Festival Capsule – quick read reviews and news from national and international film festivals

Who doesn’t love the humble blood orange, with its juicy, sweet flesh and crimson orange juice that dribbles down your chin? Many think it’s called a ‘blood’ orange due to its colour, but the truth is far more horrific as one unsuspecting shopper is about to discover as he settles in for a night in front of the TV. A rustling in the kitchen alerts said man to something very strange. Is it a rat? A mouse? A weirdo in a ghost mask with a carving knife? No, it’s much, much worse. The blood oranges are alive and seeking human plasma to add to their well of bloody juice. As they knash their sharp little teeth and scurry across the worktops and floors, it’s clear that dinner time involves human wedges, not fruity ones. Steve Flavin’s delightful horror short is a genuinely sweet treat as our juicy citrus friends stage a coup in the suburbs.

Mannequins are creepy, right? Even the ones that come to life, such as the beautiful Kim Cattrall, carry an air of terror. Writer and director John Berardo understands this all too well in crafting his serial-killer/ghost story, The Mannequin, and some aspects of this chiller work exceptionally well. A classic ’50s horror opens proceedings, then we jump forward in time to a fashion designer (Gabriella Rivera) signing a rental agreement for a ‘historic’ Los Angeles building with a dark past. Her new studio appears to be perfect on first inspection, and someone’s even left a 1950s mannequin in the corner of the vast space. How nice. Not! It’s fucking possessed, and it’s about to claim another victim.

There’s a lot of fun to be had in The Mannequin, yet it struggles to keep its pace as we near the third act, and by the fourth act, it’s become rather tedious. More’s the pity because there are nuggets of brilliance in this movie.

Imagine, for a moment, if you will, a Terry Gilliam animated film concerning the famous Tour de France. It likely involves every possible monument, flying water bottles, a crowd of rabbits and a huge boot squashing cyclists who fall behind. Writer/director John Hollands’ extremely short film Le Tour De Canada takes Gilliam’s flair for the surreal, the genuine absurdity of the Tour de France, and a whole host of Canadian stereotypes to fire the starting gun. And if you thought the Tour de France was gruelling, wait till you get a load of this nightmarish, absurd and utterly joyous journey from St John’s to Vancouver!

Writer and director Sacha Polak is renowned for weaving lived experiences, natural performances, and artistic bravery into bold, raw, and brilliant stories of survival, rebirth, and challenge. In her 2020 film Dirty God, Polak explored the story of a young British woman recovering from an acid attack following domestic violence, as she introduced us to healthcare worker and part-time actor Vicky Knight from Essex, who suffered 30% burns at the age of seven in a pub fire. 

Silver Haze sees Knight and Polak reunite with a film built upon the foundations of Knight’s lived experience. But far from being a docudrama, Silver Haze, based initially on a mere twenty-page outline, allows the actors to build upon Knight’s experiences, weaving a powerful story of intergenerational trauma, female love, working-class struggle, and rebirth.

There are moments when Silver Haze often feels bloated as it attempts to explore multiple character journeys in a story that should have centred firmly on Franky and Florence and the shared traumas that serve as a platform for their uneasy love. However, despite this weakness, it is raw, unrestrained, unflinching, female-led storytelling that shines with honesty and realism.

Some documentaries are so personal, poetic and honest that they leave an indelible mark on all who watch them. Francesco Patierno’s documentary, based on the words of Fuani Marino, is one of those films. With a runtime of just over an hour, we are taken from Marino’s childhood to her twenties, motherhood and beyond as she explores her battle with mental health and the delicate nature of life and love.

Through her writing and diary entries, Marino challenges us to explore the uncomfortable realities of living with a mental health condition, including the actions and feelings people consider and enact as they navigate the world around them. Her words are accompanied by photos, home videos, and a stunning collection of images and film collated from the Instituto Luce film archive, all brought to life through Patierno’s exquisite and compelling style.

The intimacy on display in Wake Me Up Before Midnight is genuinely breathtaking as Marino shares her thoughts, battles and struggles through a film that shines a light on many of the uncomfortable realities of failing mental health while never losing sight of the importance of love and treatment in lighting the darkest corners of our complex minds.

In 1961, Ermanno Olmi’s Il Posto introduced us to a young Italian, Domenico, searching for a job for life. Watching Mattia Colombo and Gianluca Matarrese’s documentary ‘A Steady Job’, you could argue that little seems to have changed since 1961, particularly in Southern Italy. But the focus of Colombo and Matarrese’s lens is not the clerical world of Olmi’s film; it’s the public sector. Here, we meet the thousands of hopeful nurses bused in from across Southern Italy to take the examinations that all aspiring nurses and public-sector workers must pass to secure the steady job they dream of. However, this is no easy process for our hopeful job seekers, who compete for a limited number of positions among thousands of applicants.

Raffaele is our guide and the owner of a bus company that transports candidates between mass examinations, helping them avoid the need for expensive overnight accommodation. However, Raffaele, himself a trained nurse, is about to face his biggest challenge as the Pandemic hits and healthcare recruitment faces an unprecedented crisis. Il Posto is, at its heart, a profoundly personal road trip that explores and debates themes of opportunity, employment, inequality, and social policy in modern-day Italy.

Songs can unite us, divide us, offer us hope, allow us to dream and spark our most profound memories, happy or sad. Since the creation of the first musical instrument, possibly as long as 60,000 years ago, music has defined our hopes, dreams, aspirations, and sense of belonging and community. While some songs come and go with time, others last forever, reinventing themselves for every new generation; Bella Ciao is one of those songs.

Giulia Giapponesi’s fascinating documentary aims to uncover the hidden history behind a song that has become a powerful call for freedom and democracy, an anthem of protest and a reflection of Italian history and resistance. Bella Ciao takes us from the courage of young partisans during the Second World War to the music scene of the 1960s and the fight for freedom in Syria and Iraq as one song creates many stories. “Bella Ciao” is a call to action, a love letter to courage, a celebration of love, and a shining example of the intersection between music, song, and the fight for freedom.  

On August 28 1955, Emmett Till was brutally murdered in the State of Mississippi. Emmett was just fourteen years old when his light was extinguished by a group of men who beat him, disfigured him, and then threw his body into the Tallahatchie River. The horrific lynching of Emmett Till was not the first, nor would it be the last. Emmett’s murder and the injustice of the court case that followed would see his mother, Mamie Carthan (Danielle Deadwyler), become an influential figure in the Civil Rights Movement, with her passion, anger and strength at the heart of a fight that still burns bright.

Mamie would hold an open-casket funeral for her son to show the world the racial hatred, violence and horror that thrived in American towns and cities, working alongside the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) right up to her death at the age of 81. Till is a gut-wrenching and challenging drama that asks one crucial question: When does racial oppression, hate, and injustice end? After all, while things have improved, we still see Black people routinely targeted and assaulted for no other reason than their skin colour in countries that pride themselves on being progressive and democratic.

The roots of the comedy-horror anthology date back to Tales from the Crypt and Creepshow. After watching Tiny Cinema, it’s clear Cornack wished to replicate these while also offering something new. However, the extent of his success is debatable. Each of the six short films deals with highly sexually explicit and indelicate topics, often presented in a needlessly distasteful and over-the-top manner. The episodes each try to describe existing and taboo societal problems, such as the overuse of the double entendre “that’s what she said”, erectile dysfunction, being a single woman in your 30s and dysfunctional relationships. However, given the range of themes, the film’s tone is not sufficiently serious to delve deeply into these issues.

As a result, Tiny Cinema only scratches the surface, neither gory nor funny. While the premise may have looked good on paper, Tiny Cinema feels like a horny teenage boy’s video project – full of creativity but void of deeper meaning. Tiny Cinema begins with the narrator promising an uncomfortable, even offensive ride, but unfortunately, it fails to become anything memorable or enjoyable.

Dawn (Maya Henry) is heading home following her mother’s sudden death, but her mind whirs with doubts and fears as she approaches the family farm. After all, a lot has changed since she left, with her late mother, the only family member who was privy to her transition and transformation into a strong young trans woman.

As Dawn arrives, her sister Tammy (Amy Groening), boyfriend Byron (Reid Price), and dad John (Robb Wells) look on in disbelief, their minds unable to process the beautiful young woman who stands before them. But as the wake and funeral of their dearly departed mum and wife loom, healing, strength, and togetherness will slowly build through the unexpected renovation of a beloved antique tractor. However, in a small town where everyone knows each other’s business, Dawn will also have to face the spectre of discrimination and hate as she battles to find her place once more.

Director and screenwriter Shelly Thompson draws on her own experiences as the mother of a trans son to shape Dawn’s world. Here, Thompson brings a poignant and sincere warmth to themes of family reconciliation and unconditional love. Meanwhile, newcomer Maya Henry captures Dawn’s need for healing and acceptance alongside her defiance and inner strength in an assured and refined central performance.

Originally believed to have been destroyed by the Nazis, Stefan and Franciszka Themerson’s incendiary film was rediscovered by chance in the Bundesarchiv, Berlin, in 2019. On behalf of the Themerson Estate, the Commission for Looted Art in Europe negotiated the restitution of the film from the Bundesarchiv, which had preserved the original nitrate film since Germany’s reunification in the 1990s. The restitution of Europa in July of this year marks the first time in decades that a unique film masterpiece has been returned to its rightful owners from Germany. The Themerson Estate has now donated Europa to the BFI National Archive for long-term preservation.

Housed at the BFI’s Master Film Store in Warwickshire, it has been assembled with original material from the Themersons’ other surviving films, most of which were made after they arrived in England during the war and where they spent the rest of their lives.

Fully restored in 2K, Europa will receive its world premiere at the 65th BFI London Film Festival, in partnership with American Express, on Wednesday, 6 October at BFI Southbank, marking the first time the film has been screened since the early 1930s. Hosted by Will Fowler, BFI National Archive Curator of Artist Moving Image, the Europa LFF event will welcome special guests to discuss the story behind the work’s creation and context, as well as the film’s history of loss and restitution as looted art. Also showing will be the two reconstructions of Europa created during its absence.

Anyone expecting Renata Pinheiro’s ambitious slice of social fantasy and horror to emulate Stephen King’s Christine will undoubtedly be disappointed. Pinheiro’s complex and, at times, engaging vision is rooted in the social development of a changing Brazil, rather than in classic fantasy or horror. The result will not be to everyone’s taste: a film that looks gorgeous and sounds beautiful, yet ultimately weaves too many big and complex social discussions into its narrative. King Car offers moments of brilliance as it explores the interface between human creation, industry, and nature, but these moments feel slightly lost in a film that runs out of gas due to its own complexity.

There is no questioning that Renata Pinheiro’s movie is bold, creative, and different, but it is not an easy viewing experience, which may lead many to tune out after the first thirty minutes.

Sometimes, short is better. Sadly, Richard Bates Jr.’s latest movie is one of those films that would have worked as a 30-minute short but loses its way at 1 hour and 18 minutes. This offbeat coven comedy may hold fleeting moments of brilliance, but its satire soon becomes predictable and, ultimately, dull.

Thorn (Matthew Gray Gubler) and his partner Willow (Angela Sarafyan) happily lead a small band of friends, followers and fellow witches in a small Wiccan coven. It’s a group of outsiders who have found solace and peace in each other’s arms, living a simple, almost make-believe life, shielded by a protective circle of friendship as they reject the capitalist world around them. However, beneath this idealistic existence, turmoil bubbles. Desmond and Neptune are worried that their relationship is built on a lie; Percival believes he isn’t good enough for his partner Rowena, and Thorn and Willow have become camp counsellors rather than leaders. But when Thorn receives an invite to his high school reunion, a secret he has kept hidden for years comes to light – Thorn was a straight-A student who played lacrosse and wore chinos.

While exploring themes of individuality, diversity, and difference, King Knight becomes lost in an ocean of competing ideas. As a result, the audience is left wondering whether they are laughing at Thorn and his followers or the capitalist society surrounding them.

Pete Murimi’s directorial debut, I Am Samuel, reflects on a powerful, poignant, and important journey in a documentary that follows young Kenyan Samuel and his partner Alex through the trials and tribulations of family and community acceptance. The bravery of their journey is a testament to those who strive to achieve equality through individual acts of courage – their sweeping journey condensed into a 70-minute documentary that encapsulates the emotion and social change born of a love that seeks to topple the barriers of social oppression. Here, the bravery of the young men involved is a bright light in the fog of discrimination.

By freely adapting Jean Cocteau’s play, Almodóvar creates a luscious and enthralling 30-minute spectacle that is both addictive and provocative. Here, one woman (Tilda Swinton) deals with her lover’s departure in a staged apartment overflowing with vibrant colours -with the final phone call between the pair echoing the narrative beauty of Alan Bennett’s classic Talking Heads in its complexity, passion and performance. At the same time, the darkest corners of human vengeance, pain and instability find a divine voice in the hands of Tilda Swinton. The resulting film is a short yet stunning piece of theatre that explores the current social lockdown and isolation we have all endured, and leaves us begging for more.

Visually stunning but fatally dull, Abel Ferrara’s journey into existential angst never quite finds its footing despite Willem Dafoe sitting in the saddle. The result feels more like a grand artistic experiment than an accessible journey as we descend into a dreamlike void between reality and fiction. Some may find Siberia a work of art, but for me, it was a desolate, cold, and somewhat lonely place to spend 92 minutes.

If you were wondering whether Italian cinema has lost its bite in recent years, think again, because Fabio and Damiano D’Innocenzo’s Bad Tales is a pitch-black comedy with a sharp edge. Bad Tales sits somewhere between a modern fairytale and soap opera, joyously dissecting the family and community relationships we all take for granted. Fabio and Damiano focus on the connection between children and their parents as they skillfully skirt the boundary between Italian neo-realism and dark fantasy. The result is a movie that burns with ferocity as it confronts a series of uncomfortable home truths. Bad Tales is nothing short of a daring and dark journey into parental failure and childhood rebellion.

Cathy Brady’s debut feature, Wildfire, is nothing short of ferocious in its power and complexity. Wildfire sees, past trauma, mental health and a need for belonging dovetail with the turbulent social history of Northern Ireland as we are allowed entry into the lives of two sisters separated by unspoken pain. Their wild and passionate reunion pushes the boundaries of memory, place, sisterhood and belonging as repressed emotions ignite a blaze of drama. Brady’s eye for detail is outstanding as two souls merge on the road to either recovery or destruction. However, be warned: her movie never attempts nor wishes to offer easy answers to the complex social themes it raises.

Sitting somewhere between comic-book fantasy and social satire, Małgorzata Szumowska and Michał Englert’s film is both beautiful and frustrating. Let’s start with the beauty; Never Gonna Snow Again is a stunning dissection of middle-class life, seen through the eyes of a rather gifted Ukrainian Masseur (Alec Utgoff). His home visits from one house to the next joyously unpick the secrets and lies that hide behind the tall hedges of a chocolate box suburbia of clandestine meetings and affairs. While full of wonder, originality, satire, and stunning performances, the screenplay lacks breathing room, and we are ultimately left hanging as the film closes, despite wanting so much more.

The opening thirty minutes of The Intruder surround us with paranoia and tension reminiscent of Hitchcock at his best. However, what begins as a beautiful, taut thriller/mystery soon becomes a convoluted, opaque ocean of competing themes in Meta’s frustratingly disappointing film. That does not mean The Intruder is not fascinating, complex, and beguiling as we bounce from thriller to supernatural horror, but the resulting story quickly fades from memory, despite the outstanding performances of Erica Rivas and Nahuel Pérez Biscayart. For those willing to stick with its bewildering style and vision, The Intruder offers, at times, a rich cinematic experience alongside a confusing and ultimately frustrating journey.

In response to the global pandemic, the 28th Raindance Film Festival will proceed this year as a hybrid event, with remote engagement and live activities, running from 28 October to 7 November, both online and in London. Raindance recognises the need to radically adapt the usual festival format. Raindance also acknowledges the vital role that film plays in unifying, informing and inspiring people. The festival experience has therefore been refined, enabling Raindance to provide a safe engagement while delivering all the atmosphere, affinity, and camaraderie you’d expect from Britain’s biggest independent film festival. “Storytelling brings us together,” says Raindance founder Elliot Grove. “This year more than ever, we need the medium of film to unite us, inspire us, and help us to feel empowered and not isolated. No matter where you are in the UK, as long as you have a screen, you can be a part of the Raindance Film Festival. There’s no stopping us.”

Despite a solid cast, Concrete Plans never finds a firm foundation with its weak plot built on muddy ground, as a group of cash-in-hand Welsh builders unexpectedly become cold-blooded killers. Their descent into madness and murder is the result of a financial dispute with the ex-military landowner who treats them with disdain, forcing them to live in a dilapidated caravan onsite, while he and his beautiful wife sit in luxury. Concrete Plans excels in its exploration of a building trade where cheap foreign labourers are often treated with contempt. However, while playing with the social issues ranging from racism to illegal employment and class divide, Concrete Plans never manages to find a unique voice. 

In a statement released to the media, the BFI said, “BFI Flare is a very special and long-standing festival with a loyal and dedicated following, and we realise that this is a very disappointing situation for audiences, our staff, Festival teams and all of the incredibly talented and passionate filmmakers involved. We know this decision affects individuals in different ways, and we respectfully ask people to please bear with us over the next days as we work through the impacts of cancellation and also look at ways of sharing some elements of BFI Flare digitally.”

Based on Justin Torre’s acclaimed novel, We the Animals, Jeremiah Zagar’s debut feature is a visually stunning, powerful, poetic film. But it also carries a darker side as it explores childhood poverty, family breakdown and emerging sexuality through a series of dream-like memories. From the outset, We the Animals immerses us in a child-centred portrait of family life, confusion and brotherly love while carefully weaving in the harsh realities of poverty and isolation. Here, We the Animals gives voice to the beauty and expression of childhood imagination, as well as to the barriers posed by stifled opportunity and insecurity. The result is a complex portrait of childhood memory that never hesitates to delve into the bewildering, opaque feelings associated with the coming-of-age process.

Exploring the relationship between Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West in the years preceding Woolf’s acclaimed and controversial publication of Orlando, Button’s film should have offered a rich tapestry of literature and sexuality in a society where female sexuality and freedom were oppressed. However, while Vita & Virginia at times shines in its navigation of the love story at its heart, it fails to rise above a style-over-substance approach. Visually a delight, Vita & Virginia beautifully captures the atmosphere of 1920s Bermondsey; yet, its screenplay feels decidedly Enid Blyton-esque in construction. There is no doubt about the solid performances of Gemma Arterton and Elizabeth Debicki, but the screenplay never truly allows them to shine, as the film jumps from scene to scene, leaving little room for on-screen relationships to reach their full potential.

Winner of the Queer Lion at this year’s Venice Film Festival, director Li Cheng’s modest, beautifully shot tale of hidden love, culture, and family in Guatemala is a sublime watch. José is a 19-year-old man who supports his mother in a challenging inner-city environment in modern-day Guatemala. Offering us a documentary-like realism throughout, José explores masculinity, love and lost opportunities against a backdrop of poverty, restricted freedom and longing for release. This film combines honesty, natural performances, and cinematic beauty to offer the audience a sincere, emotional, and stunning photographic portrait of male love and cultural identity in all their depth and complexity. 

Offering us a tough, relentless, scary, and often humorous commentary on modern Western society, this smart and insightful mash-up of Heathers and The Purge takes square aim at social media, our male-dominated society, and the generational political divide that led to Trump’s election. Assassination Nation pulls no punches in its takedown of modern life, driven by three-line tweets, quick and destructive judgment, and a media landscape that encourages all three. The performances from Odessa Young, Hari Nef, Suki Waterhouse, Abra, Bill Skarsgård, and Colman Domingo are to die for! 

Steve McLean’s first feature since his biographical fantasia Postcards from America (1994) may echo the title and, to some degree, the style of its underrated predecessor, but its tone is altogether different. The story within Postcards from London is almost irrelevant, as we are taken on an artistically bold and colourful ride through Soho alongside Jim, played by the fantastic Harris Dickinson, last seen in the exceptional Beach Rats, and four male escort guides and comrades, including the fabulous Jonah Hauer-King.

There is no traditional story arc at play for these young, hot London hustlers, as art, imagination, gay history, and social discussion merge into a colourful cornucopia of desire, longing, and youthful exuberance. This is likely to elicit a love-hate response from audiences given expectations, but no one can deny McLean’s ability to discover some of the best young male talent currently available.

Personally, I found Postcards From London an utter joy to watch, with superb performances and a beautifully imaginative script that pays homage to Derek Jarman. But the real treasure here is Dickinson, Hauer-King and a cracking ensemble of talent who will, trust me, become household names in the coming years.

We all reach a moment in life when we know the days ahead are shorter than those behind us. For Oscar Wilde, played here by Rupert Everett, the years where the days grew shorter were spent in disgraced exile in Naples and Paris following his release from prison in London after his conviction for gross indecency. Yet even in exile, the figure of the man who brought him down, Lord Alfred Douglas, played by Colin Morgan, loomed large, haunting Wilde’s every move and thought.

The Happy Prince is a beautiful and brave film by Rupert Everett, following Wilde’s final years as we explore his memories, regrets, and hopes. Everett delivers a masterful performance and stunning direction, alongside a truly fantastic ensemble cast, including Colin Firth, Morgan, Emily Watson, and Benjamin Voisin, in a film that is both tender, sad, and joyous as Wilde faces his mortality with wit, charm, regret, and misplaced loyalty.