manjits

"The Italian", a debut film by Andrei Kravchuk, is an outstanding film by any standard; and yet the film failed to win any major awards – not even the consolation of a Best Foreign Film Oscar. It won the minor category of Children's film award created for the purpose at Venice, but nowhere else, as if a film about children automatically becomes a children's film.

Three reasons spring to mind; it was a commercial dud possibly due to lack of commercial skills of the makers; contrary to public perception, shock value and financial success rules the fate of a movie even at the top festivals where the judges are mostly the mega-stars from Hollywood and around the world; and the debut production of a young person from a poor country still on the other side of the divide stood as little chance of an award as of Castro winning a Nobel Peace Prize.

So what did I find exceptional in the movie? To start with the least important, the cinematography was par excellence. The depiction of desolate, gloomy environment of Russian winter, with telephoto shots of barbed wires quivering as if in the cold air; the claustrophobic shots of vast landscape (even if done through back projection) from the inside of cars and train were awesome.

The second most outstanding quality of the film was the acting, particularly by all the child actors. It wasn't just great; it was breathtaking in its realism, as if the kids were chosen from an actual asylum which they weren't. The adults had no chance to compete against such talent, but managed to perform professionally.

The most outstanding characteristic of the film got to be the director, whose command in every field – music; editing; locations; camera angles; choice of lenses and suppression of any tinge of sentimentality – was evident.

I don't accept it's a rehash of Dickens's Oliver Twist suggested by some commentators. The harsh brutality of criminal gangs of 18th century Britain in Oliver Twist has nothing in common with the sad declension of Russian society and morale since the glasnost. If anything, the story has more in common with the magical realism of Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude.

That's why the unsentimental ending gels with the mood of the movie.

Don't go by the fact, it's an Australian film made by a virtually unknown aboriginal writer-director-cinematographer Warwick Thornton on a shoestring budget with untrained first-time actors. "Samson and Delilah" is a movie Robert Bresson, Ingmar Bergman, Werner Herzog or Federico Fellini would have been proud of at the pinnacle of their glory. (And in the true Australian tradition, the next movie by Warwick Thornton may turn out to be a total dud – whatever happened to Stephan Elliott? – but I hope not.)

It's made in the austere style of minimalist emotions pioneered by Bresson in 1950s and 60s. There is no background music, other than a few recordings the two characters listen to on radio or tape; and hardly any dialogues (the two 14-year old aboriginal protagonists don't exchange a single word throughout the film).

Getting bored? Don't be. It's a profoundly touching and satisfying art film, the like of which we have not seen too many in the history of world cinema. It would easily be in my personal top-50 best movies of all times. However, if the best of Robert Bresson, Ingmar Bergman, Werner Herzog and Federico Fellini bore you, then please don't bother.

I am a great fan of Werner Herzog, and consider him along with Ingmar Bergman and Robert Bresson as one of the most uncompromising director of the films.

However, I am not impressed by this film. Leaving aside the character of Timothy Treadwell for the moment, I find the film rambling, shallow and pointless. The comments by the people are all badly staged. Herzog's own commentary is at times pedantic or worse meaningless. Like his comment that bears' blank eyes don't show any emotions for humans - just an eye for another source of food. Herzog's editing also lacks any sense of purpose.

Of course, part of the problem with the film is the character of Timothy Treadwell. The guy as seen in the film is a megalomaniac, who is not only intruding into the nature for no rhyme or reason, but is also intruding into his own film supposed to be about his beloved grizzly bears. There are just 2 long shots of Amy who was with him for 2 seasons and died with him, and may be a dozen shots of the bears. Rest of Timothy's film is all about himself - his harangue and meaningless patter about his love and protection of grizzly bears in Alaska. It's a great tragedy that such characters exist from time to time, who claim to be naturalist, but in fact end up giving a bad name to naturalists. In Australia, we had a similar character Steve Irwin, who died in similar circumstances filming an underwater documentary film. They all believe the animals love them for their pranks, not realizing the animals may be viewing it as torture.

All in all, a disappointment from a great director.