Aaltra

Forget about Thelma and Louise (1991), The Sugarland Express (1974) and others: this is a road movie with a real difference – actually many differences.

First, it's shot in beautiful, stark black-and-white, always the best, in my opinion, for watching faces – the shadows bringing out the grimaces, smiles, sadness, despair etc, in a way that colour misses. Second, most of the players in this story are nameless. Third, there is virtually no musical sound track; but there is a hilarious scene at a biker gathering when le chanteur finlandais (Bouli Lanners) sings – in English – the well know blues song, 'Sonny'. And, finally, the story is told more or less visually, as good cinema should; while the sparse dialog fills in the narrative 'gaps' for the viewer.

It doesn't start as a road movie at all: two locals in a provincial town have an argument that results in both of them rendered paralyzed from the waist down. After a period of hospitalization, they both return to their homes in wheelchairs, realizing that their lives are ruined unless they try to get compensation from the company that produced the faulty equipment that caused their injuries. So, they decide to go to Finland together, to the headquarters of the company – Aaltra – and demand compensation. And so, they begin their journey…in wheelchairs! The rest of the story isn't really about Aaltra, at all. Instead, the directors – who also play the two paralyzed protagonists – use that scenario to explore and satirize how ordinary people treat the wheelchair bound and vice-versa, setting up some moments of side-splitting humour and irony as the two travel 3000 km to finally reach their objective. And, what an objective it is...which I'll leave you to discover.

For me, this movie is a treat, a feast about why people go out of their way to be helpful, kind, difficult, unpleasant, devious, obnoxious etc – and what can happen when they lose the capacity for trying to understand another's point of view. It's an object lesson for all, and a very funny one to boot.

Highly recommended for all lovers of good cinema and clever comedy.

Belgian film is having a great period and Aaltra is another proof of that. It's rather back to the basics. It's so basic that the actors for long periods don't speak. They even don't have any mimic during these periods. Still much is said all the time.

This is about the neighbors hating each other. Hate gets them into an accident and they both end up in wheel chairs. They begin to need each other and the silent and in many ways literally unmoving friendship starts.

This is a black comedy where you after a while start to laugh, not at the two friends but at the circumstances around them. That's probably also the message.

To me this film epitomises the surreal underbelly of everyday life. I don't think it constitutes a "spoiler" to say that the film portrays in a strangely endearing way the boyish pigheadedness of grown men and the strength this and their devotion to their obsessions can give them. It also portrays the bleak loneliness of the island each man can become if he's not very lucky and the unlikely ways in which this loneliness can be alleviated.

Visually, I enjoyed the painterly quality of the over lighting of many scenes, which allows moments of reflection and, in the tradition of true art, encourages the viewer to see everyday objects or scenes in a new light. Again, I don't think it spoils anything as it's merely a brief passing scene, to suggest you look out for example for the tall thin man in the wheelchair at the railway station, disappearing into the light after passing one of the main protagonists in a doorway - it reminded me of the paintings of Francis Bacon among others. Even grim events can have a visual beauty, or at the least an arresting quality about them, and this is a film that has the courage to flaunt the fact and doesn't shy away from what is at first sight mundane or ugly. And as it highlights the hidden beauty of many ugly things so it also highlights the humour that can accompany the most unfortunate events. Even dreadful people have stories worth telling.

As regards the humour, it is indeed black and cynical but at the same time, and as is reinforced by the ending, it actually leaves the viewer (or this one at any rate) with a warm feeling and a sense almost of admiration for the sheer dogged tenacity and survival instinct of the two main protagonists. Moreover, the humour marinated in my mind so that next day, when trying to recount some of the scenes to friends, I found myself crying with laughter so that I was barely coherent, and seeing even more humour than I had noticed at the time.

This is not an unpolished piece of work; it is in fact skillful and deceptively subtle. A more obviously polished style would have sat uncomfortably with the spirit of the piece. It works on more than one level, rewarding anyone who can view it completely clear of any assumptions, prejudices or unnecessarily prudish criteria. It doesn't waste time being polite, it just tells it like it is. Remember you're just watching it. It's only fiction and art and you don't need to approve or disapprove. Just experience and hopefully enjoy.

I can't wait for it to be available on DVD so I can share it with my friends.

Delépine and de Kervern are Belgian comedians who conceived, wrote, directed and starred in this deliciously dark comedy about two rural neighbors (one is a farm hand, the other a business man who commutes to the city), men who hate each other and, in one horrid fight, accidentally inflict wounds that result in each becoming paraplegic. Now wheelchair bound, they find themselves thrown together, hitchhiking on a long road journey to Finland, to the Aaltra plant, where a piece of farm machinery was made, equipment that figured in their injuries, to seek compensation. Along the way, naturally, their mutual antipathy gives way, first to interdependence, and from there to a crude sort of friendship.

The early scenes seem deliberately, almost diabolically discontinuous and thus the unfolding of the story is puzzling for a while. Shot in grainy black & white, the movie seems like verité; at first one even wonders whether this is possibly a documentary. The Finnish biker Karaoke scene is by itself almost worth the price of admission. Dripping with drollery (sorry folks, I just can't seem to shake my obsession with alliterative riffs on the letter "d" today), this film recalls the comedies of the Finnish director, Aki Kaurismäki, who, in fact, has a cameo role at the end of this movie, as the Aaltra plant owner. My grade: B 7/10

AALTRA (Gustave de Kervern, Benoît Delépine - France/Belgium 2004)

A rare combination of real-life drama and black humor, this low-budget film from Belgium is a treat from start to finish. Shot in b/w Scope, almost every frame of this refreshingly original road-movie on wheelchairs seems to contain a delightful comic set-up, greatly enhanced by its grainy 16mm b/w photography.

The film kicks off in a rural area south of Brussels, where Gus and Ben (played by the writer-directors, K/Vern and Delépine) are neighbors. Gus is a farmer and spends most of his time daydreaming on his tractor. Ben is a commuter, who has trouble at his work in the city and with his marriage. Both are very unhappy with their lives but most off all, the two men work on each other's nerves. One day, as Ben hurries to get to work on the small road leading to their house, Gus willfully obstructs the way with his tractor. Ben climbs on Gus' tractor and starts a fight, part of the machinery falls on top of the men and the next day they wake up in the hospital, paralyzed from the waist down. Gus decides to head for Finland in order to claim indemnity from the tractor company, named Aaltra. What follows is a road-movie on wheelchairs through Europe in order to reach their goal.

Part of what makes it all so strangely endearing is the fact that the two men are in a wheelchair, which makes a perfect excuse for some comic situations. Every simple thing they do, from trying to get money or food to innocent remarks made to strangers, becomes hilarious because of the way everyday people tend to react to the disabled. Due to the almost universal belief in the goodness of disabled people in general, Gus and Ben are able to shamelessly take advantage of even the most helpful and friendly persons they encounter. The fact that the two men aren't in the least sympathetic is exactly what gives the film it's edge. They remain malevolent hostile bastards, just as hostile against each other as against the outside world they have to cope with.

Considering it's minimal budget, the cinematography is great. Beautifully shot in grainy black-and-white, with many extreme long shots, many of them without dialog. And K/Vern and Delépine are talented comedians (especially in silent comic expressions), but they somehow managed (or got the right people to do it for them) to give the film a real cinematographic touch. A rare achievement.

Aki Kaurismäki and Benoît Poelvoorde appear in the film in small roles, although the latter is tough to spot. You have to be familiar with his legs or voice to recognize him.

Camera Obscura --- 9/10