Made
soon after Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia, Bird, Orphans and Fools, like so many fascinating films made during
and post Prague Spring, was banned upon its release and saw the light of day
only after the collapse of Soveit regime. This lesser-known Czech New Wave film
provided a fascinating look at socio-political alienation through its bleak
portrayal of a dystopian world laced with absurdism, ironies, black humour, anarchic
spirit and sharp underlying commentary on the then political climate – no
wonder it earned the wrath of the draconian ruling force. The 3 protagonists of
the allegorical tale – the aggressive and volatile Yorick (Jiri Sykora), his
introverted buddy Ondrej (Philippe Avron) who’s never had a relationship with a
female, and the beautiful Martha (Magda Vášáryová) whose entrance adds
simmering undercurrents – are orphans living in a dilapidated church in a
fool’s world. Their idea of freedom is discarding the kind of rational behavior
expected of adults, and their need for escaping the dreary, crumbling environ
they’re living in is to reject the various tragedies surrounding them through
childlike philosophy of unbridled fun and nonsensical attitudes. Closing one’s
mind to the world one is living in, however, is hardly a sensible way to exist,
and reality, as can be anticipated, catches up with them leading the film to a
chilling climax with shuddering violence, in the form of Yorick’s meltdown following
a sudden arrest, putting an end to their carefree lives. A gaggling old man,
also living in that church, added comic interludes to this otherwise
relentlessly dark film; the absurdist elements and exuberance for most parts
was followed by a somber tone in the end, thus making the representations all
the more powerful.
Director: Juraj Jakubisko
Genre: Black Comedy/Social Satire/Avant-Garde/Experimental Film
Language: Slovak
Country: Czechoslovakia
Though
the bustling capital of Taiwan has been a key personality in Tsai’s filmography,
his 1st 3 films, viz. Rebels of the Neon God, Vive L’Amour and
The River, specifically earned the
nomenclature of ‘Taipei Trilogy’. Despite
the mushy-sounding title, this was a rather anti-romantic film courtesy it’s
stark tone, stylistic choice that was minimalist to the point of being nearly
skeletal in terms of emotional or aesthetic ornamentations, and long takes
which are bound to make the characters’ loneliness, intense urban alienation, disillusionment,
extreme ennui and lack of any direction utterly palpable. The curious slice of
life tale comprised of 3 human characters – Hsiao-kang (Lee Kang-sheng), a
young and suicidal gay salesman, May Lin (Yang Kuei-Mei), a beautiful
real-estate agent, and Ah-jung (Chen Chao-jung), a dandy street hawker; and an
inanimate one in the form of a lavish duplex apartment. When Ah-jung starts
following May, she, on an impulse, takes him along to the empty flat she has
the keys to, and the two engage in casual sex. In parallel, Hsiao, who’d got
hold of a key to the place, plans to indulge himself in the luxurious flat
before slashing his wrist in a failed attempt to kill himself. Over the
remainder of the film, the three characters keep frequenting the empty
apartment which becomes a symbol of their emptiness and a place to escape their
mundane lives. In one bravura moment near the end, a bizarre
and idiosyncratic, but quietly poignant ménage à trois gets staged. The
final scene, where May’s deep-set despair finally breaks through her façade,
was striking for its stripped-down display of emotion.
Director: Tsai Ming-Liang
Genre: Drama/Urban Drama/Psychological Drama
Language: Mandarin
Country: Taiwan
Post Mortem formed the middle chapter of ‘No Redemption Trilogy’, Pablo Larrain’s
bravura, intensely bleak and disturbing examination of Chilean dictator Augusto
Pinochet’s regime. While Tony Manero
focused on the disconcerting directions life took under Pinochet through
sociopathic extremes of an obsessed dancer, and No chronicled the unprecedented referendum that led to Pinochet’s
ouster, this film took one back to his overthrow of Salvador Allende’s
democratically elected government through a bloody military coup. The
protagonist, Mario (a memorably deadpan Alfredo Castro), is a lonely, introverted, apolitical middle-aged
civil servant who works as an assistant to the head pathologist in a Santiago
mortuary. The only spark in his otherwise dull, drab and uneventful life is his
neighbor Nancy (Antonia Zegers), an attractive but anorexic cabaret dancer, out
of favour with her boss for not being voluptuous, he’s completely besotted
with. When he finally garners the courage to approach the lady and possibly
develop a relationship with her, they get embroiled in the brutal and momentous
1973 crackdown that leaves the city in utter disarray and chaos – her home is
ransacked and her family disappears for being vocal supporters of the Socialist
government, whereas he gets sucked into a morbid vortex on account of the
piling corpses and, in a grim rejoinder, to transcribe the cooked up post-mortem
of Allende whose murder Pinochet’s henchmen want to paint as suicide. The stark
and dreary tone, lack of background score, grainy visuals, and deliberate
pacing, did a terrific job at highlighting the tragic and macabre storyline –
uneasy attempts at a much delayed romantic life against the horrific political
backdrop, leading to an ugly but logical end to the personal tale.
Director: Pablo Larrain
Genre: Drama/Psychological Drama/Political Drama
Language: Spanish
Country: Chile
It’s
no wonder that two mesmerizing spy films that readily come to mind were both
based during the Cold War era and were adaptations of John Le Carre’s books,
viz. Martin Ritt’s bleak, fatalist and deeply existentialist The Spy Who Came in from the Cold and
John Irvin’s 7-part mini-series made for BBC Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Dreary, slow-burning, character-driven,
decidedly droll with subtle doses of dark humour, wry cynicism and irony strewn
throughout, un-glamorized yet convoluted, and filled with existentialist
touches, it made for a fabulous chamber drama on the cold machinations of dapper-suited,
middle-aged gentlemen in claustrophobic rooms concealed from the people at
large. When veteran spy Jim Prideaux (Ian Bannen), upon being sent behind the
Iron Curtain by Control (Alexander Knox), the ageing head of British
Intelligence, in order to find out the identity of an alleged Moscow mole
planted at the very top of Circus, gets caught on enemy territory, the ensuing
scandal leads to Control’s ouster and replacement with the unctuous Percy
Alleline (Michael Aldridge). The sudden appearance of discredited spy Ricki
Tarr (Hywel Bennett), however, rejuvenates suspicions of a double agent, and
leads to return from retirement of Control’s former deputy George Smiley (Alex
Guinness) in order to flush the person out. The leisurely pace, wintry
atmosphere, gradual development of suspense, a sharply written script that seamlessly
traversed between the political and the personal in the form of Smiley’s barely
concealed marital life, and desolate portrayal of the cold lies, betrayals and
paranoia that the era as well as cloak and dagger business remind one of. Fine
performances abound, but Guinness’ measured yet magnetic turn as the weary,
cynical and brilliant protagonist remains a cornerstone in TV history.
Director: John Irvin
Genre: Drama/Spy Thriller/TV Mini-Series
Language: English
Country: UK
Rarely
has a film captured loneliness, urban alienation, ennui and quiet nostalgia
with such melancholia and wry humour, and with so few movements or words, as
did Tsai’s gorgeous and minimalist masterwork Goodbye, Dragon Inn. It was also a rapturous evocation of the joy
of watching cinema, and a poignant commentary on the death of mammoth movie places
and certain genres on account of them being rendered economically unviable and
out-of-favour due to modernization and changing tastes. It focused on the last
movie screening, that of King Hu’s cult classic Dragon Inn, in an old-fashioned theatre in Taipei before it closes
down forever. The narrative was timed at approximately the same length as the Hu
film, and dealt on the few oddball people populating the theatre, the decrepit
condition of the place whose days of grandeur are long past, and the
movie-within-movie that formed a study in contrast to the Tsai film. A gay guy
trying in futility to strike companionship, bored fellows incessantly smoking
in the dingy corridors, people trying to escape their mundane lives, a crippled
lady who, having sold the last few tickets, is hobbling along the byzantine corridors
looking for the projectionist, and two aged men, who were part of the Hu film,
watching it in silent rapture, and upon becoming aware of each other being
taken down the memory lanes – these were some of the idiosyncratically etched characters
the last show is catering to. The seedy interiors were brilliantly captured by
the dazzling color photography, while the sparse style, with long takes, whimsical
interludes, and hardly any spoken words except those emanating from the film
being screened, hypnotically portrayed irony, dark humour and a
somber sense of loss.
Director: Tsai Ming-Liang
Genre: Drama/Black Comedy
Language: Taiwanese/Mandarin
Country: Taiwan
