Month: September 2022

So this is it. Another Mostra year is behind us. We enjoyed it without any major hiccup, which is a blessing and a little miracle by itself – 2 weeks ago I did not think this would be possible at all. It seems that Venice loves us as much as we love her. Some energy and tranquility have been regained. We are ready for another battle to make sure that our full Mostra team makes it back again next year.

Our last screenings followed a similar pattern as the previous ones – meaning that they ended up with me being overall satisfied (in some cases, with some things I would not think I would be satisfied with).

This is exactly what happened in the case of the “Blonde” screening.

Indeed, all the conditions were reunited for me not to like it. A close to 3 hours screening, which is by definition almost always too long – with a few exceptions, of course. Yet another biopic, which is a risky excersise – and usually not my favourite one. Marylin AGAIN – I mean, how many times do we need to rewrite the myth? Hasn’t everything already been said on the topic?

And yet, I still found ways to find it more pleasant to watch than expected. Despite the fact that it IS one hour too long, it is way too repetitive and it is pushing the story slightly too far on the provocation side. 

We even went through a tragi-comic experience during the screening. It indeed seems that a person in the audience had a quite serious health problem during the projection. An ambulance had to be called in. The Palabiennale is so big that, as we were in the front and the “situation” happened in the back, we could not really grab fully the seriousness of it. What we DID realize is that the unrest in the back coincided with a quite pretty crude sexual scene between Marylin and JFK. I let you imagine all the fictional scenarios shared among us about who fell unwell and why (starting from the aging Italian nonna to the prude elderly american conservative). Not appropriate, I know. But still our favourite way to deal with such circumstances. 

So, back to the movie itself. Despite all its flaws, it remains an interesting item to watch (maybe not necessarily on the big screen, but as it is a Netflix production, you know where to find it). Mostly because it’s been quite a long time that I did not see an actor/actress incarnate a myth as Marylin in such a convincing way. By convincing, I mean not only copy-pasting gestures and attitudes but making us forget that it is not Marylin whom we are seeing on the screen. A pretty impressive Ana de Armas – in this case, I have to agree with all the rumours preceding the official screening.

And this leads me to the second screening I attended, which comes as well with a best actress potential but for very different  reasons as in the “Blonde” case. 

“Saint Omer” is as austere a production as “Blonde” is flamboyant and over the top. It is as well targeting a quite restricted cinephile public, as much as “Blonde” is aiming at the widest audience possible.

The story of an infanticide and the trial that follows the deed. And there again, the murderous mother (Guslagie Malanga) deserves at least a loud Klara special mention, if not a price (hard for a small French production to compete with a massive Netflix one – but who knows, let’s wait for the jury’s decision tonight). Whilst Malanga holds everything in (and de Armas gets it all out), the subtlety with which she makes us fluctuate between compassion and pure dread is quite genius, I have to say. 

So yes, I did very much enjoy that one as well though the slowness of the movie and the seriousness of the subject (and of how it is treated – guaranteed 100% no lightness) makes it recommendable to a very specific audience only.

With this I say ciao ciao Venezia and see you next year!

Hmmmm. The other option I see is that the past months were so hard on me that I have just gone soft. Indeed, I am slightly worried about my judgement as this year, I seem to like everything I watch. And, believe me, this is quite an unusual situation. I normally tend to be the first one barking. Finding and putting words on the little flaws that prevented the picture from being perfect is, in normal circumstances, one of my favourite hobbies.

This year, I am unable to tell you if it is really that the level is so good that there is nothing much to complain about; or if I am just so happy that I eventually made it here, that there is not much space for criticism in my satisfied little venetian brain.

To be honest, I really don’t know what is the right answer. But I am definitely having a blast! Which, in any case, is nice. I do however apologise in advance if, according to your well-balanced selves, some of the movies I recommend are not as amazing as I seem to think they are. Let’s blame it on life circumstances. 

So, as you have understood by now, I REALLY liked Florian Zeller’s “The Son” as well. Maybe not as much as his previous “The Father” (quite reassuring, there still seems to be some sense in me). But then, not everyone is called Anthony Hopkins. And let’s face it, “The Father’s” scenario was just as brilliant as can get. “The Son” is way more classical in its construction. It is definitely way less surprising as well. You kind of know how it’s going to end from the beginning. So yes yes, I do see why the enthusiasm might not be as great as expected.

But, to its defence, I was pretty much impressed by Hugh Jackman’s performance in a place where one does not necessarily expect him. I mean, between Wolverine or X-Men and a drama about teenage depression, there is quite a gap that not everyone would try to fill in. And I think that we all agree that he does an excellent job at being a father who is above all focused on his professional career and success and who, at the same time, does his best to juggle between his new family (and newborn baby) and his teenage son who seems to be feeling as blue as can get.

Spice it up with a very short (but as always, medically precise) acting performance by Anthony Hopkins – the most dreadful father one can imagine – and what you get is yet another evening ending with a very satisfied Klara. 

OKOKOKOKOK, I admit it. My first day’s complaints seem to have been heard by the gods of cinema. I believe that by day 7, it is safe enough to say that, despite of the limited amount of movies we are seeing this year, our little Mostra team is pretty satisfied with the 2022 festival’s global level. When I think of some past years during which, by day 8, we were still desperate to see at least one decent movie, I have to say it is definitely not a given. Let me thus already express some gratitude for this year’s selection.

Yesterday’s screening was no exception to this trend. Again, a high expectations movie. As for those who do not connect Martin McDonagh’s name with any film, let me remind you that he is the one behind, among others, “In Bruges” and “Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri” (which should have won the Golden Lion in 2017, according to me, in place of Guillermo Del Toro’s “The Shape of Water”) #verypersonalbutdamnconvincedopinion

After his American getaway with Frances McDormand, McDonagh dives deep back into his Irish roots with this one. It will not be a surprise to those who know me well and since long, that my little soft spot for Ireland (and the one I have now developed as well for McDonagh himself) made me very excited about seeing this movie. Since the morning I was in a “this one cannot disappoint me or I shoot” mood. And (good for him) it seems that (additionally to the gods of cinema), Martin heard me loud and clear. If he could as well listen to me right now and aim at living a long and happy life keeping on making such precious movies, at least once in a while, it would be much appreciated.

Set during the Irish civil war but on a remote island (thus withessing the war just through the sounds coming from the “mainland”), the movie takes us to a small rough and poor local community, where life revolves around the local pub, local gossips, local traditional music, local violence, talking and drinking. It is as well a lot about friendship and animals – animals that, besides being key to providing for basic daily income are as well companions against the loneliness that, by definition, comes with living in such a place. “The Banshees…” could be presented best as a tale of a friendship that goes utterly wrong. As wrong and as out of hand as one can go.

But, as always with Martin McDonagh, things can become terribly violent and cruel but tenderness and laughter are never far away. Again as always with McDonagh, the dialogues are pretty brilliant and as sharp as could be. 

Though I fear that a big part of the movie theatre did not get half of those because of the characters’ pretty intense irish accent and of the English subtitles being unfortunately placed quite deep down below the screen (it’s the same issue since years in the Palabiennale and, if I could give my little advice to the Mostra team, I would tell them to look into it – as “international” film festival means not only Italian public).

Finally and again as always with McDonagh, the cast is splendid and absolutely perfectly fitted to the decor – as rough as the Irish countryside. A special mention to Brendan Gleeson in this context, who manages to be as hard as an island rock and as fragile as an island seagull, both at the same time.

Not the first time this year we get out of the screening saying “this one could be worth the golden lion”.

We took it easy on movies in the past couple of days. A bit of rest is needed given the year we just went through. I swear that next year I am back on abonamento and daily screenings. In 2022, this was just not an option.

Whilst taking it movie-easy, (besides being blessed with good friends visiting) we had the opportunity to see a few mind-blowing exhibitions. Anish Kapoor at the Accademia made all the disappointments caused by the Biennale Giardini and Arsenale disappear in less than 10 seconds. I still don’t understand how such “simple” shapes can trigger so much complexity and emotional reaction. A (very) black square is able to make you question how your brain functions and the reality of what you see. Mesmerizing.

We however did not let the Mostra completely down and spent an evening on the Lido, watching two movies that could not be more different from one another. The first one was a “no expectations” one. One of the 5 (if I am not mistaken) Italian movies that are (almost compulsorily, as we are in Italy) part of the official selection. I say “no expectations” because, in 20 years, we have very often seen the worst of Italian cinema in Venice. Sure, sure, not always. But veeeeerrryyyy often, I must say.

The above context made me actually quite appreciate “L’immensita”. Just because it was really not as bad as what we usually see. It did however trigger some debate amongst our little movie team – some finding it more “useless” than others. I, personally, was quite entertained by what I saw on the screen. In a light “relaxed audience” manner – no expectations, no disappointment. 

What we all did agree on is that Peneloppe Cruz could work a little more on proving that she is a good actress. But, is she really? That is the question for which I still give her the benefit of the doubt. But acting (according to my little, not professional, humble self) is not only about being stunningly pretty and always playing the same character (a too beautiful, loving but hysterical mother). Acting is about becoming someone else and making that person exist for a couple of hours. For the moment, Peneloppe is definitely (#superverypersonalopinion) not yet worthy of Klara’s Daniel Day Lewis Special Award. But then, only a very few are.

Film number 2, Darren Aronofsky’s “The Whale” was, on the contrary, a “super-high-expectations-do-no-disappoint-me-this-time” one. I have to say I still did not forgive him his “Mother!” screened some years ago on the Lido. What on earth happened to the guy that time?! Hence, high expectations but with some reserves. 

Verdict: Darren Aronofsky is, bless the gods of cinema, back! As he did with Mickey Rourke in “The Wrestler”, he dug out a “vanishing” actor, Brendan Fraser, and gave him the role of his life (potential best actor lion alert here). 

A lonely but extremely kind man killing himself with food. I believe it is the first movie that I have personally seen about morbid obesity. And for me, it was definitely the right one to start with. Because it is perfectly balanced between the disgust one feels when looking at what Charlie does to his body and the solar person he is inside. Because it is (extremely) tragic and hard but funny and tender at the same time. Because of the excellent cast (Sadie Sink, Hong Chau, Ty Simpkins and Samantha Morton – all of them doing an outstanding job around Fraser’s key character). And because it made me cry. Just exactly when, this year, I was not sure that I still had tears in me.

A must see!

Well, well, well. Where to start? We actually had a really nice day. Venice treated us with a beautiful sunshine, several prosecchi, good food and a quite fun Ai Wei Wei exhibition on San Giorgio. 

Whilst we were relaxing very much on the farniente side of life, thousands of teenagers were busy gathering (apparently from 08:00) in front of the Palazzo del Cinema on the Lido. The reason holds in one name: Timothée  Chalamet. I have to say it was quite an experience from a sociological point of view, which led me somewhere between bewilderment and a light fear for the future of humanity.

So whilst the kids were sitting on the concrete and frying in the sun, we entered the Excelsior hotel (the festival “headquarters”) from its beach side and treated ourselves with a bellini at the bar – being an adult definitely has many pros. We observed the buzzing cinema world (as well as the very much out of focus and slightly too high on god knows what waiter) from our little bar chairs, sipping slowly from our peachy bubbles – forget about the bottled bellini you can get in supermarkets, people! A real Bellini is made out of fresh peach juice. Even when the waiter struggles with pouring it straight into your glass, definitely worth the (quite long) wait.

As the screening time approached, we moved towards the Excelsior entrance. That is indeed where the movie delegations leave from to head towards the Palazzo del Cinema in nice Lexus cars… for a max 100 meters drive. And this is exactly when the outside kids got impressively out of control. A Lexus with tainted windows appeared from a side street. And hundreds, maybe thousands of kids started running after it, mobile phones in their hands, shouting “Timothyyyyyyyyyy, Timothyyyyyyyy, Timothyyyyyyyy”, some shaking uncontrollably, some crying pretty hysterically.

I don’t believe any one knew who actually WAS in that car. According to me, definitely not the Timothyyyyyy, as he appeared way later on the red carpet (and nope, I did not see a millimeter of his person). But the crowd started moving as one. Me don’t likey crowd movements. But we had a festival buddy wanting a picture situation. Hence, solidarity I showed and off we followed the movement. 

Observing this mass hysteria left me quite sceptical. I could not help thinking that yes, the guy is a talented actor and yes, pretty he is. But damn, he is only 25 and only human after all (I suppose; Because seeing these kids’ reaction made me second guess this statement for a moment). And then, I kept wondering why no one follows me and my team to work in the morning. I mean. We are also doing a good job. Maybe we would as well deserve applauses and cheers sometimes, just to help us make it through the day.

But well, Timothée finally made it to the red carpet in his as red little outfit. And the outfit left me with as many questions as the movie I saw in the evening. I’m still unable to say what I exactly thought about it (the movie, I mean… well, the outfit as well, but not as essential an opinion I would say… though the kids would certainly disagree with me).

Guadagnino and I have a love/hate relationship. Love: “Io sono l’Amore” and “Call me by your name”. Hate (very deep, the hate, I must say): “A bigger splash” and “Suspiria”. As we were supposed to watch a cannibal related story, I was betting on the hate side for this one. 

As usual, the Mostra surprises you and decides otherwise. 

So apparently, my relationship with Guadagnino has evolved in a triangular one from now on: love, hate and, in the middle absolutely nothing, neutral, no love, no hate, basically nothing to say.

It was a pleasant watch. One of these standard American (though Italian in this case, if you see what I mean) road movies with nice sceneries and excellent actors indeed. What did the canibal element bring to it? Honestly, I have no clue. I am still searching for the metaphore behind it but struggle to make sense out of it. Blank my head remains – maybe I am just too relaxed… or too old for this.

I was definitely not bored. But definitely not charmed, surprised nor enchanted either. Hence, in this case, I will have to leave it to you to decide if it’s worth a watch and if there is a meaning behind all this that I was unable to grasp – feel free to enlighten me.

I DID feel slightly sorry though for the kids outside who waited for hours to see most probably nothing of Timothée and his red outfit,  when the entire film crew came to say hi to us at the end of the screening. Mission accomplished, a Timothée picture we have.

To be honest, I woke up in the morning in a very unusual mood. I did not have the best night in my life. Loads of unpleasant and agitated dreams. I seemed to still be very much bothered by the opening movie screening. So much violence, so much noise. Train crashes, explosions, car accidents, broken little pieces of human bodies – all this not much counterbalanced by humour or at least some kind of lightness. If you add to this the fact that an acquaintance of ours killed himself and half of his family in a car crash earlier this week, the last thing you actually want to see is broken cars and dead people. Even worse, when all this is making no sense at all.

So to summarize, I woke up angry and fulminating. I spent the first half of the day thinking that, given the current context of inflation and hardship for many, maybe 150 million EUR could have served to a better purpose than to spoil my night. Level of grumpiness 500 reached. 

My evaluation of the situation was shared with my movie buddies as follows : I do not need more agitation and disturbance. What I need right now is enchantment.

It seems that the gods of cinema heard me.

It required a bit of fighting to enter the movie theater. My bad vibes seemed to have an impact on the ticket screening machine. It indeed said that I had already entered the room. An absurd 10 minutes of negotiation with the controller, during which I had to prove that I am I and that, as I was standing beside him, I was obviously not inside the movie theater, followed. Final result: Klara 1 – machine 0. That victory against the machine saved my festival. 

Again, as on day 1, two names could potentially appear like a guarantee of success: Kazuo Ishiguro and Bill Nighy. But I took my lesson and remained cautious this time. For those who do not know him, Kazuo Ishiguro (who wrote the screenplay and produced the film we were about to see) is 2017 Nobel Price of Literature and wrote a masterpiece that everyone should read at least once in his/her life: “The Remains of the Day”. Bill Nighy, I assume I do not need to introduce.

The film was presented out of competition for the simple reason that Kazuo Ishiguro is actually a jury member in the official competition (my professional self was very happy to see that conflict of interest is somehow dealt with at the Mostra).

“Living” was introduced as a remake of Kurosawa’s “Ikiru” which, I have to confess, I did not see (this shall be corrected soon). And “Living” ended up being the beautiful enchantment I was desperately in need of. 

First, because Bill Nighy is once and for all the winner of Klara’s heart award (sadly he won’t get a price this year as, as explained, he is not competing). Second, because the entire film ends up being as delicate, discrete and subtle as Bill Nighy is. Something that only Brits know how to do. We laughed (thanks as well to a great performance by Aimee Lou Wood, who is as adorable as in “Sex Education”) and we cried spontaneously over the destiny of this condemned man trying, in his own way, to trigger a last little spark of life around him.

Beautiful visuals (guaranteed 100% car crash free), subtle dialogues and complex and sensitive characters seal the deal.

A must see. I am happy to announce that I am officially reconciled with the 2022 Mostra.

So here we finally are. Another year has passed and let’s face it, it’s been a rough one. When I arrived, I could not assess if, according to my understanding, this year had been very long or extremely short. It indeed felt like not so long ago, we were here watching movies in this exact same spot. It as well felt like it was in another life. So many beloved ones have left. So many friends vanished. Sadly, a friend in need is not necessarily a friend indeed. It almost feels like a miracle that me and my festival buddies are still standing. A bit damaged, not as straight as a year ago, but standing.

But here we are with our little 79 festival bags ready to be used. Though these ones will only start their career next year – as you need to show that you are part of the regular crowd, you dig out your 78 bag (see pic ^) and promenade proudly around the Lido with it. 

COVID has left the Mostra. No more wall in front of the red carpet, the crowds are back, allowed to gather and fight for a picture or an autograph. Weirdly masks are still compulsory in public transports but not in the massive Palabiennale movie hall (it hardly makes sense but it is a relief to all of us).

The opening ceremony is quite the standard one although this year’s Mostra actively claims its support to the Ukrainian people. We are thus addressed by Vladimir Zelensky, reminding us that what is happening in Ukraine will not end in 2 hours as the screening we are going to see (a bit of an easy one, according to me, but criticism does not have its place in this context). We are as well confronted on the screen with a black on white list of the names of all the children who have lost their lives since the beginning of the conflict. I’ve hardly seen the Palabiennale as silent as this. The list seems to be never-ending.

It takes a few minutes to accept the shift to the usual screening routine after this. This year’s opening movie holds all the promises in two names: Noah Baumbach and Adam Driver. As a reminder, a few years ago Noah Baumbach directed « Marriage Story » staring Adam Driver together with Scarlett Johansson as the main cast. 

By now, after 20 years of Mostra, I should have learned my lesson and known that two names should never be considered as a guarantee. But my opening-day-excited-self was rather sure that this combination could only lead to success. 

The published synopsis DID seem strange, if not worrying, to me (apparently the movie is based on a book that I did and – now I know – will not read).

Let me share it with you as this was basically the only thing I knew about what we were about to see: « At once hilarious and horrifying, lyrical and absurd, ordinary and apocalyptic, White Noise dramatises a contemporary American family’s attempts to deal with the mundane conflicts of everyday life while grappling with the universal mysteries of love, death and the possibility of happiness in an uncertain world ».

Right, right, right. Let me now rephrase it for you AFTER having seen the movie: « At once not so hilarious and very much horrifying (in many ways), absolutely not lyrical and slightly too absurd, I still don’t know where the ordinary fits in here but apocalyptic it is a bit though eventually not so much but then I am not sure because I did not fully understand, White Noise is about nothing much ». As always #verypersonnalopinionalert.

It definitely gave me a headache that not even the, as usual excellent, Adam Driver could prevent from happening. Too much noise, too many visuals, too many directions. Basically too much of everything and eventually not enough of anything. 

The only thought that constantly came to my mind during the 2 hours of screening was: Good lord, how much could that whole production have cost? I got my answer digging into the daily venetian rumours: it seems that the initial foreseen budget was 80 million EUR. It apparently ended up closer to something between 100 and 150 million EUR.

And that’s when you somehow can’t help thinking that Netflix productions can lead to the best and the worst – some people obviously deal better than others with being granted all the means they could wish for to express their creativity. This was a waste of money according to me. 

But as always with cinema, I am sure it will find its public who will have the exact opposite opinion to mine – people who saw something that I did not see. That’s the beauty of cinema and art in general, after all.