Border [2018] – A Genre & Gender-Bending Interpretation of Myths

Iranian-Swedish film-maker Ali Abbasi’s Border (aka ‘Grans’, 2018), the Un Certain Regard section award-winner at Cannes, is a twisted fable of outsiders which bracingly explores themes like identity, self-actualization, societal rejection, evil, and love. Part Nordic-noir and part horror, the film is based on a novella by John Ajvide Lindqvist (author of Let the Right One In) whose weird, creepy tales often compellingly re-interprets Norse mythology and folklore. Border opens with its protagonist, Tina (Eva Melander) sniffing the air, and her upper lip quivering in the process. If Tina isn’t wearing her customs official uniform she might be mistaken for a Neanderthal (with heavy brows and jutted-out face). But her physical oddities are simply related to ‘chromosome flaw’. However, there seems to be an added benefit to Tina’s ‘flaw’, since she is gifted with super-human olfactory power. She projects her hooded eyes at the disembarking ferry passengers and perfectly detects a contraband item: a bag full of alcohol. Naturally, Tina is bullied and sniggered at for her so-called flaws and gift (the teen whose liquor is confiscated mutters, “ugly bitch”).

Although Tina’s colleagues and higher officials treat her like a human-looking canine, she is not sniffing out the miscreants by the substances they are carrying, but by focusing on the reek of shame, fear, and guilt that’s attached to the perpetrators. This is established earlier as Tina discovers a SD card full of child pornography by sniffing out the man’s guilt. When not working at the ferry dock, Tina lives a tranquil domestic life in the densely forested Swedish countryside. She shares her humble abode with good-for-nothing pony-tailed boyfriend Roland (Jorgen Thorsson) who breeds muscular dogs for competition. She regularly visits her ageing, dementia-afflicted father (Sten Ljunggren) living in a caring home. Tina and Roland doesn’t seem to have anything in common and there’s not much passion in their relationship. Nevertheless, the cabin in the woods (belongs to Tina’s father) provides solace for Tina since she seems at one with nature and the creatures that wanders with in its realm. A beautifully evocative shot of Tina reaching out toward a fox gazing into her bedroom from beyond the glass window suggests her entrapment in the human world.

Tina’s quiet display of discontent changes when she encounters Vore (Eero Milonoff), a male traveler who walks through the customs. The man remarkably shares her distinctive physiognomy (similar forehead, large nose, etc). She stops him but doesn’t find any smuggled items on him. Later, Tina actively seeks out the mysterious and confident Vore, and invites him to stay in a vacant cabin closer to hers. Meanwhile, Tina’s innate gift is sought out by a higher police official investigating the child pornography content. The authorities hope she might ‘sniff out’ a pedophile ring operating from a quiet urban neighborhood. Tina’s fascination for Vore pushes her to begin a tentative relationship with him. The bond not only leads to ecstasy-filled animalistic couplings, but also makes Tina to question everything she thought she knew about herself. Moreover, the ostracized woman’s quest for personal identity reveals some difficult truths about Vore.

John Ajvide Lindqvist’s tales often tackles fantastical elements within a very quotidian, modern setting. It allows him to allegorize the mystical, non-normative features of folkloric creatures (vampires, trolls, etc) with the myriad differences existing among human society. In Border, writer/director Ali Abbasi intriguingly visualizes the Lindqvist’s world of dichotomies and differences. The domestic space of Tina within the dense woods elegantly embodies the dichotomy between human world and nature. The dualities don’t just exist in physical spaces, but also inhabits the liminal space, such as Tina’s conflict over reveling in sensual pleasures and making rational decision. Abbasi also effectively uses another Lindqvist story-telling tool: ambiguity. If the non-normative genitalia of Vore posit a kind of ambiguity in gender specification, the invisible border Tina crosses to embrace her true identity provides equivocal results. Tina and Vore are ‘same’ in a sense. But after gaining a companion who fits into the human-made parameter of ‘sameness’, Tina only goes on to discover the stark difference between herself and Vore. This reveals the reiterated lesson of Lindqvist stories: in this world of difference, self-discovery and finding a soul-mate doesn’t always mean you are less damned.

Ali Abbasi’s debut feature Shelley belonged to ‘natal horror’ sub-genre which had the potential to be latter-day ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ yet was never realized due to its poor writing. However, Abbasi did a fine job in building up the mood and dread. In his sophomore directorial effort, Abbasi’s visual plan blends well with the complex ideas in the script. The way Abbasi and his co-writer Isabelle Eklof merge the police procedural subplot with Tina’s existential quest initially seemed a bit jagged (the ‘pedophile ring’ narrative thread isn’t there in the novella). But this subplot does seem at home with a Lindqvist story (since the author’s stories perpetually deals with emotional and physical abuse directed towards children). Furthermore, the police investigation adds more weight to the narrative’s sociopolitical themes. The two central performances keenly express the experiences of social outcasts. Eva Melander especially provides a revelatory and profound performance as Tina. She mesmerizingly emotes through heavy make-up. Apart from comprehending the logic of the character she is playing, Melander also immaculately embodies Tina’s emotional life and her physicality.  Overall, Border (110 minutes) succeeds in realizing the general experiences of being an outcast through uncannily unique dramatic build-ups. 

 Trailer

Euthanizer [2018] – A Dark & Strangely Touching Finnish Noir on Suffering and Misery

Finnish writer/director Teemu Nikki calls his third feature film, Euthanizer (‘Armomurhaaja’, 2018), a violent Finnish summer noir. The basic idea for the film is derived from the vigilante genre films of 1970s and 80s; a lonely punisher prefers to deliver instant justice to the wrongdoers. But despite the B-movie exploitation genre vibe, Euthanizer has a fine emotional core, which brings forth a poignant examination of suffering and cruelty. The fifty-year-old Veijo (the brilliant Matti Onnismaa, a veteran actor in his first leading role) runs a broken-down auto-repair shop (‘Haukka's Repairs and End Solutions’) in a poor backwater region of Finland. He has a side business as black-market pet euthanizer. Interestingly, Veijo also happens to be an animal lover who claims to deeply understand and feel the pain of animals. The hapless pet owners often bring their suffering pets since they can’t afford the high fees demanded by local veterinary hospital, for either healing or euthanizing them.

In the opening scene, we see Veijo leading the life of a hermit, working from a derelict shed. The place is littered with pet carriers and behind his house in the plot of trees, dog collars dangles from the branches. A young woman brings her old, sick cat to be put to sleep. With a dead-pan stare, Veijo explains that small animals get the gas, while the bigger ones are shot. He has Jerry-rigged his car to turn it into a gas chamber. When the woman asks if her cat will suffer, Veijo lists the suffering the cat has gone through as her pet: from confinement to wasting illness (“your flat is a 20-odd square meter prison. The normal habitat for a feline is over a square kilometer. It can’t be replaced by an evening cuddle”, he casually remarks). After gassing the cat, Vejio tosses it into a bag, pours some lime, and buries it among the trees in backyard. The philosophy and contradiction behind being an animal lover and euthanizer is addressed through Veijo’s further actions.

Veijo, cloaked in black tux and black sneakers, sees himself as some kind of ‘Angel of Death’ for miserable pets in the area. He even travels the local roads to find and bury the road-kills. He berates every customer who has mistreated their animals in some way and wants to teach a lesson or two about domesticating animals in order to serve as pets. His strong belief in Karma makes him think that you cannot do anything you choose without facing its consequences. Veijo locks a dog owner in his dog’s kennel and straight-out refuses to put down a dog, whose owner he suspects is lying about the dog biting his child. However, when the owner beleaguers Veijo, he extracts more money and promises to put it to sleep. But Veijo simply takes in the dog as his own pet. The dog owner is a clumsy garage mechanic and member of a racist gang, Petri (Jari Virman). They call themselves ‘Soldiers of Finland’, but these neo-nazis are actually pathetic, miserable and lonely. When not shooting and gassing the animals, Veijo visits his ailing father at the hospice, where he meets young nurse Lotta (Hannamaija Nikander). She is attracted towards Veijo’s strict moral code. A sort of twisted romance is established between them as Lotta likes getting choked during sex. All the unaddressed emotions and desires implode at one moment, moving towards the inevitable, predestined show-down between Veijo and Petri.

Those who doesn’t flinch watching humans being subjected to violence on-screen, but bawl their eyes out when witnessing hints of on-screen violence directed against animals should be forewarned. Although, the animal deaths are devoid of graphic violence, it might still be perturbing for some. For the most part, Euthanizer is an interesting, low-budget take on B-movie revenge plots like the recent John Wick. Director Teemu Nikki doesn’t really try to revive or reconstruct the familiar vigilante story, but he smartly breaks the conventional rules for realizing heroes and villains. Here the hero, whom we root for, shoots and kills both animals and humans without a second thought, whereas the villain is just an ignorant, misled family man with a desire to gain some respect in life. Petri stands-in for the increasing white discontent, whose violent streak arises from the fear of dis-empowerment. Teemu is also disdainful of Veijo’s righteously indignant moralistic attitude. Of course, we stand-by Veijo when he delivers his personal revenge on the jackasses. But the film is not pro-vigilantism since director Teemu sharply addresses the ironies Veijo failed to acknowledge. The final shot is darkly humorous as well as unsettling, reflecting Veijo’s own philosophical blind spot (or distorted moral compass) while reiterating his Karmic belief: you can’t escape the consequences.

Teemu Nikki is pretty much a self-taught film-maker, who has directed, wrote, edited and co-produced the movie. So the final product instills a sense of hand-made look which finely balances the B-movie sensibilities and commentary on morality and anti-heroes. In this vein, Euthanizer can serve as companion piece to the other fairly interesting revenge flicks from this year: Coralie Fargeat’s Revenge and Leigh Whannell’s Upgrade. All these movies take strange detours and boasts suave twists so as to transcend the limits of grungy, old-school revenge tales. It’s all both familiar and distinctive and adds more depth to the bleaker worldview. 

Trailer

Hunger [1966] – An Intense Study of an Artists’ Literal and Existential Starvation

Hunger is a sensation whose pictorial representation obviously could be understood by people all over the world. Hunger can be a ticking time-bomb. The primal urge for a little piece of meat could make us shed our so-called civilized behavior. Hunger can degenerate an individual and spawn anarchist communities. In Les Miserables, Jean valjean steals a loaf of bread to feed his sister’s hungry children. An act done out of desperation which lands him with a harsh prison sentence. In cinema, the word ‘hunger’ often brings to mind the wiry frame of Charlie Chaplin’s tragicomic character ‘The Tramp’. Mr. Chaplin extracted laughs from the Tramp’s efforts to overcome hunger, yet he designed some of the most poignant scenes of hunger ever experienced in cinema. In Modern Times, ‘The Tramp’ daydreams about food freely available in the immediate vicinity; a sequence that makes us laugh instantly, while on second-thought makes us feel a little sad. I couldn’t forget Tom Joad’s ‘I’ll be there’ speech in Grapes of Wrath. The sensation of hunger was also tangibly felt through the characters in seminal masterpieces like ‘Bicycle Thieves’, ‘Seven Samurai’, ‘Pather Panchali’, etc. Amidst all these haunting portrayal of hunger in visual & literary medium, Danish director Henning Carlsen’s adaptation of Knut Hamsun’s 1890 novel ‘Hunger’ has had a great impact on me.

‘Hunger’ aka ‘Sult’ (1966) was filmed on-location in Oslo, Norway. In the period, the movie was set, Oslo was called by the name ‘Kristiania’ (from 1877 to 1925). This film also happens to be a rare co-production work between Scandinavian nations. Producers and artists of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden came together for realizing this grim portrait of a dispossessed man. Controversial author & Nobel laureate Knut Hamsun’s novel is about a struggling writer who strive to maintain dignity and pride, despite the burgeoning existential troubles. We first see protagonist Pontus’ (Per Oscarsson) gaunt figure from the back as he is leaning against the rail of a bridge. Krzysztof Komeda’s (Rosemary’s Baby) eerie musical score takes us closer to Pontus’ perceptions. The lean, bespectacled Pontus looks over the derelict apartment buildings, the gushing river water under the bridge, while scribbling away few lines on a piece of paper with a pencil. The scribbling could be the seed for a great creative endeavor or for bout of madness. The way Pontus eats the paper he has just scribbled on points us to his unforeseeable bleaker predicament. 

Director Henning Carlsen uses both the point-of-view shots and the distant, populace’ viewpoint shots to observe the nature of Pontus. There’s a sense of detachment in Pontus’ views and in those frames, Carlsen more or less wants viewers to understand his stricken status rather than put themselves in his shoes. In fact, for the most part the viewers take a place among Kristiania’s population to observe Pontus’ antics. Whatever the point-of-view is, Pontus is an enigma. Only one thing becomes clear in the early stages of narrative: the starvation is self-imposed and he vehemently rejects charity and pity. Pontus places his hope in an article he has written. Like the scribbling we saw in the first frames, the article could be either great or just a useless rambling. If his writing is accepted by the local editorial office, he may receive 10 kroner and a way out of poverty. He also desperately applies for a bookkeeper position in the neighborhood grocery position and stands in line for ‘fire brigade’ selection. The random people Pontus meets in his sojourn through the grimy, stone-paved street platforms suggests that he had a better life in the past. We aren’t informed about what had led to this utter desolate state. Evicted from the boarding house, he is on the look out for food and job opportunities, but as an ascetic, Pontus maintains some strict rules.

Most of Pontus’ behavior rests between absurd and baffling. He pawns his waistcoat to drop a kroner into a beggar’s hands. He often asks the time to policemen wandering around the streets; watches over the clock-tower and pretends to correct time at his non-existent pocket-watch. The obsession with the passage of time may hint at the heightening of his existential crisis, whereas the act of asking time to policemen is shown to be one of the rare occasions, when Pontus tries to forge a connection with the outside world. In a streak of absurdist humor, Pontus knocks at the doors of apartment dwellers, asking to meet persons he had conjured from his imaginative mind. He does these absurd things to contain the burgeoning madness. In other minor efforts to contain hunger, Pontus chews at a bone like an animal and day-dreams about fighting with a dog (for a juicy piece of bone); he also tastes dust and bits of paper. His growing insanity is pretty evident on the occasion he sees a pretty, bourgeois girl. Pontus follows her, uttering cheeky comments. In his imagination, she is ‘Ylajali’ (Gunnel Lindblom), a mythical, radiant feminine figure. The young woman is also intrigued by the strange-looking protagonist. In the following episodes with ‘Ylajali’, we get a closer look at Pontus’ palpable emotions. The central conflict, however, is between Pontus’ pride and the wild hunger. At one moment he yells ‘All is lost, ladies and gentlemen!’, while at another moment he is as calm as a sage. Pontus is so caught up in his inner world that reality most often swirls around him.

The surface and simmering emotions of Pontus couldn’t have been expertly revealed in the frames, if not for Per Oscarsson’s majestic performance (won the best actor award at Cannes). It’s a very demanding performance for Oscarsson (he is there on every scene), who captures polarizing emotions of pride and craving, hope and disappointment within little fleeting moments. The actor is particularly at his best in the bittersweet rendezvous with ‘Ylajali’ at her posh house. In the early moments, Oscarsson’s Pontus remains as an odd figure, but when we gradually immerse ourselves in his world, an emotional resonance is strongly forged. His performance has the silent power to slowly grow upon us in the repeat viewings. From a formalistic point-of-view, Carlsen’s imagery is a wonder and thoroughly intriguing. The uncontrollable urges reflected in the day-dreams are brilliantly visualized; the brightened frames suggesting Pontus' twisted sense of self-importance. The recreation of old Kristiania and its populace pretty much evoke a neo-realist setting. Yet, the distinct Scandinavian brand of mordant humor or absurdism separates the film from Italian neo-realism cinema. Furthermore, Carlsen’s quirky zoom-ins and intimate observation of Pontus’ physical and emotional spasms imbues an equally scarring movie experience on the viewers.

Although Knut Hamsun’s novel was written at the end of 19^th century, the general apathetic nature of the populace could also well resonate with today’s technological-savvy urbanites. People are so consumed by silly conflicts and material desires that they are so unconcerned about the humans around them. We need a little suspension of disbelief to accept that the good-looking upper-class girl has taken a shine to derelict, homeless person (with rotten teeth). Yet, the inevitable path to their doomed romance is pretty clear. They both are stuck in the bubble of lust rather than standing on the common platform of love. This nature of self-absorption is often closely scrutinized (like in a scene when children playfully torture a helpless old man just for fun). In the narrative, the characters are often caught in their own world that they can’t lend helping hand to fellow humans. Pontus simply strives to break those invisible barriers or restrictions. Ironically, Pontus is also very much stuck in his inner world. By keeping up outward appearances, and politely wishing the strangers (by removing his hat), he also tries to maintain a false sense of civility.  But, Pontus’ inner world is mostly designed of imagination and passion than constricted, egotistic point-of-views.  However, the hunger combined with existential agonies turns his imagination into hallucination or rampant madness. So, in the end Pontus is left to take the only path available to him. In fact, all seems to be ‘lost’ for the artist, who chooses pride and isolation over the urge to satiate different kinds of appetites.  

Hunger aka Sult (112 minutes) is a must watch film for lovers of serious, contemplative art-house cinema. The sensation of ‘hunger’ lingering in each & every frames of the narrative would leave a powerful, everlasting impact on cinephiles. It’s one of the best, profound character studies ever made, worthy enough to be in the league of Robert Bresson or Ingmar Bergman’s masterpieces. 

Sult (1966) -- IMDb 

NY Times  

The Movie Projector 

Film Reference 

The Here After [2015] – A Powerfully Restrained Tale of Condemnation and Repentance

Poland-based Magnus von Horn’s Swedish directorial debut The Here After (‘Efterskalv’, 2015) is a slow-burning, calmly intense drama which deals with the themes of punishment, guilt, forgiveness and aftermath of crime. It’s natural for adolescents to feel that the whole world is conspiring against them; to embroil themselves in atmosphere of isolation. For Magnus’ young protagonist John (Ulrik Munther), it’s not just a transient feeling; it happens to be the truth. He faces vicious resentments and reactions within his small-town community for an unforgivable crime he committed few years before. The small town doesn’t provide the luxury of city that may bestow second chance for juvenile perpetrators through its cloak of anonymity.

The Here After explores an interesting, if not very familiar subject – communal apathy and group hysteria. Recently, the Swedish film (also released in 2015) Flocking subtly examined the mass hysteria of misled, tightly knit small-town community. Thomas Vinterberg’s disturbing Danish drama The Hunt (2012) also took a piercing look at the exceptionally cruel and unforgiving people. However, we know for sure that the protagonists of the aforementioned films were innocent and yet malevolently ostracized. But it’s the opposite in ‘The Here After’. John has definitely done the deed and spent two years in juvenile detention center (in Sweden the maximum sentence for crimes committed by juvenile is 4 years). Now this fragile-looking boy seeks rehabilitation among townspeople who welcomes John with deviant antisocial behavior.

It’s best to experience The Here After firsthand than simply read about plot information and aesthetic design. Those who have the patience to watch restrained, slow-burn drama can delve into reviews after watching it first. Writer/director Magnus von Horn parcels out morsels of information in each scene and plays it through precise, contemplative visual design. Our interest is constantly piqued by his decision to not reveal too much too soon. Most of the shots remain painfully static and distant, forcing us to bear the on-screen emotional and physical bruises in silence (the lack of background music adds lot to the unnerving mood). The film opens with the shot of teenager John packing up his bags from the correctional facility. He looks frail and quiet. Yet the uncomfortable side glances and hard stares of people around him suggest that he has committed some heinous crime. Father Martin (Mats Blomgren) picks up John. The camera frames them from back-seat of the car as they travel alongside tree-lined road to their agricultural town. Martin’s concern for his son is evident in the way he forces John to wear seat-belts and through his forced positivity (he tells an awkward joke at dinner table among other things).

A neighbor’s gaze on John lingers little longer than necessary to increase discomfort. Younger brother Filip (Alexander Nordgren) casually bitter comments are scalding enough. In the supermarket aisle, John deliberately stands in front of a woman who tries to choke him. John decides to go back to the same school, despite knowing he would be subjected to acerbic actions. He silently provokes the fellow students to beat and bully him. Apart from dad Martin, classmate Malin (Loa Ek) shows empathy towards John. She is new to the neighborhood and has only heard of John’s past actions. Yet they both are afraid or unwilling to discuss about the boy’s feelings or indelible past. As the spasms of violence (against John) rises to threshold point, the boy’s young shoulders and heart struggles to bear. The steadily-flowing hatred makes it hard for John to continue his pursuit of absolution.

It would be easy task to realize blond-haired teenage as a ‘monster’ who masks his deviant interior through shy posterior. Director Magnus von Horn takes the hard task of realizing the murderous teenager as a human without watering-down the scope of his crime. Unlike The Hunt or Flocking, the story doesn’t deal with victim-hood or abuse because he welcomes punishment from the people by remaining passive and unbelievably tolerant. John’s restraint causes lasting tension in the narrative. Director Magnus intention is to not just showcase John as a victim. He rather studies how tolerance and compassion repeatedly taught is exercised on the practical side (in society). The depiction of the lynch mob isn’t one-dimensional or bluntly judgmental. Magnus focuses on both monstrosity and fear of the individuals that fiercely intends to cast away John.

The driving force of the film is Magnus’ understanding of the character dynamics, his carefully-constructed imagery, and Ulrik Munther’s central performance. Cinematographer Lukasz Zal (Ida) bathes the domestic scenes in blue light, suggesting the dysfunctional nature of John’s family. The director-cinematographer duo excels in blocking the scenes between John and father Martin. They often sit in different rooms (dad in dining room and John in living room), the noise of TV screeching in the background. The inability to transcend the father-son relationship is depicted through cold distance between the rooms. Although most of the scenes between John and Martin pass in brooding silence, what’s more interesting in the father-son relationship is the feigned attempt to bond. Martin gives his son shooting and driving lessons, yet their closeness is devoid of emotions. Such scenes only further accentuate the father & son’s taciturn behavior. The inclusion of a grumpy, dying grandfather into the family dynamics shoots up the sense of unease even in quotidian situations (like having dinner). Similar to Austrian auteur Michael Haneke’s works, Magnus strongly maintains the menacing atmospherics through the use of diegetic sounds. Nevertheless, there’s something unsatisfying about the ending. The high-charged emotional explosion is free of ambiguity and only confirms what we anticipated—that there is no chance of reconciliation or return to normalcy. Missteps and flaws aside, Swedish pop-star turned actor Munther’s understated performance grabs our attention. His sullen face, self-hatred and slowly burning rage cuts us deep. 

Trailer

 

The Here After (98 minutes) is a disquieting drama with a strong aesthetic sense that’s interested in examining the human darkness. It questions the possibility of repentance or second chances in unforgiving, hypocritical societies. 

Efterskalv (2015) -- IMDb