It snows in Transylvania! (TIFF 2014)....

KRAFTIDIOTEN
by Hans Peter Molland

 

I caught up with 

In Order of Disappearance

in TRansylvania

at a very very hot TIFF2014...

It was an afternoon of hectic driving across 7 seas and 7 mountains from my far South capital...

My mood was grey, the sun had just imploded,

and the cinema needed some refurbishing...

….and yet...for the past years (too many)

I have never laughed as much

as during this irreverentious

dark

top politically incorrect tale!

Stellan Skarsgard plays a darkish, introverted guy,

who goes crazy when his son turns up dead.

He chases a Norwegian Mafioso,

the super hype hipster criminal Greven

(Pal Sverre Hagen),

 in this work half way between a Bronson-

movie and the Italian policiers of the 70’ies.

 

 

 

It's a sparkling piece

of genre filmmaking,

packed with black humour,

colourful characters

and post-modern leanings.

We've got the lone gun + the wailing Morricone guitars;

…and, most classically western of all,

a disregard for the imminent modernity.

Moland puts his man of few words;

meat and two veg hero

up against the uber contemporary Greven, 

Norwegian urbanity personified.

The old world is at war

with the new

on the freezing Scandinavian frontier,

and the bodies pile up accordingly,

one chapter at a time,

in order of disappearance.

The Mafia boss

is the best character seen so far

in genre movies,

a cruel and hectic dandy,

a vegan bakery-magnate-cum-drug-lord

called The Count,

 who hides his cocaine trade

behind a line of cupcake bakeries

and defines his home

with punchline-bad modern art,

 a guy with the hypest haircut,

looking as alien and neet

as a brain surgeon.

"Kraftidioten" displays mountains of bodies here,

mountains of bodies there,

whose names are shown by the director

under the sign of their religion

(a sober cross for Lutherans,

slavic cross for the Serbians,

star of David for the jews, etc.).

Director Hans Petter Moland 

is clearly influenced

by the Coens’ black humour,

which superbly offsets the film’s grim,

violent events.

The ‘disappearance’ in the title

refers to actual people missing

in the desolate Nordic snow,

collateral damages of three mafia fathers.

The first twenty minutes

kicks off conventionally,

but Moland abandons quotidian drama

and reveals a dexterously plotted scheme

of one man

against an entire band of gangsters.

If that all sounds ever so serious,

it’s not.

As the film is injected

with such

unexpected

wit and deft humour!

We are offered big laughs

from the carrot-smoothie slurping gangsters,

 

and hilarious analyses

of Nordic welfare estate

by the police

(as it is snowing a lot in Norway)

(which is a pleonasm)(sic)…

 

We also learn about the benefits

of prison life in Norway

where there is a 3 stars food,

as deemed by the Serbians.

We are told that Norvegians

are racists,

but not homophobic

(I wouldn’t swear on life and death about it…)…

And that Albanians are Serbs.

 

 

And by no means would you expect

such uproarious laughter

about Stockholm Syndrome

ever...

And yes,

that’s a chilly,

high-body count revenge comedy,

a film to see...

But if you’re in need

of a chilling palette cleanser,

be sure to seek it out.

giulia dobre

Futatsume nomado = STill the Water,
the new Kawase...

 

 

 

 

 

 

Naomi Kawase's Still the Water begins with shots of furious waves.

The sea seems fierce and unforgiving…yet beautiful.

These vivid images are followed by an extremely still, even peaceful view of the sea.

It is  perhaps in the aftermath of the storm.

Carefully constructed, this most delicate film opens with a stark contrast.

This, in fact, is a film full of such oppositions. In the next shot, we see the killing of a goat. Explicitly, but not without grace…

Both with the energy of life and the quietness of death.

The story is concerned with both the young and the old,

takes place both in the metropole and in the province,

embraces both tradition and modernity.

And  Kawase's depiction of these dualities approaches all with an unexpected sense of serenity and understanding. As Kawase refuses to create a melodrama or an easy tragedy…

Perhaps the major theme in her work thus far has been the process of dealing with LOSS!

Still the Water carries this exploration even further.

One of the main characters in Still the Water is a shaman suffering from a terminal illness. She is not a mystical or spiritual figure, but rather a beloved mother and a wife.

Her death is just as saddening as everyone else's…just a natural step in the endless cycle of life,

…but nonetheless devastating for those who know and love her.

Her last days are shown in an incredibly delicate, poetic manner through beautiful songs,

traditional August dances,

and peaceful domestic scenes.

All instead of heightened emotions or overblown confrontations.

More importantly,

her acceptance of death is understanding  herself as a part of the immense nature…

 This sentiment is echoed in her daughter's words, who explains that she loves swimming because she can feel how alive the ocean is when she is immersed in it.

 Obviously, seeing death as a return to nature does not make it any less painful or serious…

 But it gives the sadness that accompanies death, a profound, a noble character…

Kawase avoids turning her story into a celebration of provincial life, or a hype piece of Japanese folklore.

She keeps her focus on her characters and their thoughts.

 And  we are not given a wide shot that clearly depicts the dances or the songs in the memorable scene of the shaman's farewell.

Instead, Kawase keeps showing us close-up shots of the mother and her daughter in this most difficult of times, emphasizing their deep  love ...

The scene is very interesting from an anthropological perspective as it documents the customs of a vanishing way of life.

But Kawase prefers to keep the human dimension at the front…

The shaman's adolescent daughter is in love with a boy.

The boy who finds a dead body in the sea in the beginning of the film.

While the relationship between the shaman and her daughter is built on love and tenderness, the boy has a few problems with his mother who struggles to connect with him while trying to survive.

The boy decides to go to Tokyo and visit his father.

This brief section in Tokyo shows that Kawase's calm and poetic appreciation of life and its rhythms reaches out to the metropole as well.

She finds as much grace in the chaos of Tokyo, as she does in the stillness of Amami,

a subtropical Japanese island.

The final act of the film revolves around the disappearance of the boy's mother.

Therefore, we are invited to compare the losses the two young protagonists face:

the shaman's passing and the mother's vanishing.

The former marks the end of a peaceful, loving relationship. The latter follows a rather tumultuous one.

Yet the outcome remains quite similar.

Bookended by two astonishing underwater sequences, the film marks Kawase's most visually daring and impressive effort yet.

Yutaka Yamazaki's beautiful images seem wonderfully natural and carefully constructed at once.

It is not difficult to see traces of Kawase's career as a documentarian in Still the Water as she prefers real locations and natural light.

 And yet she manages to create a very cinematic, sensorial experience through these elements.

The location, Amami, provides many arresting, powerful landscapes for Kawase and she skillfully uses them in her splendid film, suitably shot in scope.

For admirers of Kawase's work, Still the Water represents a new high point .

 The film tells the gentle, elegant take on the cycle of life;

…tells of unexpected sensual pleasures in the midst of nature

… and a careful, functional fusion of universal themes and local traditions.

It is a film where many delicate pieces come together perfectly, just to create an exquisite and touching  piece of cinematic poetry.

 

giulia dobre