EFA reviews 2023 Archives - Business Doc Europe

European Film Awards: Apolonia, Apolonia by Lea Glob

Kees Driessen — Mon, 27 Nov 2023 10:21:32 +0000

Why twice? Why isn’t the documentary simply called ‘Apolonia’? As the title appears on screen, the second ‘Apolonia’ is in all caps – Apolonia, APOLONIA. As if she’s being called, with the voice getting louder. Panicking perhaps, fearing her lost. Or seeing her approaching a cliff. Apolonia! Or maybe cheering her on, as she is being hauled onto the stage as a star.

All these things are true. All these things happen. And all these things take time.

So that might be another reason why her name is repeated: because the documentary doesn’t portray her at just one of those moments in her life, but follows her longitudinally. Filmmaker Lea Glob, who has had a camera in her hand for as long as she can remember, started filming Apolonia Sokol, the young bohemian Parisian painter, in 2009 for a Danish film school assignment. And she kept at it – the documentary ends in 2021, but it feels as if she’ll never stop. To paraphrase the traditional German fairy-tale ending: And if they haven’t died, they’re still filming even today.

Because that’s what happens in longitudinal documentaries: people die, people are born. That is also what happens in Apolonia, Apolonia. But that wasn’t necessarily the documentary maker’s intention. Lea Glob was simply mesmerised by Apolonia, an endlessly charismatic and interesting subject. As Lea describes her in the accompanying press kit: “From sexuality, to grief, to love, to sex, to ambition, to doubt, to suicide, to religion – she was challenging everything.”

Meanwhile, Apolonia seems fully herself in front of Lea’s camera, not a muscle in her face betraying any discomfort. As if the camera is simply part of life. At one point she leaves the room saying: “Bye Lea. Bye camera.” As if both are her friends. Maybe because Apolonia had been used to being in front of a camera her whole life – and even before (her parents filmed not only her birth, but also her conception, a short clip of which is included in this film).

Lea must have had an enormous amount of material to choose from. Of course, this film, as it is, could never have been scripted beforehand – it’s all editing. The story appears, it is discovered, not planned. And I must admit that it took me awhile to get into it, to discover it for myself. Apolonia is never less than engaging, but as a film, for a while it seemed too private. A friend filming a friend. Who lived in a very cool old Paris theatre created by her parents, full of artists and activists, but still… And Lea’s film style, observant, respectful, calm, did not immediately draw me in either. There remained a certain distance, mirrored in the wistful soundtrack and retrospective voice-over.

But then the magic started to happen. Time. Because before you know it, you’ve been to Denmark (where Lea is from and Apolonia lived for a while), to Paris (where the battle to preserve the theatre is ultimately lost), to New York (where Apolonia tries to kickstart her career), with historical detours through Belarus and Poland (where Apolonia’s family is from) and Ukraine – from where Apolonia’s soulmate, Femen co-founder Oksana Shachko, originates, fleeing to Paris, still weakened by the two broken arms she suffered for her activism. These are people who, like so many of their generation, do not just live in Denmark, or France, or Ukraine. They live in Europe – with certain parts of the US as a dependency.

And then slowly, Apolonia’s attempts to make it as a painter, coalesce into a cautionary tale which transcends her individual career. Because what Faustian bargain do you have to make to be able to live off your art? Apolonia is pressured, by both the prestigious Beaux-Arts de Paris academy and disruptive American art patron Stefan Simchowitz, for reasons which are perhaps less personally malevolent than systemically repressive, to sacrifice quality for quantity, to produce, to conform. And it’s not only the art world which is to blame – Apolonia herself genuinely seems to want to be big, to break out, to be famous. Which is understandable, given that she had almost nothing left after her theatre closed down. But still painful to watch.

And then another, even more overarching theme appears in the narrative. The struggle against the patriarchy. It’s what Oksana and Femen are fighting against, with great personal sacrifice. But it becomes increasingly clear that this is what Apolonia is fighting against as well. Almost all of the people we see critiquing her work are men. Some of those critics seem more helpful than others – but even then, they remain skewed in their representation. “I wonder if they would’ve said so to a male painter?” muses Lea from behind the camera, when Apolonia receives some particularly harsh feedback.

The patriarchy is also connected to Apolonia’s and Oksana’s decision not to have children. “The problem for me is that if I want to paint, it won’t be possible,” Apolonia concedes, and however unfair that might be – there are plenty of male painters who were never bothered by the kids they left behind here and there – in the world as it is today, she might very well be right. “No families, no babies. Art and creation,” says Oksana, with a sad smile, “It’s the only way to survive in this patriarchal world.”

When she is in the US, producing paintings faster than she ever did before, Simchowitz (who at the time was dubbed ‘The Art World’s Patron Satan’ in a piece by The New York Times) has her – like so many up-and-coming, potentially investable young artists – on a leash. It’s grating how he talks to her as he takes pictures: stand here, move over there, and so on. As a commodity. “I’m an industrial product now”, Apolonia laughs, “I’m not going to be cool anymore for any of my friends.” Later, a man she is taking photos of nervously warns “take care”, when he hears she is having tea with Simchowitz and Harvey Weinstein. It’s only a short while before #MeToo appeared on the scene.

But there is a fairy-tale ending to all of this. During the photo shoot, as Simchowitz is bossing her around, Apolonia at one point says: I want to have my nude picture taken with that giant inflatable butt plug! Simchowitz protests that the terrain is public property – he seems to fear commercial repercussions for doing anything too subversive, possibly illegal. But Apolonia breaks free: she says “Fuck America”, strips down, asks Lea, who is filming everything, to take a picture of her and poses proudly. This time it’s not the powerful rich guy, but her female friend who takes the picture Apolonia wants taken of herself, on her own terms. That is the moment, according to Lea, that “Apolonia, instead of selling her soul, used her body as defence. And set herself free.”

Apolonia leaves the US. Later, her first solo exhibition is organised by a female gallery owner of her own generation. “They find that my paintings make an impact!”, she almost giggles, reading reviews. And her paintings, including one in which a woman is sitting on a horse, armoured, trampling the bloody remains of naked men underfoot, do indeed.

This is also the time Lea realises she has not just filmed a portrait of a friend, or an art scene, or even a time period. By keeping at it, year after year, “I had a camera aimed at life itself.” And precisely that is the magic of the longitudinal documentary. At the end, one simply wishes that Apolonia, Apolonia would continue.

Denmark, Poland, France, 2022, 116 minutes

Director Lea Glob
Production Danish Documentary Production
Producer Sidsel Lønvig Siersted
International sales CAT&Docs
Script Lea Glob
Cinematography Lea Glob
Editing Andreas Bøggild Monies, Thor Ochsner
Sound design Anna Żarnecka-Wójcik
Music Jonas Struck
With Apolonia Sokol, Lea Glob, Oksana Shachko

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European Film Awards: Four Daughters by Kaouther Ben Hania

Kees Driessen — Mon, 27 Nov 2023 09:49:49 +0000

The ‘self-conscious re-enactment’ subgenre of documentary is the gift that keeps on giving. Tunisian director Kaouther Ben Hania’s Cannes Competition title Four Daughters joins the ranks of masterpieces, such as Joshua Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing (2012) and Kitty Green’s Casting JonBenet (2017), in which the act of re-enactment itself, and the reflection on its means and meaning, becomes the way in which the truth reveals itself to its participants.

These three films – and many like them – are very different, because the precise interaction of the different layers of storytelling depends on each specific story. Which is exactly why this is such a rich approach – Four Daughters proves, once again, that there is no reason to think this vein of documentary storytelling will run dry any time soon.

Of course, this all sounds very meta – and it is – but like the other two titles I mentioned, Four Daughters is eminently accessible. Indeed, it is a characteristic of the re-enactment subgenre that it can deconstruct and analyse complicated relations between people in ways that are clear, understandable and often immensely emotional. Perhaps, I believe, because in our new and social media age we have all become so attuned to the ideas of performing for the camera, pretending to be somebody else, and the selective, subjective approach to truth in filmmaking.

So what is it about? Ben Hania’s film is about a mother of four daughters re-enacting the family history up to the point where the two eldest left home, never to return. So while the two youngest play their own younger selves, the older daughters are interpreted by actors. The mother, who otherwise plays herself, is also replaced by an actor for those scenes she finds too painful to relive. And then there is a single male actor who plays all male supporting roles – a clever solution which not only reduces the number of actors on this intimate film set, but also subtly combines all male characters into Man, men in general, aka the patriarchy, which has played an important and destructive role in these women’s lives.

If this were a standard re-enactment, that would have been all the introduction you’d need and we’d now move on to the stories depicted in the film. But in this subgenre of what I call ‘self-conscious re-enactments’, the set-up becomes much more complex. Because most of Four Daughters does not consist of re-enacted scenes, but of the discussions about these scenes, before, during (scenes are frequently interrupted by comments, tears and laughter), and after.

Imagine this. Instead of sitting the mother, Olfa Hamrouni, on a couch and asking her questions in the traditional talking head fashion, we place her in front of an actor – in this case, well-known Tunisian-Egyptian Hend Sabri – who is going to play her in a film and wants to hear everything she needs to know to interpret her as best she can. Which means she will ask her not only the basic questions a traditional interviewer would (what happened where and when, what did you think, how did you feel?), but far more specific ones: what did you wear, how did you enter the room, who spoke first, how should I move my arms, should I use swear words – the list is endless. Now imagine the mother looking on as the actor plays her in a fight with one of her real daughters, telling her afterwards what she did right and wrong. And then imagine the daughter giving her reactions. And the actor, as herself, emotionally reacting to how this mother treated her child.

This is what happens in Four Daughters. And much, much more: the two remaining daughters dressing up the two actors playing their lost sisters to resemble them as much as possible, doing their hair, clothing, nails, laughing and crying in equal measure (one sister tearfully admitting she hadn’t even spoken her lost sisters’ names since their disappearance); the mother playing her own sister, to show Hend Sabri, who is playing her in this scene, how she was scolded on her wedding night and pressured to have sex with her husband – which she refused, instead kicking him into a corner (which Sabri re-enacts with abandon); the actor playing lost sister Rahma arguing with such irresistible force, using religious arguments we know the actor herself doesn’t subscribe to, so that the mother, for the first time in the documentary, falls silent, staring at her – at that moment indeed seeing, I believe, her lost daughter before her.

All of these situations are enormously layered, with many different interpersonal relationships, real and re-enacted, happening at the same time. And all of these situations are also instantly gripping and engaging and – apart from those brief moments when we cut to another scene and are not immediately sure if we are watching the actor or their character – easy to follow and understand.

Complex relationships and accessible presentation: it’s by translating private, interpersonal relationships with their often-repressed regrets and reproaches into publicly discussed and much more easily understood relationships between director, actor, part and role, that these ‘self-conscious re-enactments’ manage to bring buried histories out into the open. And not just for the viewers, but also for the participants themselves. Indeed, more than one family member refers to the hoped-for therapeutic benefits of making this film.

Ultimately, of course, it all depends on the personalities of the family members portrayed and their willingness to bare their hearts and souls. On that level, Four Daughters is a revelation. The mother and her two daughters all have winning personalities, combining great honesty in how they look at themselves and their relationships with a loving kindness towards each other even when discussing extremely painful events. Simply put, I laughed, I cried, I learned.

And without wanting to spoil the experience too much for other viewers – because letting the whole picture slowly emerge, layer by layer, is the greatest strength of this documentary – the key insight is how the patriarchy is being enforced by women on women, from one generation to the next, not as a form of obedience, agreement or belief, but, counter-intuitively, as a form of resistance. It’s an insight which ultimately made me care deeply about this mother, who, it cannot be denied – and it isn’t denied in the film – did terrible things to her daughters.

But she did it because she believed she was protecting their daughters. And did it even though she herself, as a younger woman, would never have stood for it. And slowly I realised her behaviour wasn’t so much contradictory as warped by the patriarchy, because everything she did (from fighting her own husband to trying to beat her daughters into submission) was consistently driven by a fear of losing female autonomy. Hers, and her daughters’. Seeing her coming to the realisation she had been wrong, that she had done to her daughters what her own mother had done to her (sitting next to her younger daughters who, after many struggles, have come out of this ordeal guns blazing, fully autonomous in their own way and no one else’s, and clearly still loving their mother nonetheless), is as soul-shattering as it is enlightening.

France/Tunisia/Germany/Saudi Arabia, 2023, 107 minutes
Director Kaouther Ben Hania
Production Tanit Films
Producers Nadim Cheikhrouha, Habib Attia
International sales The Party Film Sales
Script Kaouther Ben Hania
Cinematography Farouk Laaridh
Editing Kaouther Ben Hania, Qutaiba Barhamji, Jean-Christophe Hym
Sound Amal Attia, Manuel Laval, Henry Uhl, Maxim Romasevich
Music Amine Bouhafa
With Olfa Hamrouni, Eya Chikhaoui, Tayssir Chikhaoui, Hend Sabri, Nour Karoui, Ichraq Matar, Majd Mastoura

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European Film Awards: Motherland by Alexandra Mihalkovich, Hanna Badziaka

Mark Adams — Mon, 27 Nov 2023 09:31:32 +0000

A disturbing and brutal delve into the dark and violent underbelly of military conscription in Belarus as seen from the perspective of the country’s much put-upon youth, Motherland offers a striking – and deeply prescient – analysis of a system of bullying and abuse borrowed from neighbouring Russia, and how it is reflected in the country itself.

Belarusian directors Hanna Badziaka and Alexander Mihalkovich pull no punches, with the spine of their narrative concerning Svetlana, whose son Orlov Alexander Valentinovich was found dead after his conscription into the army.

The film opens in jingoistic fashion as young recruits in uniform swear allegiance to Belarus as their proud family watches on, before quickly switching to re-enactment as a young soldier writes to his mother on his third day in the army, admitting that no-one is there of their own free will and that there is “no way back”.

He recounts his time as a young recruit in a system where casual violence and abuse are second nature to those in charge. The older soldiers indulge a practice called ‘Dedovschina’ which literally means ‘reign of Grandads,’ whereby they rule with an iron fist.

The story is presented alongside footage of young Belarusians whose conscription to the army is imminent. They talk to men of a similar age who have already endured their stint in the military. Later in the film young recruit Nikita engages with his father on what life in the army will entail.

Talking to a friend, Svetlana describes her attempts to find out what had happened to her son, saying “all I have are photos of his head and strangulation marks on his neck.”

Plans are devised to prepare a class-action lawsuit, “So that they put up tombstones for our kids at least! And ensure they take responsibility for their actions…whether or not the hanging was done by the soldier himself or someone else. They take a kid into the army – they take responsibility,” says Svetlana.

The younger generation go to raves but are always aware that any moment the party could be over. But when huge protests break out on the streets of Belarus following the highly disputed 2020 re-election of dictator-president and Putin sympathiser, Aleksandr Lukashenko, there is a glimmer of hope and a promise of change. This merely fuels the increased brutality of the authoritarian regime as they clamp down on protests.

The young men muse over the possibility of protest, and what that might entail. But grim reality soon sets in. We see powerful footage from the POV of protesters as police attack; film of family members waiting outside bleak detention centres for brutalised protesters to be released; the sound of screams from those being tortured inside the buildings.

Motherland is an uncompromisingly stark film that looks at post-Soviet Belarus from the rarely seen perspective of a younger generation who both accept they can do little to escape conscription but who also, for a brief moment, see a glimpse of how life could be were Aleksandr Lukashenko to be toppled and the link with Russia to be broken.

It is a story that is still unfolding – especially given the country’s support of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Co-directors Badziaka and Mihalkovich have crafted a touching but highly distressing film. Blessed with strikingly intimate and often visceral footage it is a tough but vital watch, rendered even more plaintive in the closing scenes as Svetlana finally discovers the level of blame the military is prepared to assume over her son’s death…

Sweden-Ukraine-Norway, 2023, 92mins
Dirs: Alexandra Mihalkovich, Hanna Badziaka
Production: Sisyfors Film, Voka Films, Folk Film
International sales: Lightdox
Producers: Mario Adamson, Ashley Smith, Alexander Mihalkovich, Anita Norfolk
Cinematography: Siarheij Kanaplianik
Editor: Katiia Vushnya
Music: Yngve Leidulv Saetre, Thomas Angell Endersen

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European Film Awards nomination: On The Adamant by Nicolas Philibert

Mark Adams — Mon, 27 Nov 2023 09:09:59 +0000

French documentarian Nicolas Philibert offers up a typically astute and compassionate view of a perhaps little-known Parisian institution with his eleventh feature, On the Adamant. The film observes life on board the eponymous decommissioned steamship which has been moored at the Quai de Rapée on the Seine since 2010 and which, while classed as a hospital, is more a floating community which caters sensitively for its patients’ creative needs.

The film, which won the Golden Bear for Best Film at this’s Berlin Film Festival, focusses very much on the people rather than the place, with the 72-year-old filmmaker having spent months aboard this large, rather elegant, barge detailing the many facets of this unique mental health care facility.

Philibert, whose previous films include Louvre City, In the Land of the Deaf and To Be and To Have, is a specialist when it comes to dwelling on a specific location and, as in previous films, underlines his talents with attention to detail and a good deal of old-fashioned compassion. His calm and steady camera (he acts as his own cameraman) is cleverly immersive and judgmental as he allows patients and staff to gently reveal aspects of themselves.

The staff are sensitive and flexible with the patients and the artistic treatment is handled well, and while many of the individuals have clear disabilities they also show talent in delivering impressive works of art. Art therapy includes cooking, painting, drawing and making music as well as assisting in basic tasks, such as running the cash register.

There are regular meetings between patients and staff where they discuss upcoming events, such as an England vs Italy football match, and they debate the upcoming ciné-club anniversary and the films that will be shown. There is also plenty of footage from the Centre’s modest coffee bar where many patients gather…and express their loyalty towards specific coffee cups.

L’Adamant’s actual location is very much a key aspect of the film, anchored a short walk from the Louvre, the Bibliothèque Nationale and the Musée d’Orsay, it is a distinctive barge with the doors (at least a gangway) open to patients who live close by or who even commute into town for treatment. But Philibert never delves into French politics or debate over care. Instead it is the patients who carry the narrative and it is gently uplifting to witness them sing or produce the artworks that they subsequently discuss in group sessions.

In this instance art therapy seems to have a therapeutic impact on the patients. Often they discuss things directly to camera (one tells Philibert that Nicolas is a nice name) and gradually the viewer gets a sense of what troubles them and the true essence of their personalities. The film balances humour with pathos but its relaxed attitude never belies the fact that Philibert is telling an essential story about the importance of compassionate therapy to assist in treating mental health issues.

France, 2023, 109mins
Dir/Editor/Cinematography: Nicolas Philibert
Production: TS Productions, Longride, France 3 Cinema
International sales: Les Films du Losange
Producers: Miléna Poylo, Gilles Sacuto, Céline Loiseau
Scr: Linda De Zitter, Nicolas Philibert

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EFA nomination: Smoke Sauna Sisterhood by Anna Hints

Mark Adams — Mon, 27 Nov 2023 09:02:48 +0000

There is something primal and movingly powerful about Anna Hints’ gloriously immersive film Smoke Sauna Sisterhood (Savvusanna sõsarad) – which took a Special Jury Award for Directing at Sundance 2023. Set against the hot, supportive and immersive backdrop of a southern Estonian smoke sauna in snowy woods, women sit, laugh, talk, sing and relish the profound camaraderie they share.

Though this group of women share deep moments and reflections about their lives, the film is not so much about these stories (the film rarely frames a specific person as they are speaking). It is more about the ritual of sharing within the heat of the sauna and it speaks volumes that Hints and her crew can become one with the space and yet never feel as if they are intruding on the almost ceremonial nature of what these women share.

Chants of “become, become mighty!” and “become, become powerful” in darkness announce Smoke Sauna Sisterhood before opening visually with footage of a naked woman holding a gently wriggling baby. This sets the tone of the film, which is largely set amongst the naked women as they chat, dunk themselves in freezing water, sing and revel in the tradition.

“Smoke sauna is a sacred place where you cleanse yourself,” says a woman, glimpsed in the steam. “When you wash yourself clean – it is a blessing….We thank the person who heats the sauna. Also the person who brought the water. ”

An early scene follows a woman cutting at the ice on a lake and gradually carving out a hole. She walks back to a cabin in the snowy woods where she lights a fire. Steam fills the air as the sauna build in temperature and as women arrive. “Greetings dear sauna” they say as they take seats and pour water onto the rock – they lay in the steam, scrub each other and – quite simply – talk.

The film recounts history, making clear that this tradition is on a UNESCO list of the “Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity” and reinforces its importance in terms of being a vital “place” or location as well as detailing the physical benefits that can derive from spending time in a sauna. The women visit the sauna through various seasons where they can “sweat out all the pain”, both physical and emotional. The conversations are as varied as the different shapes of the women who share sauna time together, with their nakedness reflecting the openness of their conversations. Everything is shared on the basis of there being no judgment.

Anna Hints’ film is both beautiful and gently profound as it offers a delicate and supportive insight into the lives of these women. The small wooden sauna may well be modest and simple but it provides and intimate and immersive place for emotional and physical barriers to be dropped and for emotional and vital conversations to be had. A moving and triumphant film, Smoke Sauna Sisterhood deserves its awards and attention.

Estonia-France-Iceland, 2023, 99mins
Dir/scr: Anna Hints
Production: Alexandra Film, Kepler 22 Production, Ersus Parvus
Producer: Marianne Ostrat
Cinematography: Ants Tamik
Editors: Qutaiba Barhamji, Anna Hints, Hendrik Magar, Martin Mannik, Tushar Prakash
Music: Eeter, Edvard Egilsson
With: Kadi Kivilo, Maria Meresaar, Elsa Saks, Marianne Liiv, Eva Kubar, Liis Kuresoo, Eda Veeroja, Maris Aasa

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