andrejs-visockis

I watched this film last night at its Latvian premiere. It was a relatively big event owing to the fact that it was the first ever Hollywood production shot entirely on location in Riga. The film's theme is without any doubt an important one and the real life Irena Sendler definitely deserves to have a film made about her life. I'm just not sure that this was the film It is, of course, one thing that they shot the film in Riga, Latvia and not in Poland. Before the screening, one of the producers claimed that it was no longer possible to make a film about the Warsaw ghetto in Warsaw since everything had been destroyed during the war. That may be true, still others have managed. I understand that this film has been made for the American audiences who wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Madrid and Reykjavik but let's be honest, it didn't actually feel very Warsawy. Riga went through similar events during WWII, so the events depicted in this film didn't feel inaccurate against the actual background of the city of Riga but it just wasn't Poland.

However, that wasn't the biggest problem. Mediocre and unconvincing acting aside, everyone not only spoke broken English (plus they had public signs in English!!!) but they also spoke the way Americans do in Hollywood productions - I love you, son - I love, daddy. Excuse me but no one actually speaks with each other like this in real life in Poland, Latvia or anywhere else really for that matter. And what was it all about with this sudden outburst of cautious randiness in the closet? Yes, of course, we need a bit of fully clothed and well-tempered romance to make the Hollywood mission complete.

In many ways, this film tried to be Schindler's List. They even put some real life footage of Irena Sendler at the end of the film, just like they did it in Spielberg's film. But both these films, while touching upon very serious and important matters, flop entirely in terms of authenticity and believability. In other words, cheap Hollywoodisation of European history.

Royston Tan's second feature 4:30 is a study of loneliness and inability to break what is often just a shell created by circumstance and mounting bitterness towards fellow human beings as well as failure to communicate. The film's central characters are Xiao Wu, an 11-year-old Chinese latchkey boy left to fend for himself after school while his mother is away on never-ending business trips and Jung, their thirty-something suicidal wreck of a tenant from Korea. The obvious obstacles to any communication between the two, such as the language barrier and the age gap, do not deter the boy from constantly attempting to establish a link to Jung. Just like a warmth-seeking missile, he never seizes to direct his attention towards him – he smells his chopsticks to find out what he had for dinner, he takes a photo of both of them together while Jung is asleep and even secretly cuts one of his pubic hairs – all to be entered into his journal which is entirely dedicated to documenting Xiao Wu's observations of the tenant. Occasionally, he tries to get under Jung's skin by putting on his boxer shorts and mimicking his daily routines, including shaving. Thus, his obsession with Jung becomes his own daily routine, a routine which he takes very seriously. Every night at 4.30, woken up by his several alarm clocks, he conducts his nocturnal forays into Jung's bedroom. While the tenant is lying unconscious in his bed after yet another night of heavy drinking, no doubt aided by the pills which he also abuses, Xiao Wu inspects what little there is to inspect, searching for future entries into his journal.

Jung seems oblivious to Xiao Wu's childish attempts at communicating with him. His own mind is grief-stricken by the loss of his girlfriend and he chooses to ignore even the boy's unimpeded attempts at provoking a reaction from him. In a rare moment of actual interaction between the two one night on the stairs, the only thing Jung can think of is to offer the 11-year-old a cigarette while tears are welling up in his eyes. He even tries to say something to Xiao Wu in Korean, only the viewer doesn't get any translation of what he says, just to emphasise the impenetrable wall between the two.

Leading a lonely existence in an adolescent world disconnected from the rest of the society, Xiao Wu is a typical product of surroundings which have little time to spare for one another. Growing up mostly on his own and feeling alienated in school, his only role models are fictional characters on TV shows whom he knows so well that he simply mimics every word one of them, ironically a disgruntled housewife, has to say. Unwittingly, Jung becomes his other role model being the only other person around. One of the focal scenes of the film has Xiao Wu reading out loud a composition he was supposed to write as part of his homework. The title of the composition is My Hero. In a somewhat shaky voice he presents Jung as his Korean father who has a distinct smell of beer and Johnson's baby powder but also someone who loves him and cares for him and meets him every day after school. And herein lies the all too powerful distinction between the two – although they are both intrinsically lonely, their loneliness has been arrived at on two different levels which are never to meet. Most of the time, the two protagonists wear white shirts and tops. While in the boy's case the white colour might symbolise his innocence, Jung's white shirts resemble mostly a white flag. Xiao Wu is seeking human contact while Jung has given up on it.

Royston Tan's art direction is impressive and his cinematography has a hypnotic, almost mesmerising effect. Although obviously not to everyone's taste, 4:30 can be a rather meditating experience with sparse dialogue and long silent scenes where the viewer is given the opportunity to submerge in the significance of the seemingly insignificant. The film is also filled with subtle humour portraying everyday life of an extremely bored pre-adolescent boy. It cannot be recommended to any viewers craving action or wrapped-up explanations since much of the interpretation is left to ourselves but I would say that it's exactly what gives this film a little extra to chew on after the credits are gone.

andysfilmworld.blogspot.com

It is easy to become mesmerised by the hypnotic landscapes of the Paraná Delta where the main river splits into several branches forming a complex labyrinth of subtropical wetlands. It must be this hypnotic effect that makes the inhabitants appear somewhat drowsy and definitely not very talkative. Each word that is uttered seems to come out due to sheer necessity and not for the pleasure of conversing. Forget all about the alleged Latin American temper and fast-paced living! People's lives here are a far cry from the Brazilian samba – if anything, it's a tango with some very slow steps. And some kind of bizarre tango of two bulldogs at each other's throats is exactly how I would describe the growing tensions between Álvaro and Julio, nicknamed El Turu, the self-proclaimed guardian of the island's traditions and values.

Álvaro is a soft-spoken gay man with big puppy eyes who makes his living harvesting reed and restoring books for a library on the mainland. He spends his free time boating the canal-like branches of the river fishing and occasionally engaging in sexual encounters with visiting strangers in the woods where his sexual escapades are observed by some migrant labourers from Paraguay, illegally felling trees on a private property. Apparently not particularly judgemental, these misionaros, as El Turu scornfully refers to them, form a special bond with Álvaro. Being an outsider to a certain degree himself, he doesn't share El Turu's assessment that these people have come to destroy their community by taking all their work from them and flooding the village with their families. Actually, he couldn't care less about these allegations. El Turu, on the other hand, whose position in the community apparently comes from being the captain of La León, the only boat connecting the village with the outside world, is full of contempt and hatred towards the migrants. Throughout the entire film, El Turu tries to persuade his fellow villagers "to do something about it". His bigoted frame of mind comes to the viewers' attention already in one of the opening scenes when he refuses to believe that a young man from the village committed suicide over some girl, claiming instead that the misionaros are surely behind his death. But the danger from the outside is in his eyes well aided by the danger within, namely Álvaro's apparent homosexuality. In a community like this one, you are usually left alone if you go about your "non-traditional" sexuality quietly and aren't caught out but unfortunately, there also always tends to be the odd bigot, the self-proclaimed defender of virtue who will try to catch you out and "teach you a lesson". However, since the question of homosexuality preoccupies and troubles such people so much, it is also quite legitimate to assume that there is a very good personal reason for that – their own latent queerness. And El Turu is no exception. The two axes of confrontation in the film – the one between El Turu and Álvaro and the other one between El Turu and the misionaros reach a climax when El Turu himself, boiling in his frustration, tips the afore-mentioned balance.

The impressive black and white cinematography of "La León" is somewhat reminiscent of Jim Jarmusch's "Dead Man" – the panoramic loneliness set against the river calmly flowing by, while the minimal dialogue in the film bears resemblance to the moody style of his pal, Aki Kaurismäki. Nevertheless, this feature film debut from the hand of Santiago Otheguy has its own unique signature and I'm certainly looking forward to his future work.

(andysfilmworld.blogspot.com)