Mothers

The film Mothers by Milcho Manchevski is a pastiche of three different stories that deal with human relationships and the search for truth in an often cruel world.

In terms of love I think the film deals with it in the sense of human kinship overall. The first part of the story, where two young girls fabricate a story of a man who flashes them, is about their disconnect with humanity and a kind of universal love or respect for a stranger. This story reveals how we can simply decide not to love and the dangerous consequences for this revelation. Our lives overlap and our perceptions of other people are more connected and intertwined than is superficially obvious. The girls embody how uncaring and random the events in our lives can be. The middle section of the film shows how this disconnect can occur between family, people who supposedly love each other with the example of the brother and sister not speaking for years. Love does not exist ideally even in a seemingly more pure or intact part of the country. The final act of the film I think deals with an aspect of love, which is trust. The proximity between the killer and the victims is so incredible and unsettling. There is no separation between the crime reporter and the criminal except the victim's perception of who is good and bad, which is based on things they are told and therefore, believe.

I was most interested by the documentary style of the third section of the film. In fact, the events and interviews were real and so were the events. Even so, for me, this was the most riveting of each of the sections because when presented alongside, what the viewer assumes to be, fictional narratives the inexactitude of truth becomes apparent. Nowadays the "mockumentary" and "shakey-cam" styles are in vogue and with the existence as well as universal popularity of user-generated content sites like Youtube, the modern audience is on their toes when it comes to "authenticity" (a concept that films like Mothers questions.)

Manchevski proves that not only is there no obligation to play to any unspoken preconceptions viewers might have about watching movies or preface each aspect of filmmaking with cushiony disclaimers like, "Based on a True Story" or, "Inspired by True Events". Even the documentary aspect of Mothers, can be questioned and mistrusted. Perhaps filmmakers try too hard to convince the viewer that they can choose between unreality and reality when in fact those definitions are too vague to categorize films with. Certainly they are both present in film and other artistic media but whether they should be used as labels is up to the viewer and what they perceive after viewing the film.

-Claudia

Double Suicide

First of all, Double Suicide was really wonderful to look at. Every scene was simply gorgeous in black and white. It is a film that almost does not need sound, and in fact, does not employ much of it. The small amount of music that does appear is minimal and eery.

One particularly impressive moment was when the courtesan Koharu is opening a door bit by bit, covered by the sound of a man clapping two pieces of wood together. The scene was so expertly and seamlessly choreographed, the balance between action and sound was so clear!

                                                                      A still from that moment

The film makes no attempt to create a unique story, rather it focuses on the way it is presented to us. A film about lovers separated by society is not a new idea in dramatic work. In addition, the crying and emotional breakdowns of the characters are so frequent that the viewer is left no room for thought or sympathy in connection to the characters. And yet, the movie is memorable for the striking style that inhabits every frame. The compositions of each shot are beautiful and well thought out. Every detail seems consciously planned out and staged, as this work does have its roots in bunraku puppet plays. 

One of my favorite elements to this story was the presence of the kurago, the men dressed in black who played the role of stagehands and of fate. Their spooky presence added another layer of separation from the viewer's immersion into the film. In fact, at one moment the face of the male lead, Jihei, is revealed to his wife Osan only with the help of the kurago lifting a blanket away from him. 

At one point a kurago even reveals he is really present in the moment and feels for the characters even though he is bound to his duty as the hand of fate. This mirrors the struggle that Koharu and Jihei undergo. Koharu is obligated as a courtesan to please many different men but as a result is not respected by most of society. Jihei has familial obligations and cannot abandon them to chase a "whore". Even though they fight against the current, they are totally predestined to kill each other from the first moments of the opening credits where the director of the play they live out is discussing their double suicide. 

In fact, in Jihei's final moments we can see many kurago waiting for him to kill himself, even helping him. It really drives home the presence of fate in this film and the inescapable destiny that the film promotes.

Despite Koharu and Osan's differences there is an interesting duality to their characters. First, they are played by the same actress. Koharu has painted eyebrows while Osans are covered in white makeup, as are her lips while Koharu's aren't. Osan's teeth are noticeably blacked out, which without personally knowing the Japanese tradition behind it, really gave Osan a disturbing connection with decay or death.

Just as the Criterion website describes, "The mutual respect felt by the women is constantly stressed, as if, in fact, they were conflicting aspects of personality" 

The imagery in this film ranged from stark divides between black and white to patterns filling up entire rooms. The environment, this includes the kurago and the changing sets, interested me so much in this film. Just brainstorming ideas for a final project, I'm thinking of perhaps writing a series of letters to people in my life who are close to me. The body of the letters would be highly concentrated on vivid moments I have associated with them in my memory. For each one I would take a bit of inspiration from each film from the semester. I'm also interested in perhaps including images but it might be filled with text. When I have them all finished I would compile them in a small photo album, so I guess the general theme is snapshots. It's an idea in progress...

-Claudia

Color of Paradise

The Color of Paradise directed by Majid Majidi is about an blind boy, Mohammad, from Iran. The film contains a mix of melodrama and heart-wrenching moments within beautiful scenes of the Iranian countryside.

The sensitivity in some scenes is extraordinary and surprising. Particularly, when Mohammad finds a fallen chick in a pile of leaves, was a testament to how acute his sense of hearing is. Until the camera actually revealed the helpless bird, I was unsure as to what was happening. At points, Mohammad can be seen moving his fingers through the air and speaking so quietly he cannot be understood. These moments are a testament to how Mohammad understands the language of nature, perhaps more than a person with hearing could.

The beauty of both the artificial color and the raw nature depicted in The Color of Paradise really caught my attention. Seeing the girls and Mohammad's grandmother create dyes and hang saturated fabrics was perhaps my favorite moment of tactile imagery in the film. The variety of topography in Mohammad's world, is stunning. One particular wide angle shot of Mohammad and his father when they first journey back to their village through a field, showed the scope of the world in some ways he cannot experience. Even so, this is low on the list of reasons to feel for Mohammad's struggles.

His father's lack of love is so dissapointing. For such a hard working man, there is a definate conflict between understanding the father's problems and reconciling them with their effect on his own son.

Regarding the ending Stephen Holding in his NYTimes review of the film said that it has a, "wrong-note final image". I'm not too sure of this assessment. I do confess to rolling my eyes a bit at the dramatics of it all because it reminded me of Disney characters being brought back to life by tears or something to that effect. Another criticism might be that the sudden use of computer effects is too big a contrast to the rest of the film, which is more steeped in realism and nature.

Besides that, I found that the final message made sense, as we had been given a taste for the director's beliefs in God with the death of Mohammad's grandmother. Although certainly not as dramatic, she is filled with light and smiles, perhaps because she is greeting God or perhaps, as this image directly follows it, she is thinking of her precious grandson.

Again, I'm ambivalent if it was really 'a wrong-note'. The typical sound-scape of birds and nature is abandoned in the final moments in favor of a sweeping score. In this way, perhaps the filmmakers are ensuring the audience will either be given a positive outlook on the bleak situation or be pushed past the emotional breaking point. My view was entirely positive, although I can't help but wonder if the father's life will either be ruined for good or he'll try to become a better person...

One of my favorite elements of the movie was the terrifying noise in the forest that only the father seems to hear. It is almost like the cry of an animal but it is difficult to place and off-putting. Perhaps it is the supernatural sound of God or the Devil foreshadowing the terrible conclusion to the film. In fact, the first time the noise plays, he is shaving in front of the river, which becomes so central to the film later on. He cuts himself by accident and throws the mirror into the current. Such dreadful implications are a nice mix with the lovely elements of the story like Mohammad's friendship with the girls, and his interaction with the world around him.


-Claudia