Tag Archives: Surrealism

Capsules

CAPSULE: EARWIG (2021)

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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

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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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: THREE… EXTREMES (2004)

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    DIRECTED BY: ,,

    FEATURING: , , , Im Won-hee, Kyôko Hasegawa,

    PLOT: A woman resorts to extreme measures to regain her youth, an intruder torments a film director and his wife, a young girl is haunted by a traumatic past.

    Still from Three... Extremes (2004)

    COMMENTS:  Three… Extremes started as a franchise of pan-Asian horror anthologies with 2002’s Three. A collection of short films from Peter Ho-Sun Chan, Kim Jee-woon, and , Three offered a panorama of horror from China, South Korea and Thailand. It never reached the popularity of its sequel, however, remaining obscure while the second and final installment, widely known as Three… Extremes, attained a cult status, largely thanks to a selection of contributors that included a couple of major names in  contemporary  cinema.

    Hong Kong’s Fruit Chan offers the first dish, Dumplings. It is perhaps the most infamous of the trilogy, and Chan quickly adapted it into a feature film. The plot revolves around a rich middle-aged woman attempting to regain her youth ( and her husband’s love)  by eating special dumplings that promise to rejuvenate her skin, provided by an unconventional chef. Ethical issues come to the forefront as the stuffing’s origin is revealed. Our heroine’s disgust and second thoughts give easily their way to self-destructive obsession, however. “Dumplings” is a Faustian morality play about the price of narcissism. Like Elizabeth Báthory, the countess who bathed in the blood of virgin women to remain young, our protagonist engages in grotesque acts for selfish reasons. An industrial soundscape enhances the sense of something ominous and disturbing lurking in the background.

    After the appetizer, South Korean visionary Park-Chan Wook  presents “Cut.” His story focuses on a successful film director and his wife on the night that an intruder captures them and proceeds with a series of mental and physical tortures. There is no moral justification here; this is no Saw. Instead, the explanation given is brutally honest, making the events following even more shocking. This is a revenge tale, albeit one with elements of social commentary. If you love contemporary socially-conscious genre cinema from South Korea, like Bong Joon Ho‘s Oscar-nominated Parasite (2019), this will be right up your alley (as long as you have a strong stomach for gore). At the same time, the narrative plays masterfully with the nature of reality, blurring the lines between the authentic and the staged, culminating in a series of over-the-top twists and reveals.

    The third piece, by far the most haunting, comes from Japan. Takashi Miike’s “Box” is a surreal psychosexual narrative following a young woman ridden by guilt and repressed lust. It alternates between present and past; Miike depicts the former in a cold color palette expressing grief, while warmer tones in the present hint at catastrophic passions. The flashbacks have a carnivalesque aesthetic that, along with the taboo subject matter, recalls ‘s Strange Circus (2005). The hints of supernatural horror and the morbid symbolic imagery are guaranteed to make you shudder.

    More often than not, compilation films are uneven. That’s not the case here. A strong thematic link creates coherence, as each tale is a deeply meditative take on human envy. This is thoughtful horror with a psychological aspect, essential viewing for fans of the genre.

    WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

    “…Miike’s ‘Box’ is the best of the bunch – a disturbing, dreamlike tale of a woman novelist haunted by dreams of her twin sister who died long ago…  The film may well live up to its title: it is perhaps too extreme for some viewers, perhaps even in bad taste at times, but you have to give all the episodes credit for being bizarre and effective.”–Steve Biodrowski, Cinefantastique

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    Three / Three... Extremes [Limited Edition] [Blu-ray]

    Three / Three… Extremes [Limited Edition] [Blu-ray]

    • Two anthology films, six ghostly tales of terror, acclaimed directors from Hong Kong, Korea, Thailand and Japan. The ultimate omnibus of horror.

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