Berlinale: Под электрическими облаками (Under Electric Clouds) / Пионеры-герои (Pioneer Heroes)

(Originally appeared in EXBERLINER on Feb. 10, 2015)

By a certain point at any major film festival, the viewer's patience inevitably starts to wear thin. So the ample amount of walk-outs at the press screening of the 140-minute Russian Competition entry "Под электрическими облаками (Under Electric Clouds)", in which nothing ever makes much sense, doesn't really come as a surprise. With no noteworthy plot to speak of, it's a vast, mystifying, nihilistic contemplation on history and the essence of being that would prove a tough film to sit through.

Divided into seven chapters with different sets of characters that share the flimsiest of connection, the elusive, insubstantial quality of the film is further exacerbated by the fact that even within any individual section, people tend to talk in circles, talk to themselves, talk over one another and generally just say the strangest things. It's a regular occurrence that someone would declare, unsolicited, something as impenetrable as "I just had a dream about diseases and now I don't eat tomatoes." And the response to that might well be the still more confusing statement. Overall a lot is spoken but there are precious few meaningful conversations. And although a couple of commonalities, or just symbolic cues like nosebleeds and construction sites can be established between the individual segments, it'd be a stretch to claim correlation or God forbid, even coherence.
What writer/director Alexey German Jr. manages to achieve, however, is communicating a languid, trance-like atmosphere that transcends reality/fiction and approaches something immaterial but vital, indescribable but timeless. It speaks to the past and the future as well as the repetition and the futility of human endeavors. Through striking production design that places surrealist structures of every kind throughout the picture, the sense of wandering in an all-encompassing realm of dreams and sighs becomes all the more pronounced.  

Discontinuous, random and utterly impenetrable, this movie might come across as a giant heap of gibberish to most. Having said that, this is a gutsy attempt at experimental cinema which demonstrates, if not yet a full-fledged directorial vision, then many of the exciting prerequisites thereof.

Another movie from Russia that deals with the past and especially the disillusionment of the present is Natalya Kudryashova's "Пионеры-герои (Pioneer Heroes)". Centered around three lifelong friends from the last generation before the collapse of the Soviet Union, it's composed of two parallel narratives that show the trio in their school years, determined to become the worshiped pioneer heroes fighting for the socialist cause, and now, when they're in their thirties, disoriented by the complexities of a changed world and desperate to hold on to a last glimmer of those childhood aspirations.

Viewed from its conclusion alone, some may find faults with the simplistic dichotomy between the rosy communist society and the merciless capitalist one. But at the heart of the story it's actually more about coping with adulthood and the realization that many promises in life will go unfulfilled, which should strike a universal chord. The script is not marked by subtlety but conjures plenty of endearing details about growing up in a party state. The extensive and tireless propaganda is not mocked but looked on with nostalgic tenderness, its only crime the unrealistically big dreams it made the children dream. Kudryashova, who makes her directorial debut here, moves things along with impressive fluency and makes her point succinctly, if at times a bit too forcefully. All six actors playing the three lead characters are fine, with a particularly winning young Olga whose innocent, absolute faith in the flag is quietly devastating.      

Класс коррекции (Corrections Class)

Russian writer/director Ivan I. Tverdovsky's "Класс коррекции (Corrections Class)" can't quite decide if it wants to be a portrait of the tricky, vicious peer dynamics in middle school, an indictment of the failing special needs education in modern Russia, or just a coming-of-age story with some tender puppy love, and ends up narratively diffuse. Starting off hopefully and closing on a shockingly ugly note, the movie takes numerous tonal detours in between, underlining the absence of a consistent, purposeful plan.

Contextual indiscipline aside, the filmmaker does hit all the different tones with impressive accuracy. Whether the merriment of the myopathic heroine on finding other physically impaired friends as she joins the so-called "corrections class" or the bashful first experience of attraction by two young persons coming into their own, sentiments and atmosphere are captured by curt but sure cinematic strokes. A couple of scenes involving a grumpy cleaning lady are of little significance in the scheme of things but, with the support of some brazen writing and an acute sense of situation comedy, prove wonderfully funny in their own right.

Technical aspects are accomplished, especially the agile cinematography and the tight editing. The camera swooshes and swirls with a compelling, airy lightness while presenting the focus of its attention in well-lit, sharp detail. The cuts are made with decisiveness and a strong attitude, so that even when the final result turns out not as profoundly meaningful as one'd like, the transitions themselves afford many surprises.

The film deals its most savage cards near the end when, somewhat inexplicably, everyone gangs up on the innocent protagonist. That the brutality of the attacks doesn't leave as devastating an effect or that the inconclusiveness of the last shot feels more lazy than inspired confirm the weakness of the storytelling that came before. But the confidence of the director's hand shows promise, as does his interest in tackling a distinctly little-explored subject matter.

Еще один год (Another Year)

Relationship dramas are hard to get right. You're not supposed to overplot them and lose a natural believability but you should somehow chart the up's and down's of the fluttering hearts; sentimentalizations are to be avoided but then every emotional wrinkle along the road must be felt. Russian director Oksana Bychkova's "Еще один год (Another Year)" doesn't quite make the test and gets stuck somewhere between its attempts to be casually authentic and genuinely affecting.

Following the lives of a young couple over the course of one year, the movie is formally linear and unorthodox only in the several temporal leaps it makes. While progressing at a deliverate pace on a day-to-day basis in the beginning, the story jumps ahead by months near the end. It's a conspicuous decision that draws scrutiny upon itself but the payoff is not immediately clear. Even if the purpose is as literal as to show a distorted sense of time between different phases of a relationship, it's not entirely working because the last part is too compressed to register as much more than a hastened wrap-up. The writing is uneven. There are a couple of exchanges that capture the teasing, intimate, adorably dopey tone of voice used by two people who know each other too well. But a far larger number of scenes are plagued with an inexpressive redundancy which doesn't allow us to get inside the heads of the two capricious, easily jealous characters.

Both lead actors are fine if underserved by their roles. A critical scene of argument is performed with enough childish outrage and cruel dispassion to remind you what a sad thing it is to behold the demise of love. Technically the film's unremarkable. The hand-held camera feels particularly nauseating without the aid of meticulous lighting and the sound sometimes comes off muffled. While the pedestrian look and the loose narrative are apparently both aimed at creating a realistic setting for close-range, incisive observation, they end up rendering the film anemic and disorganized.

Venice Film Festival: Good Kill / Белые ночи почтальона Алексея Тряпицына (The Postman's White Nights)

It's hard to find anything to like in American writer/director Andrew Niccol's flat, somber drama "Good Kill". Set around the time military drones were increasingly employed in America's war on terror, it is bluntly written, mechanically self-explaining without ever coming up with a fresh angle on how wars take a toll on their participants. Basically all it does is recycle the age-old mantra of all anti-war movies: taking lives will make a crazy person out of you! And it does so not through scenes of combat but of people sitting around pressing buttons, over and over again. No matter how many times they stress this is just as bad as slaughter in the old way, it remains breathtakingly dull to watch. Probably attributable to the direction, there's a rigidity to the proceedings throughout, nothing seems dynamic but strangely, poorly rehearsed. Lead actor Ethan Hawke certainly doesn't help matters donning a zombie face and uttering his lines ever so robotically. January Jones fares just as poorly. To be fair, she's not been given the juciest role to play, but this performance as the suffering wife is just grating. The sense of omnipotence from the drone controls and the panning aerial shots brings to mind "The Truman Show", which Niccol also wrote. But the parallel ends there, as not an ounce of the originality and empathy of that movie can be found here.

Russian writer/director Andrei Konchalovsky's "Белые ночи почтальона Алексея Тряпицына (The Postman's White Nights)" is a sedate, hyper-realistic but somehow also dreamy portrait of a group of villagers from rural Russia shot in near documentary style. It's notable for how closely its narrative resembles the spontaneous, disorganized trajectory of life. There's no plot to speak of. Instead, we just follow the titular character as he delivers mail, runs errands, goes about his daily routine and meet the other residents of this lakeside settlement. The dialogue is composed mostly of busy chatter or petty complaints, often sounding too relaxed to be scripted. While the movie might not rock anybody's boat for its absolute stillness and everyday plainness, it definitely has its moments, especially those where art spills over and approaches something incredibly simple like truth. Plus, it looks lovely from start to finish. Whether it's the serenity and dazzling color palette of nature or the warmth and vibrant clutter of the interiors, the film evokes a child-like wonder in you with its charming storybook aesthetics. The mysterious grey cat and the inexplicable rocket launch add a seemingly paradoxical but lyrical layer of mythical surrealism to the picture, a genius touch from the helmer.

Filmfest München: Левиафан (Leviathan)

Russian writer/director Andrey Zvyagintsev's "Левиафан (Leviathan)" is a lucidly, almost dispassionately told relationship drama/social satire with comedic intermissions, moral implications and political undertones. As the description would suggest, it aims wide, tackling a broad range of subjects from family, friendship, loyalty, corruption, to the fundamental questions of guilt and innocence. As a direct consequence the attention of the filmmaker gets spread thin a little, so that not all of these themes are treated fully or thoroughly. Some of them get dropped in unsatisfying haste, like the conclusion of the first legal dispute and the end of a long-standing bond. Others are substantially underdeveloped, as in the case of a major plot point in the final act, where we are not nearly well-informed enough to comprehend the why's and how's.

That said, the direction coaxes a delicate authenticity out of the happenings, making you believe in every laugh break amidst lots of somberness. The camerawork, except for a couple of beautiful location shots, is strong in a not-attention-grabbing way. It follows the characters intimately in fluid movements without ever seeming obtrusive or obvious. The cast, especially, is tremendous, each of them bringing a needed color to this mosaic of personalities and human longings. It's hard to single out any one of the actors, but Elena Lyadova as the stoic, enigmatic wife, Anna Ukolova as her spirited, freewheeling friend, and Roman Madyanov as the hedonistic, deliciously single-minded mayor all give naturalistic, undeniably delightful performances.

Non-film-related reasons to see this movie: experience the superhuman Russian language being read at superhuman speed in two court scenes / witness how the Russians drink their vodka, I mean, wow.