Ku. Ku; ku. Ku. Ku? Ku! If we were on the planet Pluke in the Kin-Dza-Dza galaxy, I could have just said nearly anything, so long as it didn't involve matches or bells that hang from one's nose.
If the above paragraph made absolutely no sense, but you found it kind of amusing, then Kin-Dza-Dza! is the film for you. It starts on Earth, where a man named Vladimir Nikolaevich is told to get some groceries. On his way, he gets sidetracked by a man professing to be an alien who doesn't know where he his. Vladimir accidentally gets teleported to the planet Pluke alongside a violin-carrying passer-by and they must both figure out what the hell is going on.
The world of Pluke is excellently crafted. We learn of its language (mainly consisting of the word "ku"), its class system (decided by which light turns on when a device is pointed at you and what colour trousers you wear) and customs. All of these are wildly imaginative and very funny.
The film isn't just all laughs either. There's a wealth of subtext about social divides, cultural differences, racism, life philosophy etc. These don't bog things down though; the film still keeps most of the emphasis on the surreal sci-fi and absurdist comedy elements.
Most of the technical aspects of the film are simply average. The editing and cinematography are passable, but nothing special. The acting is similarly bland and the cgi is plain awful. The art direction, however is inspired. The pseudo-cyberpunk ships and locations are very well crafted and lend the world a lot of character. The music is also great, it's quirky and bouncy, and compliments the tone of the film perfectly.
Kin-Dza-Dza! will appeal to both those looking for some light sci-fi, and those who want a heady comedy. Allegedly it has a huge cult following in the post-soviet states and I can see why; the dialogue is frequently hilarious and quotable, and the world is very vivid. I would certainly recommend this film to anyone who likes their films with a big splash of absurdity, regardless of genre tastes.
Also recommended from Georgia:
13 Tzameti
Comedy is probably the genre I have the most loose taste in. People are often surprised to hear that I love films like Anchorman, Airplane and Hot Shots Part Deux as well as the films of Buster Keaton or Chaplin when most of my favourite films are fairly depressing. The one thing in comedy I really can't stand is the awkward comedy, the film or TV show that delights in making you squirm in discomfort. Whisky is a well made film, but near enough epitomises this niche.
When Jacobo, a socially-awkward sock factory owner, hears that his successful brother is coming to visit him, he asks his similarly introverted employee, Marta, to pose as his wife to make him appear well-to-do.
Each character is well fleshed out and superbly acted. The distance between the two brothers is painfully felt and Marta's difficulty in communication is shown to hide a childlike compassion and warmth. The technical aspects of the film are all well executed. The slow pace wrings out every last drop of discomfort from the scenes and the stark, cold cinematography emphasises the emptiness in the character's lives.
The directing duo do a superb job here, the film is subtly well-observed and focused solely on the three main characters. There is no dressing up or contrived sub-plots here, and the film is all the better for it.
Personally I didn't enjoy Whisky. By the halfway point, I was waiting for it to end so I could watch something a bit less awkward. It is certainly not a bad film though. Many will find joy in the Coenesque repetition coupled with very real characters. Fans of Jim Jarmush, Aki Kaurismaki should definitely look this up. If my earlier review of Noi Albonoi made you watch the film and you enjoyed it, give this a try too.
Note: The film is called Whisky as it is the word used to make people smile for photographs.
This time, a Serbian film. But not A Serbian Film.
Why I chose this: Because watching and reviewing a film by a genius is much more fun, interesting and sanity-preserving than watching a baby get raped (as featured in A Serbian Film).
Emir Kusturica is among very few directors to have won two Palme D'Ors at the Cannes film festival and has been making exciting, energetic films for thirty years. It is therefore a shame that his name isn't more well known among film lovers. The first film of his which I saw was his more simple-minded, but completely bonkers comedy, Black Cat, White Cat. Although it is an excellent film which revives the thought that there are still comedies being made that can live up to the golden ages of Keaton and Chaplin, Monty Python and Zucker, Abrahams, Zucker, it pales in comparison to Kusturica's sprawling epic of a few years earlier.
This is one of the rare films which manages to blend and swap multiple genres seamlessly. Like in Lindsay Anderson's If... where I couldn't pinpoint the moment when it changes from a startlingly real depiction of youthful repression and an highly surreal revenge story, I only realised that Underground had stopped being a comedy when someone had hung themself from a bell tower whilst a wheelchair-bound man and his wife were set on fire.
Underground is a surreal epic comedy war drama in three parts - set in World War 2, the Cold War and the Yugoslav Wars respectively. The story is very large and complex, but mainly revolves around Blacky and Marko, two friends in Yugoslavia - an area now part of Serbia - who are both in love with the same woman and hateful of the Germans who repeatedly bomb them and attempt to steal away that same woman. It follows them from being petty thieves, to high government officials and all the way to war profiteers and army commanders.
One of Kusturica's greatest assets is his mastery of tone. The same things which were side-splittingly hilarious in the first half are made incredibly haunting in the latter. He achieves this with a wide array of tools; music, colour palate, characters and settings all morph alongside each other to convey the feeling of the action and the minds of our anti-heroes.
If I had to pick one favourite aspect of the film, it would have to be the Gypsy brass band which follow Blacky around for the first two thirds of the film. They not only add much to the surreality, comedy and mood of the film, but the energetic and virtuosic music they play - written by Goran Bregović - is absolutely amazing.
The performances by the leading cast are all excellent, particularly Mirjana Jokovic, who plays the love interest with equal measures of confusion, lust and sensuality. The monkey who plays Soni also gives a great performance as a monkey.
There are so many complex themes in Underground that it seems impossible to deal with them all in one review. It has explorations of patriotism, cultural identity, the effects of war, escapism from hostile environments, love, friendship, man's self-destructive nature, oppression and even more. On top of this, the film seems cuttingly allegorical in places, raising questions about governments in effect when the film was made.
Underground remains one of the most original films ever created, one which is so packed full of questions, answers, laughs, sobs and real characters that it demands multiple viewings to be fully appreciated. Recommended to anyone who enjoys films which do something different.
Also recommended from Serbia:
Other films by Emir Kusturica (Black Cat White Cat, Time of the Gypsies, When Father Was Away on Business)
For review number nine, I chose Iceland, because I can.
Why I chose this: I'm not going to lie here, this was the only Icelandic film I had on my watchlist and I think the only one I'd actually heard of. If someone is outraged at my ignorance of Icelandic cinema, please let me know and give me films to watch.
I started my Red Desert review with a rant about use of colour in films. I hope you will forgive me in doing the same here by saying AAAAAHHH, COLOUR FILTERS! WHYYY!? Seriously, Nói Albínói would be an incredibly beautiful film if the team would stop screwing around with different filters and turning the contrast settings up to 11.
I feel bad about starting the review on such a negative note, as this is actually a great film. The story follows Nói, a troubled Icelandic teenager as he struggles with love, family and his future. He is always in trouble at school for the lack of effort which he puts in, but seems to have hidden depths of intelligence. His main concern, however, is with Iris - the new cashier at the garage shop which he frequents.
It is very subtley observed but filled with wry humour and a painfully acute sense of irony. Most of the scenes are very simple and slow paced, showing every facet of Nói's life. Although most of the focus is put on Nói, I found his father, Kiddi, to be the most interesting and real character. He is an alcoholic, drinking himself further from reconciliation and his son, as he realises more and more that he made all the wrong choices in life, all of which he wants Nói to be spared from. Þröstur Gunnarsson absolutely nails this part, where the rest of the cast put in simply passable performances. Particularly touching is his karaoke scene with him trying to have fun and connect with his son, while Nói gets thrown out of the building for underage drinking. We never see Kiddi's reaction, but just thinking about it is heartbreaking.
The music - by the director's band, Slowblow - is amazingly beautiful and complements the film perfectly. The minimalistic melodies fit the serene landscapes like a glove and contribute to the soothing tone of the film.
The themes of alienation through being different, family conflicts and yearning for a better place are all well developed, especially at the film's sobering, abrupt ending.
Nói Albínói won't change anyone's life, but it is a touching and amusing film which is well worth a watch. Recommended to fans of Jim Jarmusch, Aki Kaurismäki and snow.
Also recommended from Iceland:
Sorry, I've got nothing
A note about the country: perhaps I am cheating here by lumping the two countries together, but the film was made when Czechoslovakia existed in Prague (which is now in the Czech Republic), the dialog is in Czech, but the director is Slovak. The film is also considered part of the Czechoslovak New Wave, so I think you'll allow me to join the two.
Why I chose this: I've only been getting into Czechoslovak cinema recently, despite the love for Jan Svankmajer's shorts which I developed years ago. The Cremator seems to be a perfect mix between the visual style of Svankmajer, coupled with the political mindset and absurdist humor of the New Wave. I hope it will lead more people into discovering another pocket of cinema.
The Cremator is a hard film to place. It is so original and bizarre that it is difficult to pidgeon-hole it into a certain genre or even mood. If I had to describe it in one sentence, it would be something like "A pitch-black surrealist, political horror-comedy".
It follows the titular cremator, Kopfrkingl, as he slowly gets dragged into the arms of Nazism and descends into madness. He is obsessed with his duties; believing - due to his love of Bardo Thodol, the Tibetan Book of the Dead - that by cremating the deceased, he is freeing their souls to go up into the ether. Prolific Czech actor Rudolf Hrusínský plays him absolutely perfectly. His voice fits the film to a tee; it is dark, deep and monotonous, but also sadistically gleeful, like a child past his years burning ants with a magnifying glass.
Kopfrkingl's voice and mannerisms coupled with the stark, angular image compositions and surreal imagery create an atmosphere which is very dense and chilling, but the dialog and absurd characters underline it with a delishiously dark sense of humour; a husband gets frustrated by a wife whom bursts into tears for ridiculous reasons whenever he takes her anywhere and Kopfrkingl repeats sentence fragments throughout the film in a very Coenesque fashion. The comedy works in a similar way to that in cult classic Man Bites Dog, in that it will revolt some and greatly amuse others.
The sets and cinematography are stunning. Clearly influenced by German expressionism and the absurdo-Gothic trappings of Svankmajer. Each image is thoughtfully composed and some - like the Brothers Quay state in their introduction to the film - are like daggers to the eyes.
The editing work is fantastically eccentric. If Black God, White Devil (#3 in the series) was edited by Edward Scissorhands, this was edited by a brilliant, mad surgeon who forgot to take his pills. Shot lengths are all over the place, some lasting half a minute or so and some, not even a tenth of a second. This plays on the madness of the central character beautifully and adds to the unnerving atmosphere.
The film works in equal measures as a cutting political and historical portrait, a disturbing exploration of madness and (literal) God complex, a blacker-than-black comedy and an atmospheric and chilling horror. If any of the above appeal to you, then put The Cremator right to the top of your watchlist; it is not a work to be missed.
Also recommended from Czech Republic/Slovakia:
Jan Svankmajer (Pretty much all of his films are worth a watch)
Jaromil Jires (Valerie and her Week of Wonders, The Joke)
Frantisek Vlacil (Marketa Lazarova, Adelheid)
Jiří Barta (The Pied Piper of Hamelin, The Vanished World of Gloves)
Oldřich Lipský (Happy End, Lemonade Joe)
Jan Nemek (Diamonds of the Night, The Party and the Guests)
