Mandy was Alexander Mackendrick’s only non-comedy Ealing film and by my reckoning it is one of the great films of British cinema. A highly intense melodrama, the film focuses on a congenitally deaf girl, played brilliantly by Mandy Miller, whose middle class parents fight over how best to care for her. Terence Morgan’s dad, Harry, is a typical male who wishes to hide from difficult choices whilst Phyllis Calvert’s mum, Christine, refuses to give up on their daughter. Jack Hawkins plays his usual stiff upper lip hero, a teacher who cares deeply for his charges.
The script, by Nigel Balchin and Jack Whittingham (based on Hilda Lewis’ novel The Day is Ours), parallels Mandy’s disability with the failure of communication between the adults, including the repressed Harry’s parents. If my description of Hawkins above sounds disparaging, I don’t mean it to be as when he agonisingly starts to fall for Christine his pain is apparent. He has to fight Ackland, a trustee who cares more about appearances than the children, who plots his downfall. This man’s hypocrisy is subtly portrayed through his secretary with whom he’s clearly having an ‘affair’. (Funnily enough the actor playing the role, Edward Chapman, reminds me of Brexiteer Tory MP and entirely unself-aware idiot, Mark Francois).
It’s designed to be a tear-jerker and Mackendrick’s direction intensifies this further; even the act of a child slipping their hand into an adult’s becomes laden with emotion. He uses expressionist devices sparingly but with devastating effect. As Mandy peers out of her backyard, a (almost) choker shot (cutting her off at the neck) emphasises her pained loneliness. Shadows veil characters as repressed emotions threaten to break out. A close-up of the back of Mandy’s head signifies her deafness. At one point the sound disappears to mimic Mandy’s experience and the silence is devastating.
There’s a educational element in the film that never feels contrived: a new teacher struggles to deal with the children and the etiquette of ensuring deaf people can see a speaker’s mouth is seamlessly integrated into the narrative. Charles Barr, in Ealing Studios, suggests the film is about childhood in general in the post-war era and certainly the old fashioned characters, Harry’s parent and the wing-collared trustee, are shown to be in the wrong. Presumably this was the time that ‘children should be seen not heard’ was at last being challenged as compulsory education to 15 extended childhood.
The scene when Harry hits Christine for her stubbornness reminds us that domestic violence was (almost) acceptable. A lawyer even suggests that although women often deserve it the courts frown upon it. That Christine later accepts she deserved hitting is doubly chilling and is not something that the film vindicates.
Mackendrick directed only a few films and this, and Sweet Smell of Success, deserve the appellation ‘great’.
There’s a problem for a westerner watching unrestrained patriarchy in action in other cultures; in the instance of this film, Bedouin. For the feminists amongst us it will stimulate ire at the ridiculous and repressive behaviour of men. The problem is that leads us to judge other cultures and whilst judging is fine the question whether the judgement is based on full evidence. It’s too easy to assume ‘west is best’, though as that falsity becomes clearer by the year, it is a barrier that gets easier to overcome.
That said, I do trust the writer-director of Sand Storm, Elite Zexer, as she obviously went to great lengths to ensure the authenticity of her portrayal of Bedouin society. She even made a short film on the ‘topic’ and showed it to Bedouins first. I also like the fact that this portrayal of Arab life was Israel’s official entry to the Oscars in 2017 by virtue of the fact that it won the best film at the Ophirs. The linked article is worth reading for a description of the ‘culture war’ the film stimulated at the award ceremony.
Sand Storm, aside from its milieux, is a fairly standard melodrama of a vital young woman being forced into a marriage. Layla (Lamis Amar, an Israeli because Zexer had trouble sourcing Bedouin actors) appears to be the ‘apple of her dad’s’ eye and it is a shock to her when he claims he has no choice but to follow tradition. Layla’s mother (Ruba Blal), also a victim of patriarchy as her husband is taking a second wife at the film’s start, is first shown to support the tradition as she takes her frustration out on Layla. It is one of the strengths of the film that the mother’s transition to resistance is gradual; there’s no epiphany that leads to a dramatic stand. Indeed the film is not only realist in its handheld camera and location shooting as it, in its conclusion, makes clear that though change has to come, it will not come quickly. Layla’s younger sister, Tasnim, watches events carefully and has enough about her for us to hope that she will not be trapped like her mother and elder sister. Hitham Omari, as the dad, brilliantly plays a weak man acting as if he is strong: like the women in the film, he’s trapped in his role.
The film did well at the Berlin Film Festival and at Sundance and is now available on Netflix in the UK.
This was a suitably gentle and welcoming title for my first day of ¡Viva! 25. The title suggests a laid-back hippie song from the late 1960s/early 1970s and indeed it is. Formentera is a small island a few miles south of Ibiza which has attracted musicians and travellers for many years. The song was written by Robert Fripp and Pete Sinfield of King Crimson and it appeared as the first track of the album Islands in 1971. The song appears in the film and the central character claims to have helped Sinfield to have written it. This is Sami played by the veteran actor José Sacristán who must have been 80 when he made the film but appears younger. Sami/Samuel still plays his banjo in a local bar and survives in his rudimentary house by the sea where he copes without electricity. One day his daughter Anna (Nora Navas) appears with her 10 year-old son Marc. She says she has to go to France to work and can’t look after the boy, leaving him with his somewhat stunned grandfather.
What follows is a familiar narrative about the old and the young together. One critic has described it as ‘anodyne’ but I think that’s unfair. Certainly it doesn’t push hard towards comedy or tragedy but instead looks for a character study and explores Sami’s predicament with care and insight. If I have a criticism it is that Marc’s character is underwritten. Sandro Ballesteros who plays the boy is not given a great deal to do and inevitably most of our interest is directed towards Sami. Sami in turn is given a series of familiar generic characteristics as well as narrative developments to contend with. He still sometimes drinks or smokes dope to excess and misses appointments, he has an ancient unreliable Land Rover, ex-girlfriends and old musician pals – and a heart problem. He’ll also discover that his bar gig won’t last forever and of course somebody wants him to join a group of aged musicians and go on tour. First time writer-director Pau Durà is a very experienced actor so in some ways the script components make sense in terms of privileging performance. I also enjoyed the music very much. I was never a fan of King Crimson but and certainly not of the dreaded British ‘prog rock’ but Crimson in this mode are fine and what Sami plays on his banjo might be described as ‘psychedelic bluegrass’.
The film scores best when it deals with Sami’s fear about how he will survive the next few years. He plays for older people in a club/residential home and meets the son of an old friend whose mother (of Sami’s age) is suffering from dementia and talking about the old days when Sami’s partner (the Formentera Lady of the title) was around. I won’t spoil any more of the narrative but I’d argue that José Sacristán’s performance, the music and Sami’s story are definitely reasons to watch the film. The other aspects of the story are conventional but won’t spoil your enjoyment. It’s a shame that Anna doesn’t appear more in the film. I realised later that Nora Navas was the star of a very well-received ¡Viva! title in 2016, L’adopcio (Spain-Lithuania 2015). This film is mainly a male drama/melodrama but all the women who appear could be given more screen time.
This isn’t an art film but a mainstream film belonging to Catalan as well as Castilian Spanish cinema and both languages appear in the film. The short trailer below is without English subs.
Formentera Lady is on for a third screening at HOME on Friday 5th April at 20.30.
The bento or lunchbox is at the centre of traditional Japanese food culture. The box filled with cold cooked food is something I remember from train trips in Japan way back in 1977, but it seems it is still there in school as the Japanese equivalent of the British ‘packed lunch’. This short (76 minutes) comedy melodrama focuses on a marriage break-up that leaves the salaryman father (Watanabe Toshimi) with the task of providing his daughter Midori (Takeda Rena) with a bento each day. He could send his daughter to the bread shop or use processed foods but he determines to do the job properly, perhaps to prove to himself and others that he can be a ‘proper’ parent.
Father (I don’t think he is named) is starting from scratch and his first efforts aren’t very good. Eventually he will get genuinely useful advice from a female colleague at work and he will improve. As his colleague points out, bento for teenage girls needs to be ‘cute’ and to look good. Midori eats her lunch with two friends who are quick to comment on what she is eating. There is only a slight narrative since much of the time is spent on a procedural study of Father’s attempts to shop, prepare and cook lunch for his daughter. The origin of the story is a tweet the ‘real life’ daughter posted at the end of her time at high school (i.e. from age 15 to 17), comparing photos of her father’s first and last attempts to make her daily bento. This went viral and attracted a film producer.
Though the narrative says nothing directly about the missing mother, who leaves in the pre-credit sequence, there is a story about the father which is carefully threaded through the main narrative. He confides in both a male and a female colleague at work and he becomes a regular customer of the woman who runs his local greengrocer. (In the current climate in the UK it is quite shocking that all the vegetables father buys are wrapped in plastic.) His bento preparation becomes his way of communicating with his daughter and he discovers that she responds to the messages he puts in with each meal. The main expressive element of the film is the music which unfortunately in the screening was ear-splittingly loud. Some of the more melancholic music was fine but much of it was pop music which at the volume played was unbearable and on one occasion we had a voiceover on top of the music. I think the excess of music possibly shows a lack of faith in the narrative. The film’s credits on IMDb suggest that apart from Takeda Rena as Midori, the rest of the cast and all the crew had little or no previous experience.
I was surprised to see that the film was released theatrically in Japan and Taiwan. I would have guessed that it would have been made for TV. Apart from the short length, the shooting style is mainly that of a TV soap with high-key lighting. The image itself also seemed to be rather ‘washed out’ (which meant that the food isn’t as visually striking as it might have been). Having said that, I enjoyed this gentle comedy with its feelgood narrative. As this helpful review comments, Midori doesn’t seem to suffer any kind of stigma at school because of her single parent family (whereas in the 1990s it still seemed to be the cause of social criticism). Food preparation and presentation is very important in Japan and there have been several notable films placing it at the centre of narratives (see, for example, the classic Tampopo (1985). Dad’s Lunchbox is an interesting new genre mix with food, family comedy-drama and high school. Thanks again, Japan Foundation.
Here’s a trailer with English subs (possibly made for Taiwan or Hong Kong distribution?)
This European co-production helmed by Swiss writer-director Antoine Russbach is a gripping drama, part moral tale, part family melodrama starring one of the great actors of Francophone cinema, Olivier Gourmet. Gourmet, the Belgian actor who almost defines the Dardenne Brothers’ films, is in nearly every scene as Frank, the archetypal ‘hard-working man’. The narrative begins with Frank caught up in the middle of a regular occurrence. He is a project manager for a shipping company which organises container traffic on ships bringing a range of goods to Europe. As far as I can work out, Frank is based in Francophone Geneva and the ship in this case is heading to Marseille from West Africa. In his conversations with the ship’s captain, Frank speaks English.
Frank has to solve problems and this is very difficult when the chartered flights ships are old and unreliable, the multinational crews are not always well-trained or well-paid and there are plenty of possible ways of making mistakes. Frank has to make a decision just as he is picking up the youngest of his five children from school because she is sick. He makes a morally reprehensible decision and later he will pay for his ‘mistake’ – even though it will save the company a great deal of money.
In this early section, the film seems to question the Protestant work ethic and the capitalist desire for profit above morality. Frank is a farmer’s son brought up in the ‘school of hard knocks’ – something he tries to explain to his four older children. He will then realise that his obsession with work – which has brought the family a swimming pool and many other luxury items – has also led to a neglect of his role as husband and father.
I won’t spoil the narrative pleasure any more, but I will note that his relationship with his youngest daughter is, in a way, his salvation in what becomes a family melodrama. I’ve read at least one review that suggests that the film has a ‘feelgood’ ending. I can’t agree with that but it is an abrupt ending and I may have misunderstood it. It seems to find a ‘human ending’ – signified by Frank’s rapprochement with his family, but also implies that he will go back to the same kind of work with similar possible consequences for projects that might go ‘wrong’.
Those Who Work is a conventional film with many familiar scenes and typical characters. Yet it never fails to engage and Gourmet’s performance holds everything together with great skill. His character explains that as a child he was never allowed to speak his mind and here Frank pauses before he speaks in a deliberate manner.
I don’t agree with the ideology of the film’s conclusion, but overall I found this an impressive production which I would like to see in UK cinemas. This entry in GFF’s ‘Window on the World’ strand made for a strong beginning for my visit to the festival.
My Happy Family is a quite brilliant melodrama predicated on a mother, Manana, who leaves her family that has three-generations living together, apparently common in Georgia. She gives no reason as to why she’s going and as the family descend upon her to demand an explanation, motivated in part by the suffocating fear of social embarrassment, it soon becomes clear why she needs to be free.
Nana and Simon, credited as directors, are Nana Ekvtimishvili (who also wrote) and Simon Groß, and My Happy Family is a follow up to their debut In Bloom (Grzeli nateli dgeebi, Georgia-Germany-France 2013). The visual style is primarily a mix of long takes with an immobile camera and a fluid handheld movement following Manana both in the home and on the street. The long take puts great emphasis on performance and all the actors are superb. The latter, in the home which is often crowded, relies upon skilful blocking (the position of actors in relation to one another and the camera) to allow the camera to carve a way through to keep up with Manana. Nana and Simon direct brilliantly and they prioritise showing over telling allowing the audience to pick up clues about the characters from their body language. At a school reunion one character, who insists Manana sings (the diegetic [in the film not the soundtrack] music in the film is quite fantastic), is succinctly characterised as a ‘dominant male’ through little gestures such as putting his hands on her shoulders.
I recognized Merab Ninidze, who plays the hapless husband, from the TV series McMafia (UK-US, 2018) where he had a mesmerising presence as a Russian mob boss. He’s similarly excellent in this more subdued role. Ia Shugliashvili, in the central role, is new to me and she plays the mother with a mixture of strength and resignation. There are many narratives were an unhappy woman leaves the marital home but there’s invariably a man who appears to reaffirm the need for patriarchy. My Happy Family avoids such cliches and ends with marvellous ambiguity.
Once again I have to thank Netflix for the opportunity to see this film which was feted at Sundance a couple of years ago. Up until recently Netflix seemed to be prioritising television series as a way to hook viewers but it has increased its slate of films. Many are Spanish speaking, which obviously has a wide audience across the world, but it’s great that nations who haven’t had much of an impact on western film culture get a look in too; the Georgian documentary short The Trader (2018) is also available. Apparently it has been argued that Nana and Simon’s films are heralding a Georgian new wave. I hope so as it’s great to see familiar tropes reworked in a different cultural setting.
Despite it’s terrible title (as far as I can tell it’s not an idiomatic expression in Spain) the film made a splash at last year’s Berlin festival and was picked up by Netflix which only released it in cinemas in Spain. Of course, no UK distributor may have picked it up anyway but it is a film that should be seen in a theatre as Ramón Salazar’s direction is quite exceptional. His composition of shots is exemplary aided by beautiful cinematography (Ricardo de Gracia) and brilliant production design (Sylvia Steinbrecht). Salazar also scripted this tale about the nature of parents’ responsibility toward their children. I hesitate to outline the plot in any more detail because Salazar slowly reveals what’s actually happening in a superbly developed exposition.
I’m seeing the director is being compared to Almodóvar however whilst the latter leans toward the hysterical, Salazar actually takes a step back from the melodrama offering a cooler take on the emotions on show. This is done through the slow pacing, scenes seem to carry on a little too long, giving the audience time to contemplate what they are seeing. The mise en scène, most of the film is shot in the stunning Spain-France borderlands in winter, adds to the coolness as well as to the beauty of the mise en scene.
There’s a scene, on what appears to be a tourist bob sleigh type contraption, that manages, in a long take, to encapsulate the film’s theme. It is brilliantly staged. The acting is exemplary, Susi Sanchez(an Almodóvar regular) and Bárbara Lennie are captivating as the leads; it is a film where men are almost completely marginalised.
Nico Casal’s score is sparingly used but adds greatly to the atmosphere. I would be surprised if this isn’t in my top ten films of 2019 and wouldn’t it be great to organise a festival of films Netflix won’t let you see in cinema so we can gorge and their big screen greatness?
I watched Shoplifters on the day it opened in the UK over three weeks ago but was too busy to write about it. I worried that opportunities to see it might be limited but miracles do happen and it seems to be still going strong. I’ve been surprised to see mention of watching the film not just in film reviews but also in more general newspaper columns. It seems to have caught and held the attention of commentators who are not cinephiles and has become one of the few foreign language hits of the year. Obviously, I’m very pleased that one of global cinema’s most effective and affective directors is getting recognition – but it also begs the question of why many of his earlier films failed to make the breakthrough in the same way. Is it really down to winning the top Cannes prize? Is it the promotional clout of the still relatively new Canadian distributor Thunderbird Releasing (taking over Soda Pictures) or are there other reasons?
Kore-eda Hirokazu finally won the Palme d’Or with Shoplifters and in some ways it offers a summation of the group of his films that deals specifically with ‘families’ and young children. Starting with Nobody Knows (2004), the group would also include 2011’s I Wish and Like Father, Like Son (2013) and perhaps more marginally After the Storm (2016) and even Our Little Sister (2015). In his Sight and Sound review Trevor Johnson begins like this:
It’s a critical truism that Kore-eda Hirokazu’s domestic dramas have made him the modern heir to the likes of Ozu and Naruse. Those Japanese old masters, however, never cut and diced the nuclear family in the way Kore-eda has done so assiduously in the course of his expanding and increasingly valuable filmography.
Johnson’s review is a well-argued attempt to place the film in relation to Kore-eda’s previous work and also offers a sympathetic reading which doesn’t spoil too much of the story. And this is a film that works very effectively when the audience knows as little as possible in advance. I’m not going to spoil the pleasures of the storytelling but I will recommend the film if you’ve managed to avoid the commentaries so far. Instead I want to expand some of Johnson’s points and add my own questions about audience readings. Johnson points to the two Japanese directors who became celebrated for their contemporary-set films, defined in Japan as gendai-geki and particularly forms of melodrama, including what Western scholars have dubbed the shomin-geki – ‘realist films’ about the working-classes. The preferred Japanese term is actually shōshimin-eiga referring to ‘lower middle-class’ people and this distinction is important. Ozu Yasujiro and Naruse Mikio worked at more or less the same time over a period of 30 years from the 1930s to the 1960s, Ozu at Shochiku and Naruse at Toho (two of the three major Japanese studios between 1930 and the 1960s). They therefore worked through the very different periods in Japan of the growing militarism of the 1930s, the severe economic hardships of the Allied Occupation post-war and the recovery and growing affluence of the 1950s/early 1960s. They dealt (differently) with all kinds of family situations but perhaps mainly the lower middle-class. In the late 1940s in particular they did tend to deal with families that had suffered break-up in different ways. Ozu’s The Record of a Tenement Gentleman (1947) and A Hen in the Wind (1948) both feature families ‘broken’ or ‘constructed’ in different ways. Naruse’s films perhaps veer more towards adult relationships rather than families with children.
Kore-eda is working in a different Japanese context – in a society that has now lived with twenty years or more of ‘stagflation’ – economic stasis – but slow changes in family structures with rising divorce rates and an ageing population profile. This is evident in many of the families depicted in his films. Most of them are perhaps lower middle-class, though in Like Father, Like Son we get a narrative directly about two families from different social class positions. Some of these films seem more ‘Ozu-like’ and some more ‘Naruse-like’. But Shoplifters seems most like Nobody Knows in terms of its social setting. In this earlier film Kore-eda presents a story, based on a news report, about a woman who has four children with different fathers and who constantly moves accommodation. At the start of the film she moves her ‘family’ again and then abandons them, having placed the two older children in charge. This is the film that Shoplifters seem to refer back to, though I think the new film is not as immediately harrowing. It was only recently that I began to note Kore-eda’s comments about his interest in the films of Ken Loach and it looks as if Shoplifters is deliberately Loachian rather than related to Ozu or Naruse. Kore-eda says that this is his most ‘socially conscious’ film and that he felt angry making it. As is often the case, he starts from his own thoughts and feelings, often triggered by news stories.
The first thing that came to my mind was the tagline: “Only the crimes tied us together”. In Japan, crimes like pension frauds and parents making their children shoplift are criticised severely. Of course, these criminals should be criticised but I am wondering why people get so angry over such minor infractions even though there are many lawbreakers out there committing far more serious crimes without condemnation. Especially after the 2011 earthquakes, I didn’t feel comfortable with people saying repeatedly that a family bond is important. So I wanted to explore it by depicting a family linked by crime.
. . . I started to think about which elements were unfolded and would be examined deeply after the casting was settled. As a result, this film is packed with the various elements I have been thinking about and exploring these last 10 years. (See the Press Notes.)
As this quote suggests, Kore-eda introduces us to different members of a family who live in a decaying traditional house in a Tokyo suburb. We are told nothing and must watch and listen carefully to understand how the family survives. Some of the activities involve jobs that are on the surface conventional, others less so and some are clearly criminal as the father figure played by Kore-eda regular Lily Franky and the boy in the family expertly shoplift from stores that seem remarkably insecure. Other activities are less straightforward to fathom at first. The family also ‘adopts’ the little girl that they find and who appears to have been abandoned on a cold night. Inside the ramshackle home there appears to be warmth and a real feeling of working together for the benefit of all in the family group.
Shoplifters is beautifully made with fabulous performances by the great Kiki Kilin in her last film (she died earlier this year) and Lily Franky as Kore-eda regulars and by the rest of the principal cast, Ando Sakura as the mother figure, Matsuoka Mayu as the younger woman and Kairi Jyo and Sasaki Miyu as the children. As for the aesthetics of the film, Kore-eda again in the Press Notes:
Before the shoot, I was thinking of this film was kind of a fable and sought ways to find and build poetry within reality. Even if the film was realistic, I wanted to describe the poetry of human beings and both the cinematography and music came close to my vision.
Kore-eda chose the veteran musician Hosono Haroumi (one of the three founding members of Yellow Magic Orchestra in 1978) to compose the score and Kondô Ryûto as cinematographer. They clearly provided what he wanted. I loved the film and I can’t find fault with any aspect of it, but I do feel out of line with many of the reviews. The only thing I’d consciously absorbed about reactions to the film was that the final scenes presented a ‘twist’ on the narrative and that many audiences were emotionally overwhelmed by what they saw. Perhaps because I was waiting for the twist, I didn’t feel that it was really a twist at all – I’d been asking myself all along why social services hadn’t turned up or why nobody else in the neighbourhood had noticed the activities of the family. When the resolution came I found it sad and a little surprising in terms of what happened to the individuals in the family group, but not something overly dramatic. In an odd way, I found the situation vaguely familiar since similar settings and characters might be found in the J-horror films of the late 1900s and early 2000s (I’m particularly thinking of Ju-on (The Grudge 2002)). The one moment that struck me most was when the elderly shopkeeper, whose store was often the target for some petty pilfering, admonished Shota and pleaded with him not to teach his young companion the shoplifting tricks. Later, we see that the shop has closed.
But I’ve not answered my original question. Why has this film made more impact than earlier Kore-eda films, equally good in my estimation? Is it because this kind of almost social-realist melodrama is more familiar in the UK than some of the more subtle familial tensions in a film like Still Walking (2008)? Is the film read in some way as more ‘universal’ and less ‘Japanese’? The comparison then comes with Like Father, Like Son which is still apparently ‘meandering’ towards an American re-make (see this Slant Magazine interview for Kore-eda’s comments on this). Kore-eda tells us that many people around the world have told him that similar stories about these ‘invisible people’ could be found in many different countries. Perhaps because American films are so popular in Japan, Shoplifters and Like Father, Like Son, with their ‘universal’ and therefore ‘Hollywood relatable’ stories, have been Kore-eda’s biggest box office hits at home.
Kore-eda Hirokazu is a tremendously good filmmaker. I’m glad Shoplifters is so successful, but please dig out his back catalogue, much of which is available on DVD or digital download in the UK and US.