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It Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue

CAPSULE: CELESTIAL WIVES OF THE MEADOW MARI (2012)

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Небесные жены луговых мари

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DIRECTED BY: Aleksey Fedorchenko

FEATURING: Nadezhda Smirnova, Yana Esipovich, Roman Mishin

PLOT: A series of vignettes depicting aspects of Mari culture,  each revolving around a different female figure whose name starts with “O.”

Still from Celestial Wives of the Meadow Mari (2012)

COMMENTS:  Aleksey Fedorchenko is perhaps one of the most creative and widely known auteurs in contemporary Russian arthouse cinema. His works Silent Souls (2010), Celestial Wives (2012), and Angels of Revolution (2014) form an atypical trilogy about Russian ethnic minorities, focusing on the Merja, the Mari, and the Khanty, respectively. The ethnographic and folkloristic approach is apparent even from the title.

Celestial Wives is a collection of short tales and micro-fiction written by Russian writer Denis Osokin, a close collaborator of Fedorchenko’s. A short prologue welcomes us to a pagan society where magical thinking governs people’s lives. The following series of vignettes deal with sexuality, our relationship to our bodies, and rituals. Fedorchenko puts women at the forefront, hinting at a matriarchal society; each tale focuses on a different female, her name always starting with “O”—a playful twist on the literary and musical form of the theme and variations. Each chapter takes its title from its homonymous heroine.

“Odocha” and “Onalcha” explore ideas of the sacred and acts of blasphemy. Through ritualistic acts, “Osylay” and “Ormarche” offer glimpses into Mari society’s relationship with Thanatos and Eros.  Other segments focus on a destigmatized view of sexuality and the human—especially female—body. And then there are a few chapters that turn away from the purely anthropological, towards magical realist territory.

Here things become somewhat bizarre. Magical realism, often thought of as the mildest form of surrealism, is the most expressive way to translate an animistic worldview into visual language. “Oropti” and “Oshalyak” are the most notable examples of this stylistic shift. Demonic entities and evil curses appear on screen, not only as part of people’s beliefs, but as real phenomena.

All in all, this is ethnographic cinema with elements of magical realism. The short form episodes add an anecdotal style reminiscent of oral narrative traditions, while carefully composed shots enhance the pervasive lyricism. If you love poetic international cinema as a window on different cultures, you will enjoy this experience. But it won’t satiate the hunger for strangeness that hardcore fans of the weird seek.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Bizarre doesn’t begin to cover Celestial Wives of the Meadow Mari’s collection of wild and weird vignettes.”–Chris Buckle, The Skinny (Edinburgh) (festival screening)

[(This movie was nominated for review by “Tomasz”: “Celestial Wives Of Meadow Mari” (2012) is something !” Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

I think this movie is weirder than average
I think this movie is better than average

Capsules

AMANECE, QUE NO ES POCO [DAWN BREAKS, WHICH IS NO SMALL THING] (1989)

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DIRECTED BY: José Luis Cuerda

FEATURING: Antonio Resines, José Sazatornil, Cassen, Luis Ciges

PLOT: An engineering professor returns to Spain to visit his father;  they take a trip to a remote village crowded with eccentric inhabitants where incongruous situations are the norm.

Still from AMANECE, QUE NO ES POCO (1989)

 

COMMENTS: José Luis Cuerda’s Amanece, Que No Es Poco (translated as Dawn Breaks, Which Is No Small Thing) is part of a group of Spanish films that professor and scriptwriter Jaime Bauzá identifies as “surruralismo,” a blending of surrealism and ruralism. In essence, all of these movies are absurdist comedies, which isn’t surprising considering small rural communities are often associated with traditional mindsets and tight-knit circles, and are thought to harbor suspicion of outsiders. Conversely, surrealism involves an intrusion of the weird into the ordinary, creating images that have no direct counterpart in reality. The surreal seeping into the rural therefore produces a unique dissonance.

Amanece, Que No Es Poco thrives on such incongruity. The film rejects traditional storytelling and linear narrative in favor of a sequence of vignettes featuring the inhabitants of a small village in Albacete, a Castilian province in central Spain. While there is a significant lack of plot, the motley crew of villagers and the bizarre situations they find themselves in make up for it. As Bauzá points out, there is no real protagonist in surruralismo; instead, viewers are presented with a parade of primary characters sharing a similar amount of screen time, each with their own funny circumstances. In Amanece, Que No Es Poco, some of these include men growing out of soil like plants, the village drunkard literally splitting into two personas, and a village school teacher singing and performing a lesson on different types of groins and their significance.

Such incongruous situations are not the only humorous element in the movie, but they reinforce the discordant dialogues between the colorful characters. The randomness of the lines in several scenes are laugh-out-loud funny, with changes in tone coming out of nowhere in a great display of absurdity. Cuerda makes fun of stereotypes about small towns and thwarts viewers’ expectations every few minutes. For instance, the film challenges the common perception of villagers as yokels by having them reference world literature—Faulkner, Dostoevsky, Nabokov, or Góngora are mentioned, among others—and philosophy—allusions to Stoicism and dialectical materialism appear out of the blue. It’s unlikely that these references add any intellectual depth to the story itself, but their mention amidst the coarser language found throughout the movie is hilarious.

Such intellectual references give the movie a universal feel that causes yet another dissonance with its very specific rural Spanish setting. As a result, the humor of Amanece, Que No Es Poco may fall flat, especially for viewers who are not familiar with Spanish village culture. There is a sociological idea of “deep Spain” (“España profunda”) referring to areas of the country that are profoundly conservative and staunchly uphold tradition. Cuerda mocks such narrow-minded attitude and introduces signs of progress within the structures of the village, such as the acceptance of foreigners rather than the embrace of isolationism. The importance of these signs risks becoming downplayed by the overall absurdity, however.

The cast does a great job portraying the quirky villagers, and one is always agog at the next bizarre scene. Sometimes characters reappear, but then new ones are introduced, and their storylines not necessarily concluded. Special effects are also notable for the time, and earned the film two nominations for the Goya Awards (the Spanish equivalent to the Oscars), alongside a nomination for the zanily original script.

Amanece, Que No Es Poco is a paradigmatic example of surruralismo and a by-the-book absurdist comedy. Looking for logic or deep meanings in such a movie may lead to frustration, so it’s preferable to go with the flow and be bombarded with the same nonsensical situations that the characters experience. As Wim Tigges put it in his doctoral dissertation, quoted by Neil Cornell in The Absurd in Literature (2006): “Nonsense is indeed one possible reflection of life in that it is at once both and neither meaningful and meaningless.” Nonsense in art is illogical on the surface, but at the same time follows its own logical system, requiring our innate knowledge of grammar, rhythm and tone for it to function, for us to try to recognize something hidden yet meaningful therein—otherwise, it would just be gibberish and noise, at best. In the paradoxical nature of nonsense we find an interpretation of human life in all its shades. Cuerda’s humorous and absurdist take not only reflects his thoughts on village culture, but also on the chaos of existence.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“One-of-a-kind Spanish surreal comedy that is so dense with gags, eccentricities, sketches, characters, fantastical absurdities and punchlines, that it is almost impossible to describe.”–Zev Toledano, The Worldwide Celluloid Massacre

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Amanece, que no es poco

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    It Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue

    IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THE WRETCHES ARE STILL SINGING (1979)

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    DIRECTED BY: Nikos Nikolaidis

    FEATURING: Alkis Panagiotidis, Konstantinos Tzoumas, Rita Bensousan

    PLOT: A group of washed-out wretches reunite.

    Still from "The Wretches Are Still Singing" (1979)

    COMMENTS: Nikos Nikolaidis is perhaps the Greek director most closely associated with the “Surrealist” label. His works often merge dreams with noir elements and social critique.  ” Singapore Sling” (1990) may be his most extreme movie, in terms of graphic scenes and fetish content, and is the most well-recognized internationally. However, in his own country he is most appreciated for his trilogy “The  Years of Cholera,” about people in the margins of society. Wretches, the trilogy’s first installment, has gained cult status, thanks to its witty dialogue and absurdism.

    The opening scene sets the tone accordingly, giving a sense of ultimate doom. The plot that follows, revolving around the reunion a band of people in their late 30s- early 40s, develops retrospectively.   Alkis, a faded musician, calls for this gathering. He spends his time in his mansion reminiscing about Vera, his so-called ex-wife, attempting unsuccessfully to find her again through a plethora of liaisons with other women. His method is the epitome of nihilism, though. Nightly, he kidnaps, rapes, and then murders women reminding him of Vera, burying them in his garden right after. But perhaps, as a phantom of one of his victims claims, “Vera never existed, it is just the name of an era lost forever.”

    As his friends gradually appear, we get to know their eccentric personalities. Kostas, with his cold demeanor, adds an element of deadpan humor to the table. Short, fat Christos is the “funny guy” of the group. And then there is Rita, the girl with the enigmatic past and a history of confinement in psychiatric hospitals.

    Alkis now has companions for his savageries. The group proceeds to indulge in a variety of anti-social behaviors, always culminating in sex and death. There is a melancholy on the air for friends lost along the way, and a feeling of having lost control over their own lives. As Christos states while proposing a toast, “They took me in the university without asking me, they took me in the army without asking me, and without understanding how, I found myself married.” Their degenerate acts seem like a desperate attempt to reassert control over their fates.

    Rita is the most marginalized character, not feeling at home even within the group. She feels used, in more ways than one; she stoically endures sexual assaults from her “friends” while asking desperately, in vain, for them to listen to her, even for a bit. She emerges as a complex, abused personality, full of contradictions.

    Acting is a big part of the appeal here. Each character recites their lines with a musicality. The rich accompanying soundtrack, full of old blues, jazz, and rock and roll, also enhances the sense of nostalgia and regret, while the many night shots and blurry visual effects give the film a noirish, almost dreamlike feel.

    The narrative is straightforward at times, yet has its surreal moments. A dead girl occasionally appears in the mansion, checking on the group and looking after Alkis. Everyone is apathetic, even after the most outrageous or bizarre occurrences.  Add a grim finale fully immersed in hopelessness, and you have an exquisite example of nihilistic cinema.

    WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

    No other English language reviews found for this film.

    (This movie was nominated for review by “Dimki.” Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

    List Candidates

    APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: THE GREEN ELEPHANT (1999)

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    Beware

    DIRECTED BY: Svetlana Baskova

    FEATURING: Sergey Pakhomov, Vladimir Epifantsev, Aleksandr Maslaev

    PLOT: Two ex-military officers are thrown into a prison cell.

    Still from The Green Elephant (1999)

    WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: Not only does it contain extreme grotesqueries, but it is in essence a comedy of the absurd, and a highly disturbing one.

    COMMENTS: Let’s start with a bit of context. A “parallel cinema” emerged In the late Soviet Union of the 80s 1. Within this cinematic landscape an even smaller underground movement was formed, known as necrorealism. With a name parodying the dominant social realism of its country, this alternative cinema showcased decomposition as a metaphor for social decay. Yevgeny Yufit is considered its main representative. Necrorealism’s aesthetic legacy continued into succeeding years through the works of two deeply subversive auteurs: Svetlana Bascova and Oleg Mavromatti2.This work is pivotal for a comprehensive understanding of their style, as Bascova and Mavromati’s  worldviews and creative talent merge: Svetlana directs and Oleg produces. Let’s examine the monster they have created.

    The plot revolves around two unnamed ex-military officers thrown into prison for indeterminate reasons. The first act observes them in their claustrophobic cell, as the more loquacious annoys the other with his constant blabber. The stories become increasingly disgusting, hinting at what it may come.

    Their prison reveals itself as a hellscape where bodily fluids, excrement, and secretions subvert our characters’ dignity until their total mental and physical annihilation. The deteriorating walls of their cell, the broken pipes, and a dirty toilet bowl mirror their decline. the depravities begin, as in a comedy of the absurd, without a clear reason. The first forty minutes aren’t disturbing in terms of graphic content (yet), but scenes of coprophilia and coprophagia will trigger more than a few gag reflexes.

    The second act leaves the dirty cell behind for a similarly dimly- lit room with a sewer-like open trapdoor in the middle. The supervisors bring in the trapdoor to humiliate the prisoners even further. But nobody is really in control here. The dynamic shifts unexpectedly, chaos ensues (violence, gore, rape, necrophilia) and everyone is exposed as equally doomed as this tragic fable comes to its conclusion. If the first half disgusts, the second half is dizzying. This is visceral cinema at its wildest.

    This movie doesn’t just attack our senses; it also to deconstructs ideals regarding the military complex and the people that service it. it becomes clear later on that we are in the Soviet Union of the 80s, a few years before its collapse. However, even if the sociopoitical background is specific, the commentary extends to a wider critique against militarism.

    From a technical standpoint, this work is amateurish, albeit expressive. The snuff film quality of the shots, along with realistic—for the most part—special effects are discomforting. The extensive use of enclosed spaces creates a certain theatricality.

    Of course, despite its political undertones, this movie is not for everyone. If you are a fan of extreme cinema, though, able to stomach ‘s cinema of sepsis, then perhaps it is for you. This bizarre movie has become a cult phenomenon in Russia, inspiring a talk of a sequel, a video game adaptation, and memes. Perhaps it speaks to the Russian psyche.

    1. You can learn more about parallel cinema and necrorealism through the informative essay by Eugene Vasiliev on this site. ↩︎
    2. Mavromatti directs weird movies till today by the way, having  released a hilarious series of vlog-spoofs (in Russian, of course) throughout the last decade. ↩︎
    Capsules

    CAPSULE: BIRD (2024)

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    DIRECTED BY:

    FEATURING: Nukiya Adams, Franz Rogowski,

    PLOT: Twelve-year-old Bailey comes of age among a family of social outcasts, feeling like an outsider until she finds hope in her acquaintance  with an enigmatic boy named Bird.

    Still from Bird (2024)

    COMMENTS:  British cinema has always had a fondness towards the marginalized. Since the late fifties and sixties, kitchen sink realism has put the working class on the foreground. Contemporary movies have portrayed social outcasts, too: in Marxist terms, the sub-proletarians (the poorest of the working class) and lumpenproletarians (a group without class consciousness—criminals, the chronically unemployed—a distinct class below the workers). Andrea Arnold’s most recent feature film tackles the subject of coming-of-age in such an environment while maintaining a lighthearted tone, in a similar vein to Charlotte Regan’s Scrapper (2023).  Both films combine the harshest aspects of reality with a healthy dose of fairy tale magical realism, a merging of styles that seems to be a tendency in contemporary British cinema.

    Bird‘s plot revolves around a twelve-year-old Bailey. It is clear from the beginning that she feels like an outsider even in her own family, who are already a band of misfits. Her father plans a wedding with his latest girlfriend, ignoring Bailey’s wants, and her brother is preoccupied with his criminal gang and refuses to include her because she is too young. Feeling lonely and angry with the world, Bailey finds comfort and inspiration in animals. That is, until she meets Bird, an enigmatic young man looking for his own parents.

    Bird is a mysterious person with an even more obscure past. He is an angelic figure, always willing to help. He is also a bird trapped in a human body. The way he finds comfort by standing still on top of buildings or walls is uncanny. Every now and then his expressions and movements imitate those of a bird, especially when, in a late choreography of desperation, he turns around like a fowl with broken wings. He is more than he seems, although his origin and true nature remain open to interpretation.

    Bird drives the plot, but Bailey is the main character. The camera follows her around in her wandering misadventures, while short flashbacks offer windows into her inner thoughts. Bird is essentially her coming-of-age tale, showcasing landmarks of her physical transformation into a woman—her first period—as well as her mental maturation. Birds and the eponymous boy will play a major role in the latter. Birds are not only symbols of freedom, but become agents of a change; the film has an animistic worldview.

    In the end, Bailey finds her place. A joyous conclusion  pays respects to family, however unconventional they seem at first glance. Bird stands out as a unique combination of social and magical realism, but it won’t appeal to hardcore fans of the weird and the bizarre. For those that love their social realism with a touch of poetry, though, it merits a recommendation.

    WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

    “The introduction of surrealism has the ironic effect of breaking the spell that has marked Arnold’s best films… A resolutely realistic filmmaker turning to magical realism has the uncomfortable effect of making the whole movie… feel inauthentic.”–Jake Coyle, AP (contemporaneous)

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    Bird [Blu-ray]

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