BEST OF LONDON FILM FESTIVAL 2016 - THE SOS LFF AWARDS

With the 60th BFI London Film Festival having now graciously agreed to shut up shop and give me a break from watching masterpieces, it's time to conclude SOS' coverage of the fest with my LFF 2016 awards! Lots of brilliant films at this year's event, indeed so many that there are several deserving award-winners that barely even got a look in! To clarify, only one award was allocated per film, so there may be some cases where a film would have claimed more than one award, but was relegated to runner-up status by virtue of having won a different award. You can check out last year's winners at this link, and this year's below:

Best Film
My Life as a Courgette (Claude Barras)

Best Film - Special Mention
Raw (Julia Ducournau)
Runners-up: The Woman Who Left (Lav Diaz), The Death of Louis XIV (Albert Serra), Toni Erdmann (Maren Ade)

Best Direction
Lav Diaz (The Woman Who Left)
Runners-up: Claude Barras (My Life as a Courgette), Maren Ade (Toni Erdmann)

Best Performance by a Female Actor
Kirin Kiki (After the Storm)
Runners-up: Charo Santos-Concio (The Woman Who Left), Rooney Mara (Una)

Best Performance by a Male Actor
Jean-Pierre Leaud (The Death of Louis XIV)
Runners-up: John Lloyd Cruz (The Woman Who Left), Ben Mendelsohn (Una)

Best Screenplay
Maren Ade (Toni Erdmann)
Runners-up: Claude Barras, Morgan Navarro, Celine Sciamma and Germano Zullo (My Life as a Courgette), Lav Diaz (The Woman Who Left)

Artistic or Technical Achievement
Paul Atkins, Matthew Bramante, Erik de Boer, Dan Glass, Kevin O'Neill and Bruce Woloshyn (Voyage of Time: Life's Journey) - cinematography and visual effects
Runners-up: Lav Diaz (The Woman Who Left) - cinematography, Olivier Affonso and Amelie Grossier (Raw) - makeup

LFF 2016 REVIEW - LA NOCHE (EDGARDO CASTRO)

Edgardo Castro dives head-first, deep into the depraved solitude that is a life on society's outskirts, yet in its physical centre. In documenting existence in its mundane, monotonous hopelessness, and in doing so with unflinching candour, Castro's La Noche is a valuable exercise for the new director, and a tender work of art with a singular vision. But its mundanity is altogether too oppressive, and its commentary upon it barely developed; yes, we see this existence, but what of it? Am I desensitized by so many films of a similarly graphic nature? Am I unmoved by the simple depiction of a culture with which I'm already familiar? Or is La Noche just a hollow, albeit noble, piece of cinema? Castro strives for utmost honesty, and indeed he achieves it, though seemingly expending all of his artistic energy on its creation - the tenor of individual moments is vivid and immediate, the intimacy of the camera work ever heightening the intensity. The navigation of a procession of sexual encounters, their varying physical and emotional characters skilfully mapped, form the majority of La Noche's narrative concerns, though it's often in its non-sexual, even daylight-set scenes that the film makes its strongest impressions, the fluid editing turning downtime into comedown time. Yet the opacity of Castro's psychological inquiries stymies the film from making the kind of meaningful statements it readily could have made, stranding this virtuous portrait of society's outcasts in a shallow sea of simplicity.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - THE WOMAN WHO LEFT (LAV DIAZ)

How to describe The Woman Who Left? Even the briefest appraisal of a single strand of its inquiries would take as long to write as the film itself takes to watch. There are those constant features of Lav Diaz's technique that never cease to impress, to serve such powerful purpose in the expression of story, theme and emotion. They need referenced only to again stress their integrity and Diaz's brilliance in employing them - the hi-def digital photography revealing all, yet only ever what Diaz wants us to see, when he wants us to see it. A great naturalist with his actors, he's also a great formalist with the rest of his mise-en-scene, and continues to create stories that are ours to interpret, not his characters' to inhabit. Then there's the obsession with environment, the appreciation of the nature of a particular place's effect upon the particular psychology of each particular person, the breathtaking astuteness with which Diaz places his figures within their specific physical milieu. And the sympathetic, provocative dissection of social and historical practices and conventions, with a focus on the lives of the disenfranchised, society's rejects, those whose control over its standards is as limited as its impact on them is profound. Law is in perpetual combat with justice in Diaz's films, and the many ways in which humans seek to pervert their most essential qualities are revealed as a rot within our character. Then there are the facets unique to The Woman Who Left: a loosening of Diaz's style, a new purpose for his personal brand of rigorous lyricism - this is among his most overtly emotional and humorous films. Also the critique of institutional systems of religion and spirituality, with the bold and sensational alternative Diaz proposes placing those rejects at the top of his church, part of this film's integral reconfiguration of gender and sexual politics. If this is, indeed, the church of Lav Diaz, then I'm more than ready to be baptized.

BFI LFF CAPS OFF WITH ANOTHER BIG NIGHT FOR FEMALE FILMMAKERS: 2016 AWARDS

Remember how female filmmakers dominated the London Film Festival awards last year? That's right, a completely fair and democratic set of voting processes resulted in an unbiased outcome that yet prioritized women in film. Well, the juries at this year's LFF have done the exact same thing. Half of this year's recipients were women, with Kelly Reichardt claiming the fest's top prize for her film Certain Women, and two awards going to women in the First Feature competition. A promising sign of the state of the international film industry both at present and in the future. Let's keep this momentum up! Check out all the winners right here.

Best Film - Official Competition
Certain Women (Kelly Reichardt)

The Sutherland Award for Best Film - First Feature Competition
Raw (Julia Ducournau)

Special Commendation - First Feature Competition
Oulaya Amamra (Divines)

The Grierson Award for Best Film - Documentary Competition
Starless Dreams (Mehrdad Oskouei)

Best Film - Short Film Competition
9 Days - From My Window in Aleppo (Issa Touma, Floor van der Meulen and Thomas Vroege)

BFI Fellowship
Steve McQueen

LFF 2016 REVIEW - THE WEDDING RING (RAHMATOU KEITA)

A defiant assertion of identity and a bold retort to the West comes in the form of a tender love story from Niger. Rahmatou Keita's film is as non-combative as they come, stressing the value of respect above all else; The Wedding Ring remains a pointed critique of Western exploitation in Africa yet, in demonstrating the pitfalls, but also the pride, in an isolated instance of a reversal of such exploitation. Even the more opaque elements of Keita's cultural immersion are amplified in her commitment to her cause, a statement of the validity of this dying culture, and of existence outside of the scheme of Western lifestyles. It is thus that The Wedding Ring becomes impossible to evaluate by usual standards, since it stringently refuses to adhere to them - many of the film's apparent flaws can be swiftly dismissed as such, though others cannot. One has cause to query the integrity of Keita's direction, with slack showing through in a number of sequences, sloppy editing, and an unnecessarily intrusive score diminishing the quality of an otherwise admirable production. Yet her outlook on her characters' lives is rich in detail and empathy, positing an ambiguous commentary on the effects of Western influence on regional African communities, and insisting on the inherent virtues of their ways of life, with an implicitly feminist message that is skilfully interwoven into its fellow thematic threads. And The Wedding Ring is an uncommonly, almost imperceptibly beautiful film, burgeoning with striking imagery to the extent that it almost becomes commonplace. It's this kind of powerful declaration and celebration of self of which African cinema ought to produce more, or of which it ought to be permitted to produce more!

LFF 2016 REVIEW - AQUARIUS (KLEBER MENDONCA FILHO)

Real talk! Because the bullshit is real, the effects are real, and the struggle is real. Kleber Mendonca Filho and Sonia Braga are done holding back, and they together confront the literal rot seeping down from the top of Brazilian society in Aquarius. The apartment block in which Braga's character is the sole remaining resident is as the film itself is constructed - symbolic, maybe a little impractical, but a statement against the societal evils devised and perpetuated by elitist corporations. Aquarius hails the simple yet profound beauty of art, indeed striving to achieve the same in itself, and prioritizes the basic human needs of love, respect, common sense, sex, and the integrity of one's home above all else. It's a generous film, stressing the value of communal experiences of joy, and indeed of pain, and inviting its audience to share in those experiences, with elongated, intimate scenes, the film's essential energy maintained in Mendonca Filho's delightful way with dramaturgy. His more expressive details are arguably a little too overt, set as they are within a film that largely eschews excessive displays of affectation, but his grasp of character is exemplary - whether it's delineated through the direction, the writing, the cinematography, the editing. The boldness to which Mendonca Filho sporadically resorts may be an easy option for the emotional catharses he's equally inclined to resist as he is to indulge, but they have an appropriate power, given the nature of the narrative. And anyway, holding back is for wusses. This brash piece of termite art burrows its way to heavenly heights, and brings every willing viewer along with it on its joyous ascent.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - THE SON OF JOSEPH (EUGENE GREEN)

The permanence of the essential virtues of art courses through the films of Eugene Green, even as he establishes his reputation as a true modernist. The contradiction is not so, however, since his preference for idiosyncratic innovation chimes rather harmoniously with the achievements of the artistic masters he so reveres, not least in its own essential virtue, put to a new test in the comical The Son of Joseph. Green emphasizes the playfulness of his stylistic schemes, inviting self-parody into his self-aware mise-en-scene. It's a charming development for an auteur too often dismissed as overly serious, as Green ensures that the apparent contrivances that this mirthful approach exposes are not merely employed to serve this humour but to engender it. Thus, The Son of Joseph defines its character, a new work of art that's as modern as it is classical. A master filmmaker himself with a deep respect for the full spectrum of artistic creation, Green stages several enrapturing sequences focusing upon the characters' response to painting, or architecture, or musical performance; spectators within the screen and before it - these are wondrous scenes. In formulating a work of comparative spiritual significance, however, The Son of Joseph's cute provocations may be appealing, but they're paper-thin - as much as Green acknowledges each cliche upon encountering it, his film is highly reliant on them, and its thematic core is weak, even from an objective viewpoint. And yet what better advertisement for this director's singular brilliance? A basically bad story, yet a rather terrific movie! Artistic virtue indeed!

LFF 2016 REVIEW - AFTER THE STORM (KOREEDA HIROKAZU)

The past filters into the present, indeed even becomes it, in Koreeda Hirokazu's After the Storm, sifting through how we come to define ourselves in direct relation to our heritage and our expectations. Koreeda organically constructs one of those second-half awkward shut-in devices, designed to purge that which its characters insist on concealing and thus reconfiguring their outlook upon life; his technique is typically subtle, intelligent and legitimate in the corresponding construction of both theme and character. His staple elements are all present and correct, and put to particularly productive use in this personal, original story: food and drink defining or complimenting the mood, or reflecting it; expressive, economical framing in static shots that permit the on-screen action the ability to create its own shape and movement; gentle, telling friction in cultural and generational divisions. The more laidback, meandering, non-contrived Koreeda's narrative, the more these details acquire their intended strength, here rooted in the diegesis of After the Storm. With respectful commentary on different perspectives in class, age and gender, Koreeda forms one of his finest analyses yet of the contemporary Japanese conundrum of how it integrates its past into its present, ever struggling admirably, though with little evident strain, to conceive fitting solutions. Per each person in its main ensemble, Koreeda shapes this analysis around who we wanted to be, expected to be, wish we were and might someday actually become, and also what we take from and give to those closest to ourselves, intentionally or otherwise. With generous humour, and great skill in creating a sense of plot through simple character development, After the Storm is one of the most successful distillations of this great filmmaker's artistic and societal concerns to date.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - LION (GARTH DAVIS)

As a distant memory conjures up only a fleeting image in one's mind, so too do the opening credits of Lion scurry past before fading away, as the film itself seems destined to. Early and often, emphasis is placed upon emphasis alone, an attempt at hammering home the potent dramatic tenor of this incredible true story, with little attention toward developing that which might make the viewer share in its characters' emotional turmoil. Empty stylistic gestures gently adorn Lion, cooking up the occasional memorable image, but otherwise of little actual impact. Trauma is co-opted under the strictures of convention for a commercialized fantasy, and one can only wonder what effect the film might have had under the guidance of more sensitive hands. Luke Davies' screenplay prioritizes reverence to factual truth over emotional truth, and Garth Davis conspires in sacrificing the potential for genuine affective heft in favour of excessive adherence to narrative credibility, yet with deviations in the direction of cliche throughout. Should I just stop kicking this film while I've already got it down? I think so, because there remains a lot to like about Lion. Even under questionable creative direction, the power of such an astonishing true story told with kindness gives the film undeniable purpose, and gives the cast a wealth of strong material with which to work. Nicole Kidman and Sunny Pawar are excellent, and Dev Patel delves deep into his role in order to rise above his film, handling a highly difficult task with apparent ease. Hollow actors' showcases have never been my thing, but Lion gets by on at least not being the worst.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - RAW (JULIA DUCOURNAU)

Bursting onto the cinema scene like a severed artery in full flow, Julia Ducournau assaults both her audience and her predecessors in the New French Extremity. Raw is like a belated bookend and corrective to that tiresome phase of filmmaking, an endlessly surprising and thrilling film that toys with our perceptions in unveiling one new slant on genre tropes after another. It's a vigorous assertion of a shocking new artistic vision, just as its protagonist forges a radical path of her own upon attending her first year at veterinary school. From different angles a critique of arbitrary family ties and a curt acceptance of (literal) blood ties, a sneering dismissal of a culture that exalts values of masculinity and heteronormativity, and a bold depiction of a particularly rapid, extreme coming-of-age process, Raw is thematically rich, but primarily it is a stylistic masterclass. Ducournau has total command of her developing mise-en-scene, devising methods of intensification, deflection, diversion and outright mockery (of her characters and of her audience) that embolden the film, give its presentation of almost every fluidic expulsion conceivable an added edge of provocative verve. It's gleefully nasty, the brilliant strain of black comedy arising from the essential interlacing of vivid, aptly raw body horror and the tender character drama that cultivates around it. Thus Raw is not simply exemplary filmmaking for a gory horror movie, it's exemplary filmmaking for any movie.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - THE ORNITHOLOGIST (JOAO PEDRO RODRIGUES)

"Whoever approached the spirit will feel its warmth, hence his heart will be lifted up to new heights." Opaque and specialized as hell, though ravishing as heaven, Joao Pedro Rodrigues' The Ornithologist repurposes religion for its own sake, a blasphemous yet curiously reverent appropriation of spiritual tales; as with many of the most meaningful, it ties transcendence to perversion. A tactile soundscape, striking camera motions and compositions, and consistently corporeal concerns make Rodrigues' spiritual odyssey an accessible, tangible experience for the viewer, and recalibrate the specifics of the St. Anthony legends (alongside some other christian myths) in a manner far more relevant to director and viewer alike. The Ornithologist is an openly personal film, dealing with our director's own identity in a frank fashion; as our protagonist reacquires his sense of self, it is with a perspective rendered anew by a series of alarming occurrences, sexual connotations both overt and obscure, in processes of losing and receiving. This interior odyssey is precipitated by carnal encounters, and violent ones, and always the attractive idea that we come to know ourselves, and our purpose in life, not in internal reflection but in external experiences. If The Ornithologist means little to you, as indeed such a singular work of art is likely to, you might at least be drawn to its artistic achievements, which themselves seem designed solely to provide the film its worth, its stature as a work of art at all defined by the artistry on display. As vague and unyielding as its peculiarities may appear, their gleeful oddity, and the film's supreme technical beauty, are reason enough to indulge in this ever-surprising, highly satisfying piece of profoundly personal expression.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - TAEKWONDO (MARCO BERGER AND MARTIN FARINA)

A protracted tease that's all in the characters' imaginations, not our own, though Marco Berger and Martin Farina don't let us get away with our salacity - Taekwondo is pure smut, but it has a plot and it has a purpose, and our arousal is our responsibility. The scenario is that of many hundreds of gay porn productions, the objects, actions and situations are designed for maximum erotic potential, but Berger and Farina's greatest achievement is that they both form their film from these overtly sexual details and formulate further sexual potency from their film. Their compositions are unabashedly suggestive, even downright explicit; Taekwondo is literally the cockiest film of the year, but then it's arguably also the ballsiest, and the taintiest... The eroticism that spurts forth from the film is used to more intellectual ends alongside its more sensual objectives, as a subtle, sensitive critique on the damage that cultural standards of masculinity have upon men, both hetero- and homosexual (or bisexual). It's a silly scene every time one of Taekwondo's brashly macho hunks feels the urge not only to suppress their aggression no longer but to actively release it, and a sad scene every time German, our watchful gay protagonist, played beautifully by Gabriel Epstein, or one of his fellow vacationers exposes their incapacity to keep up with these standards. It's a tender, ironic film, seductive and intimate in its lush close-ups, never unduly exploitative of its innate conceptual sexuality, though generous in what exploitation in which it does engage. Eye candy and intelligence attractively furnish this perceptive examination of the specificity yet the universality of the gay experience, its pain and its pleasures alike.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - JOURNEY THROUGH FRENCH CINEMA (BERTRAND TAVERNIER)

If this is Bertrand Tavernier's journey, and his alone, it's a remarkably selfless one. Selfless, but not impersonal, like an autobiography that's about the writer's friends and acquaintances, rather than themselves. Journey Through French Cinema is expansive enough to see further, and clearer, into the character of its subject than most of its own viewers, insightful enough to proffer appraisals of genuine quality and validity, rich enough to justify its runtime, brief enough to leave one in an appropriate state of reverence and excitement, specialist enough to leave one in a somewhat distant state of apathy by its end. Tavernier's knowledge is impressive and his intelligence even more so, and his openness to such a great variety of perspectives, opinions, styles and much else still results in a cinematic essay that's as persuasive in its purpose as you're likely to find. Yet this dense voyage into an encyclopaedic artistic mind is as esoteric as it is educational, despite the individual worth of all of its observations. Tavernier understands not only French cinema but the two things separately: France and cinema, and that's as apparent here as in any of his best films. One instantly observes parallels between himself and those artists profiled: a simultaneous embrace and mistrust of American cinema, a humanistic sentiment, an appreciation for classical craft yet an insistent rebuke of nostalgia, an empathy with misunderstood men, undefinable filmmakers as Tavernier is too. In him, as in a select few others, what is referred to here as French cinema remains alive today, in 2016, yet you'd hardly know it - Journey Through French Cinema is fixated upon the past, perhaps as an invaluable exercise in archiving, perhaps as a quiet lamentation for techniques lost to history. Tavernier's journey alone, but our lesson, and their party: Becker, Renoir, Gabin, Carne, Jaubert, Kosma, Constantine, Greville, Melville, Godard, Sautet, and many more!

LFF 2016 REVIEW - THE DEATH OF LOUIS XIV (ALBERT SERRA)

The view from within, a sight of a most public figure yet also one most secluded and now, approaching death, most isolated. Alone in his experience, yet surrounded by doctors, advisers and valets, facing down a situation wholly unusual and profound to the individual, yet entirely universal, Albert Serra depicts the Sun King, Louis XIV, from a perspective that only he could have devised, or realized in such a fashion. The Death of Louis XIV is sumptuous - bright, burnished gold and blood red sizzling through the screen, an entire world created in a single room, ably populated by a cast of characters inhabited vividly yet subtly by a fine ensemble. It is absurd - the degrading humanization of a man regarded as more than a mere human, the plain, unavoidable, unpretentious physicality of his agonizing descent toward death, yet plied with Alicante wine to simply dribble over his closed lips, or dressed in a fur stole atop his drab bedclothes. It is palpably real - close confines and excellent performances render this extraordinary environment realistic, even amid grandeur and artifice, both artistic and emotional. Serra pushes Jean-Pierre Leaud further than any other director in recent years, and pushes himself to refine his outlook without abandoning the distinctive philosophical and stylistic character of his alternative historical essays, and both succeed magnificently. With typically piquant, gently irreverent humour, The Death of Louis XIV is a genuine intimate epic, and Leaud's presence (and sporadic, eventually oppressive absence) permits it further import for the contemporary audience: the death of a cinema legend in the death of a historical one.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - ASCENT (FIONA TAN)

Fiona Tan ascends into the depths of grief in Ascent, an experimental work of its own remarkable depth of meaning and intelligence, and thus perhaps a needlessly difficult sit. Images frozen in time given new motion by supple editing and soundtrack, this 'photo-film' is a fascinating collage of contradictions, though this fascination too rarely develops into full comprehension - Tan is content for Ascent to leave only an impression, and indeed it is an artful one with considerable emotional import. The one constant among the contradictions is Mount Fuji, and Tan's dense explorations of the cultural, physical, historical character of her subject yields a array of artistic and intellectual content. Uniting much of her inquiry is the notion, itself fittingly contradictory, of the mountain as a void, and then of the void as an object with the potential to be filled. Tan finds some sort of solace in Fuji, its constancy a reassuring quality amid a melancholic world of death and loss. 'Falling is the essence of a flower,' giving a peculiar, but thoroughly persuasive identity to this ascent. Tan's style is rigorous yet meandering, and her techniques are resolutely laudable, even as some are more effective than others. Her intentions too are commendable, and the reach of her exploratory mind is utterly gargantuan - so much so that Ascent lacks focus and clarity. But that may be the point - in the thin, cold air of the peak, along the dangerous precipice, that grief-stricken loneliness that defines this film both refines and rebuts clarity. The film is a contradiction in itself.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - UNA (BENEDICT ANDREWS)

Past trauma taking hold of present decisions - Una is a frank and provocative dissection of the nature and the effects of abuse, its influences upon those involved and, more daringly, its reasons for coming into existence. What becomes of the victim? What becomes of the abuser? And what were the circumstances that led each of them into such a destructive, damaging situation? David Harrower's script is sympathetic enough to accept the irrefutable argument of where to place responsibility, and concurrently makes a case for the abuse victim's subsequent assumption of responsibility begetting a crucial catharsis. It's also intelligent and brave enough to present a moral conundrum at the heart of Una, allowing unflattering tones to settle into its depiction of the victim, and reasonable tones into that of the abuser. Whether or not it condones his dismissive, possibly significant claims that he's not "one of them" only contributes further to the film's intriguing ambiguity. Hard, cold interiors dominate the film's first two thirds, before switching to the more dangerous setting of domesticity. It's here that Rooney Mara's title character must recalibrate her actions and intentions, whilst retaining the defiant assertion of control that has defined her journey to confronting the man who changed her life, and must never again be permitted to. Una is emotionally impenetrable, and Mara is a pro at making unknowable elements of her characters feel completely authentic and understandable. Ben Mendelsohn is also superb, fashioning his role's suspect insistence of the validity of their 'love' and the honour he has somehow acquired since with patient grace. And former theatre director Benedict Andrews opens up the work he once oversaw on the stage with fine cinematic touches, such as a potent appreciation for the effects of space and surroundings on one's emotional state, and the sparing use of music, accentuating the affective power of specific moments.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - VOYAGE OF TIME: LIFE'S JOURNEY (TERRENCE MALICK)

The most specific movie yet from Terrence Malick, yet also the most universal. More than ever before, Voyage of Time: Life's Journey demands of its audience that it submits itself to the lulling vagaries of Malick's wandering thoughts, given form by this collage of stunning material in a baffling arrangement. The film intends to evoke pure emotions, those which make this filmmaker a most sensational fit for this medium - awe, fear, wonder, passion. It's a macro film with macro concerns, and micro ones too, the two unified in a marvellous artistic display. Malick binds vast, terrifying notions to more intimate, ephemeral concerns, marrying the nature of existence to the ways in which we choose to exploit it; grainy camcorder footage of various scenes of cultural expression and more harrowing content send a message that doesn't especially enrich Voyage of Time, and they pale in comparison to the visual majesty of the film's main body. Less focus than devotion is required to properly absorb the philosophical and sensorial detail amid these breathtaking images, and narration supplied by Cate Blanchett - solemn exclamations of confusion and despair. Just as it took Malick many years to bring Voyage of Time together, one considers that perhaps it may take as long to appreciate what value there is in this cumbersome text, although it is employed beautifully in the film's enticing opening. And much as we're navigating the fundaments of life, so too are Malick's verbal expressions reduced to their most basic form, all the better to settle oneself into the gloriously expansive yet inclusive, even personal inquiries made herein. Its missteps and mistakes are more pronounced than in other recent works by this legendary cinematic figure, but he continues to solidify that legend with some of the most entrancing cinema ever made.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - WOLF AND SHEEP (SHAHRBANOO SADAT)

Shahrbanoo Sadat expands our cultural horizons as an international audience with Wolf and Sheep, a valuable document of a lifestyle that's fading fast. It implicitly celebrates and critiques both the cloistered, yet vastly open world of its protagonists, the residents of a tiny village in the mountains of Afghanistan, as well as the world beyond, with simple yet striking stylistic choices and an unobtrusive, sympathetic touch. If unlike most other films the average viewer will have seen in subject, in style it is thus rather less than groundbreaking; Sadat has the eye of an artist, but perhaps not the abilities of a master filmmaker, at least not yet. And one could hardly query the honesty of her outlook, gently emphasizing the universality of these characters' otherwise specific routines, and the timelessness of their way of life. Though the film is occasionally opaque or overly meandering, Sadat employs attractive means of expression, ever congruous to the story's fundamental content. Fables and fantasy are interwoven into the naturalism of Wolf and Sheep, afforded verity by their historical stature and their general benignancy; of considerably greater danger is the threat, though entirely unseen, of encroaching reality and modernity. With bold colours set against the sandy dust of the landscape, in fact the Tajikistani countryside, the film is beautiful to behold, and Virginie Surdej's cinematography is sumptuous. It's vivid details such as these that provide Wolf and Sheep with the artistic validity it requires to accompany its narrative validity, turning a slice of somewhat awkward arthouse into a worthwhile viewing experience.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - TONI ERDMANN (MAREN ADE)

What is humour if not a coping mechanism, and that alone? Whether it is ours or theirs is irrelevant in Maren Ade's bracing, absurd Toni Erdmann, a boisterous and generous film that utterly defies classification. It presents to us solemn tragedy, spoken through silence, and winning, ameliorative comedy, spoken, shown, performed as much for the characters in the film as for the viewers watching it. With a notable resistance to stylistic intrusion, Ade establishes a vividly plausible mise-en-scene, an environment that's wholly our own, and only builds and builds her dramaturgy upon it, tier after tier of complimentary complexity. The comedy is sporadic but overt, and never at the expense of our confidence in the film's essential realism. There's a humanistic, socialist outlook to the corporate satire, and a particular potency to it given the film's setting, largely in Romania. Ade understands the Romanian societal situation, as well as she does the dynamics between her characters - excellently defined in her subtly precise control of physical space - and even the dog who makes a brief appearance in the first act. Could you call it a first act? Does Toni Erdmann even have acts? It rambles on and on, audacious and profound and sensitive and engrossing for every last moment. By its climax, the human race has been reduced to naked beasts at the command of those it has neglected to consider in its ruthless plans for relentless development; elaborate, meaningless forms of communication are abandoned, and concise, honest declarations of emotion are made that pierce far deeper. And yet Toni Erdmann lacks resolution, closing on its most trenchant observation yet: can we really be trusted to do what's best for ourselves even once aware of it, to accept a new, yet ancient, conception of responsibility? This shocking, amazing film leaves us there, alongside its characters, united in thought.

LFF 2016 REVIEW - ELLE (PAUL VERHOEVEN)

Paul Verhoeven remodels the erotic mystery thriller in Elle, a caustic comedy that is far more challenging than you're prepared for. The great director handles this strange, surprising story with a flippancy and a tonal restlessness that resembles less those films in his career to which this bears some similarities as it does that entire career, and suggesting ever further advancements in his artistic and psychological inquiries. Indeed, even Verhoeven's treatment of that story is surprising, bringing bizarre qualities to bracing life yet grounding them in diegesis that he somehow keeps consistently concordant, while putting a fresh, confrontational spin on already-discomfiting material. It's in his interpretation, and his almost alone, that this curious crime drama acquires its singular character, and thus forms a unity in its outlook to that of its protagonist. In that Isabelle Huppert so typically assumes total, inimitable control over her role, she engages in an interpretative collaboration with her director, ever matching Elle's many perverse twists and turns, and enhancing them further, with quirks of her own devising. Control is central to the statements made in Elle that run through its otherwise disparate, disarming lines of interest, proposing provocative solutions to the challenge of defining a woman's identity that will doubtless disgust many. Yet the bold individuality of this fascinating character is such that the objective viewer can only applaud her bravery and her intelligence, and her unyielding dedication to personal fulfilment. In fulfilling our requirements too, as unknown to us as they initially are, Elle deserves every last bit of that applause.