CAPSULE: THE PEASANTS (2023)

DIRECTED BY:  DK Welchman, Hugh Welchman

FEATURING: Kamila Urzędowska, Mirosław Baka, Sonia Mietielica, Robert Gulaczyk

PLOT:  The Peasants follows the Boryna family in 19th-century rural Poland, caught in a fierce land dispute tangled with love, betrayal, and tradition. Structured around the seasons, the story explores cycles of labor, desire, and fate, capturing a world where, despite every effort, nothing truly changes.

Still from The Peasants (2023)

COMMENTS: The Peasants blends not just painting and animation, but also live-action footage—and somehow, this mix hits the viewer like a ton of bricks. Dropped in 2023, this historical drama comes from the minds of DK Welchman and Hugh Welchman, the duo behind Loving Vincent. Just like that film, this one is brought to life with stunning hand-painted animation, giving every frame the feel of a moving canvas.

It is one of the most labor-intensive films ever made. First, it was shot digitally using high-flying drones. The aesthetic is exquisite, with visual nods to “Young Poland” painters like Józef Chełmoński, Ferdynand Ruszczyc, and Leon Wyczółkowski: think “Partridges in the Snow” and “Grain Harvesters.”

Then came the animation marathon: 100 artists from Poland, Serbia, Ukraine, and Lithuania, fueled by coffee and the spirit of Jean‑François Millet, hand-drew 56,000 frames over five years—hammering away every day and night, four hours per frame. It was like climbing Everest with paintbrushes instead of ice axes and easels instead of oxygen bottles.

Production paused twice—first for Covid, then for war. Female Ukrainian animators were relocated to Poland. The men stayed in Kyiv, drawing under Russian bombs and frequent blackouts—true martyrs of art. Later, another 78 digital artists added in-between frames. In total, about a million person-hours went into the film.

The story is adapted from Władysław Reymont’s The Peasants, winner of the 1924 Nobel Prize—a four-volume, 1,032-page agrarian epic that rivals Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha sagas. Set in Lipce, late 19th-century Russian Poland, it centers on a brutal battle over 6 acres of land—roughly half a football field.

Land matters here: in the late 1800s, Polish provinces of the Russian Empire were in a dire situation. Peasants owned just 9.2 acres on the average, the lowest share in the entire empire. Nobles still owned 86% of the land, leaving the peasants scraps. The movie covers everything a country melodrama needs: blood, love, rebellion, funerals, psychological trauma, and sour cabbage.

The film, like the book, is structured around four “seasons”—spring, summer, autumn, winter—but these aren’t just times of year. They’re four faces of the same unending loop in time.

At the heart of it is the glorious Boryna household and a tangled love polygon:

FANTASIA 2025: APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: I LIVE HERE NOW (2025)

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DIRECTED BY: Julie Pacino

FEATURING: Lucy Fry, , Sarah Rich, Matt Rife, Cara Seymour, Sheryl Lee

PLOT: Rose takes refuge in a remote hotel to record an audition video, medically abort her impossible fetus, and evade her boyfriend’s domineering mother.

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: I Live Here Now serves up medical trauma and blood-pink ambience with lashings of Lynch and hearty helpings of uneasy humor; this movie goes down strangely.

COMMENTS: Dear doctor, kindly do not advise Rose that she is “very lucky” for having conceived, particularly as you are unaware of her troubling medical history. Rose faces this logic-defying declaration with quiet grit, as she faces every development throughout I Live Here Now: a discourteous casting agent (“Can you lose three pounds by Monday?”), her enthusiastic but inconsiderate boyfriend (“Not now, my queen, I have a lot of lines to memorize!”), and that boyfriend’s domineering mother, who, upon hearing the news that her dear (dear) boy impregnated such a nobody, takes a zealous interest in Rose’s decisions. And of course, there are the unexpected trials—by fire—our heroine faces at The Crown Inn: the oddest place of lodging this side of Twin Peaks‘ mysterious lodge. (Don’t worry, though: there’s complementary strawberry cake for the guests each the morning.)

Rose spends the bulk of the film in the Inn, and director Susan Pacino takes us along for the ride. The drunken matriarch and owner will see us only after a cryptic home-movie wraps up. Young Sid, all done up in cheerleader bell-hop with golden-sparkle shoes, evinces an enthusiasm for the check-in bell that’s both endearing and highly peculiar. And after settling down in “The Lovin’ Oven” room (complete with baroque infant crib, amongst its ’70s-and-timeless furniture accessories), we meet the hotel’s only other apparent guest, Lillian. Although, she is not so much a guest as the evil sister of this family-run experience. Maybe. She’s cruel, certainly, as when she callously uses the protective glassine from Sid’s diary to roll joints. Dysfunction and ambiguity run as deep as the palette of pinks runs to reds and blood-browns, and as disorienting as the smoke that seeps in from the heat vents as the surrounding forest burns.

Sliding easily from dark nightmare-memory to comedy to menace to the surreal, I Live Here Now plays with Rose and with the audience. Cruelly so, at times, particularly through the domineering mother (performed by none other than Sheryl Lee). Sometimes, this movie plays like Beau Is Afraid from the point of view of a theoretical girlfriend. Thinking back on this film regularly over the past few days, I find that myself lost in the imagery and oddities, and the tragic innocence and evil of Sid and Lillian. They are doubtless a metaphor, but I could not guess as precisely what for. These are happily confused musings, though, as Rose’s personality, the hotel’s personality, and the film’s personality are a delight to explore. A dark delight, though—like the deep red of crimson strawberry cake.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…marks a striking and unexpected debut from director Julie Pacino (yes, that Pacino) and proves she’s not afraid to go deep, weird, and unsettlingly personal… a hauntingly beautiful debut that blends indie aesthetics with psychological horror and surrealist flair.”–Romney Norton, Film Focus Online (festival screening)

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THRILLER – A CRUEL PICTURE (1973)

AKA They Call Her One Eye; Hooker’s Revenge; The Swedish Vice-Girl

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DIRECTED BY: Bo Arne Vibenius (as Alex Fridolinski)

FEATURING: Christina Lindberg, Heinz Hopf, Solveig Andersson

PLOT: A young woman rendered mute as the result of a traumatic sexual assault as a child is kidnapped, forcibly addicted to heroin, and made into a prostitute; after further assaults and indignities, she sets about getting revenge.

COMMENTS: We’re 40 minutes in to Thriller – A Cruel Picture before we finally see our heroine claim some power of her own. Up to this point, it has been a deeply disturbing watch, a rendering of  an accumulated and escalating litany of abuses endured by Frigga (sometimes called Madeleine, and always played by Christina Lindberg with the coolest, most emotionally detached demeanor imaginable). We’ve seen Frigga violated as a child, and deprived of her voice as a result of the trauma. We’ve listened to busybody locals talking trash about her. We’ve watched her get kidnapped, beaten, injected with drugs, and chased through the countryside. We’ve seen a parade of monsters treat her as their mindless personal toys. We’ve learned of her parents’ suicides. And we’ve seen the blood-soaked remnants of the closest thing Frigga might have to a friend. It’s a bleak existence, but we take some comfort in knowing that she’s going to be dishing out some serious payback. It feels like classic exploitation territory, a trailblazer for later tales of rape and revenge like Last House on the Left and Ms. 45. So when she steps off the bus and reveals herself in a kicky little red dress with matching leather eyepatch, it’s the first moment that affords some level of hope. She looks ready to deal out some vengeance. Here we go.

But Thriller doesn’t really work that way. The story beats are there, but the rhythm is all off. In the hands of director and co-writer Vibenius (who previously worked as an AD for Ingmar Bergman), everything is very slow, very deliberate, very thorough. We’re trained to expect a certain cake-and-eat-it-too element to these movies; the female lead endures horrific abuse for our entertainment, but with the reassurance that she’ll turn the tables in a big way, providing a cathartic release and making us feel better about all that pain and misery. Thriller never lets go of that early discomfort. That moment with the red dress is actually the start of an act-long training sequence that will run for roughly 25 minutes. Yes, she learns karate and marksmanship, acquires guns and a car, picks up all the tools and she will need to take down those who have wronged her, but this is not a song-driven montage; we get it in toto. We see every moment of the karate lesson, with the instructor demonstrating falls and then Frigga repeating them. We see how she squirrels money away for her eventual escape, but we’re not spared any of the humiliation and degradation heaped upon her by her johns in order to get that precious cash. And when it comes time to saw off the end of a shotgun, we witness every single stroke of the hacksaw. There comes a point when it stops being a story, passes documentary, and becomes Continue reading IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THRILLER – A CRUEL PICTURE (1973)

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