Tag Archives: Arthouse

CAPSULE: EARWIG (2021)

DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Paul Hilton, Romane Hemelaers, Romola Garai

PLOT: A servant looks after a girl without teeth, who wears dentures made of ice.

Still from Earwig (2021)

COMMENTS: The fanciful dental system utilized by young Mia is elaborately efficient. She wears a headpiece with a metal brace affixed with two glass reservoirs. As the ice teeth melt, the reservoirs collect the moisture. This liquid is then poured into molds to create a new set of teeth, which replace the set awaiting her in the freezer in a regular cycle. Why ice should be a suitable material with which to make prosthetic teeth is a question worth asking of Earwig. Both ice and glass are solidified liquids that can be molded into strong, hard surfaces which retain an aspect of delicacy and fragility. And glass, when broken, to paraphrase Jean Ray is like the best of stories—it can cut you like a knife.

Middle-aged Albert assiduously attends to the girl’s dentures as Mia’s lone butler/servant/caretaker. The two reside in dusty, sparsely furnished rooms in a massive old apartment building where the routine of replacing the dentures shapes their days. When not patiently sitting through her dental procedures, Mia amuses herself by making her own toys out of scraps of newspaper, watching a painting of a grand chateau for curious changes in the composition, and observing the flow of sunlight through ruby-red cocktail glasses.

Mia seems like an easy charge, despite the dental care, but Albert always wears a strained expression, as though suffering a perpetual headache. But though one might guess he’s eagerly awaiting the day when his duties will come to an end, he appears genuinely disturbed when his “master” phones to tell him it’s time to prepare the girl for the outside world.

Earwig crafts a story of enigmatic destinies in an unspecified post-war time period, in an unidentified European city. The actors speak English, although there’s hardly any dialogue; the first twenty-four minutes of the film occur in silence. Characters drift through their memories, dreams and nightmares in barely populated fog-choked landscapes. The interiors appear encased in amber, glowing dimly with yellowish lights. Where most directors would punctuate the slow passage of time with monotonous clock-ticking, Earwig features a score of resonances, like the fulsome tones from a glass harmonica. The entire world seems brittle to the point of breaking, and all it takes is the appearance of vaguely sinister strangers with undefined ulterior motives to upset the balance.

Mia’s dentures suggest an apt metaphor for the film itself, which parcels out its secrets to the gradual rhythm of melting ice, without ever explaining anything. Images of the old chateau and shafts of light shining through glassware illuminate forgotten memories which may also be figments of the imagination. Just how the film’s lost souls, (possibly) deceased spouses, and (maybe) missing children are connected remains hazy and shrouded in mystery.

With its glacial pacing, obscure symbolism, and sudden bursts of irrational violence, Earwig may appeal to fans of , or ‘s Heart of Glass. Adapted from the book by Brian Catling, author of The Vorrh trilogy, and that may be all you need to know.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

” .. like the young girls in Hadzihalilovic’s Innocence (2004) and the young boys in her Évolution (2015), Mia is being prepared for a rite of passage which is presented in the irrational idioms of surrealism…. Earwig keeps its secrets which is precisely what will ensure that its enigmatic, oneiric visions burrow their way into the darker crevices of the viewer’s consciousness. “– Anton Bitel, Sight and Sound (contemproaneous)

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The Worlds Of Lucile Hadžihalilović

  • INNOCENCE, EVOLUTION, EARWIG, THE ICE TOWER & shorts. A 4-disc journey through one of France’s most singular contemporary filmmakers.

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CAPSULE: BOUCHRA (2024)

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Bouchra is available for purchase or rental on-demand.

Recommended

DIRECTED BY: Orian Yani Barki, Merriem Benani

FEATURING: Voices of Yto Barrada, Marriam Benani, Dounia Berrada

PLOT: A New York-based Moroccan coyote film director develops an autobiographical movie exploring her relationship with her mother.

Still from Bouchra (2024)

COMMENTS: Directors Barki and Benami built a reputation for cinematic weirdness with their previous collaboration, the 2020 short-film series “2 Lizards,” which was featured on ‘s surreal mixtape program “Off the Air.” Bouchra, the team’s animated feature film debut, centers on the titular heroine, a young Moroccan woman living and working as a film director in New York City. The narrative alternates between her present life and her past in Casablanca, blurring reality with reconstruction as Bouchra attempts, through her work, to process her relationship with her semi-estranged Moroccan mother. The tensions between them stem from taboos surrounding Bouchra’s sexual identity that went unaddressed and ignored for years. Through calls with her mother in the present day, and reconstructions/reminisces of a short lesbian affair in Casablanca, these issues gradually come to light. Plus, the characters are all anthropomorphic animals of various species.

Like Endless Cookie (2025), Bouchra stands out due to the dissonance between its stylized animation and its grounded themes. The aesthetic—furry-inspired anthropomorphic animals in a neon-soaked, almost cyberpunk-like urban environment—can be off-putting at first. But this isn’t sci-fi or high fantasy. Naturalistic dialogue, overlapping and full of awkward stuttering, hints at something closer to reality. This is, essentially, a tale of familial ties, sexual orientation, and the way traditional societies consciously exile whatever disrupts the status quo. It is an empathetic tale, eager to show compassion and understand easily-disturbed norms. The furry aesthetic reveals the queerness of the bodies, their hairy, androgynous nature. This is especially apparent in two short, tasteful yet erotically-charged intimate segments. The dark color palette of New York contrasts with the warmer tones of Casablanca. Often, the uncanny, detailed digital character animations are juxtaposed against real background photographs of Morocco, for a documentary-like feel.

In the end, this movie can be viewed not only as American independent cinema, but also as Moroccan Diasporic Cinema. And since Moroccan cinema isn’t that common, this work can be recommended to fans of world cinema adventures.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Bouchra is filled with… small incidental details that dominate one’s attention, puncturing the otherwise fairly banal sheen of the piece as a whole and revealing a distinctive, weirdly effective work struggling valiantly against its miniscule [sic] budget.”–Grant Watson, Fiction Machine (festival screening)

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CAPSULE: NADJA (1994)

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: , , , , Jared Harris

PLOT: Dracula’s estranged son and daughter reunite after his final death.

 

COMMENTS: A remix of Bram Stoker’s original text haunted by the influences of prior adaptations, Nadja is an atmospheric homage to the Universal monster flicks of the 1930s filtered through the East Village art scene with deadpan Brechtian cool. Bela Lugosi portrays Dracula through clips of old footage. For half the film, the image appears distorted by an aura of supernaturalism, thanks to a pixelating camera. The rest of the cinematography is crisp black and white, interiors cloaked in Expressionist shadows, exteriors swathed in shrouds of fog.

When André Breton met the woman who called herself “Nadja,” she had left behind one life and arrived in Paris seeking another. We meet Almereyda’s Nadja in a similar scene, on a date with a random guy who asks her the usual questions. “Do you work?” “No.” Her father provides for her. What does he do? He has money, family money – old money that goes back all the way to Romania. But she left Europe because it’s like a small village, whereas New York City is the world. She talks of how she wants to change her life. She can sense the potential for change but, as Renfield will remind her, changing your life is easier said than done, even when you’re undead.

The guy asks if she wants another drink. A dangerous question to ask a vampire but apparently the old Romanian money didn’t tip him off. He takes Nadja back to his place and she has that second drink, disappearing before he even knows what happened.

But then she feels it: her father is dead. Van Helsing has staked him, and Nadja knows immediately that Dracula is gone for good. She experiences a sense of relief, the impetus for change she’s been looking for. But first, she has to risk a reconciliation with her estranged brother, Edgar, who for unknown reasons, wants to kill her.

Nadja was one of a slew of existential vampire films released in the early to mid-1990s. It makes a perfect double feature with ‘s The Addiction (1995), which features a similarly impressive cast, set in New York City just before it drowned beneath a tide of Starbucks lattes. But while Ferrara focuses on gritty street reality, Almereyda’s style is more Pictorialist, providing impressions of a city that never seems quite real. It’s all about the atmosphere, the vampire as symbol, as philosopher, though these musings are delivered with tongue-in-cheek humor, preventing the tone from ever becoming too ponderous or heavy. The story follows the basic outline of Stoker’s plot, but Almereyda introduces additional entanglements and family secrets to a pared down cast of characters. Peter Fonda’s Van Helsing is the embarrassing drunk uncle of Jim (Donovan), a Harker-esque character whose marriage to Lucy is on the rocks. When Lucy catches Nadja’s eye in a bar, she unwittingly sets Van Helsing on the trail of Dracula’s children.

The ending sees the characters, somewhat improbably, whisked away to Transylvania, after some of them inexplicably survive an explosion, but don’t expect an action-packed, blood-soaked finale. The always lovely Suzy Amis delivers a moving monologue on humanity’s bereftness in the modern world, and Nadja finds the change she was looking for.

Nadja largely succeeds as arthouse horror through its unusual visual style and subtle surrealism, enhanced by the strengths of its cast. Löwensohn captivates as Nadja, and plentiful shots focus on her unique face framed by the dark folds of a hooded cloak. She and Martin Donovan were regulars in Hal Hartley’s early ’90s films, where both perfected the technique of delivering emotionally resonant lines with minimal modulation of voice and facial expression. Fonda provides much needed energy as a zany and eccentric Van Helsing. For fans of , his brief cameo as a morgue security guard is a nice little bonus.

Arbelos Films recently completed a 4K restoration of a director’s cut approved by Michael Almereyda, which has just finished its run in select theaters and will see by a physical media release in mid-October.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Stylish, eccentric and occasionally deliciously weird, it is a film for audiences who like their horror served with humour and their vampires with personality. With a runtime of under 90 minutes, for those willing to embrace its peculiar rhythms, Nadja reveals that even creatures of the night can have a sense of humour.”–Romney Norton, Dirty Movies (re-release)

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Nadja

  • Director Michael Almereyda and Executive Producer David Lynch conjure a rare vampire film.

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CAPSULE: CELESTIAL WIVES OF THE MEADOW MARI (2012)

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.)

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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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