Day 9: A documentary about a person watching 4 and a half documentaries in a row...

I am perplexed, partly because of today’s reality-obsessed schedule (you will see…) and partly because of the too many coffees and beers I have had, and the least possible food. I again messed up my sleeping, a mistake I cannot repeat tomorrow, and woke up late, but still early enough to get in time to meet wit my mother, giver her the ticket for La Battaglia di Algeri, discuss a bit about the festival and which films I thought were good (ok, lets see…), and then… I camped at Apollon, where I saw tonight a mere 5 movies. I went in at a quarter past five and left a quarter to three. Brilliant.

The first movie I saw, was When Fried Eggs Fly, an inspirational feel-good documentary about a special project at a NY school, where a music teacher organizes 162 pupils to create and perform an original song. Unfortunately, the schedule did not describe it appropriately (I guess everybody thought that it will be a nightmare of sounds!), and so less than 100 hundred people showed up. That is really a shame, since it is in fact very educational and novel, having a great central character-narrator, the music professor Bruce, certainly a teacher we all wish we had at our school, who manages to harness the energy and creativity of his pupils, and hone it towards the project and the result, which proves to be highly rewarding. The documentary in fact made me remember of my own music teachers I had, like the one we made cry or the true pioneer Vasileiades whose near blindness amused as, and the last one, who managed to be tolerable and didactic thanks to his love for the music. Going further back in the past I remember all those terrible moments I had to practice at the recorder or the terrible attempts at organizing huge choirs. Thankfully, When Fried Eggs Fly, puts all these memories behind me and illustrated motivated and ingenious pedagogical methods and projects. Furthermore, it goes a long way to prove that children, when given the chance to create within a controlled, supervised and well tutored environment, not only they enjoy the learning experience but also strive at proving themselves as miniature adults. This nice little piece of work manages to be both educational and entertaining, thanks to the lax and joyful directing, focusing mainly on the kids themselves and their reactions to the project, while using Bruce and the other teachers as a point of reference. When Fried Eggs Fly is a joy to watch, especially during its funny and fresh moments like when the teachers are called to come up with lyrics for the verse within an hour, or when certain kids from the big band start taking pride in their work, and mimicking in their behavior grand musical divas.

This documentary is definitely the Rize of this year, with USA constantly winking its documentary eye at Europe for this specific musical genre; we should not forget that this year the festival was also hosting Dave Chappele’s Block Party, which I missed, but is meant to be very good and hip and roovy and stuff. As couple of final notices, I would like to point out that these documentaries are much preferable to others recounting rock- star’s drug abuse issues, as well the fact that school teachers in Greece are going into their third week of strikes; I have no quarrels or objections, I am basically indifferent to the issue, but I think it would be really nice and interesting for some of them to come and watch this one, and perhaps pick up a few good tricks.

Enthusiastic with regards to the beginning of the night, I wrote my notes, had a fag and an espresso, and dashed in to watch the Spanish La Niebla En Las Palmeras (Fog in the Palm Trees is the rough translation). Before going on about it, let me point out to the fact that attendance was very low again. As usual I had no idea what I was about to watch, and what I got was a very experimental and alternative pseudo-biographical documentary of Spanish Santiago Bergson (by all accounts a fictional person). My first reaction coming out of the theatre was ‘Τι παίχτηκε ρε μαλάκες ;’ (basically: what was that guys?). La Niebla En Las Palmeras is basically an over the top heavily artistic film enjoying the extensive manipulation of archive and historic footage from the 1910’s to the 1940’s, but unfortunately very tiresome to the eye plenty of times, with the quick and high frequency exchange of stills and shots, definitely dangerous for the photo-epileptic and annoying for a quite a few. The motif itself is in fact pretty common (a merge of the themes from Memento and various film nouar’s), shot in a pseudo-documentary style, aiming not only at creating and substantiating the persona of Bergson and building up around the multiplicity of questions and complexions, but also at commenting on the particular era itself, which abruptly ended with the drop of the atomic bomb. The narrator (Bergson himself but in a woman’s voice creating more illusions and allure), his photos and his obsession about them and his own clouded memories, create a collage de photo, showing alternative peepholes to an innocent, enthusiastic but also guilty in many ways age.

It is intentionally self contradicting and enigmatic, terribly Lynchian in many ways, desolate and annihilating in many other ways. Despite its going around in circles and repeating itself like a madman, it manages to be atmospheric, poetic (whether you like the poem or not is a different story), slightly nostalgic and dark. The different versions and shots of his life, his 3 graves (two of them without a body), and his three different versions of his daughter (if he ever had one!) are trippy and graphic, and their incoherence and lack of inter-relation reflect the events of his time (wars, civil conflict, WWII, industrialism). Whether Bergson is dead or not, or a phantasma, delusional, mad, or even perahaaps he is an imagination of the woman he loved, or the other way around, or he is a collective memory of those years, or whatever, it does not really matter, as he himself admits, as he offers a mixture of lies, conflicting stories and timelines, possible truths and misinterpretations. Nonetheless the two true constants in his narrative remain his long lasting love (I cant really remember her name now) and his fear of dark, which he acquired when he was trapped in some caves.

For myself, it was not unpleasant, and definitely interesting, although I do have to admit that I was looking forward to the closing credits at times. For what it matters, it did not send me to sleep or bug me, two essential surviving tips for films of such outlandish approaches. In fact, I was even surprised to hear the small but apparently appreciative crowd applaud at the end (don’t imagine anything great, just the usual quiet applause). There were of course plenty that were glad it was over, and a few walkouts due to the annoying photo-frequencing that occurred a couple of times. Perhaps, I am a bit more trained at these kind of 'artistic' (banal, but my english is rapidly deteriotating so late at night) movies, thanks to similarly styled parts of the ERT3 programme in greek TV, and so I felt both pleased to have seen it and intrigued, although recognizing that it is not exactly what you would call a movie for the masses. Nonetheless, we should recognize and appreciate the extensive collection of footage and the massive mixing, editing and post-production photography work done. Furthermore I was under the impression that a couple of the shots were original, and were later post-produced to look as archive footage, although this could certainly be my impression and only.However, after checking with the film’s site, it turns that in fact out all of the footage was archive; be sure to check out the synopsis which sheds some light on the importance of the 6 segments of the movie as well as the way history is treated and manipulated amongs other things. Very interesting as the movie itself.

As mentioned, I left the theatre puzzled, bemused and even disoriented! Again, the same procedure, wrote down my notes, had a quick espresso and an even quicker fag, and went it to see The Queen, the third installment of today’s documentaries, true of fictional. Queen seems to be neither; it is basically a frontier breaking documentary from 1964, following the contestants of a Drag Queen pageant, presented in the festival within the context of the Queer Cinema special. Although I could drag on whether pageants are meat parades or not, Drag pageants are more special in particular, because fortunately or not they are mainly viewed as freak shows, from not only the alt and cult urban straight crowd but the gay community as well at times. Thankfully, Queens has no intentions of the sort at all, but instead focuses mainly on the transformation process that takes place, as openly gay persons take huge strides in morphing themselves and projecting their inner psyche into the divas and cross-dressing personals they feel like, expressing freely their feminine side. The documentary does not dwell into raising questions or troubling or shocking you, or in fact to make any particular point, but instead follows its subjects in the contest like a National Geographic documentary (that is not necessarily bad by the way...). It takes us behind the scenes, and offers all the stress and anxiety that governs them, and although it tries to familiarize you with their own small world, it inevitably fails, and in fact adopts a rather light approach. The impression it gave me, was that it was hugely edited and perhaps even over-directed and interfering with its theme (as if a bit staged, well rehearsed and aiming at offering a non-controversial exhibition of the drag queens), with the only mishap being the ever typical bitching and questioning of the final result of the pageant by some of the losers. By the way, memorable impression is the winner, an amazingly feminine figure and face, the only not having the stereotypical drag queen attitude or facade, but instead a melancholic gaze, fitting of a true misunderstood diva.

Anyways, once again the Queer Cinema special offered a historicly important piece of work (don’t forget its 1964 we are talking about here), which however is mediocre and really not standing in the test of time, but nonetheless interesting to watch, again easily producing a wide variety of reactions, others liking it, others relating to it, and others completely indifferent to it.

Having seen three documentaries in a row, I was slightly unprepared for what was coming next. I already knew that Der Kick was based on true events in Germany from 2002, but the first fifteen minutes or so (until everyone got themselves familiarized) were a mini shock for the unprepared one. Der Kick is the movie version of the similarly named theatrical play, which retails the true story of 3 (2 brothers and a friend) young Germans who brutally beat up, humiliated and eventually murdered a fourth youngster. The movie is in fact a documentary, the most minimalist of its kind, since all we see are two actors dressed in black in an empty warehouse (the only set) which has one bench and a trailer-screen, which that does not have any great significance, only to symbolize at times the interrogation room and the distance of authority from reality, or the isolation of the murderers. All that goes on is just the 2 actors assuming various roles (mother, father, sister, girlfriend, friend, prosecutor and others) related to the 2 brothers and the victim, and reciting what is probably verbatim accounts of the respective persons. Hence the whole thing is essentially striped of acting (which is limited and appropriate as the actors change their roles, basically assuming mimicking techniques and changing voices), directing (2 cameras in total...), photography (...), script (already provided) and props (already described). In fact, you could just stare at the subtitles, combining the German voices with the Greek or English words. As it is well understood this is a very touchy subject not only due to the nature of the crime and the age of the culprits, but also due to the very recent history of the incident (2002); apart from the victim, and the mother of the 2 brothers, these are real persons we are talking about, either in jail, or people who knew them or knew the victim.

Once you realize the abstract set and production of the documentary (because it is obviously a documentary), you soon find yourself griped by it. It is not only the desire to hear the outcome of the story, and its terrible details (what kind of instinct is this that drives us towards the horrible and mortifying even if we regret it afterwards?), but also our interest in listening to the different accounts of the story and reactions, and specifically the feelings of the family of the murderers. Of course the most obvious and resounding absence from this roll call, is the victim himself, Marinus. As the film goes on, the audience start to appreciate the obvious, i.e. that the most horrific and disturbing scenarios cannot be made up in the mind of an author, but they are found in real tangible examples like this one, not only as far the crime, but also as the persons involved in it, witnesses and relatives.

The selection of the transcripts read out, are what essentially constitute the approach of Der Kick, the editing process being the only creative instrument if you like. With words as verbal projections of concepts related to the person and society, Der Kick is a head on attack at family values, unified Germany, shut eyes and guilty silence, social adhesion and welfare, drinking and social cracks, wounds and gaps wide open and threatening to collapse the ‘most social country in Europe’, Germany. The result is terribly depressive and unsettling, making you wishing that the story was not true, but a mere fictional creation of a perverted mind, but it is, and that (its brute and raw reality) is what makes it a movie you wish to forget soon, but instead will chase you for a long time, the voices of the two narrators, in their various different tones, following you around. Further to that, for non-Germans, and especially Mediterranean crowds, some of the recounts are extremely shocking, as well as the social commenting that is implied (frequent drunkenness, battering, severe unemployment, general depression and even recession, humiliation, far-right, and others), making this documentary even more daring and bold, always looking you straight in the eyes and really shocking you with just the use of words, nothing but words, and what they represent.

Starting to feel small signs of exhaustion and pondering whether or not to sleep after I finish today’s blog installment, I repeated the same routine, only this time I had my typical last 2 Coronas for the last feature, Ils (The Others), which seemed highly recommended by the evil pamphlet. After all, it is a French production and it is a terror-thriller. If anyone has been foolish enough to be reading all my posts (if not any for that matter) knows that I don’t take the genre seriously, but watch the splatter-prone genre of movies for fun and a few laughs, as well of course for the ever needed self-induced terror and all that. Hence, Ils seemed perfect to cap a documentary-full night. Alas! Guess what? The movie is based on true story (this info is not verified by the way, but obviously creates a desired effect) that happened in Romania, amazingly again in 2002 (!), a small detail that would normally not allow me to fully enjoy the flick (again real people and events so recent does not really amuse me, not to mention that this story was used for cheap thrills), but thankfully the beer was always there to help out. The movie itself, manages to have all the technical requirements of a good terror-thriller (typical suspense, lights going off and on, peculiar moments, horror stricken victims being chased around dark corners and dense bushes, appropriate, spooky and very tense atmosphere, pursuers never quitting, happy loving couple terrorized), apart from the two obvious ones, violence (kept to a minimum) and (humorous) violence. The only extra bonus is the unexpected nature of the killers (they are kids who just want to play!), the festival night at Apollon coming full circle with the first documentary, where instead of murders, the children were making music! Brilliant; thanks daemonic pamphlet!

Anyways, the words I am looking for are not spectacular, not a must-see, not terribly exciting, and not memorable, just something slightly above average in its class, nothing like Haute Tension for example, and this is as far as I am going on about it.

And so I find myself here, approximately six in the morning and I still have not decided whether or not I should sleep (I still have to edit hyperlinks and photos as I am writing these lines).By the way, I have realized something somber, but inevitable: the festival is closing near its end, just 2 more nights, and that’s it, just as it was getting really good, and I was getting used to it. However I will try and see the glass not half empty but half full: the festival has 2 MORE nights to give me! Oh! I also know why I was such a grinch (or grouch?) the first days...it was a matter of shoes! More on that, on the summary posts after the festival.

Didn’t like:

- The security guy at McDonald’s who told me to leave because I was smart enough not to cosume McDonald’s trash while seating on one of the tables munching my way with a hot dog at 03:00. Dude lighten up, and go chase a kitchen rat or something (I wish I said!).

- The fact that La Niebla Las Palmeras can actually be physically dangerous,

Liked:

- The fact that despite its level of experimentalism, La Nieble Las Palmeras was enjoyable and apprecited by me and others.

- The photos from the festival they have put up on one of Apollon lobby walls. Nice work!

- The tuna sandwich at the Apollon foyer.

- The magical way that Greek economy has managed to make everyone 25% richer in just one night. Fantastic!

- This week’s edition of Lifo. Very good, and never succumbing to the wits of marketing directors.

- The rather amusing French subtitles at La Niebla En Las Palmeras, making it even cryptic to watch.

Blackberry award for the night:

Tonight is a tough call for this award, but I will have to give it to Ils, mainly because it was not the typical amusing after-midnight screening I have missed from past years.

Best movie of the night:

Again a tough call, but it has to go to When Fried Eggs Fly, thanks to its smile-creating ability, and because La Nieble Las Palmeras is perhaps a bit more extravagant than required.

Blackberry award for the festival so far:

The Lost have found their true home as complete flops!

Best movie of the festival so far:

Hey I cant’ decide my sleep regime, you expect me to decide on best movie? The jury is adjourned...

Schedule pamphlet status at the time of writing:

Godlike, but also working as an archivist at Discovery Channel.

Day 8: A night like the ones from the past...

As I have mentioned before, my body rarely shows any interest to cinema, and prefers more enjoyable activities such as sleeping. I woke up at 15:30 confused but also mortified at the prospect of being late. Less than an hour later I was outside Attikon reading the terrible signs pointing out to the fact that the first two movies I wanted to see where sold out. Experienced as I was, and still with plenty of time at hand, I walked to Monastiraki, bought a couple of small accessories stuff and then walked back and got myself a burger from Goody’s. I then proceeded and established contact with one of the guys from the festival for possible invitation no-shows. He told me to wait. And so I did; for half an hour I waited seeing all kinds of people getting in and not myself, while another twenty people were thinking the exact same thing. I was declaring myself to be a pervert and in need of a ticket but that did not help. Eventually I spotted my guy and he provided me with a ticket (free) as he did with a few others that knew the tricks.

So I hustled my way inside Apollon to watch The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema, a personal commentary on certain important and influential scenes and movies (mainly Lynch, Hitchcock and Tarkovsky) from philosopher and psychiatrist Slavoj Zizek. The film is not as funny or wide covering as I had expected, but it is definitely amusing and entertaining, thanks mainly to the narrator and the points he makes. Zizek manages to be very sympathetic, thanks to his small stutter, appropriate accent and fast talking as well as the self-conscious pauses he gets when he realizes he is talking shit (and then goes on to finish his sentence). His observations rely solely on directing and how it manages to project onto the sceen certain psychological propositions and conditions. His opinions are open to discussion of course, with the various Froydian and post-Froydian interpretations, but Zizek offers reasonable evidence and still manages to remain hip, although he sometimes seem to drag on (the 3-part feature totals 150 minutes). Thankfully Fiennes’ (sister of the actors) original directing helps a lot while offering plenty humorous moments; the gimmick used is very simple, just placing Zizek in the scenes he is discussing about, similarly dressed and acting at times. Additionaly, all the excerpts all very well adited, directly relating to the points Zizek is making.

A definite must-see for the film fanatics, and almost a perfect treat for all the festival enthusiasts like myself (thanks festival!). Further to that, it provides viewers not new means of interpreting and appreciating the art of cinema, but also concludes this cinema journey with a good (as far as I can tell, philosophy is not my best) philosophical point, that of the juxtaposition of reality and imagination, and how we should embrace the second in order to understand, morph and experience the first. Essential, this eccentric if you like documentary, gives a very good and satisfying answer to the question: ‘Why do you watch so many films?’

Myself, I will not answer right now, and for the moment, I will stick by Zizek’s reply. Slighly tired and with a back pain (who said invitations get good seats? I was at the far back on the left, stretching my waist so that the person on the back could see, but also so that I could get a good angle myself), I was hovering aroung the Attikon-Apollon entrance. A rather more serious and perhaps more important documentary, Delta, by Avgeropoulos of Enxadas (an exceptional and very important documentary group) was being screened. The tickets were sold out days in advance, and so a repeat had already been arranged for the last Sunday of the festival. The documentary itself is about the consequences of the oil drilling has brought in the region of Nigeria, and with Avgeropoulos signature (made a name for himself as a war correspondent for TV, but for the past is years has become a very daring and apocalyptic documentarist, penetrating the causes behind conflicts) and the many successful productions of Exandas, Delta is bound to be good. Although invitation tickets were made available about 2 minutes before it started, I opted not to get any, just to give myself some resting time. Instead I bought a ticket for my mother (the still modern La Battaglia de Algeri tomorrow at Attikon), all my tickets for tomorrow, and a ticket for the repeat of Delta on Sunday. Although I did not get the chance of applauding the creator himself, I at least avoided skillfully the media and Q&A frenzy. However I did notice with appreciation, that Avgeropoulos was patiently standing on the entrance of Apollon greeting and thanking the people for showing up and paying tribute to his work, proving that journalism is about communication and social adhesion. Memorable and in deserve of praise.

Anyways, I found my way to the only café with a TV at the Korai Arcade, and watched part of Panathinaikos’s UEFA game. Apparently my team started playing bad when I arrived, but we still managed to win and qualify for the group stage. Great. No more comments on that, please. When I returned to Apollon, I immediately knew that something was wrong, because the crowd for Wild Tigers I Have Known were still waiting outside despite being it 2 minutes before the time of the screening. Add to that the festival officials arguing over something, and a calm suspicion had settled within us all. Soon enough however we were allowed in the theatre, and to keep this to a minimum, basically both projectors were messed up, and the film was about to be cancelled, with the officials having reached nervous breakdown status, when some of the techies in typical fashion asked for just 2 minutes and everything would be fine (the whole thing just reminded me of Das Boot!!!). Indeed technical miracles were made and the screeing went as normal…an hour late. Amazingly, and much to its credit, the audience remained calm and cool about the whole thing, amusing themselves, without anyone whining or taking a piss about it. Our good hearts were rewarded.

Wild Tigers I Have Known is a movie about a young boy in junior high discovering his homosexuality and falling in love with a rather cool and slightly older heterosexual. As you can imagine, the movie touches a very taboo theme (the director himself was relishing on a whole new wave of European walkouts following similar reactions in the states), but manages to cover it without any pretences or quilt for Logan’s entry in the world of sexuality, indifferent to whatever the direction inot it might be, but recognizing and appropriately treating the differences and peculiarities that might arise because of that direction. So it is only natural, that it is both romantic and embarrassing at times, so dark but also so bright at other moments, and essentially becoming a very beautiful and picturesque movie, heavily influenced by video-art techniques and skillfully employing and drawing a number of parallels and symbolisms that constitute a means of delivering Logan’s experiences, state of mind and feelings. An amazing independent US production, that surprisingly enough lacks any of the typical American themes, or techniques, reminding more of European or asian counterparts for that matter. Cam Archer’s directing looses no time at making its style apaparent, worring you at first that the film could be artsy or posy, but instead it is more of an invitation to the stylistic approaches and expressive means. It is these approaches in relation to the protagonist and the story, that make the film unique, since they are not cold or third person, or distant, but instead warm and metaphorical, trying to approach and understand Logan not in terms of words, but more in terms of sensations and impressions. The result could be said to be awkward at times, but that has its own significance, as Logan himself is portrayed as awkward and very different from the close-minded suburbia where he lives. This elastic and more experimenting way of using the camera and photography can be best seen at the scene when Logan first calls up Rodeo (a character serving as the ultimate fantasy for a teenage gay) as Leah, with the red light bulbs synchronizing to the breaths and hearts beats of the boy, the short scene at the shore, and the very final shot. Another example of the directing metaphors, is the constant use of screens and backs in the shots (like Logan’s hair, or a window, or a wire fence, or the forest leaves, or Logan’s back when he drops the market bags and his mother shouts at him). Finally, Logan’s sexuality is betrayed by Archer with the visual obsession of lips in both Logan and Rodeo, one of the few but steady feminine physical symbols.

The parallels however extend to the script itself, with the use of the mountain lions that have escaped, and are similarly outcast and withdrawn like Logan, but also the importance of the various sceneries, with the town, his house and the school representing enclosure, both physical and mental, while the forest caves provide a safe haven for Logan’s sexuality and the sea a means of escape.

Wild Tigers I Have Known, manages to be charming and even sensual, and many times surprising and gay, producing innocent childhood scenes despite the overall theme, thanks mainly to the character of Joey, the geek friend of Logan, who makes up lists of how to be cool and tries to explain to Logan that if he dresses like a woman and likes boys then he is gay, or when the two boys take a picture of themselves holding baseball bats, Logan’s lips over-covered in lipstick. Another outstanding scene, is the amazing visual result when Logan completely cross-dresses shattering any objections the audience might have, and showing him for what he really is and feels. Furthermore, Logan’s character is impressive, both in his appearance but also mainly on his boldness and sexual maturity despite his small age, making him the wildest of the movie tigers we have known.

Overall the movie is definitely challenging even for the open-minded, very gay (Rodeo is not exactly the alpha male if you catch my drift), but bizzarly beautiful and nice, reminding a lot of My Girl. It is also artistic and slightly experimental if you want, but not in a bad way, but rather in a simple but yet impressive manner. Definitely one of standing out and unforgettable movies of the festival.

The final movie of this quirky festival night was Viy (The Evil Spirit), a Soviet movie which was intended to be shown at Apollon, but was eventually screened at Attikon just five minutes after Wild Tigers I Have Known was finished. Considering the events of the night, I grabbed myself an open and a closed Corona, and got myself a good seat.

To describe the film in a few more than one word, it is a bolshevist, soviet simply symbolic b-movie with its own share of good and bad taste. The story is about a seminarist (a studying to be priest, Khoma, nicknamed the philosopher) in the pre-revolution days, who after almost killing what turns out to be a witch, is called by a rich farm owner to say last rites for his dead daughter, who guess what?, is not dead and is in fact the witch herself! If you are amazed that there could be a fantasy b-movie from a soviet studio (considering censorship and all that), let me tell you that the movie manages to be terribly political and allegorical as it brutally attacks what can be considered to be the wound of pre-soviet russia: ignorance, religion, witchcraft, folklore, the Kozacs! For example, in the beginning when the witch uses the philosopher as a horse and rides him and they both fly up high, the message is that, religion endorses such false beliefs in order for the church to be always elevated in such a high position, the authority of the church and popular misconceived legends going hand by hand. Another such example, is the fact that the witch is in fact the daughter of a rich Kozac farm owner, referring to corruption of property and the spiritual oppression of the masses through propaganda and misinformation and lack of education. Even Khoma severs his own symbolism, training to be a priest, but completely lacking any character or spirit for it (although the film has some similarities with The Exorcist, the two spiritual protagonists of the respective films have nothing in common), since he is a compulsive drinker, a fornicator, and a bad study. Anyways, the movie goes on about the three nights Khoma has to stay awake and pray for the daughter, which he does, always drawing a holy circle around him to protect him, until the third night where all the evil vampires and other such creatures show up to assist the witch (the only part of the movie where it really becomes funny in fact!) with a guest star, Viy, a funny looking blobby creature that needs other to lift his eyelids! At the end, we only assume that Khoma is dead, but if not definitely defeated (not that he ever had the stomach to win the witch…).

Was it worth? Well thanks to the 2 Coronas, definitely, and after all how often do you get to see a soviet b-movie from the sixties (thanks festival!)? Otherwise I would not put very high up in my fantasy or b-movie list; there are others much better. Nonetheless, was enjoyable, and different of course, which is way I watch movies a lot. Always after catching with something new.

That’s it for tonight, it is already six in the morning and I am very sleeeeeeeepy…..

Didn’t like:

- Funny enough, nothing!

Liked:

- The various strange things happening (sold outs, getting tickets at the last minute, projector issues, change of theatres, the football match) tonight, making this night one of those special festival nights, where the drab routine of watching 3 movies in a row was interrupted.

- The way the Apollon crowd behaved themselves during the mishaps and the delay with Wild Tigers I Have Known; cool attitude creating a lax and even humorous feeling, a sign of appreciation if you want to the tormented and torn to pieces organizers. Don’t let stupid projectors get you down guys! Keep up the good work!

- Watching an after midnight b-movie at a half crowded Attikon (which never plays after midnight) in a good seat with a couple beers. Beautiful, really.

- The song playing right now at Rockfm (K. Vita).

- That Delta’s repeat will not be interfering with the rest of the schedule.

Blackberry award for the night:

Well it is obvious isn’t it? Soviet propaganda (Viy) will not be tolerated!!!

Best movie of the night:

Wild Tigers I Have Known is the best for tonight without almost any competition, but I can think plenty of movies that could be screened tonight, and not making the grade like this one has.

Blackberry award for the festival so far:

American pulp The Lost vs. Soviet propagandistic fantasy Viy. Although communism sucks, communists on the other hand are better than posy capitalists. The Lost are still so…lost in their abysmal bad taste.

Best movie of the festival so far:

Still suspended…Wild Tigers I Have Known is really growing with me thanks to its feel-good attitude, splitting the award threeways at the moment…

Schedule pamphlet status at the time of writing:

Amazing like Alice in Wonderland.

P.S. 1: Photo updates are slow and many times non-existent due to sucky internet connection, even worse browsers (Firefox and Opera) and sometimes baffling blogger…

P.S. 2: Panagioti thanks for the good words.

P.S. 3: Έλα ρε Πανάθα, τρέλανε τους όλους, κούτσου-κούτσου ball ρε φίλε!!!

Day 7: Lucky can make you happy

Sometime you get lucky, sometimes you don’t. Today I got really lucky, had the privilege of watching 3 exceptional movies, and nothing really bad happened otherwise. On the contrary, despite the small hiccup at work, I even had the time to meet up with my mate Panagiotis and discuss all thing important in life, i.e. women and sports (OK, we discussed a bit more on other issues as well…).

Anyways, the night kicked off with the Austrian Slumming, initially starting up with 2 young rich spoiled dandies whose habits involve discovering new places in their own home-city, profiling complete strangers, and taking upskirt pictures of young girls they chat up through the internet. But all of these change when Sebastian, the most daring and intelligent of the two, decides to use the most unconventional way of helping a drunk street poet (Kallman). They put him in the trunk of their car, and then drive all the way to the Czech republic, where they drop him off on a bench on a train station similar to the one they found him on. Sebastian claims that touring his own city helps him from not trapping himself in his own shell, only that his kinks and merits work for him quite the opposite way, finding himself instead truly isolated and lost in his own island. He realizes all that as he meets Pia and falls in love with her, offering to the audience a more sympathetic and humane side. On the other hand we follow Kallman in his small adventures in the completely snow covered scenery, forgetting alcohol, dealing with his delusions, discovering himself, and determined to get back to Vienna. This is not the only journey though. We also have Pia’s journey in search from Kallman when Seabastian the story in complete honesty, as well as Sebastina’s own journy as he leaves Austria abruptly to go to an exotic asian country when he realizes that Pia never wants to see him again. Sebastian’s arrogance is punished, but he is a solid character, genuine and believing in his own lifestyle and attitude in life, only to see his world crumbling down when he is (eventually) rejected. He realizes that he in fact allowed for no feelings to enter (pretty much in the same way that Kallman uses booze and insult to alienate himself), but also that despite his extraordinary and unconventional personality, he is still human.

As the characters take their individual journeys, you can’t help but liking them all (except perhaps Sebastian’s friend who is rather shallow). Especially Sebastian, whose at first cruel farse proves to be a true blessing for Kallman, who returns a new man back to Austria. The movie as a whole, is very intriguing and convincing, bitterly tragic, but definitely beautiful, and although different stories are evolving (Kallman’s survival, which by the way has a couple of brilliant takes, and Sebastian’s transformation) the movie is still coherent and delivers great.

In fact, I can’t help to feel that the backbone of the movie are the various contrasts and opposing poles (but also parallel lines at the same time) that exist, like Sebastian and Kallman, and their stories, with Pia providing the connecting link (as she leaves the first to go and find the second), the contrast between Sebastian’s IQ and Pia’s EQ, between the initial cruelty of Kallman’s fate and it’s final outcome (with Kallman returning with a huge smile in his face). Add to that very good performances by all three actors, a very nice script, and you get Slumming, a very pleasant movie, although a bit bitter as it so happens in stories like this.

Having just seen the best ‘first movie of the night’ so far, I went up the stairs of the Attikon to the terrace to watch A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints. The movie is based on the director’s (Dito Montiel) book which in turn is based on true events in his teenage life in NY. The movie (as the book I guess) is hugely apocalyptic and an act of psychological confession and emotional absolution on behalf of the creator as he is trying to share with the audience his journey back to memory lane, not due to nostalgia, but because he was left scared and emotionally still open, looking to heal these wounds. His story goes through first love, dream making, growing up, friendship but also dead friends and tarnished hopes for the people he knows, as well as more importantly his relationship with his fathers, whose love he didn’t know he had or felt. His sincerity but also his sense of remorse is touching as he looks back to his neighborhood, in which he suffocated and tried to survive amidst violence and ghetto life.

Both innocent and tough, as his life was and his memories still are, the movie is progressing steadily in setting up the worst conditions for Montiel’s escape to California where he will look for his dreams to come true, while at the same abandoning friends and family. How he survived could be just a matter of chance, saved in mysterious ways thanks to his ‘saints’ who however either end up dead or in jail, or simply alone and left behind. Now, Montiel comes back to fill as much as he can his emotional gap, to make mends, to come-of-age, and to confront not only his past but also himself and his weaknesses and mistakes.

Robert Downey Jr. is as good as ever (remember how great he was in Chaplin?), but in fact it is the younger Dito (Shia LaBeouf) that steals the show, delivering a huge role fantastically, as he reenacts Montiel’s attempts to survive, find an escape but also as he copes with his realities; he is accompanied by more good performances as the gang of boys are trying to prove themselves to be men. Apart from good casting, the movie also boasts great scripting and production values, placing the film next to the likes of Stand by Me. Only flaw I can find is the unfortunate last couple of scenes (adult Montiel confronting Laurie and then his father) which go on really fast and perhaps a bit lacking in justification. Nonetheless, despite that the movie might be criticized as being overtly sentimental and melodramatic, but in fact it is touching and honest, giving me the same feeling that Red Road, that knot in the stomach, the sense of uneasiness when you relate and get overwhelmed by the knowledge of creation reaching out to you. Interestingly enough, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints, also shares a member of cast (Martin Compston, who performs very well in both). As a final thought, I was surprised at the manner and ability that Montiel, not only to write about his life, but also direct about it, in his first movie.

Impressed and moved by what I had seen, I thought the night could not get any better, but in fact it did, with a theatre jammed The Life of Others (Das Leben der Anderen), the second German movie of the night (which also featured heavily on the use of contrasts). The movie follows the story of Stasi agent Wiesler, who is spying on an arts couple (writer Dreyman and actress Christa-Maria Sieland) in East Berling of 1984. The original intention is for the movie to reveal and present the methods and works of Stasi, as well as the terror it had established in East Germany, but in fact it surpasses that cause (which I can only guess it serves sufficiently if not good), and goes on into delivering an amazing study in the human nature and the conventional and unconventional relationships that are created and evolved.

It is definitely romantic and irresistibly tragic (and tragically funny at times due ot the theme), but also humane, as we observe Wiesler transform from the cynical and clinically professional devotee to the party to a human being with love and feelings becoming the guardian angel of his subjects. As the story evolves and some of the dramas unfold, the character build up and script-support works amazingly naturally, completely justifying Christa-Maria’s betrayal (a beautiful character, but also so true as she lives and breathes for her stage, always driven by her insecurity), Dreyman’s (talented, and with an overabundance of love for his circl) decision to go against the system, Wiesler’s affection (a wonderful performance by Ulrich Muhe who delivers an amazing character, who from a cold and compelety lone and void instrument of the system, changes into a person with feelings, discovering freedom and love through the couple he spies on, which he cherishes and tries to protect) and Jerska’s suicide.

As I mentioned, this movie as well has plenty of contrasts even in it’s making (made by a young aristocratic west german director). The most intense of these contrasts are Dreyman whoring his spirit and Christa-Maria whoring her body to the Culture minister, Wiesler’s loneliness and solitude compared to the vibrant life of the couple, Wiesler’s listening post, filled with grey and cold machines while Dreyman;s house is full of warm books, the difference between information and knowledge, senses and perception, communication and intimacy, idealism vs corruption, devotion vs personal ambition and finally life vs death: the death of Christa-Maria in sharp contrast to Wiesler’s life obtaining meaning and Dreyman living on his freedom saved.

The Life of Others, is a very good film, offering some great scenes (Jerska’s present to Dreyman, or the moments when Wiesler is stealing small parts of Dreyman’s life, like when he reads from Brecht or listens to Dreyman playing the piano when he learns about Jerska’s death), but also reminding you on the great nature of humanity, but also its vast potential for both bad and good, thanks to the intelligent, effective and affectionate directing. Funny enough, it manages to be very current, as Germany is discovering itself (the movie caused all kinds of reactions in Germany) but also as the western world is facing the terrible prospect of transforming into Orwell’s terrible societies.

As I said, I am feeling lucky, and in fact I am glad that today’s post is so small (compared to the others). I guess in the future I will have forgotten some things that I still do remember and I haven’t written down here, but simply enough, I feel overwhelmed at the quality and quantity (3 very good movies in one night is excessive in fact). Just as a final notice, I think I should mention, that all three movies are worth watching, very good in concept but also in final result, all three of them offering memorable moments, scenes and dialogues. For that reason, I have decided to abandon the ‘best film of the festival so far’ award , or better to suspend it, because right now Red Road and A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints are tied. Just for tonight (I hope for the next nights as well) the blackberry award is suspended as well. In fact screw awards!

Didn’t like:

- The Q&A session that followed the Life of Others (I was trapped to my seat and I was too close to the presenting actor –Martina Gedeck- to just leave!) reminding me why I never stay at these. Questions like ‘How do you feel at the revelation that Gunter Grass was a member of the SS?’ make me feel sick at how some people cant realize that persons represent themselves and what they do, not their race, not their country not anything else. Crowds can be so stupid some times…

Liked:

- All the movies and my luck! Best festival day so far!!

- The kindness at the dude of the foyer which offered a filter for free. Cheers man!

- The crowd feeling up the theatre for the Life of Other for no apparent reasons.

- That 2 of the 3 movies were debuts, and that they were still amazing.

Blackberry award for the night:

None. All movies were great!

Best movie of the night:

For various reasons, mainly because it will prove to be more accessible than the others, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints.

Blackberry award for the festival so far:

American pulp The Lost is obviously staying at the bottom of the barel.

Best movie of the festival so far:

Award temporarily suspended. I am still thinking.

Schedule pamphlet status at the time of writing:

Kind, oh so very kind! Thank you!

Day 6: Tezuka, you are of the hook...

I will try and keep the nagging to a minimum this time. I will try… Well today started pretty well actually. Had lunch at Goody’s (pretty terrible, but what can you do?), and then went to a PMW at Omonoia to browse throught he Greek DVD section which proved to be extremely thin. So I soon left and made my way to get some coffee. Just opposite the store, where the Loumidis coffeshop is, there was an old man playing a laterna with a sign saying ‘Don’t forget the old Athens’. When I were my earpieces I never interact with the world, just go on listening my music. But a few steps after, I turned back and left some coins, took of one of my earpieces, and told him that we never forget it. I proceeded to observing some graffiti of the new Athens and then went to Polis (café at the terrace over the Book Arcade, getting seriously snobbish but still nice), and finally found myself downstairs at the Book Arcade. After 20 minutes of browsing I got myself a short collection of stories from a greek novelist of the newer generation. Oh books… I used to read a lot until I did not finish one… it was Bram Stoker’s the Dracula. One advise: stick to the movie, don’t bother with the book. It is amazingly slow, boring and extremely hard to read even for the natives of England (sic). After that, next victims were Moby Dick, Baudolino, and a couple more which I can’t remember. Of course, I have finished a lot since then, but truth this I am not reading as much as I used to, and cinema has nothing to do with it. The old cliché of not finding time is rather true with me, but it is also a bit more than that I guess. For some reason they scare me, in their extent, I am always afraid that I wont like it or something, and that I wont find the time to finish it of, or whatever…Anyways, after the book-buying thing I went to Attikon, to get my fix. First was Pornstar, Toyoda’s debut, which was screened first and without the director’s presence, but still I wasn’t suspicious despite the low attendance. I should have!

Toyoda’s first movie is about a rather psychotic almost mute character whose whole world revolves around killing Yakuzas which he regards as needless (and probably is right, don’t know). The movie is something like an expressive experiment, an uncontrolled brush over a fresh canvas, a rather premature work to be more precise. It is overstyled, and it seems that the director is attempting at making his presence known, trying to achieve cult and cool cinematic status, but does not really manage to do show. Mind you, the theme itself (the Yakuza) is definitely japanese and definitely sensitive, and something a greek, or European for that matter, crowd cannot relate to. Nonetheless the deranged, determined anti-social killer (carries knifes in his bag, what do you expect?) , the coward and skeptical Yakuza and the not so naïve but hopeful girl who wants to see the sunrise at the Fiji islands for the great summer of love (New Year of 2000)., do not posses the gravita or quality Toyoda would like for his film to surpass average. In fact, even the soundtrack is not as good as it is in his next films.

Contrary to the other two movies, I have seen before (9 Souls and Blue Spring), in his debut, Toyoda tries to focus on individuals, rather than focusing on a group people with an underlying connection (prisoners and schoolmates respectively), finding it hard however (with awkward silent close-ups, stiff dialogues), and in fact getting himself in a rather messy and sticky situation with his character left out hanging out dry. Pornstar is unbalanced and enigmatic at places, while he construction and development of both characters and sequences seem unjustified plenty of times. On the other hand, it is very bold (not only as far as the theme is concerned, but also on the attempt itself despite the result) as well as anxious at offering Toyoda’s individual insight and hate towards the Yakuza, but unfortunately the result is not convincing. Thankfully his next films showed great vision and his own talented cinematic signature. Toyoda also manages to offer a haunting protagonist, in the likes of (top of my head now) Tony Montana, or Kim Ki Duk’s Bad Guy (the mute thing a lot in common) and Oldboy, but not as powerful or influential as the aforementioned. Still he is interesting, being some sorts of a deus ex machina in the driver’s seat or a menace if you like, always daring the others to do what they want to do but not having the antisocial mentality or courage required for it.

Would my impression have been any greater had I not seen any of his other movies? Probable. Would have though it to be a promising debut? Among many things, I am not a director scout, so I can’t say for sure. After all the movie is not as bad as I make it out here, has a couple of worthy scenes, and it is definitely worth watching. Furtheremore, it seems that Pornstar is very nervous, Toyoda having some personal issues with Yakuza possibly, but having seen the film, I am now convinced of his title as the ‘uncompromised’. In Pornstar, the lack of change is amazing; at times as you watch the movie you expect some character development, like the protagonist breaking down in tears, or his relationship with the high-flyer wanna be but cowardly Yakuza becoming more intense or personal, or the protagonist expressing himself in a way different than symbolic rain of daggers, or anything really, but no. Toyoda just leaves you waiting for that to happen, but he won’t compromise. Once his story and characters are set, nothing is going to question that; even close to the end when the protagonist saves a kid form a tough situation with an adult, he stabs in the leg without hesitation (Izo like) when the kid tells him he is a young Yakuza. The bloodbath at the end is only natural.

As mentioned before, despite its drawbacks, its worth watching, but I am pretty sure that the early screening in the absence of the director himself had its own significance, probably indicating that he has put this film behind me (not that he should feel ashamed about it).

Next up was Tzameti 13, an over the top advertised film, which apparently was the first to be selected for the festival schedule, and it before watching it I though it would be either great or terrible. Thankfully it was the first. I am finding it hard to start describing the film, but here it goes. Young Georgian builder in Fraance, through a series of circumstances and chances, assumes a false identity and gets himself in a high rolling gambling sick game of Russian roulette. An extremely intense thriller, powerful and psychologically intelligent, extremely violent not to the senses (not a single drop of blood is shown) but to the perception, with the black and white photography is ideal for the unreal environment and sinister play out. In fact it offers the backdrop for the terrible contrast between players (the people with numbers on their shirts, guns in their hands, and muzzles on the back of their heads) and the gambler, the sanity and madness, between what things are, and what they should be. The mystery and the suspense pins you down, and when the core of the plot is essentially revealed, it’s too late. You are shocked and scared at the unfolding reality, like Sebastien, all your senses race to understand what’s happening, to predict the next few frames, only to find yourself listening to the terrible and ordering voice of le maître de cérémonie (Pacal Bongard is the name to the unforgettable voice) as he orders the players to take place, lift their weapons, roll the barrel, aim, and wait for the light to turn on for them to fire, commanding players, gamblers and audience alike. And then light bulb flashes and you hear the guns click and some fire; your brain rushing to answer the obvious question posed: would you have what it takes to pull the trigger had you been in Sebastien’s place, as you become one with the tragic hero. This unlikely player is the only oasis offered in the surrounding decadence and sickness, which however does not leave him unhurt. He himself, as he goes through the rounds and survives, collects scars of fear and terror not only at the prospect of dying but also at the prospect and realization of killing, his demise to animal status, ripped of nay humanity, slowly realizing why the person whom he took his place overdosed when he received his invitation.

Despite his bad number (13) and inexperience in the game he survives, bodily that is, because he is still terrified and shocked. However, his good luck dries up on the train back home when he runs into the brother of his final opponent; he is shot and left bleeding in the empty train carriage as it leaves the station. The preceding close ups are extremely dramatic and potent, as is the entire scene in its entirety offering an amazing and memorable sequence. In fact, the entire film offers amazing shots and lasting expressions of fear and terror, bring back memories of The Deer Hunter, perhaps even better and greater thanks to the photography. Additionally, the directing is effective, brilliantly masterminded, terribly mature and even poetic at times, creating a movie that redefines the suspense thriller genre, forcing Hitchcock back to directors school (OK, that is a bit too much, but I just had to put it down!). And to think that this is Gela Babluani’s first movie (coming back to talking about debuts).

A movie that keeps you intense and awe and suspension from the start to the end, and is definitely impressive and a classic in the makings, hugely supported by outstanding performances both by the protagonist and the supporting acts, amazingly playing out the theatre of the irrational. Even though it does mess you up a lot, it does offer closure, though the hero’s death, a tragic one, but also a fitting one. Although not obvious, the theme of destiny and the inability to control fate and the theme of causability are brilliantly interweaved in the movie, as a series of coincidences that lead Sebastien to the game, as the players encourage their players to focus, as if it has anything to do with where the bullet is in the barrel, a great demonstration of the sickness and perversion of obsessive gambling, as well as Sebastien choices that although lead him close to death a number of times, eventually he escapes only to meet his destiny at the end.

A definite must-see, an amazing film, genius and original, but never resting on such merits, but instead going on and enriching the result in all aspects, making a complete gem and all that cinema is mean to be about. By the way, did I mention that an English remake is in the plans?

As I wrote my notes, and thinking that compared to Red Road, Tzameti 13 has the advantage of being exciting (basically me digesting thrillers to dramas easier), I was also worried that I would have to give tonight’s Blackberry award to Toyoda’s Pornstar. Thankfully I wont have to. Then again I am wooing over the 6 euros I gave for The Lost and the fact that I could have rushed to Danaos to see Do Over from Taiwan.

Again, I am finding it difficult to find words. I am split between rubbish and crap. I think trash could be appropriate. The movie is apparently based on a pulp novel (apparently meant to be good), and although I have no problems with the genre (in fact I can enjoy a pulp book any time of the day but not that I am fan either), I am pretty sure any adaptation should follow extreme stylistic approaches, simply because pulp fiction (the genre, not the movie) seems to have a long lasting grudge with anything remotely good when it comes to plot. The Lost offers almost no style at all, resembling a bad fusion of Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer (and the summer after that, and the summer after that, and basically every time you decide to go camping!). It is a shame, because it started really promising (the psycho protagonist Ray walks into the woods, runs into a naked girl coming out of a cabinet toilet naked, only to shoot her and her friend at night, all that in about 5 or 6 minutes), making it a possible candidate for the non-asian slasher-splatter of the festival. After that however, it keeps on getting worse and worse, with terrible acting all across the board (except for Senter who seems to give his best effort at impersonating a rather difficult character), even worse and posy directing and photography (crap, crap, crap), an incoherent story and unstructured scripting. However the worse is kept for the end; everybody was expecting a blood rampage at the end (just to get our money’s worth, you know), and so it appeared with Ray totaling flipping and shooting almost everything that moves. Unfortunately, it is done in extremely bad taste as it tries to shock you, but instead manages to disgust you, as Ray throws his fits all around the place. Of course in part, I guess that the movie is either likeable depending on whether you can enjoy the character of Ray or not, but personally I found him annoying and extremely stupid. Take a tinny bit of Norman Bates from Psycho, a piece of hillbilly version of Patrick Bateman (excellent performance by Christian Bale) from American Psycho (great book, great movie, a thousand times better than this one) and a really bad version of Alex de Large from Clockwork Orange, and you get Ray Pye, personally, a very bad result cinematically. Anyways, it was bound to happen, and it did. I got my bad movie for the festival…

Well, I am tired, totally isolated from my friends and work for the past days, but heck, now that I am started I have to finish. So I have to go on, to make up my mind for tomorrow. Tata!

Didn’t like:

- Again my seating. I am seriously getting a seating map for next year just to make myself clear at the ticketboxes!!!

- People with invitations not showing up; the best two rows in Tzameti 13 were essentially empty, while others had to be at the terrace sides to see the movie. Nice going guys, we thank you for supporting the arts!

Liked:

- Tzameti 13 a lot. The festival is proving strong!!

- Increasingly some songs on my updated mp3 playlist (some Massive Attack remixes, Θανάσης Παπακωνσταντίνου and others).

- My getting some progress with my thesis.

Blackberry award for the night:

Definitely The Lost. If only the reels were (lost) as well…

Best movie of the night:

Tzameti 13 is Fight Club of 2006, if not better in some ways.

Blackberry award for the festival so far:

Tezuka, you lucky bastard!! It took something as terrible The Lost to loose your crown. Still, I am pleased that an asian movie is not taking this one.

Best movie of the festival so far:

Had this been most popular, more festive, or most promising, or most exciting movie award, Tzameti 13 would get it. But it is best movie, and Red Road, edges out by just a nose, but still remains the best movie so far.

Schedule pamphlet status at the time of writing:

Moody, but nonetheless rewarding.