Come-and-Review

With Last night in Soho Edgar Wright takes a new directions in terms of capabilities of his poetics, but the film itself, despite its overall impeccable structure, lacks in the something that would make it a masterpiece.

A ghost horror story, Last Night in Soho's storyline ultimately is indeed coherent and well conceived, with little details and hints pervading every frame, some foreshadowings, but ultimately not innovative. Some scenes become a bit predictable, the twists are rather unoriginal, derivative of several ghost horror films. At some point, it appears that the film could have taken a much more daring and interesting direction but ultimately does not.

It is also the style that strikes in this film. Borrowing the lighting effects from Dario Argento and the convolution of the story from Polanski, Wright builds a new visual language for himself.

If the previous filmography by Edgar Wright was well known for its comedy and fast editing, Last Night in Soho seems to abandon these most unique traits. Instead, Wright opts for a more fluid cinematography, which does not however slow down the final result. The energy that pervades Wright's previous cinematography stilll pervades every frame.

Ultimately, the best trait of Last Night in Soho is the door it leaves open for Edgar Wright's future films, projected towards radical new directions.

(excerpts from full review available at comeandreview)

The answer to the question that most are asking, following the huge internet buzz that resulted from the release of critics ratings, is this: it is definitely far from being the worst MCU film, but as a MCU film, it's not the most memorable one, even if, thanks to Zhao, visually and storyline-wise it is one of the most distinct Marvel films.

Zhao's film balances rather safely between being a film belonging to the MCU system and being a Zhao film. There are minor elements of Zhao's cinematic poetics that permain. Even if Zhao's touch is palpable, what prevails is the dimension of the film as a MCU film.

In an almost unprecedented fashion, Eternals is non-linear in its story structure, one of its many perks. The issue in the first 40 minutes of the movie is that the flashback scenes prove to be more interesting than the main storyline. It feels almost as if this parallel storyline could have been expanded in a more interesting full feature film. Eventually, threads are connected and the non-linear structure becomes interconnected enough to justify the unification of the subjects in one single film, but the "present day" storyline lacks coherence in some aspects.

Ultimately, the biggest issue of Eternals is inherently linked to it being an MCU film. The Marvel signature approach, that demystifies superhero characters and turns them into comic figures, flawed and human, hardly works well for a set of god-like entities with millenary lifespan that have guided the early evolution of mankind, such as the Eternals.

In terms of MCU lore, Eternals brought forward a vast area of expansion, that if implemented well, might possibly lead to new directions for the franchise. Weighing the pros and cons, Eternals leans more towards the postive, but its flaws prevents it from utmost greatness.

(full review on comeandreview)

The greatest virtue of Ariaferma is its versatile balance between its themes, typical to contemporary italian cinema, and an unexpected freshness in such themes' depiction.

Prison overcrowding is a pressing issue currently being discussed in Italy, yet Leonardo di Costanzo chooses to tackle it through subtraction, not by presenting an overwhelmed jail, but by portraying an anomaly: a penitentiary in the sardinian mountains is due to close down, but the transfer of a small number of detainees is delayed. A group of very few prison guards are tasked to maintain order, despite not having the required resources.

Rather than a prison story, Ariaferma is best described as a human story, a story of reconciliation between two opposite groups, the guards and the prisoners.

Through the self-contained setting, the film examines the difficult coexistence of two groups that normally identify each others as enemies, but that now inevitably are both forced into isolation.

The isolated microcosm is further shut out from The narrative that eventually focuses on two main characters: an old detainee, likely an ex member of organised crime, and the appointed leader of the prison guards. Portrayed respectively by Silvio Orlando and Toni Servillo, it is their confrontation that makes up for the powerful statement of human equity that the film aims at.

Most surpisingly, it is not a story of good versus bad, or of oppressors and oppressed, and herein lies the greatest achievement of di Costanzo's work: the true antagonist of the film is the distance imposed by society on the characters, a distance that in this setting becomes extremely thin. Ariaferma truly manages to maintain the status quo without personifying this abstract antagonist into some character.

Ariaferma is however not a mere depiction of a reality or an emotional reaction seeking film, it is a most cinematic work. The prison's setting, a round cathedral-like structure makes for a very appealing location, the aforementioned rhythm, the palpable tension, the performances all round up for a film that, ahead of being a film about a social issue, is pure cinema, a carefully constructed craft of motion picture.

(excerpts from full review available on comeandreview)

Due to the will power needed to resist the urge of walk out during the first thirty minutes, viewing Titane is a demanding experience. The choice of remaining seated however is rewarded by a more afffordable continuation, and the final impression left by the film is in all cases that it was an unique experience, even if not entirely enjoyable.

It would be tempting to deem the film an inherently incoherent mscallaneous of events. Truthfully, the film resists to be abscribed to any genre - body horror, thriller, even dark comedy - it rather borrows elements from all of these. The best way to interpret Titane is as a surreal film, with atmospheric similarities to Leos Carax or Nicholas Winding Refn, with which it shares the pleasure for divisive sequences.

Although surrealism does not demand any thematisation or coherent storytelling, Titane does in fact have a coherent theme. A good way to describe the film is as a gender and sexuality bending fantasy focused on a woman that penetrates a masculine world. The varied events provide a series of supernatural metaphors to various states of womanhood, unwanted pregnancy, inter-familial apathy, fetishisation, missed fatherhood.

It is not unconceivable that this film won the Palme d'Or at Cannes. Nonetheless, it is a dense, challenging viewing experience, definitely not a film that everyone can equally appreciate.

(Excerpt from my full review on comeandreview)

Wilma Labate's La ragazza ha volato has been inserted into the Orrizonti lineup with the premise that its setting, the north-eastern town of Trieste, is a meeting point of various cultures, of the east and the west. The setting could have been in any major italian town and nothing would have changed. In fact, this film is only the last in a long series of italian films that are set in the North-East and do not seem to fully attempt to represent accurately its regional peculiarities, a feature that would have enrichened it and truly rendered a new "horizon".

The most startling feature of the film has to be the screenplay, penned by the D'Innocenzo brothers (who have rightfully won - with Favolacce - the award for best screenplay at Berlinale in 2020). Far from the usual quality of their work, the dialogues are of a banality that is unmatched and their neutral, almost amateurish delivery only worsens any conversation. The best scenes of the film are, as a consequence, all silent, and inevitably ruined as soon as someone utters a word.

There are moments in which the main actress Alma Noce shines in her performance, and some form of emotion emanates from the screen. The scenes at the hospital, as well as several sequences where Nadia is alone and silent seem to suggest that there could have been a better version of this film, a version that could have been a significant narrative about contemporary topics such as alienation or violence on women, a portrait of yet another unacceptable yet very present condition of feminity. Despite such a noble endeavour, the final work related from its promise, and the weaknesses drag down with them the stronger elements.

(Excerpts from my full review available at comeandreview)

Immediately after viewing, the conclusion of the Daniel Craig Bond saga, much as was its beginning, feels bitter but fitting, not to mention very entertaining, but nonetheless not without flaws. It is with some delay that comes the realisation that it's a great Bond film, and although imperfect, a rightful conclusion to one interconnected saga.

A return to a very traditional scheme was chosen for the third act. Several of the more common tropes of James Bond films reappear, including Cold War-like fears, secret island bases, etc. As a result, the finale becomes predictable, filled with clichés. It would have been paradoxically more daring to choose a different direction, a definitive ending but in a less permanent way.

Another underwhelming element is the villain. Too simple a backstory is provided, too nebulous are his motives. It seems that the production intended to shape a villain with an aura of mystery that ultimately does not appeal enough, not in the way Blofeld or Silva did, or that Lyutsifer Safin's character intended to mimic the more classic Bond villains. Sadly he relies on Macguffins rather than an elaborate plan to defeat or attempt to defeat the protagonist.

If the last thirty minutes do not bring anything new to the table, the first two hours make for the most entertaining Bond since Skyfall. The best film to draw a comparison with is Mission Impossible: Fallout, which similarly does not invent new espionage tropes, but reuses successfully the common modes of espionage cinema without feeling unoriginal. Linus Sandgren's excellent cinematography provides an extra feast for the eyes.

Overall, No Time to Die deserves its place among the better films of the Daniel Craig Bond saga: Casino Royale and Skyfall. Once digested the bitter outcome, and accepted the flaws, it makes for a solid Bond entry. Perhaps not the most original conclusion, but a modern classic Bond film that attempts to conclude a series that has never before had an actual storyline.

(extracts from the full review on my blog, comeandreview)

Perhaps the greatest lesson that can be drawn from Denis Villeneuve's Dune is that ultimately an entirely satisfying adaptation of the novel is impossible. Nonetheless, Villeneuve's version is the closest at succeeding so far, and is one of the more enjoyable theatrical experiences of 2021.

Villeneuve stays very adherent to the original work, even in the smaller elements. There are a few omissions however, and the first scenes are not present in the novel.

His version has however not rendered from the sense of mistery that permeates the beginning of the novel. It immediately submerges its reader in the world of Dune, without any introduction, and the complex situation is slowly unraveled throughout the narrative. Villeneuve's previous films prove that this approach could have been undertaken by him, but the 2021 film chose instead to rely on several expository scenes that explain too much to the audience. Some of the revelations that are hinted at very early were not as clear until the second half of the novel (yet to be adapted). A choice dictated by the destination to a wider target audience, for sure, but that ultimately adds dryness to the film.

Another slight disappointment might come from the score by Hans Zimmer. It does render the majestic epic scale of the film, but it perhaps remains overly somber and ambiental in scenes where it could have charged up the depicted tense situation.

What works best in Dune is the flawless casting. Whoever has read the novel could hardly imagine different actors to portray the characters. Dune also succeeds in rendering the alien scape of the desertic planet Arrakis, as well as the other planets that are even only hinted in the novel, without reduntantly using the strong saturated colours of Lynch's version. Greig Fraser's cinematography is truly a feast for the eyes, aided by a desaturated yet captivating coloring. Rest assured: the sky is never blue, which is something that the latest promotional poster seemed to suggest. On the other hand, what the film does borrow from the never made Jodorowsky version is some of the production design elements, especially for the Harkonnens.

Ultimately, even if Villeneuve did not make the perfect Dune film (and it is fairly possible to say at this point that such a film cannot exist), it is an entertaining film. It is entertaining and keeps the viewer glued to the screen even despite its slow nature, leaves the viewer wanting for more, and that alone makes up for all the small imperfections it features.

(Extracts from my longer review on my blog, comeandreview)

Seen the film at a screening at the Venice Film Festival.

Even if there is no way of telling that what The Last Duel portrays is entirely how the events took place, or as authentic as it seems to be in depicting middle ages, one thing is certain: it belongs to Ridley Scott's better works, and proves that the 84-year-old filmmaker is still able to deliver memorable films.

The dramatization takes on a three act narrative frame that resembles partly that of Kurosawa's masterpiece Rashomon: three chapters narrate the events, each from the point of view of one of the three protagonists, the two duellists and Marguerite.

The film clearly seeks a historical authenticity, and seems to succeed at achieving it. The almost word-by-word, blow-by-blow adherence to the accounts of the duel seem to confirm such an achievement, and is in a way reminiscent of Scott's debut film The Duellists, known for its methodical reconstruction.

The true essence of this film's stance is the idea that through the study of history more can be learnt about the contemporary world, the past as a mirror of the present.

The Last Duel is, in the end, a film that deals with the present by showing the past, and does so in an exquisite and entertaining fashion.

(extract from my review on comeandreview)

The Card Counter in a way sums up the best of Paul Schrader's range: it undeniably belongs to the screenwriter of Scorsese's films, its elegance meets the expectations for a film of the director of First Reformed; yet, it manages to avoid redundancy, and maintains a distinct trait of its own.

A character driven screenplay, as many of Schrader's films, it builds on the mistery surrounding its lead, William Tell (Oscar Isaac) and his shadowy past, as he tries to seek a form of redemption in helping a young boy (Tye Sheridan) that has indirectly been affected by events similar to his own.

An unpredictable outsider reminiscent of Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver, but more methodical and rational, a character that acts as narrator in Schrader's signature voice-overs but whose psyche remains out of the viewer's sight, a feature that further increases the fascinating aura of this contemporary dark romantic hero.

The one negative note is the marginal role of Willem Dafoe's character, central to the story but that hardly has any screentime, and of whose motivations hardly any clue is provided.

It is also another Schrader film that homages Bresson, although subtly. While First Reformed is strongly derivative of Diary of a Country Priest, The Card Counter references Pickpocket, although in a less persistent manner.

(extract from my full review on comeandreview)

Forest: I see you Everywhere is Benedek Fligelauf's follow up to his 2003 film Forest, which similarly describes contemporary urban life.

While watching this film I could not shake the feeling that it reminded much of the early Tarr. And this is not just due to the presence of his composer, Mihály Víg.

We are presented six scenes, all set during one, dark night, in dark, narrow apartments.

The handheld frames focus on the character's faces, almost shutting out the settings, and tend to avoid cuts. It's a series of back and forth jumps between faces. The improvisational style of the dialogues and interactions just adds up to the feel that we are in front of a film that looks back at the early tarr, especially Family Nest, similarly very narrowly framed and heavily improvisational.

What makes it all remind more of the early Tarr than Cassavetes is the bleak atmosphere: it is stories of broken relations but sometimes far darker and extreme than in Cassavetes, in a somewhat escalating nature, towards darkness: a father who may have contributed to his wife's accident, a kid fleeing his fanatic catholic mother, a guy worried about what happened to a woman he had an affair with, etc.

Most scenes are built around the topic of death, of fanaticism, dishonesty. Somehow mortality, in contrast with a spirituality pushed to the background, is central to most scenes.

Lilli Kizlinger won the Silver Bear at Berlinale for the best supporting performance, but it is really hard to make out one great performance out of the group. I really appreciated for example Juli Jakab's acting.

Although it's not exactly an engaging film, I found it to be an interesting experiment.

While watching this marvelous B/W arthouse film I could not shake the feeling that it is a perfect companion to polish director Pawel Pawlikowski's Ida, which deals with different topics but similarly features studying catholic clergy youth.

Servants is set in 80s Czechoslovakia, and outlines the grip of the regime as it encompasses a catholic seminary for upcoming priests. As with most arthouse films of this kind, story is secondary, hence not too complex. The strenght lies in the atmosphere of bleak hopelessness that pervades every frame right from the beginning, in a similar fashion to the HBO Chernobyl series.

The dehumanising and demoralising effects of totalitarianism and resistance to it are the main themes of the film. I cannot avoid mentioning the imposing presence of romanian actor Vlad Ivanov in the role of the secret police agent tasked with supervising the seminary.

The black & white aesthetic, borrowed from Pawlikowski's cinema is definitely worth mentioning. The framing, lighting, perspective of each shot was immaculate, a very conscious and successful use of monochrome, especially when compared to how several modern b/w films seem simply to put a black and white filter over the film without any attention to contrast or without exploiting the potentials of the style, almost as if it was just a gimmick to make the film more "artsy". This is not the case at all, luckily.

Being a slow-paced arthouse film about a topic seen in several east european films, that of the oppression of communist regimes through the secret police, it is not a "sunday afternoon flick", which would explain why this film went practically unnoticed after its premiere at berlinale last year, and why it yet has not had a wide distribution, not even in arthouse theaters worldwide, but that deserves more consideration.

Jude is the most experimental, controversial and radical romanian filmmaker: his films never cease to offer a poignant satire of society, irredentism, or his country.

His latest film is a prime example of his peculiarities. The subject is a leaked sextape of a teacher, and the scandal it rises among parents.

The opening of the film features the actual footage of an explicit, unsimulated sextape, not for the purposes of realism (as it could have been with any other Romanian New Wave director), but to force the viewer in the act of voyeurism that will be very blatantly shown in the third act: this chapter of the film features a sort of "trial", in which the teacher is forced to face the parents of her students. When one of the parents shows the video to the others with the purpose of "showing things for what they are", the other parents mock the teacher, laugh, or watch with perverse passion. Through this external sight, the viewer is thus confronted with the reaction they probably displayed at the beginning, a very clever way to involve the audience.

The previous two chapters of this three-chapter story each have their own purpose. The second chapter is a sort of glossary/collection of anecdotes, which introduces briefly all the notions that are later mentioned in the discussion of the third act: not only sex or equality related concepts, but domestic violence, history and romanian historical episodes (as that is the teacher's subject), philosophical concepts, even a metacinematic consideration, all with the goal of preparing the viewer for the final act. It is not only a way to put all viewers on the same page, but also to make explicit the thematic range of the film.

The first chapter features Emi (the teacher) walking around Bucharest doing chores. Through her journey, Jude shows the city as it is under the pandemic (the film was entirely shot last year) and its effects of distress on people, more and more nervous, without disdaining some subtle visual digressions.

While Jude makes very clear which side he supports in the debate of the third chapter, he chooses to give three different endings to the story, which I won't disclose, maybe to thus imply that the viewer has to judge for theirself.

Believe it or not, despite the rumors of this being a tedious and boring film, I found it engaging and interesting. During the last decade, Puiu's films explored in depth the source text of this film, "Three Dialogues" by the russian Belle Epoque theologist and philosopher Solov'ëv. This film feels like the coronation of this study, the ultimate version (following the modernisations that Puiu directed previously). The concept was to figure out if a philosophical dialogue can become a film. I believe that Puiu succeeded, mainly thanks to his personal directorial choices. While the philosophical themes (which range in a too wide spectrum to be listed, though mostly concerned with ethics and moral philosophy) are depicted interestingly by themselves, it's interesting to see what Puiu adds in his mise-en-scène: not only the location is changed, but interestingly the language: curiously, romanian is almost never heard, as the five aristocrats that debate speak in french, whereas the servants speak hungarian or german, the minoritary languages of transilvania, where the titular manor house is placed. Moreover, sound design and noises, the background movements of characters constitute a completely new parallel story, and contribute to create a sense of reality. Despite apparences this Puiu film is perfectly in league with his hyperralism estabilished in The Death of Mr Lazarescu or Aurora, as it is an aim to represent a real aristocratic setting from the late XIXth century. Let us not forget, for example, that french was the language that eastern european aristocracy chise to speak in situations such as the one depicted in the film. As for the way the action (or better, the inaction) is shown, there's frequent long takes, but despite expectations they are not tedious or "sleep-inducing": either the camera or the characters keep moving around, preserving dynamicity to the screen. While the original text is made of of three dialogues, Puiu chose to divide the film in six chapters, each dedicated to one of the five aristocrats involved in the conversations, plus one involving the butler, a silent servant that keeps appearing in the background of the film. This film easily became instantly one of my favourite romanian films and one of my favourite films from last year.

This is easily one of the best films of 2020. The story follows a french student of russian origins who in 1957 travels to Moscow apparently for a study exchange, but actually to find a very close relative he never got to know. In the process, all the main forms of oppression exercised by stalinism and by the following regimes is uncovered to the viewer. I have read several headlines comparing this film to Truffaut and the Nouvelle Vague, but I believe this could not be further from the truth. On the opposite, it seems to address that form of leftism that can be perceived in Godard and Truffaut, which seems to ignore how things in Soviet Union really were. This is very emblematic in the first scene, featuring the main character and his leftist militant friends discussing in very naive terms about "degrading bourgeoise attitudes". Later in the film, we witness how this ideology destroyed the lives of millions of people during the harshest stalinist period, and its lasting consequences on the post-war USSR. While it is not the visually most striking modern black and white, its message is still very powerful. The best comparison is maybe with Ida. Much like Pawlikowski's nun, the titular frenchman has a formative experience that uncovers the horrors of totalitarisms.

A stunning road movie, distinctly american, with a soul of its own. I have never seen a Chloe Zhao before, but I can say that her style feels close to some of Malick's less radical works, which I mean as a praise. It's a film that makes you strongly empathize with its characters, it successfully manages to make you want to embark on such a nomadic life. It is able to transfer that sense of connection to nature that its characters feel. Imbibed with Thoreau, it manages to even slip in quite a few Shakespeare quotes. Many might argue that my assessment that the life depicted is close to the one imagined by Thoreau in his "Walden" is wrong, as the protagonist doesn't isolate herself from society. Yet, Thoreau's account of his experiment also shows that he interacted with local communities, next to living in the woods. Similarly, these nomads live in a liminal level between society. they do small, temporary jobs, but are free enough to connect with nature, to build their home, in a similar fashion to Thoreau. In this sense, Nomadland is an authentic, culturally american movie, opposed to the unauthentic, modern-day chaos that is often perceived in the word as representative of what is "american".

In Between Dying starts with a premise that could be that of a gangster film, but soon becomes something entirely different.

The best comparisons could be drawn with Tarkovsky, Kiarostami and Angelopoulos. The misty visuals frame the increasingly metaphorical journey, in a one day long trip during which he learns about death and love through the tragic encounters with several women, but in a way, with the same woman. The episodic and slightly repetitive nature of the film is the only major issue I found. At the screening in Venice I attended, the audience kept leaving the hall, and eventually only a dozen of us where left (mostly because it was a double-screening with Nomadland, and I suppose most of the audience was not ready for such a film). I am afraid the film's notoriety will have the same destiny, sadly, despite it being a stunning work of art.

The photography in "Dear Comrades" reminds very closely Konchalovsky's 2016 film, Ray (Paradise): 4:3 aspect ratio, black and white, digital camera usage. Yet, the two films are strongly different, although they somehow feel intrinsically connected.

"Dear Comrades" describes a workers strike occured in 1962 in Novocherkassk that was controversially smothered in blood, as seen from the point of view of a local party member (Yuliya Vyotskaya, who also the leading role in "Paradise").

It was impossible for me not to compare this film with Eisenstein's 1925 masterpiece "The Strike", which also features a revolution of the workers but against a zarist government. It is interesting to see how the tables have turned, and that same soviet government that threw over the zarist government acts exactly the same way. The film had also a bit of an "Ida" vibe, again minus the spiritual elements, and the ending sequence felt much like a classic hollywood drama's finale, intentionally so, which I found somewhat fitting to the slightly satyrical nature of the title.

Let me be clear: this film is far from a satyre, it depicts with an almost Bressonian simplicity the dynamics of power and secrecy that were central to the functioning of the Soviet Union.

Unlike the 2016 film, Dear Comrades has no spiritual dimension, it is strongly linked to the presentation of facts, as it should be, given the strong materialist/soviet tone of its story. Similarly to Paradise, though, it shows the brainwashing effects of the Stalinist era: the lead character has, until the end, a nostalgic attitude towards Stalin, whom she defends even when confronted with the gruesome crimes committed in his name.

I hope that Dear Comrades gets distributed widely. Konchalovsky has been directing very outstanding films the whole decade, and this is yet another one of them.

I've seen several comparisons of Mundruczó's style to that of Cassavettes, but when the credits arrived, Bergman came to my mind: largely discoursive, disfunctional family relationships, and naturalistic dialogue despite the presence of a structured screenplay.

The english language debut of the hungarian director is built around eight different days, each distant about a month from the other, as it depicts the way the life of the titular woman changes after a tragic miscarriage. Most of the scenes use very well made one-shot sequences (particularly successful is one that happens very early in the movie, perhaps one of the best single takes I've seen in years, but it dangerously overshadowed the rest of the film

As I see it, a film is well writtwn when all its structural elements check out, and this is the case here: every piece of dialogue is deeply connected to the main story yet the overall effect of naturalism is unaffected.

Pieces of a Woman is a character-driven story, and thus the performances of the titular actors much be noted: not only the subtly emotional Vanessa Kirby but Ellen Burstyn's role as the protagonist'a mother, as well as Shia Labeouf's painful take on the partner's role.

Scorsese was totally right: this movie is surprising, yet in an unexpected, subtle way. Lookong forward for more Mundruczó.

This film was much needed on the quarter-century anniversary of the massacre of Srebrenica, one of the most bloody pages of the most recent european wars, the Jugloslavian conflicts, that happened so recently yet are unspoken of.

Zbanic's film is better described as a family drama that happens to be set during Srebrenica than a film about Srebrenica alone. Or better, it is a film that is able to portray the events of Srebrenica yet focus on the personal story of a handful of characters.

The main character, Aida, is an interpreter for the UN military unit that was sent to Srebrenica in 1995, and is determined to save his all-male family from the butchery of their invaders. Her character is the center of virtually everything that is depicted, and allows to give a wide glimpse at the most recent genocide occured on european soil. While several of the main characters are invented, they interact at various points with really existing people: Mladic, the "butcher of Bosnia", colonel Karremans of the UN military division, among others.

One element which I found relevant was how the film underlined the fact that the post-jugoslavian conflicts were a conflict between neighbours, between people who belonged to the same communities, and the epilogue depicts this in a most shocking way.

By his own admission, director Ahmar Bahrani stated that he considers Abbas Kiarostami, whom he studied with, and Béla Tarr as his main models.

The Wasteland perfectly exemplifies these inspirations: the structure of the film strongly reminds of Sátántangó, as partially does the setting, inspired bu the director's childhood memories: a brick factory, symbol of a millenary tradition that is slowly fading away, strongly reminiscent of the collective featured in Sátántangó. The sense of an impending doom is equally as palpable, as tensions arise due to ethnic differences, power struggles and romantic relationships.

It is a quite unusual commistion of an iranian setting and a style that is so different from iranian cinema, yet the two work perfectly. I hope to see more of this.

Christos Nikou's debut film is a fitting entry to the Greek Weird Wave, following its canons yet curiously introspective in a genuine way. The city is under attack by a curious pandemic of amnesia: tens of thousands suddenly forget everything about their past life. So seems to happen to the main character, found on a bus without documents and hence unidentifiable. Since nobody comes to look for him and identify him, he is enrolled in a program that aims at giving new identities to unidentified people. The film is obviously about how memories shape an identity, but this is tackled in a most unexpected way even knowing the premise of the film. It is suggested that the main character seems to remember things from his old life, but it may be because of the titular apples he keeps eating contonuously, which are told to have the power to bring back memories. In the tradition estabilished by Lanthymos (whom Nikou assisted in Dogtooth), the scenes are austere and dry, yet there is room for the interior journey of the main character, around which the film is constructed, allowing not so much an introspective look, but rather a very close view (additionally, the narrowness of the narrative is paralleled by the 4:3 aspect ratio). It's a debut film, and it is not flawless, one can argue that the analysis on the effects of memory loss and identity loss are not deep enough, but Nikou has been able to convey a double-effect of apparent introspectiveness, yet distanced look, which I found interesting enough to be interested in future projects by him.

Taking a look around on imdb I've seen several very misleading reviews about this film that claim that it overuses exposition, that it has too loud audio, that the action scenes weren't good enough etc. so I just had to give my thoughts on this film.

Let's start with the claims that there's too much exposition. Compared to other Nolan films like Inception or Interstellar there is much less: in those films usually a character explains step by step what is going on, in Tenet there is no such character and there are only tidbits of information given by some lines of dialogue. It is true that the first 40 mins are sort of "worldbuilding" scenes, but that's again something that Nolan had already done in the past: Inception spends nearly an hour to explain the dreams concept, Interstellar takes 40 mins before going to space etc.

About the sound mixing: the audio is similar to Tenet, super loud, but when it overlaps on dialogue pieces it's always pieces of dialogue that are unnecessary: a man doing a tour of a facility and telling stuff that is irrelevant to the plot, while the character observes details of the alarm system, for example.

A story is defined as well written when it uses all the elements it presents: believe it or not, upon a second rewatch I realised how deeply this thing goes into Tenet, everone and everything is related to the main topic and the plot. You have to be extra careful to look for the connections but they are there (even if just glimpses - it's a Nolan film, a puzzle to recompose). Once you're able to reconstruct the whole thing, well, you'll realise that Tenet is much more complex than how you deemed it, and so are the action sequences. I'd like to repeat it: if something doesn't check out, you missed something, at the second view you'll understand it better. If being confused by a film means to you that the film itself is not good, well, remember the ending of 2001: A Space Odyssey, that one was super confusing and I certainly didn't understand it the first time I've seen it, yet 2001 is considered a masterpiece. Tenet may be the most complicated Nolan film: much is implied, much is hard to understand, little is explained clearly, yet details, short glimpses and elements suggest everything. Upon a first view, I wasn't sure if I understood the plot. Upon second view, I think I've understood it all. So yes, go watch it a second time before judging.

As of when I write this review, the film has a 5.8 rating, totally unrealistic and unfairly low (I suppose it was mostly downvoted by people too used to commercial comedies or action films). A very unconventional biopic, it reminds me partly of At Ethernity's Gate, although it manages to be a thing of its own. Rather than presenting Antonio Ligabue's life (which actually it does in its completeness), it constructs the story around the character. The non-linearity thus is unconventional and very appealing. I already knew about Elio Germano's undisputed talent so his performance was expectedly outstanding, and I hope it will be further recognised outside the Berlin Film Festival. So far, this movie definitely deserves to be among the best of the year, and is proof that there's still fresh sap in international and italian cinema, despite the poor marketing that undermines such efforts (this film is almost virtually unknown. I had to travel 40 mins because my three local cinemas wouldn't screen it).

Rather than a biopic, Tarkovsky's son compiles a documentary that draws from his father's statements to narrate his artistic life. Little is shown about his private life (except his formative years), and the focus is on him as an auteur/director. Unlike most documentaries, there are no interviews or voice-over narrations. The only voice we hear (together with Arseniy Tarkovsky's poetries read by him) is Tarkovsky, as he explains his experience and his artistic concepts and his cinematographic evolution. I would say that the main focus of the documentary is Tarkovsky's spiritualism, his concept of how poetry requires spirituality, and art is a form of prayer. While most of the material is drawn from pre-existing media, I still found a few very interesting elements: I didn't know that Tarkovsky directed Hamlet on stage with Anatoliy Solonitsin, and found it very delighting to see colour backstage recordings of the making of Andrei Rublev. The other element that Andrei A. Added, is the new recordings of some of the places where Tarkovsky lived: his Russian house, the house in Florence, etc., paired with recordings of the locations of Tarkovsky's films (the city used in Andrej Rublev, the unfinished church from Nostalghia), as well as additional frames of natural scapes shot in tarkovskian taste, such as the opening shot, used for the poster. If you like Tarkovsky, make sure you see this!

What makes I WeirDO a very good film is not the fact that it was shot on iPhones but virtually everything else about the film. It's not the usual social critique/tragedy about people with disorders, but a very balanced film between light tone and fun, and gravitas. It could sound typical to say, but this film actually makes you laugh, cry and think. Yes, it is not a super deep insight film, but it is indeed fresh, and that is not because of the tech it used, but because of its storytelling tecniques and wholesome portaits. I sure hope this film gets a wider release soon.