slimtoad20 Reviews

Vinterland (2007)

A Warm Story in a Cold Country

[8/10 · 17 May 2010]

Love. Sex. Betrayal. Redemption. Sound next hot summer blockbuster? Probably. However, the events that transpire in the snow-coated hills of Norway illustrate all of these exciting elements in Hisham Zaman's Vinterland without the sappy romances and explosions. Although more subdued than many hyped Hollywood hits, this Nordic gem manages to grab your heart in only half the time. Despite the lack of enormous production values, Vinterland carries and portrays many of the same themes present in other great Scandinavian cinematic pieces.

The film succeeds is in its portrayal of realistic characters. Renas, who's played by Raouf Saraj, is a Kurdish refugee who has fallen in love with the image of Fermesk, played by Shler Rahnoma. The reality of the situation sets in when Fermesk arrives as an "XXL princess," much larger than she appeared in her picture. Renas must deal with this reality while simultaneously adjusting to the harsh Nordic climate. Fermesk also struggles with broken dreams, as she was told that Renas was a very wealthy man who lives in a castle. Much time is spent in the village's solitary phonebooth, where the viewer gets a chance to enter the minds of the characters as they share their inner thoughts with loved ones and family members abroad. One of the most touching and heart-wrenching moments in the film is the wedding scene, where neither the bride or groom is smiling. The story is quaint and relatable, as we all have dealt with disappointment at some point in our lives. There is a twist further into the film that I won't spoil here, but it adds a dynamic to their relationship that makes it even more intriguing to watch. One fact that deserves mention is the minimal cast required to create this film, as well as the fact that this was the first role for each actor's careers.

One element that distinguishes this film from other Nordic films is its apparent lack of Nordic focus. Other films, such as Bergman's Fanny & Alexander or Vinterberg's Celebration, ground themselves heavily in traditional Nordic components, such as family rituals, observance of holidays, etc. In contrast, Vinterland follows Renas, an Iraqi who appears out of place in the bitter cold of Norway. His expression of Muslim faith is foreign to those who have grown up there. One scene in particular demonstrates this unfamiliarity when Renas attempts to sacrifice a sheep for prayer, but cannot find in which direction Mecca resides. He requires the help of passing Norwegians, who give him quite the stare. Equally foreign is the concept of celibacy that Fermesk exemplifies in her character. She refuses to have sex with Renas before marriage, a concept apparently unheard of in other Nordic films (I'm looking at you, 101 Reykjavik). Marriage in more often seen as a convenience than an act of love in many Nordic countries. For it to be taken so seriously is a definite change of pace for Nordic film.

Despite the radical differences between this and other Nordic films, the story rings a loud and promising moral bell. The film teaches about patience in how the two main characters attempt to relate to one another. Vinterland also illustrates the deeper value of judging character before appearance. The primary tension of the film revolves around the instantly relatable act of dismissing someone based on out appearance before getting to know their inner self. Zaman has created a heartwarming tale that exposes a common human flaw, then forgives it with mature characters. This maturity carries through the film as well, as the writing allows the characters to redeem themselves.

Vinterland is at once a common and uncommon Nordic film. While it may not have as high a budget as other, more popular films, it just goes to show that money doesn't necessarily tell a story. Hollywood can learn a thing or two from Zaman's style of film-making. I recommend this one.

You, the Living (2007)

Life is perfect, Life is strange.

[9/10 · 23 April 2010]

We as humans have a strange attraction to the bizarre. Sweden's Roy Andersson is certainly fondness of the alternative as evidenced by his film "You, The Living." The absence of a coherent narrative and definitive protagonist doesn't make this film any less enjoyable to watch -- indeed, it's both the quality of product and the intrigue of newness that draws the viewer into "You, The Living."

As mentioned, Andersson manages to achieve a high quality film despite straying from traditional film norms, not the least of which is found in the film's cinematography. Andersson has a very unique style -- he prefers very long, deliberate shots. With the complete opposite mindset of the MTV style present here in the States, where shots rarely last longer than 2 seconds, Andersson manages to hold your attention for a stunningly prolonged amount of time. Having been conditioned by the rapid pacing of modern TV, I found these elongated shots to be a breath of fresh air in a polluted media. One memorable moment portrays a scene where a man comically and unsuccessfully removes a tablecloth littered with china in a dream sequence, only to be found guilty of negligence and sent to the electric chair. The whole event takes place across roughly 7 minutes of film, yet the purposeful camera-work and emotional connection formed by the audience make the whole series of scenes feel like an eternity. It's that emotional connection that Andersson has mastered in "You, The Living." This poor man, sent to die for a seemingly trivial action (although, the china he broke was over 200 years old), manages to capture the viewer's hearts in a strange but powerful way. This is not the only instance of emotional manipulation: one subplot involves a girl, Anna (played by Jessika Lundberg), following a band member, Micke (played by Eric Bäckman), in pursuit of a satisfying relationship. She confesses her dream to the audience, a somber but fulfilling marriage sequence that ends as abruptly as it started. Andersson uses the still videography and long takes to allow the audience's emotion to wash in. Andersson finds his niche here, driving the film forward with his masterful use of emotional film-making.

Emotional manipulation is not the only aspect that pushes the film forward. The absence of a plot should not deter the viewer's expectation of the film -- as another reviewer mentioned, it's our genuine curiosity that keeps us watching. Andersson does a wonderful job of creating images that are just plain visually interesting. The events that transpire within these images are inconsequential on their own, but are often paired with a scene or sequence that put the previous sequence in context. These scenes are connected by the rhythmic and bouncing notes of a tuba as it practices its timing. Simply put, the film rarely makes sense. However, part of the beauty of the whole thing is that the viewer can still understand and appreciate what is transpiring. This appreciative strangeness occurs in one scene where a man attempts to give a woman flowers, but she slams the door shut, crushing the gifts. The man is dejected and cries next to an apartment door, only to be persuaded aside by a postman doing his rounds. We then never see this man again. Like daily life itself, Andersson captures snippets of humanity, but dwells on no particular one. If you want an enjoyable but oddly accurate portrayal of human existence, check out "You, The Living." But be warned -- life can be a bit strange at times.

After the Wedding (2006)

Secrets Secrets are so much Fun

[10/10 · 25 March 2010]

Who said secrets aren't fun? Susanne Bier's After The Wedding reveals a deliciously profound and emotionally-impacting conundrum that draws the audience into the story early on. As a film technique, Bier's method of storytelling is effectively engaging. In fact, it's the director's ability to manipulate our emotions as viewers that makes this film so wonderfully unique. With the inclusion of a cross-cultural perspective not typically seen in Nordic film, After the Wedding is one of the more important films to emerge from Denmark in recent years.

One distinct aspect of the film is its use of raw emotion, a factor rarely seen to this extent in traditional Hollywood films. Much of this quality can be attributed to the film's actors and actresses. Mads Mikkelsen does a superb job playing Jacob, a man who's past roots entwine with the other characters in the film more heavily than he previously assumed. Situated in India, Jacob leaves for Copenhagen to meet with a wealthy man named Jorgen, played by Rolf Lassgård, to receive financial aid. To help get accustomed to Jacob and facilitate his trust, Jorgen invites Jacob to his daughter's wedding that evening. While there, the audience learns of a particular secret that turns out to be an emotional bombshell for both Jacob other members of the wedding.

The film really shines in its use of emotion to drive the story. Indeed, the most powerful moments of the film do take place after the titular wedding. Jacob, who was previously committed to returning to India to partake in his surrogate son's 8th birthday, must make difficult choices in lieu of the truths revealed at the wedding. Jorgen's wife Helene, played by Sidse Babett Knudsen, must conflict with her husband's consistent nondisclosure of the truth. Jorgen's daughter Anna, Stine Fischer Christensen, learns many of the hardships of marriage and commitment. Each of these instances are linked with a particularly poignant and powerful scene that draws the audience into the situation. One scene in particular pulls at our heartstrings, as we uncomfortably watch the previously indomitable Jorgen collapse in a fit of weeping and screaming. Bier manages to successfully make the audience empathize with the characters in the story, a difficult task and something not common in Hollywood convention.

Another element where After The Wedding succeeds is in the portrayal of cross-cultural experiences. Jacob's character is defined by his commitment to social justice. His motivations are clear from the beginning - he desires additional funding for his orphanage. After the wedding, when facts change, Jacob's moral obligations keep him in Denmark to continue doing the morally right thing. Without revealing too much of the film's plot, Jacob evolves into a morally capable character who satisfies the role he was presented. As it turns out, there is a strong Scandinavian presence in many social projects across the globe. It was refreshing to see this illustrated in Jacob's character.

The film also utilized unique techniques to achieve its desired emotional response. Many of the tense moments employ a cinematographic technique where the camera zooms in on a character's eyes with a shallow focus. While not practical from a storytelling standpoint, the viewer is immediately linked to the deeper thoughts and emotions of the character by focusing on the eye. Some say the eye is the gateway into the soul, and Bier clearly understood this concept. Another technique that impacts our emotions is the use of unusual jump cuts within the same shot. Often, Bier will reveal emotion by showing instead of telling. These jarring cuts indicate that something is wrong without explicitly stating it though dialogue. One could make the argument that this style of film-making is unique to Beir as a female director. It's interesting to witness character development through a female lens as opposed to the traditional masculine one. More time is spent on character relationships and action implications than a Hollywood film, which would either spend the time attempting to add humor or driving the plot forward with melodramatic instances.

After The Wedding is unlike other films in that it manages to hook the viewer in an emotionally engaging way. Through its unusual but effective camera and editing tricks, refreshingly realistic perspectives of Scandinavian archetypes and a compelling storyline, Susanne Bier has produced a wonderful piece. Don't let this film be a secret.

Elling (2001)

A Heartfelt Tale of Friendship

[9/10 · 4 March 2010]

Sometimes, the smallest rocks make the biggest ripples. This is certainly the case in Peter Næss' Elling, where the bond between two friends affects lives both on-screen and off. While elements of a commentary on Norwegian mental health are present, the film's strengths rely heavily on the friendship between the main character Elling and his roommate Kjell Bjarne as they traverse a world familiar to us, but new to them.

Part of what makes Elling so enjoyable is its ability to engage the audience's personal history. Per Christian Ellefsen plays the high-strung Elling as he attempts to adapt into contemporary society. Found alone after his mother's death, he is sent to a state-funded institution in Oslo to learn how to live within the realm of the general public. There, he is paired with another patient who, through sexually-charged escapades, bring the two outside the city and into the dangerous outdoors. But the danger isn't nature - it's society. Elling's nervous troubles, combined with effective filmic techniques, mirror the struggles that many viewers may have faced when trying to fit into the world around them. Elling's experiences are amplified, however, by an unnamed and crippling mental disorder that causes him to collapse, sometimes literally, at the thought of social interaction. Several plot points in the film are dedicated to Elling's adventures into the dangerous public sphere around him. One such instance involves Elling's attempt to visit the local store to obtain groceries. The camera stands far back, revealing the wide scope of the world that Elling must conquer in order to achieve his goal. The sounds of traffic are artificially enhanced as Elling slowly waddles to his destination. The audience then finds him slumped on the ground outside the store, unable to will himself inside. At first, Elling fails miserably with every attempt to adapt, giving in to his hesitations and concerns. The film concludes lightheartedly, though, and the audience is left with little less than admiration for Elling. The film's ability to allow audiences to relate to the unfolding drama is part of what makes it such a satisfying product to watch.

Another of Elling's strengths is the use of the dynamic between the two leads. Juxtaposing the stickler-like behavior of Elling is the gentle brute Kjell Bjarne, played by Sven Nordin. The two are paired in an attempt to better rehabilitate each other, and their humorous differences are what drive the film. The several instances of Elling criticizing Kjell Bjarne for his reckless behavior are the most memorable moments of Elling. For example, when Kjell Bjarne begins aiding a sickly woman named Rediun (played by Marit Pia Jacobsen) in a nearby apartment, Elling bombards his friend with a worry-filled rant before Kjell Bjarne forcibly inserts Elling into bed for the night. As the film progresses and Elling begins to understand the world around him, it becomes clear that it is Kjell Bjarne's friendly influence that helps expedite Elling's recovery.

Elling also serves, in a broader sense, as a commentary on mental health in Norway and its treatment. Director Peter Næss explicitly stated that he "did not want to make the film about psychiatry." He achieves this desire by purposefully avoiding the specific disabilities that plague both Elling and Kjell Bjarne. Instead, the details are left to the viewer's imagination. In addition, Næss uses the character of the social worker Frank, played by Jørgen Langhelle, to help mediate the societal adaptation for the two main characters. However, Frank is not gentle in his assistance and is quick to anger. One scene pits Frank against Elling as the social worker teaches proper telephone-answering behavior. Elling's insecurities cause the scene to erupt into a shouting match about the practicality of plastic speaking devices. Serving as a tough-loving father figure for the two men, Frank represents the Nordic state and its solution to the mentally handicapped.

Films like Elling are unfortunately few and far between. Many films fail to capture the universality of the main character's situation quite like Næss has done. And compared to other Nordic films, Elling is certainly a step away from its overtly tense and sexually- prevalent peers. Although the film failed to win the "Best Foreign Film" Oscar, Elling is, to this day, one of this reviewer's personal favorites. Its uplifting message and enjoyable story continue to positively affect my perspective of quality films. As I watch and share with others, its influence spreads, like ripples in a pond.