tries to remain strong when she can.

While Anne fades, it’s Georges that keeps the film moving.  Surely Trintignant was considered for best actor.  We watch as he is burdened more and more by Anne’s debilitating condition.  For the most part, he copes well, is a wonderfully supportive husband and Annes biggest advocate.  I wanted to cheer at how he handled a less than gentle nurse.  However, taking care of someone full time who is becoming so helpless can wear on anyone.  We see moments where he is short with Anne that sting.  His patience and love for his wife is tested and many will not believe his final act of love for Anne.

Amour is nominated for five Academy Awards.  Hailing from Austria, it is a sure-win as best foreign film.  Its other nominations are for best picture, original screenplay, Michael Haneke for best director, Riva for best actress.

This is not a fun or easy film to watch.  It’s about loss, suffering and a slow descent into death.  It’s very much like sitting and visiting with an elderly person slowly slipping away.  The long silences is either heavy or peaceful.  Moments where is Anne losing control, not making sense or just crying out in pain are heartbreaking and make you feel as helpless as she does.   But the experience makes you wiser, more appreciative of the good times in life and thankful for those courageous enough to stay by their side.

“I remember the feeling.  That I was ashamed of crying, but that telling him the story made all my feelings and tears come back, almost more powerfully than when I was actually watching the film, and that I just couldn’t stop.”

A Separation

I remember one of the first times I encountered a foreign film.  Flipping through channels, I landed on something black and white, in an old mansion with a girl running.  The look on her face told me she was scared and I was hooked.  It turned out to be a French version of Beauty and the Beast, complete with white subtitles and someone in a beastly costume that reminded me of Sweetums from The Muppets.  After a while, my mom came in, probably curious of the French she could hear from the next room.  One look at French-Beast-Sweetums led her to question what on earth her child was watching.  To this day, I love to find movies that bring people out of their comfort zones, foreign or otherwise.

A Separation is the latest Oscar winner for Best Foreign Film.  From Iran and directed by Asghar Farhadi, it tells the story of a family falling apart.  Simin (Leila Hatami) wants to divorce from her husband Nader (Peyman Moadi) and travel abroad with their only child Termeh (Sarina Farhadi), so that she can have more opportunities for a better life.  Nader agrees to divorce, but refuses to let their daughter go.  Instead, he wants to stay in Iran to take care of his father, suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.  After Simin leaves and moves in with her parents, he hires a caretaker to stay with his father during the day, Somayeh (Kimia Hosseini), who brings her little daughter with her.  She’s a very conservative Muslim woman, not quite sure how to handle some moments with the grandfather.  When an accident happens, lives are changed, legal action is taken and both families can ruin the other.

The film opens perfectly.  Simin and Nader are in chairs, facing and talking straight at the camera.  They discuss with a legal authority their situation and grounds for divorce.  The man, off camera, is unflinching and unsympathetic, especially toward Simin.  He tells her she cannot divorce over every little thing.  The final verdict is that she cannot take their daughter abroad without Nader’s permission.  Even those unfamiliar with Iranian culture can sense women have very little control.  The camera does not cut throughout the entire conversation.  When the scene ends, we are intrigued in the couple’s situation and already have a sense of equally stubborn characters.

As the plot thickens, stakes get higher.  More is at risk here than just a divorce and where the daughter goes.  I do not want to give anything away, watching it unfold is captivating and pulls emotional chords you would never expect.  The similarities and differences between the two families add even more depth and cultural understanding.  By the end, I was in awe and in completely understood the film’s nomination for original screenplay

While watching A Separation, I was reminded what originally drew me to foreign films.  There are situations that speak universally, no matter the culture or language barriers.  Just like I could see the fear on that French girls face years ago, I could see the hurt, struggle and despair in every character in A Separation.  Simin is strong and determined but never turns her back on family.  Nadar is growing weary, his eyes always red and tired, but goes on, determined to keeps his family together in Iran.  With Somayeh, covered in her black veil, we can only see her face at most times, but that is all we need.  Her grief is written all over it.  When Termeh falls to her knees, our heart sinks.  And that moment toward the end, where the two daughters of equally torn families look at each other, so young and sullen, is one of the most telling moments in the film.  Though the situation is unique, you could watch without subtitles and understand each character’s emotions.  If foreign films are outside your normal comfort zone, branch out and see A Separation.

“-Didn’t you say it’s not serious?  –It got serious.”

The Seventh Seal

In Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, Death (Bengt Ekerot) is a figure in a hooded black cloak and a pale, stern face.  He has been very busy lately, following a crusading knight on his way home to his castle and dealing out the black plague far throughout the land.  When he finally comes for the knight, Antonius Block (Max von Sydow), the knight strikes a deal.  They will play chess for his life.

The image of the knight, his hair lighter than his own skin, matching wits against Death is beautiful and iconic.  Through endless parodies, this image still holds its own ground in the film, and strikes quite a chord.  How arrogant do you have to be to think you can outsmart Death?  Aren’t we all destined to lose in the end?

No doubt that these questions are going through the knight’s mind.  For years he has been crusading and killing in the name of God, but now he questions if God even exists.  His thoughts, fears and worries on the uncertainty that will come with death become a heavy burden for him.

His bleak outlook matches the setting.  The plague is spreading through multiple coasts and rumors talk of the Apocalypse approaching.  Tales of people dying from the Black Death are terrifying and sending people into a frenzy to repent, whipping themselves in penance and even cleansing themselves with fire.  At one point we are shown a macabre parade of monks, the diseased and repenting people shrieking, moaning, carrying crosses and spreading a cloud of incense.  It’s a very eerie moment, showing just a taste of what fear of death and damnation can cause.

As the knight and his squire travel, playing a few moves of chess with Death as they go, they meet a group of actors.  They seem to be too cheerful, as if not getting the memo on the tough times around them.  Among them is a young family, Jof (Nils Poppe), Mia (Bibi Andersson) and their baby boy.  Their presence is a breath of fresh air in a world where plague riddled corpses are the norm.  As the threat of plague grows stronger, the knight offers to let them tag along on their journey to his castle.  But is the knight playing right into Death’s trap and about to bring his innocent friends down with him?

You see, Death has a few tricks up that dark cloak.  In one scene, the knight and his squire happen upon a church.  When the knight thinks he has found a priest to confess to, he starts spilling all his fears, his loss of faith and even his chess strategy.  The moment the knight realizes he has just told all this to Death, we feel a rage and sorrow for the man.  He is only human, and his squire (Gunnar Björnstrand) does not care to listen to his woes.  He is far too much of a realist.

This moment, as well as many others, really help us question the existence of God as well.  Not only does he seem completely absent, letting the world become ravaged by the plague, but he lets Death pull dirty tricks.  We understand the knight’s plight.

Ingmar Bergman holds The Seventh Seal as one of the best of his films, and he is a very harsh critic on himself.  That alone makes The Seventh Seal worthy of my Oscar Snubbed status, but I have a feeling Bergman’s work was not quite on the Academy’s radar yet.  His only Best Picture nomination was Cries and Whispers in 1973.  In the introduction before the film, Bergman says that he made the film to help cope and explore his own fears on death.  What he has created here is a striking and thoughtful contemplation on mortality that every film enthusiast must see at some point.  However, a casual film fan will probably not enjoy this black and white Swedish film.  It feels very archaic, like we are completely displaced from our modern society and dropped into the dark days of plagued Europe.  That alone makes it a very beautiful film, but extremely eerie.

“We must make an idol of our fear, and call it God.”

Cries and Whispers

Alright, get ready for some subtitles unless you know Swedish.  Cries and Whispers is one of those rare foreign films nominated in the Best Picture category.

It tells the story about three sisters in the late 1800’s coming back together as one is dying.  Agnes (Harriet Andersson) is dying of cancer and her two sisters, Karin (Ingrid Thulin) and Maria (Liv Ullmann) come to care for her in her last days.  Agnes seems grateful that they’re all together one last time, but old tensions and grudges start to stir up.  Agnes remembers how she wasn’t the favorite of their mother, Marie remembers an affair with the doctor which caused her husband to take drastic measures and Karin– I’ll get to how messed up she is later.  The one person who really takes care of Agnes through thick and thin is her servant, Anna (Kari Sylwan).

The care Anna and the sisters provide is so loving.  They read to her, comb her hair and bathe her nice and gently.  It’s not something you see much these days.  Today we stick our sick in a hospice and visit after work, keeping a safe distance.

The cinematography is artful and off putting at the same time.  With the lack of music or dialogue, the image truly runs the story.  And the images are strong, move the story and tell us more than the characters can say.  In the film, there’s a lot of time spent looking at things: the clock with its intricate carvings, the very plain unHollywood faces and there seems to be something about red in the film.  It’s everywhere: the walls, dresses, hair.  Even the scene transitions dissolve to red.  Director Ingmar Bergman explains that all the red is an exploration of the soul, which he believed to be in shades of red.

Now that you see there is love and care in the film, I can get into the weird stuff.  I don’t know what it is about 1973 and stabbing the female orifice, but you should be warned against it.  Everyone knows that happens in The Exorcist, but you don’t expect it here.  I’ve thought about recording myself as I watch a film to show my initial reactions to some parts; this would’ve been the crown jewel.  The whole broken glass scene is worked up so quietly and slowly intrigues you, I felt nearly hypnotized wondering where the glass would finally cut.  But of all the places and the next bit right afterwards…you could’ve viewed me muffling my screams into a my little Purdue pillow and curling up on the couch in fetal position.  YouTube worthy.

From there on, it only gets weirder and weirder until the end.  But it’s wonderfully fucked up.  I won’t give away anything else, but the weird stuff really pushes us to the brink of insanity. The things that happen are not sane.  It’s all really really morbidly fucked up and yet kept so quiet and dignified that it’s believable and intriguing.

“It’s true. I think… about suicide. I’ve often thought about it. It’s… it’s disgusting. It’s very degrading and everlastingly the same.”