No IFFRs, Ands, or Buts (expanded)

Friends and Strangers (James Vaughan, 2021)

I fear I'm am falling into a habit with these capsule reviews, comparing every new film to some older one, or a combination of older ones. (Stay tuned for my awesomely dope video with my Top 25, cut with overly literal pop songs!) And if any film were going to (mercifully) short circuit that tendency, it's Friends and Strangers. Not that it is so wildly original as to be beyond comparison, but it would require too many points of reference, making any comparison feeble and uninformative.

Nevertheless, there does seem to be a twisted sort of Guiraudie influence permeating this Australian film, aside from its overall comedy-of-embarrassment vibe. One of the really fun things about this film is that it is constantly shifting, providing new information about scenarios and relationships we initially thought we understood. It starts out with protagonist Ray (Fergus Wilson) on a camping trip with Alice (Emma Diaz). But they aren't dating, at least not exactly. From there, Vaughan introduces various wryly comedic individuals who, while utterly recognizable, are also quintessentially Aussie. The final act of this wandering, aleatory film ends with the passive-aggressive use of the music of Giacinto Scelsi, which should give some indication of how refreshing and off-the-wall this is.

The Dog Who Wouldn't Be Quiet (Ana Katz, 2021)

Katz is a director I've been meaning to catch up with, and this, her fourth feature, shoots her to the top of my Watch List. First of all, this is a film that you want to watch with absolutely no foreknowledge of its themes or formal approach. Avoid all reviews, maybe even this one. Having said that, The Dog Who Wouldn't Be Quiet is sort of like The Day a Pig Fell Into the Well, in the sense that, while there is a dog (pictured above), she a) almost never makes a sound; and b) is only present for about ten of the film's 75 minutes. 

In other words, the dog, Lola, is a thematic dog. The care she receives from her master, Sebastian (Daniel Katz, the director's brother) sets the tone for the entire film, which covers an awful lot of ground and finds Seba in a number of unexpected situations. He is a caregiver, a gentle soul who is trying to navigate a hostile world, beset by economic, interpersonal, and ecological problems he could never anticipate. My pal Shelly Kraicer has called The Dog a "pocket epic," and that's exactly right. Like a less austere Angela Schanelec, Katz uses ellipses to register major alterations in Seba's mode of existence. This is a formal marvel as well as being a warm, humanist picaresque. See it if you can. (I suspect it will be a TIFF / NYFF selection, if it can remain appropriately unpremiered.)

Moss Agate (Sélim Mousad, 2021)

Moss Agate is a film whose reach exceeds its grasp, although it is certainly never boring. What starts out as a kind of self-reflexive dairy film in the mode of Nanni Moretti -- Mousad addressing his testicular cancer, and the attending confrontation with mortality -- morphs into an ambitious but shapeless consideration of filmmaking, nudism, the ethical treatment of interview subjects, and the relative insignificance of human life as compared with the longue durée of rocks and minerals.

What Mousad accomplishes most successfully is the creation of a queer atmosphere that pervades every human interaction. We see Mourad arguing with a Grindr hook-up who thinks he doesn't look like his profile picture. We shift focus to journalist Tamara (Tamara Saade), whose long-term relationship with cameraman Francois (Francois Yazbek) is in crisis, particularly once she meets a woman (whose name is not listed in any cast list online, for some reason) and the two begin a relationship of their own. At times, Sélim and Tamara seem to switch identities, and at one point, Sélim "dies," returning as his own ancestor. And 90% of Moss Agate is presented in a circular frame of reference, a nod to the titular stone and its supposed hypnotic power. 

This would be a fine Wavelengths selection, partly because even its flaws are compelling, even if the whole thing adds up to less than you'd expect. Mousad will produce something flat-out amazing in a few years, I'm sure.

Suzanna Andler (Benoît Jacquot, 2021)

I gave this 30 minutes and bailed. Afterward I read that the film (based on a play by Marguerite Duras) is a three-act affair (pun intended), so I only got through Act I, obviously. But after seeing so many films that expanded the idea of what cinema could be, the defiant insularity of Suzanna Andler just rubbed me the wrong way. Even Charlotte Gainsbourg seems adrift here.

Incidentally, here are some other films I sampled (about 15 minutes) and nixed: Bipolar, The Edge of Daybreak, Archipelago, and Aristocrats (no Gilbert Gottfried, sadly).

Who Is Afraid of Ideology? Part 3: Micro Resistances (Marwa Arsanios, 2020)

This short documentary is considerably more coherent that the previous two parts of Ideology, although like those parts, #3 privileges direct reportage over artistic intervention. Even more so that fellow essay-film leftists like Ursula Biemann and Hiit Steyerl, Arsanios is intent on examining a social problem, and the use of elements like sound and image seems secondary if not tertiary. Examining the work of Indigenous, anti-corporate farmers in Tolimo, Colombia, Ideology 3 discusses the very important problem of government collusion with Big Agra to replace crops that farmers have planted for centuries with genetically modified "suicide seeds." It's certainly one of the most important economic and ecological problems the world faces right now. I'm not afraid of ideology, but I am irritated by uncreativity.

Drifting (Jun Li, 2021)

I gave this 34 minutes and stopped. There's nothing much wrong with it. It's a sensitive depiction of the plight of the homeless in Hong Kong, many of whom are drug addicts (and so subject to police harassment) and ex-cons (meaning they can't secure employment). The lead performance by Francis Ng is solid, if a bit over-articulated; the frequent Johnnie To collaborator is barely recognizable here. Jun begins the film with a Judith Butler quote about kinship and communal behavior among the homeless, and this prepared me for a more intellectual film than Drifting is. This is about heartstrings and the furrowed brow of concern.

I also sampled and abandoned Black Medusa (I am so over the sexy, mute female lead) and Mayday (just felt childish, totally unengaging).