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 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, cert
ainly 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 procedur
e, 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
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 projec
tions 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,
- The fact that despite its level of experimentalism, La Nieble Las Palmeras was enjoyable and apprecited by me and others.
- The p
hotos 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.
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