Claire’s Camera has Hong Sang-soo’s signature all over it; and yet,
it also was distinctively Rohmersque in its breezy, conversational and gently
affecting tone and style, set against a sunny European locale which added a
degree of levity to the complication and confusion of human emotions; and, not
to mention, the title reminds one of Claire’s Knee, even if the two aren’t related. That said, it was also decidedly
slight, and hence might not really rank among Hong’s more memorable ventures.
Set in Cannes of all places, it comprised of three suffering expat Koreans and
one quirky French woman – Jeon (Kim Min-hee) is a young, reflective lady into
film sales who’s recently got fired by her emotionally wrought boss Nam (Chang
Mi-hee) who, while doing so, cites the cryptic reason that the former is dishonest
even if she’s a good-natured person; as it gets eventually revealed, Nam has a
rather overpossessive relationship with So (Jung Jin-young), a well-known
filmmaker, a self-professed alcoholic and who’s had a fling with with Jeon (and
perhaps still carries a torch for her); and, while they’re in the city largely whiling
their time, an unexpected link develops in the form of the titular Claire
(Isabelle Huppert), a cheerful, friendly and freewheeling amateur photographer.
Honesty, or its lack thereof – in a person, and in turn in cinema too – formed
the key motif of this unassuming movie, with generous helpings of serendipity
thrown in. The light-footed sing-song narrative, interestingly, didn’t proceed
linearly; rather, it was deliberately made jagged and rambling, and that added
a sense of comic mystery in deciphering where each piece fits, while also
providing insights into what one might’ve already seen.
Director: Hong Sang-soo
Genre: Drama/Urban Drama
Language: Korean
Country: South Korea
Mia Hansen-Løve’s delicately
strung Things to Come comprises of a
volley of emotions – joy, anger, bitterness, melancholy, pathos, peace – but
portrayed with extraordinary restraint and exquisitely understated
brushstrokes. And, through that, she remarkably captured reflections on family,
marriage, ageing, loneliness, and, most crucially, reconciling oneself to the
passage of time. The beautifully paced narrative covered nearly a decade in the
life of Nathalie (Isabelle Huppert), a quintessential Parisian intellectual,
philosophy professor, respected writer, and married for many years. Her
carefully balanced life, however, starts crumbling when her pestering and
senile mother (Édith Scob) dies, followed by her erudite husband (André Marcon)
leaving her for a younger woman, and her kids too eventually move on; and meanwhile,
her book gets withdrawn because of dwindling sales owing to her refusal to accept
market changes. The sole ray of light in her increasingly disrupted life turns
out to be Fabien (Roman Kolinka), a brilliant former student of hers who’s
decided to shift to the countryside to write, and invites her to join him and
his friends there. However, when Fabien, who believes in political radicalism
and anarchism, observes that she doesn’t practice the political principles she
teaches and has lost her firebrand youth, she might finally reconcile to her
new status quo. Huppert was magnificent as the purposeful, self-confident and
yet quietly vulnerable protagonist, in this disarmingly affecting, gently
humorous and delightfully sophisticated work, with minimalist but lovely usage
of music too – from Western Classical to Woody Guthrie. And, this certainly was
a year for middle-aged women protagonists – a rarity in world cinema – given
that Verhoeven’s Elle (which too had
a stellar Huppert performance) and Almodovar’s Julieta released in the same year.
Director: Mia Hansen-Løve
Genre: Drama/Family Drama/Urban Drama
Language: French
Country: France
While Aki Kaurismaki,
forever the poet of Helsinki’s proletariat and a melancholic romantic too, isn’t
as prolific anymore – having made just 3 films in the 17 years since his
masterful The Man Without a Past – his
palette remains as quintessentially droll as ever. The Other Side of Hope, along with his beautiful previous film Le Havre (made 6 years earlier), constitutes
what might be his Refugee (or, Dockyard) Trilogy. The only possible cures, for a world torn apart by
xenophobia, bigotry, intolerance and prejudices, are perhaps the individual
expressions of empathy and compassion – a maxim made even starker by the
European migrant crisis – and this formed the crux of both these wry, darkly
funny, humanist films. It follows the threads of two men looking to start over
– for Waldemar (Sakari Kuosmanen), a middle-aged, laconic travelling salesman
who decides to leave his wife and start a new profession by purchasing a
struggling restaurant, the journey is largely personal; however, for Khaled
(Sherwan Haji), a young Syrian guy whose family was reduced to rubbles in
Aleppo, and who managed to smuggle himself and his sister into Europe in the
hope for an escape, only to face vicious hatred of the neo-Nazis and apathy of
the officials, the journey has been gut-wrenching. When Khaled, on the run
after his request for asylum is denied, bumps into Waldemar, the latter
displayes an extraordinary act of kindness, along with small mercies by his
working class staff (including the straight-faced Kaurismaki regulars Ilkka
Koivula and Janne Hyytiäinen). The sharp jabs at cold governmental procedures aside,
the movie’s otherwise minimalism was regularly alternated with elegiac folk
songs. And yes, there's a deadpan cameo by Kati Outinen.
Director: Aki Kaurismaki
Genre: Drama/Comedy/Black Comedy/Political Drama
Language: Finnish
Country: Finland
Lulu Wang’s The Farewell walked a fine line between humanism
and kitsch, grounded representations and sweeping brushstrokes, emotional
affectations and sentimentality; it’s to the Chinese-American filmmaker’s credit
– in her ability to portray the fraught topic of intercontinental cultural
differences through the lens of her personal experiences – that it stayed on
the preferred side of the aforementioned line, instead of being trapped into
its easy likeability. Starting off with the disclaimer that it’s “based on an
actual lie” –indicating that the tale’s a fictionalization was on something
that actually happened – the film portrayed the enormous East-West chasm in the
way the topic of mortality is handled; and it did so in a manner that was moving,
sincere and even funny at times, albeit under a decidedly melodramatic
framework and forsaking familial complexity for warmth. Billi (Awkwafina), a
second generation Chinese-American in her 30s and a wannabe writer whose
aspirations aren’t going anywhere, has an intimate bond with her aged
grandmother who she calls Nai Nai (Zhao Shu-zhen); the lilting long-distance
call that the narrative begins with set the movie’s tone, especially in the way
each paints a rosier picture of their dreary realities. As it turns out, Nai
Nai is diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and doesn’t have long to live;
therefore, to bid her adeau without divulging the harsh truth of her imminent
death, the extended family congregates from around the globe to China by
staging a fake wedding. While the rest of the family are convinced of the
morality of this approach, Billi’s American sensibilities make it extremely
difficult for her to accept it – and that formed a key motif in this gregarious and
earnest, if tad simplistic, work.
Director: Lulu Wang
Genre: Drama/Family Drama
Language: Mandarin/English
Country: US
Hong Sang-soo’s
startling and incisive chamber piece Grass
is a deftly focused work in terms of its cinematic space and time, and its
slender length; but, that said, its dense multi-facetedness belied its brevity,
as texturally, tonally and thematically it’s a tremendous piece of filmmaking. Set
largely within a cosy Seoul café, it’s covered a small group of people whiling
their time there, and in doing so, it portrayed an array of emotions and themes,
viz. guilt, loneliness, longings, ennui, existential pangs, infidelity,
suicides and voyeurism. Shot in sparkling and moody monochrome using mostly
static long takes, and made evocative through sparsely used classical scores,
the film’s striking interpersonal dynamics provided for a wryly apt addition to
Hong’s oeuvre. Areum (Hong regular Kim Min-hee), a shy and softspoken lady,
sits at a corner of the café writing into her laptop her musing on her interpretations
of the people around, while evesdropping on them – an intensely personal and searing
conversation between two ex-lovers racked with guilt over someone who’s
committed suicide; a middle-aged director (Jung Jin-young) who, in futility, pursues
a lady he knows, and then Areum too, to accompany him on a joint writing
venture; an ageing former actor on downward spiral requesting a lady friend to
let out a spare room to him; a man accusing a woman of leading a professor, who
was besotted with her, to his death. Interestingly, and ironically too, a
dramatically different facet of Areum gets revealed – cynical, bitter and even passive-aggressive
– when she takes a break from her silent observations and reflections, for a
catch-up with her brother and his girlfriend who’re planning to get
married.
Director: Hong Sang-soo
Genre: Drama/Psychological Drama
Language: Korean
Country: South Korea
