| A scene from Abuzer Baklava. [click photo for larger version] |
Anyone dying to put in his two cents’ worth of wisdom in the Hollywood-as-Juggernaut-on-local-cultures debate should keep in mind that films such as Abuzer have a core ethnic audience and thus are impervious to the onslaught of Gladiators and Titanics. It is "serious" films such as Away from Home and Elephants and Grass that are trounced by Hollywood, which creates an unhappy dilemma for any local filmmaker: either he goes for the lowest common denominator, or he has to ask for a handout, whether from the State or from a private source. Not that this dilemma is unfamiliar in the West, but in a developing country like Turkey it becomes especially poignant.
While it is possible to jury-rig a nickel-and-dime theory of Turkish film (like the one you read above), no such thing applies to the Festival’s International competition. As befits a small festival, the entrants were wildly all over the map. The only two films familiar to the US audiences were Terrence Davies’ The House of Mirth and the already mentioned Iranian Smell Of Camphor, Fragrance Of Jasmine.
The most distinguishing feature of other entries was their exotic origin and, in many cases, inaccessibility to American viewers. There was Wojaczek from Poland, which had surfaced at MOMA’s New Directors series, an insufferable black-and-white saga of a poet maudit in Socialist Poland. From Russia came The Captain’s Daughter, a feeble stab at a historical epic. But there was also a black comedy from Iceland, Baltasar Kormakur’s 101 Reykjavik: a wild concoction of sex-drugs-booze-and-rock’n’roll. As a mother-son-and-lesbian-lover triangle, it owes a lot to Pedro Almodovar’s farces (and stars Victoria Abril, too). And there was a very funny Belgian comedy, Everybody Famous! by Dominique Deruddere; a Star is Born, Belgian style, played out against a landscape of talk shows and showbiz wannabes that is so familiar that someone has already bought US remake rights – can there be a higher degree of recognition for a European pop-culture movie? It will get made, probably starring Jim Carrey in yet another moron-with-a-heart-of-gold part and Britney Spears as a teenage throb who would rather fix cars then gyrate her hips, but I’m not betting on the cynical black humor of the original surviving the transition. You have to see it, as well as its aesthetical predecessor, Man Bites Dog, if only to shake your head and wonder what it is in the Belgian pommes frites and beer that makes them one of the weirdest peoples on earth.
As with any other festival, you just never know what entry will really strike home. In this case, there was an unusually big showing from Germany. There was an official entry by Jan Schütte called Farewell, a day in the life of a very old, very sick Bertoldt Brecht. It takes place in the ‘50s, around the kitchen table at an official East German dacha, where Brecht and his "harem" (The Stolid Wife, The Neurotic Wife, The Friend’s Wife, and AYoung Actress) lash out against one another. Some tension is added through the semi-visible presence of Stasi, who are about to arrest Brecht’s friend, who also participates in this kitchen debate – but it doesn’t save the day. The writing is stilted, as is the acting. Brecht is lucky he didn’t get to see it. I stepped outside, caught a look of the Topkapi Palace on the skyline, and wondered if the Ottoman Sultans could teach our cultural icons a thing or two about the art of harem maintenance.
Did the Gentle Reader, too, cheer in November 1989, as you witnessed the destruction of the Berlin Wall? Did you ever give a thought to those who did not? Who are they? What are they? How could they…? Are they human? Two very good German films deliver a scalpel-precise analysis of Two Women Who Didn’t.
Volker Schlöndorff’s Legends of Rita, was not, strictly speaking, in competition, though it played at the festival. (It also played in the US without much notice). It is based on the real story of Inge Viett, a German terrorist from the Red Army faction who sought refuge in East Germany and spent many years there under the Stasi protection. Finally the Wall came down… Rita is a serious and yet an eminently accessible meditation on the roads we take and the lives we choose as we try to reconcile our ideals with reality, and how all of this was distorted by the Cold War.
| A scene from Legends of Rita. [click photo for larger version] |
For a card-carrying German intellectual like Schlöndorff, it was a heroic picture to make, since it – inevitably – made him a target of both the Left ("how dare he question the anti-imperialist struggle?") and the Right ("how dare he show a murderer – and even her Stasi handlers -- as human beings?") Which, in my book, is all an artist could ask for. If anything (I never thought I’d write this), the movie is just a tad too slick, too smooth. I don’t have a problem with Bonnie-and-Clyde bank-robbing scenes, shot with the energy and precision that any Hollywood wunderkind could envy; but surely the process of the heroine’s acclimation in the workers’ paradise had to be a little rougher and involve a bit more reflection than Schlöndorff shows.
And, finally – ta-dah! (Yes, the structural resemblance between this article and an awards ceremony is intentional) The best film of the festival – and the jury agreed with me. The German title of Oskar Roehler’s film is Die Unberührbare, "The Untouchable" – clearly it needed to be changed in order to get US distribution. So, No Place to Go – works out fine. Once again, it is based on a real story of a West German writer called Gisela Elsner – and made by her own son. For a variety of reasons, Ms. Elsner was supported by her East German publishers, the only ones who would publish her books. Suddenly, the Wall crumbles. Now what?
| A scene from No Place to Go. [click photo for larger version] |
The director and the lead actress, Hannelore Elsner (no relation to the protagonist, still…?) do an almost superhuman job as they introduce their character as a monster, an evil witch in her well-appointed Munich castle, who is filled with terror and hatred at the sight of the people dancing on the Wall. In a sense, it’s her own life that is being smashed with picks and shovels, the destruction is toasted with champagne, and no amount of alcohol and cigarettes and barbiturates can shield her from the new reality. And this is just the beginning. Mr. Roehler spins out one emotionally painful scene after another as his heroine runs every which way, trying to recover her humanity in the face of advancing history. Unlike Schlöndorff’s Rita, she has no warrant for her arrest; but she has something more horrifying: the judgment of her own conscience. As in real life, there is no happy end here.
This is a tough film to watch, but those brave enough to look will not be able to take their eyes off the screen, and will be rewarded generously. Ms. Elsner’s performance, teetering on the brink of going over the top, is something to behold (she did win the Best Performance award), as she mines her character’s psyche mercilessly, and hits the paydirt every time. One such discovery is enough for any film festival.