The Freedom Issue

e t o N s ’ r o t i d E Welcome to the Freedom Issue!

And a big hello from the 20/21 editorial team!

In this time of global unrest, cinema has served as a tool to expose social injustice and reflect many of the uncertainties around us. With our freedom restricted in so many ways, what better escape is there than a good film?

In this issue you’ll find tributes to films that have inspired and comforted us through lockdown, films that celebrate freedom and fight oppression. I am so proud of what our contributors have produced, and can’t wait to see where the next few months take us.

Happy reading!

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Emily Thomas Editor-in-chief

Editor Emily Thomas Assistant Editors Peter Horan Mia Sherry Marketa Ni Eithir Design Emily Thomas Peter Horan Ghibli/Ballon Rouge Collage Emily Thomas Contributors Gillian Doyle Joey Fanthom Peter Horan Grace Kenny Kate L. Ryan Katie Lynch Seirce Mhac Conghail James McCleary Niamh Muldowney Marketa Ni Eithir Mia Sherry Jane Stockwell Emily Thomas Ruby Thomas Robert Tolan

This publication is funded partly by The DU Trinity Publications Committee.This publication claims no special rights or privileges. All serious complaints may be directed towards chair@ trinitypublications.ie or Chair, Trinity Publications, House 6, Trinity College, Dublin 2. Appeals may be directed to the Press Council.

Get involved with Trinity Publications on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, or email secretary@trinitypublications.ie

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Streaming Gems

She’s Gotta Have It, Hoop Dreams, 8 1/2

Iconic Director Werner Herzog

Overrated Film Moonstruck

Underrated Film

Hunt for the Wilderpeople

Modern Masterpiece Girlhood

Censorship Capernaum, Ucho

Confinement

Parasite, The Magdalene Sisters, My Days of Mercy

Iconic Shot

Portrait of a Lady on Fire

Lockdown Recap Intimacy in Isolation

Reviews

I’m Thinking of Ending Things, Tenet

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8 1/2

paradoxically imprisoned.

Fellini’s 8½ (1963) opens with a man in an underground tunnel, sitting in traffic, being listlessly watched by other passengers. Exhaust fumes rise in his car. He breathes raggedly, banging his windows. Still, others simply watch.

After much struggling, he makes it out onto his car’s roof. Next thing you know, he is flying through the clouds.

But there’s something tied to his leg - a rope. He is being flown like a kite by a man down on a beach. Another man, a cardinal, pronounces a few words, and our protagonist falls down to the sea.

A movie of this description could easily be tedious, yet 8½ is one of Fellini’s funniest films. Complex and thought-provoking ideas are handled with lightness and grace, through imaginative and memorable scenes. An extraordinary movie about the perils of artistic freedom, 8½ is currently available to stream on MUBI.

Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni) wakes from this dream to a reality no less surreal. He is a famous director suffering from writer’s block. Everything is in limbo - the half constructed set, the actors without roles, the crew buzzing around like bees. He has total artistic freedom, and his word is law, but he seems

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BEN PANTREY

HOOP DREAMS When lockdown was at its peak, one of the many dispiriting consequences (albeit a relatively minor one) was the absence of live sporting events to keep the public entertained. Fans were forced to look elsewhere to quench their sporting thirst and, in this regard, the excellent ESPN/Netflix co-production, The Last Dance (Jason Hehir, 2020), could not have been released at a more opportune moment. Chronicling the rise of basketball legend, Michael Jordan, and his indomitable Chicago Bulls side of the 1990s, this ten-part documentary series has rightly enjoyed both critical and commercial success.

Audiences seeking a similar viewing experience need look no further than the exquisitely-curated MUBI Library, wherein they will find Steve James’ heart-breaking, near-three-hour epic, Hoop Dreams (1994). Another documentary focusing on Chicago-based basketball in the 1990s, the film is a far more grounded yet equally compelling alternative to the glamour of The Last Dance. Centred on two working-class, Black teenagers (William Gates and Arthur Agee) who are granted basketball scholarships to a prestigious, white-dominated private school, this film is as much a searing social critique of the American Dream as it a sports documentary. These teenagers initially see basketball as a means of escape from the poverty of their hometown but, as the pressure to perform in courts and classrooms which are totally alien to them is increased, they start to realise that this freedom may not be so easily obtained. As a film which captures both the thrills and heartache of live sport, while also shining a light on debilitating class inequality, economic

hardship, and institutionalised racism in the United States, it is essential viewing not only for sports fans but for those with any interest in the development of the documentary.

PETER HORAN SHE’S GOTTA HAVE IT We’ve struck gold, friends. Not only does Netflix carry Spike Lee’s directorial debut, the stunning She’s Gotta Have It (1986), in delicious black and white, but also the 2017-2019 television series of the same name. Both the film and the series follow the life of Nola Darling (Tracy Camilla Johns in the film; DeWanda Wise in the show), a woman whose freedom is central to her character and the story. She is free as an artist, as a black person, and as a woman, with the film focusing on her sexuality and her lack of inhibitions thereof. She shares her time between three men, which causes them great discomfort. Although they adore her, they feel emasculated because Nola is not dependent on them for validation.

When this starts to threaten Nola’s way of life, she prioritises her personal freedom over the men. Where the series differs from the movie is the introduction of more obstacles to Nola’s freedom, including internal problems. She wants to be an artist and a lover outside of the confinements of societal norms - she explores her pansexuality which was only hinted at in the 1986 film - but this Nola lives in present-day, gentrified New York, which adds new financial and racial pressures.

Watching her navigate her world and her relationships with agency and grace is fascinating and empowering. Hats off to Spike Lee for bringing this powerful character to our screens.

KATIE LYNCH

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Iconic Director

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WERNER HERZOG Freedom, the ability to act without constraint, is a cornerstone of Werner Herzog’s work. With sixty films to his name, it is easier to explore Herzog and freedom through the lens of one film; to my mind, Encounters at the End of the World (2007) typifies his approach.

Freedom implies the absence of boundaries. At the end of the world, the South Pole, there are no boundaries. Opening with a shot beneath the sea ice, there is an immediate sense of infiniteness. There are no laws except the natural laws of life and death here. Herzog’s unmistakable narration explains that the film is essentially about the philosophical aspects of life in Antarctica. A method director, striving for total emotional involvement with the subject, Herzog has chosen to film in McMurdo Research Station on the edge of the ice. Interviewing McMurdo’s workers, Herzog uses his terse interviewing style to allow the research staff to reveal freedom as a motivation for coming to Antarctica. Their answers suggest modern life asphyxiates freedom; there are simply too many rules and boundaries.

Intertwined with this freedom is beauty.

Typical of Herzog, the cinematography is breathtaking. Each shot emphasises the sheer size of Antarctica. The narration distils the idea that the absence of civilisation is critical to this beauty. There is not a total absence - there are radios, electric cookers, even an ATM - but not enough conveniences to infringe on the otherworldliness of McMurdo. Nonetheless, these luxuries are an attempt at civilisation, at creating boundaries.

Freedom is always under attack.

Returning to the sea, Herzog goes to a diving camp. Interviewing the research diver, Henry Kaiser, there is a sense that

his objective is not scientific but to find freedom. Taking us on a dive, Kaiser gives a glimpse into just how alien a place without limits is. The deep-sea plants and crustaceans do not seem to be of this world. The wide-angle shots of the dive suggest a timelessness and, therefore, the absence of the ultimate boundary, time.

The consequences of this freedom?

Taking us to the remnants of the Shackleton expedition, who raced to be the first people to reach the South Pole, it is clear that freedom is a double-edged sword.

This even extends to Antarctica’s penguins. Catching a glimpse of one leaving its colony in the opposite direction to their feeding grounds, the penguin is on the way to certain death. Boundaries provide some sort of direction; without them, death becomes even more certain.

A method director, ‘‘striving for total emo-

tional involvement with the subject.

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The volcano sequence at Mount Erebus is the most jarring part of the film. As Dr. McIntosh talks through monitoring volcanoes, there are constant booms in the background. As peaceful as Antarctica seems, it is very much alive and violently so. The explosions bleed into the next scene, an exposition on how fragile human civilisation is; as a technical civilisation, climate change means that humankind is doomed. To preserve some memory of humans, there are subterranean tunnels holding artefacts for the alien archaeologists that will supposedly visit. Beneath what is mathematically the South Pole, there is a shrine to humankind. A shrine to freedom.

ROBERT TOLAN

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OVERRATED MOONSTRUCK Moonstruck (Norman Jewison, 1987), winner of three Academy Awards and generally considered an iconic and loveable rom-com, remains one of the most painfully overrated films of the last forty years. The story centres around Loretta Castorini (Cher) and her loveless engagement to the bumbling, anxious Johnny (Danny Aiello). Enter the effortlessly bizarre Nicolas Cage as Ronny, Johnny’s younger brother, ready to flip a few tables and generally disrupt the peace.

Ronny and Johnny have been feuding for five years: Ronny blames Johnny for the loss of both his fiancée and his hand in a baking accident. As he so concisely puts it, “I lost my hand! I lost my wife! Johnny has his hand! Johnny has his wife!”.

This tearful monologue is delivered, loaf of bread in remaining hand, during his first meeting with Loretta. They begin a predictable affair.

The plot is convoluted, overlong and about as thematically unclear as a romcom will allow. Rose warns Loretta that marrying for love will only lead to confinement and misery and Loretta seems to agree: she tells Ronny that he sabotaged his own relationship, and that losing his fiancée was “the price you paid for your freedom.” Loretta’s father Cosmo (Vincent Gardenia) is a serial cheater, and much of the film flits between scenes of Loretta cheating on Johnny, Cosmo cheating on Loretta’s mother Rose (Olympia Dukakis) and Rose almost cheating on Cosmo. What has potential to be a humorous and telling portrayal of a woman caught between the financial security of a reliable husband and the freedom to marry whom she loves descends into a spaghetti mess of plots and subplots, heavy expository dialogue and far too many shots of the moon.

The film’s only redeeming quality is Cher’s performance, for which she won an Academy Award. While perhaps not quite Oscar-worthy, her grace and effervescence stand out against the clumsy efforts of many of the supporting actors.

When Harry Met Sally (Rob Reiner, 1989) on steroids, Moonstruck is a cautionary tale for all you hopeless romantics: choose freedom over security and you might end up with Nicolas Cage.

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EMILY THOMAS

HUNT FOR THE WILDERPEOPLE When I am lying in my Elon Musk space hospital bed at one hundred and fifty and my life flashes before my eyes, there is one image that will stand out.

It is of my sixteen-year-old self, watching Hunt for the Wilderpeople (Taika Waititi, 2016) for the first time. I truly believe Waititi found it in DVD format at the end of a rainbow, as it can only be described as pure gold. The furthest thing from an Adam Sandler comedy ever, Hunt for the Wilderpeople follows Maori inner city teen Ricky Baker (Julian Dennison) as he figures out life with his new adoptive family, Hec and Bella Faulkner (Sam Neill and Rime Tei Wiata). All seems to be going well as Ricky discovers exciting new things like hot water bottles and birthday parties, until disaster strikes and Hec and Ricky end up on the run in the New Zealand bush.

The script is genius, including gems such as, “Cauc-asian? Well they got that wrong because you’re definitely white” and “I need to poop, you need to poop, we all poop.” But what’s even more “majestical” is Ricky and Hec’s newfound friendship and escape from their respective cages. Ricky is trapped in the foster system, without a family or a permanent home. Hec is another cog in the prison machine. The breathtaking New Zealand landscape offers freedom for both to live the “skuxx [cool] life”, even if it is just for a little while. Hec teaches Ricky to live in the wilderness, instead of trying to eat “salad” (weeds), and Ricky teaches Hec to read. “No way! You’re like one of those people that was raised by wolves eh?”

This movie tells us that freedom is not about being away from home or having crazy adventures. While outlaws, Ricky and Hec meet characters

like Psycho Sam (Rhys Darby), a man so obsessed with freedom that he disguises himself as a bush. Yet he is living alone, still trapped in his crazy conspiracy theories. The pair discover that true freedom is a state of mind; true freedom is being able to give love with no conditions, receive love just as readily, and express it with literacy. As Ricky writes in one of his infamous haikus, “Trees. Birds.

Rivers. Sky. / Running with my Uncle Hec / Living forever.” To put it in the most sentimental way possible, their beautiful environment can only mirror the beauty discovered in their hearts.

During this crazy time, isn’t that the assurance we all need? That freedom lies within and no external environment can limit it. Adventure will come again soon, but I think we would be a lot happier if we didn’t rely on it to gain freedom. This movie will make you laugh, this movie will make you cry, this movie will make you move to New Zealand (as it did for me).

RUBY THOMAS

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MASTERPIECE GIRLHOOD Girlhood (Céline Sciamma, 2014) is a modern masterpiece in portraying the power of female friendships to combat the oppression of a miserable coming-of-age that is marked by careless adults and abusive patriarchal figures. As an African-French teenage girl living in an impoverished Parisian suburb, Marieme’s (Karidja Touré) options are limited. Her mother works long hours to make ends meet, leaving Marieme to take over the household responsibilities, compounding the poor academic performance which forces her into a vocational education. By punishing her maturating behaviour and appearance with physical violence, Marieme’s brother ensures that her future is confined to the family apartment. However, this all changes when Marieme meets a group of self-assured girls who spend

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their days shoplifting and fighting rival gangs. She finds freedom in this gang as they encourage her to take charge of her future, which has previously been dictated by her class and gender.

Girlhood labels childhood as a bleak, suffocating nightmare and adulthood as a liberating utopia.

It is clear that the Parisian teenagers depicted believe that adulthood and adult-like behaviour will save them from their difficult upbringings and negligent caregivers.

Marieme’s school life is tainted by teachers who fail to recognise that her substandard grades are not due to a lack of intelligence, but to her assuming the responsibilities of an absent mother and father at home. This cuts Marieme’s childhood short, and leads her to being manipulated and exploited by older men in her family and community. When Marieme

befriends a girl gang, they encourage her to behave brazenly and aggressively in public in order to gain the freedom and safety to enjoy her youth in private spaces. On one occasion, Marieme and her friends dance to ‘Diamonds’ by Rihanna in new clothes they have stolen from a boutique. This remarkable scene depicts the rare moment in which Marieme has the friends - who ensure she is safe - to enjoy her adolescence.

The dreamy blue lighting and joy of the girls’ singing is arguably the film’s most striking assertion that these girls can only find freedom in the company of one another. This is visited throughout the film, but especially in the final scene when Marieme makes the decision to stay away from her family’s apartment. This conclusion is emblematic of the film’s coding of childhood.

The typical coming-of-age tale of rebellion concludes with the heroine happily

GRACE KENNY

returning to a safe home.

However, Girlhood’s protagonist does not come from a safe home. Life on the margins of society is Marieme’s escape route from her disadvantaged childhood to her ability to take control of her future.

Moreover, Girlhood is a masterpiece in portraying the nuances of women’s relationships with freedom and oppression. When the adults in Marieme and her girl gang’s lives degrade them, belittle them, and, ultimately, fail to protect them, a cycle begins in which they essentially become enablers of abuse and violence.

Throughout the film, Marieme and her gang learn that they can only achieve their freedom by assuming and mirroring the role of the patriarchal figures in their lives. The pressure to avoid the tyranny of the abusive men in their lives forces these girls to act on the notion

that they must oppress their other women to protect them from men. This involves physical brawls with other girl gangs and making examples of younger girls in front of the boys whom they need to either impress or be accepted by. However, when Marieme’s friend, Lady (Assa Sylla), loses a fight with a rival gang, her father cuts off her hair — her defining female feature — and cuts her off from her only female friends.

For the film’s lower-class Parisian girls, feminine features are symbols of pride that can be quickly transformed into a weapon to be used against them by their oppressors.

Marieme wins fights by tearing wigs off her female opponents and wears baggy clothes to protect herself in the house that she shares with male drug dealers. The girls of Girlhood clearly see their female bodies and expressions of femininity as a hindrance and, even, as

a threat to their freedom.

The development of these girls’ bodies and style pose immediate threats to their safety from their male counterparts. Throughout the film, Marieme warns her younger sister to hide her maturing body from their abusive brother and against befriending violent girls. Marieme’s actions can be interpreted as an attempt to protect her sister from becoming her: a young woman who sought freedom from her oppressive upbringing, only to be subjected to the same maltreatment in a different environment.

Girlhood can be considered a contemporary masterpiece in investigating the choices that vulnerable, underprivileged girls must make in order to escape systematic oppression and every day abuse in 2010s France.

GRACE KENNY

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Cen sor ship 11

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CAPERNAUM Nadine Labaki’s Capernaum (2018) is an incredible feat of filmmaking that earned a fifteen minute standing ovation at Cannes (the fourth longest ovation to ever be given at the illustrious film festival).

It follows twelve-year-old Zain (Zain Al Rafeea) in the slums of Beirut, as he attempts to sue his parents for bringing him into this world and not being able to care for him. As the film unfurls, it’s revealed that Zain ran away from home after his younger sister, Sahar (Cedra Izam), was sold into marriage at age eleven to a much older man. Zain is taken in by an immigrant single mother, Rahil (Yordanos Shiferaw), and takes over caring duties for her infant son, Yonas (Boluwatife Treasure Bankole), while Rahil is at work, desperately trying to earn money to get papers for both herself and Yonas.

Lebanon has been at the forefront of the headlines recently, with the tragic explosion that took place at its docks.

But the anger now spilling over from Lebanese citizens has been simmering for years; reflected most poignantly in Labaki’s three films, the most recent being Capernaum. Labaki is no stranger to walking the fine line between political commentary and box office success.

She has spoken frequently about having to “self-censor” due to the precarious nature of Lebanon’s sociopolitical landscape; while she believes in the duty of the filmmaker to effect social dialogue and change, she is aware that too scathing a critique will lose her funding and distribution. In her previous films, Caramel (2007) and Where Do We Go Now? (2015), these issues - the relationship between Christians and Muslims, the guerilla warfare taking place and the general unsteady nature of life in Lebanon - have all merely been alluded to.

Lebanon is rarely named or mentioned, social unrest is usually rerouted through personal issues and, until Capernaum, every moment of tension was usually broken up with comedy so as to alleviate the too-close-to-home nature of the conflicts that bubbled below the surface: enough that the audience knew they were there, but not so much as to dominate the films as being specifically about those issues and detracting from the character portraits they paint.

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(Labaki) has spoken frequently about having to “self-censor” due to the precarious nature of Lebanon’s sociopolitical landscape.

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Censorship is a much more nefarious issue than audiences in the West may believe. While it’s easy to assume that censorship is a dictate from benevolent Government leaders, in the Middle East, and, more specifically, Lebanon - where social unrest is rife - often censorship is something that has to be assumed by the filmmakers themselves, lest they risk the fate of their film altogether. There’s a reason, after all, that Labaki chose the title of her film as ‘Capernaum’, a Biblical city in Israel; the same film, called ‘Beirut’, likely would have not only lost any chance of Government funding, but would have certainly lost her state-nomination for the Academy Awards. By confusing geographies, never mentioning Lebanon or Beirut (despite its physically strong presence), and using Arabic instead of French, Labaki crafts a film that at once evades and ruthlessly decimates a system that demands censoring.

MIA SHERRY

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UCHO (THE EAR) While delayed release dates are not uncommon in the film industry, be it due to budgeting, casting issues or a pandemic, few films are released a full two decades after they are made, but this was exactly the case with Karel Kachyna’s 1970 film, Ucho (The Ear). Banned by the Communist regime, the film tells the story of a politician, Ludvík (Radoslav Brzobohatý), and his wife, Ana (Jiřina Bohdalová), as they return home from a work party in 1950s, Stalinist Prague. They realise something is wrong upon their arrival as their front gate and door are open and the power in their house is out. Through flashbacks, Ludvík recalls the events of the night and, in particular, the notable absence of his superior. What ensues is a night of paranoia, claustrophobia and panic as they burn possibly incriminating papers and have hushed conversations in the rooms they think aren’t bugged.

The stressful atmosphere is only exacerbated by the protagonists’ unstable relationship.

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Both are clearly disillusioned freedom to create politicalwith their marriage with Ana ly-loaded work. The Prague feeling neglected by the quiet, Spring, however, was brutally angry Ludvík, who only shares ended in August 1968 with the select information with her invasion of the Warsaw Pact about his work and dismisses forces and a period of Normalher insights. Their arguments ization followed, during which shift from Ludvík’s political censorship once again became activities to domestic disputes a strong priority. The Ear was and back again; all the while therefore immediately banned the audience gains more and only premiered at the 1990 insight into their unhealthy rela- Cannes Film Festival after the tionship as well as the complex fall of the Communist regime in political implications of their 1989. past actions.

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One of the drawbacks of the The Ear was immedifilm is that many of the details ately banned and only surrounding Ludvík’s job, and premiered at the 1990 the political climate in general, are very specific to their Cannes Film Festival time and difficult to fully grasp after the fall of the even with knowledge of Czech history. Luckily, Bohdalová and Communist regime in Brzobohatý, who were married 1989. at the time, give such strong performances that the details become almost irrelevant and The film captures the claustrothe audience gets sucked into phobic paranoia of surveillance their world more and more. and highlights the unsettling Visually, the black-and-white nature of the Communist film is stunning and it is particu- regime, which is exactly what larly Kachyna’s use of light that got it banned. Not as romantic stands out. For the first half as Pawlikowski’s Cold War of the film, the characters are (2018), The Ear is reminiscent predominantly illuminated by of Who’s Afraid of Virginia candlelight, which serves as Woolf (Mike Nichols, 1966), if a stark contrast to the bright Martha (Elizabeth Taylor) and electric lights of the second George (Richard Burton) had half that are only softened by lived in a 1984-esque world. 30 daylight at the end of the film. years after its release, and 50 The Czechoslovak film likely years after its completion, it is started production during the still one of the best Czech films optimistic 1968 Prague Spring, ever made, and an extremeduring which censorship was ly underrated psychological briefly lifted and artists, includdrama. ing directors such as Kachyna or Miloš Forman, had more MARKÉTA NÍ EITHIR 14

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CON FINE MENT

Released in 2002, The Magdalene Sisters (Peter Mullan) is a harrowing depiction of the cruelty suffered by young Irish women in the “Magdalene Laundries”, Catholic institutions where women who were deemed “fallen” were sent to perform unpaid labour in commercial laundries. Officially, 10,000 women had been confined to these workhouses, but other sources such as the Justice for Magdalene’s Research website say that this figure is likely an underestimation as official records have not been produced for some of these institutions.

Set in 1964, the three main characters are forced into the institution for differing reasons. Bernadette (Nora-Jane Noone) is an orphan who is considered to be too flirtatious, Rose (Dorothy Duffy) is an unmarried mother, and Margaret (Anne-Marie Duff) is

THE MAGDALENE SISTERS

sexually assaulted but is victim-blamed by her own family. The film examines their experiences as they attempt to survive the injustice of their confinement as well as plot their escape.

Throughout the film, the audience is forced to confront the myriad cruel acts the nuns that run the institutions perpetuate against the women whom they say they are saving. It can, at times, be overwhelming and it is especially heart-wrenching when real-life survivors have claimed that the film does not go far enough in portraying the abuse to which they were subjected. While the escape attempts can, at times, feel jarring compared to the brutally depressing tone of the depiction of day-to-day life, it at least offers the audience a sense of relief on behalf of the characters.

Despite winning a Golden Lion and receiving glowing reviews internationally, The Magdalene Sisters, in my opinion, doesn’t receive the same level of recognition as other Irish historical films. And it’s probably obvious to guess why. This isn’t a blazing tale of brave Irish men winning their freedom like Michael Collins. This is a story of Irish women having their freedom taken away and having to claw it back. The enemy isn’t an oppressive empire but Irish society itself; a society that utilised the hard-won freedom glorified in Michael Collins (Neil Jordan, 1996) to sweep what it deemed undesirable women into a dark corner. The last Magdalene Laundry closed in 1996, the very same year that Michael Collins was released. While we should celebrate the great strides that Ireland has taken, films like this are necessary to remind ourselves why we so desperately needed to progress in the first place.

KATE L. RYAN

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Lucy (Ellen Page) first meets Mercy (Kate Mara) at a protest taking place outside a state execution. Lucy is used to this environment; she has been attending such protests with her older sister and younger brother for the past eight years, ever since their father was arrested for allegedly murdering their mother.

Mercy’s father is a police officer whose partner was murdered by the man about to be executed. The American carceral system as a background to a romantic drama has been described as jarring by some, but it’s one of the most realistic films in the genre I’ve ever watched.

In real life, you can’t pause your problems while you fall in love: you have to deal with every aspect of your life at the same time. Mercy is an honest and engaging portrayal of somebody struggling to do just that.

MY DAYS OF MERCY Lucy’s life is defined by confinement, not just because of her father’s location. She spends most of her time at home with her family, in the house her mother was murdered in, with the TV cabinet moved to cover the bloodstain they couldn’t manage to clean out. In the one scene where she ventures further out into her small Ohian town, it’s clear how few connections she has made in her twenty two years there, though that doesn’t stop her from encountering an old high school bully. Her mother’s murder not only served to alienate her from her wider community, but to place her and her siblings in a precarious financial situation. Her sister had to drop out of college to raise an infant and a teenager, and even buying shorts for her

younger brother after he rips them is a challenge.

Director Tali Shalom Ezer begins each of the protests with a top-down shot of the fictionally executed’s last meal reminiscent of the style of photographer James Reynolds, one of the many artists to deal with this subject. Coupled however with the view we get of Lucy’s life, over which she has so little agency outside of the burgeoning long distance relationship she maintains, a stylistic choice that could have seemed derivative is a powerful reminder of the similarities between the lives of many in and out of prison. Mercy is able to deal with sensitive topics without lecturing by simply presenting Lucy as a developed and complex person and letting her live her life. As a result, one is left to ruminate on the many forms that confinement can take.

GILLIAN DOYLE

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PARASITE When we think of “confinement” in the most literal sense of the word, our minds tend to jump to physical imprisonment or captivity. However, as revolution becomes necessary for many of the oppressed, films about class confinement and social mobility are more applicable and relatable than ever. A recent film that deals with this is Bong Joon Ho’s Parasite (2019).

Parasite follows the Kim family, destitute members of the working-class in the midst of an economic downfall, desperately seeking employment and will go to any means to achieve it. When a wealthy friend of Ki-Woo (Choi Woo Shik), the son, offers him employment as an English tutor for a rich teenager, a symbiotic relationship between rich and poor causes chaos to unfold.

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As revolution becomes necessary for many of the oppressed, films about class confinement and social mobility are more applicable and relatable than ever.

from the entire cast. In an age in which the vast majority of films are sequels, prequels, remakes and franchises, Parasite is like a breath of fresh air. It is strikingly original, and very difficult to fault in any technical way.

One of the best parts of this film is the trust it places in its audience. Films like Joker (Todd Phillips, 2019) claim to represent the social processes that lead to so-called “anarchy” among the destitute but do so in a heavily dramatised and unbelievable way. The film is definitely not “less than” simply because it is unrealistic, but because of this aspect it is difficult for an audience to relate. At the end of the day, it’s really just another instalment to throw onto the franchise pile.

Parasite, however, is a film that lends itself to a mainstream audience, that deals with issues coming to the forefront of cinematic culture and society more generally (i.e. class mobility), without assuming the audience is cinematically illiterate. The metaphors are subtle but readable, and the ending is an open suggestion, but seems only to have a single answer because of where the director has steered us throughout the film. If this isn’t a masterpiece, I don’t know what is.

JANE STOCKWELL

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Parasite is, in my opinion, one of the greatest films in recent history. Director Bong Joon Ho has expertly crafted a simultaneously frightening, thrilling, tear-jerking, hilarious, and devastating narrative that is boosted by stunning cinematography and stunning performances

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Iconic

Shot

PORTRAIT OF A LADY

‘‘“Être libre, c’est être seule?”

To be free, is it to be alone?

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ON FIRE

Céline Sciamma’s latest film, Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019), revolves around the concepts of freedom and solitude.

Both permeate the film, from its plot and characters to the composition of the shots themselves. The story follows two young women, Héloïse (Adèle

Haenel), the daughter of a rich family who has been taken from her convent life in order to marry a Milanese suitor, and Marianne (Noémie Merlant), a painter who has been commissioned to render Héloïse’s portrait without her knowing. Héloïse and Marianne become closer and eventually fall in love, finding a short-lived freedom in their romance and

isolation from the outside world.

While each scene in this film could be dissected for its multilayered meanings and quiet technical genius, my choice for an iconic shot of freedom from Portrait of a Lady on Fire is our introductory scene to Héloïse. Up until this moment she has eluded the audience and

Marianne, only being referenced in Marianne’s conversations with Héloïse’s mother (Valeria Golino), or in hushed scraps of gossip from the maid, Sophie (Luàna Bajrami). Even the portrait that Marianne uncovers leaves Héloïse’s face unfinished. Sciamma continues to prolong this mystery when Marianne is told she is to accompany Héloïse on a walk outside.

Marianne descends the stairs and sees the hooded figure who we assume is Héloïse below. We hear Héloïse’s footsteps as she leaves the dark house for the bright mist of the outdoors for the first time in weeks. Both Marianne and the camera follow close behind, with the camera occasionally showing Marianne in the reverse shot, but our interest and 20

attention is with Héloïse.

Her hood bounces, then falls, as she moves more quickly and, when the cliffs and sea come into view, picks up her skirts and breaks into a run.

Marianne, scared that her subject is going to jump like she was warned Héloïse’s sister did, hurries after her. At the last minute Héloïse stops and turns to face Marianne, mirroring in the action the Orpheus myth that the film returns to throughout, but, instead of someone ready to jump, Héloïse is a picture of vitality - her expression unguarded

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and open.

‘‘“I’ve dreamt of

doing that forever,” she says, out of breath.“Dying?”

Marianne inquires.

“Running,” she responds.

”

This short scene is a masterclass in tension and well-timed reveals. Sciamma has made us wait to see Héloïse, teasing us with the unfinished portrait and then the reveal of

her blonde hair, but it is on Héloïse’s own terms that she reveals herself to both Marianne and the audience. In a world that curtails her freedom, this scene shows how a quiet kind of feminine freedom is given form in the film.

Héloïse has never had the freedom to run and, since the death of her sister, has not had the freedom to be alone outside. She has been moved from one controlled environment to another all through her life, from religious life in a convent to a similarly cloistered life with her mother on the island, and if the portrait is successful

in securing the marriage - to the restricted life of a married woman in the 18th century. While running may seem like a small freedom, she has dreamt about doing it her whole life, the freedom of movement being one that often eludes women because of societal expectations to act “ladylike.”

The entire scene is incredibly immersive, not only in the subjective use of the camera but in the rich soundscape. With the camera following Héloïse closely, the audience is placed right in the scene, almost running alongside

Marianne. The cuts between the back of Héloïse and Marianne following on behind also heighten the tension of the scene. The film has us on the edge of our seats as we see Héloïse run, but also lets us bask in her joy at the small freedom of being able to run outside. Alongside this, the absence of the human voice in the majority of the scene heightens the ambient sound around them. The women’s footsteps on the stone floor of the house, the wind, the waves crashing against the cliff, and the deep intakes of breath from Héloïse after her run:

all of these sounds draw us in completely. Through this scene, just like in the rest of the film, Sciamma offers us the chance to escape reality and become completely immersed in the world of these women.

When I first watched this film during lockdown, I yearned for the freedom that I saw here.

All in all, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a beautiful film filled with iconic shots. But the one that encapsulates freedom? It has to be the reveal of Héloïse.

NIAMH MULDOWNEY

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Intimacy in

Isolation AUSTEN AND INTIMACY No touching and a two-metre distance with all but one’s family: not exactly an environment that we imagine romance flourishing in. While there was undoubtedly a resurgence in the popularity of films such as 50 Shades of Grey (Sam Taylor-Johnson, 2015) during these lonely times, there is a different group of films which ooze with an intimacy that is perfect for the corona-era. It is a world where everyone’s love language seems to be eye-contact and less is often more in the romantic relationships we root for. I am talking, of course, about Jane Austen adaptations.

In Sense and Sensibility (Ang Lee, 1995), Elinor (Emma Thompson) and Edward (Hugh Grant) manage to social distance for just about their entire courtship. Their unspoken love for each other flourishes and eventually reaches its peak, not with a kiss, but Elinor’s relieved sobbing while Edward watches from a safe distance.

In contrast, the villainous Willoughby (Greg Wise) is anything but isolated from Marianne (Kate Winslet), carrying her out of the rain, holding her hands as he spins her around and even touching her hair as he cuts a lock of it for himself. We all know only that the more corona-safe relationship survives. Coincidence? I think not.

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The films also have myriad dance sequences, during which the protagonists are often forced to confront their feelings for each other. In Pride and Prejudice (Joe Wright, 2005), everyone else in the room suddenly vanishes as Lizzie Bennet (Kiera Knightley) and Mr. Darcy (Matthew MacFayden) passionately bicker while they frolic around each other, barely touching. Emma (Anya Taylor-Joy) and Mr. Knightley (Johnny Flynn) don’t even need to talk to realise their mutual attraction in 2020’s Emma (Autumn de Wilde), and while their choreography does require more physical contact, most of the ladies are, very sensibly, wearing gloves.

And then of course there is the perfect quarantine activity: walking. From Marianne’s adventurous, and later tragic, wander in the rain to Mr. Darcy’s romantic stroll at sunrise, it is not only the preferred mode of transportation for many of the characters, but a pastime that allows them to process their feelings. Never has walking been so emotional.

So, if you are craving some socially distanced romance, look no further than the cinematic adaptations of the work of one of the most beloved writers of all time.

MARKÉTA NÍ EITHIR

ANDERSON AND INTIMACY

is made palatable.

Broadly speaking, there is no cinematic universe more suited to the warped, anxious, and utterly bizarre experience of lockdown than that of Wes Anderson. A filmmaker renowned for his attention-grabbing quirks, Anderson’s distinct style is especially soothing when it comes to the treatment of intimacy.

As a society, our attitude to intimacy has had to drastically change over the past months. Social distancing is the expected norm, as physical contact has become a near-taboo. We equally crave and fear closeness, which spans not only the realms of touch but of emotion too.

We have found ourselves lonely. We have found ourselves wanting things we can no longer have. We are still finding ourselves madly grappling with the growing pains of a new etiquette.

One stylistic feature that particularly soothes the anxiety of physical closeness is the composition of shots. They are obsessively symmetrical. Often characters are situated at a distance that would normally seem unnatural yet now is protocol.

In addition, dialogue is often presented as if flipping on a 180 degree axis, a constant back-and-forth. While feeling jerky and manufactured, this aspect reflects the social interactions we are having today, either in person or through platforms such as Zoom.

Where, then, to turn? How can we avoid the resurfacing of the apocalypse genre?

Harder yet, how can we escape into fiction without being reminded of the world we so desperately miss?

Here, the world of Wes Anderson is a haven. It is full of characters who clash with intimacy. They are awkward, physically stiff but verbally expressive, and preoccupied with saving face over showing emotion. Many of Anderson’s films deal with characters who must descend from the constraints of supposedly acceptable behaviour into the brief but truthful madness of their repressed selves. Often this enables the characters to then return to the world of manners, and to live with feelings and external expectations in harmony. The discord of the internal and external is presented so strangely yet so humorously that we cannot help but find an affinity with the characters. We are liberated briefly from the minefield of real-life intimacy as the perplexity of it all

Thinking about intimacy of any kind has taken on an extraordinary amount of weight since mid-March. While some fictional worlds only offer us a twisted mirror, the films of Wes Anderson remain a reassuring escape. The magic is in the detail: while reflecting our remoulded society more accurately than ever, Anderson’s films are so thoroughly consistent, so convincingly constructed as fully operating worlds that they allow us, if only for a short time, to forget.

SEIRCE MHAC CONGHAIL

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I’M THINKING OF ENDING THINGS In a year as violently unprecedented as 2020, it is frankly absurd to note the number of films that, seemingly out of sheer coincidence, have proven to mirror the ideas, trends and imagery of this historic pandemic. Tenet (Christopher Nolan, 2020) frames its protagonists as immobile and mask-clad, trapped within a world suffering from apocalyptic regression, while The New Mutants (Josh Boone, 2020), filmed all the way back in 2017, traps its cast of super-humans within the invisible walls of an institution, suffocating their abilities for their own prescribed safety.

I’m Thinking of Ending Things (Charlie Kaufman, 2020) takes these inexpli-

25

cably familiar parallels to new heights however, constructing over its lengthy runtime an exhausting, suffocating quarantine nightmare that will likely hit a bit too close to home for some. Based on a synonymous short story written by Iain Reid in 2016, the film uses the framing device of an extended conversation between Jake (Jesse Plemons) and his girlfriend (Jessie Buckley), whose name endures frequent changes as the narrative reveals more of its secrets, as they travel along an icy road to meet Jake’s parents (Toni Collette and David Thewlis, both doing their gamely best to twist Meet the Parents (Jay Roach, 2000) into something abhorrently grotesque).

The film is first and foremost a showcase for

its four outgoing, offbeat stars (there is a reason why three of the four leads have starred in seasons of Fargo), essentially taking the form of a series of short plays of roughly thirty minutes a piece rather than anything more narratively conventional, and allowing them to feed off of one another’s eccentricities. Collette, Plemons and especially Thewlis are all terrific in their respective roles, but it is unmistakably Buckley who steals every scene for herself, playing an intelligent woman amongst animals who, with every beat, line and inflection, gradually unravels and descends into claustrophobic madness at their mercy.

That is not to say that Kaufman does anything but his best work from the relative comfort of his

director’s chair however, with his most noteworthy achievement being the intricate, surgical skill with which he blocks his actors within these theatrical set-pieces, refusing to let so much as a single shot go to waste without revealing something unspoken about one, two or all of his key players. I’m Thinking of Ending Things is without question a horror film at its core, but rather than ever frighten his audience with tricks or bangs, Kaufman simply recognises the inherent terror of lockdown without hope of escape, and emphasises that claustrophobia with every lingering frame and sudden cut. The film’s cast are literally and figuratively trapped in one another’s company, clinging only to the faintest, most inconceivable dreams of escape. This is an upsetting, gruelling film at the best

of times; a far cry from the more lyrical absurdism of Kaufman’s earlier works, but the worldly conditions surrounding its release only serve to amplify the horror.

The ending is likely to polarise viewers, treading a delicate line between empowering and criticising the toxic male perspective at its core without ever taking a definitive stance, which is all the more troubling upon learning that Kaufman’s script strays considerably from the source material. It is clear that the film has no interest in offering any sort of relief for the traumas inflicted on his audience, most of whom are likely already familiar with the pains explored in his film.

It is in many regards an endurance test, turning masterful actors into torturers wielding black

comedy and misogynistic condescension as their weapons of choice, and mileage will vary on whether the melancholic ending can justify the preceding two hours and thirteen minutes spent submerged in this hellish mirror-realm. That being, said, there is no question as to the impressive talent and precision with which I’m Thinking of Ending Things was crafted. This is easily one of the year’s most fascinating films, in no small part due to its impossible prescience, and for those with the stomachs for its distressing, starkly-real capacity to reflect our modern condition, I would argue that, love it or hate it, this is an experiment worth your curiosity. What else are you gonna do?

JAMES MCCLEARY

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TENET “Don’t try to understand.

Just do.” This is a line delivered early in Christopher Nolan’s latest film, Tenet, by Clemence Poesy’s scientist as she introduces the concept of ‘inversion’ to John David Washington’s unnamed protagonist. It is a concept that seems to be some variation on time travel where, once someone has undergone inversion, they create a second iteration of themselves that, to someone in the normal plane of existence, looks like they’re moving backwards – I think. If you replace the word “do” with the word “watch” in Poesy’s line, that is probably the best way to experience the film. Despite having a seemingly endless array of expository

27

scenes in which ‘inversion’ is explained to both the protagonist and the audience, there are still times where the internal logic of the concept – and thus the film as a whole – appears to go out the window completely. Nolan’s script is muddled and frantic, moving from place to place at breakneck speed at times, then screeching to a halt at others – a frustrating element in a film that concentrates so much on temporality.

With the likes of Inception (2010) and Interstellar (2014), Nolan established himself as the thinking man’s blockbuster filmmaker – combining fun, big-budget action with clever, mind-bending ideas. He attempts to uphold that reputation here but the film struggles

to meet either criteria.

The premise of the film is confusing and poorly executed while the action sequences are not very thrilling either – especially not when you have to watch most of them twice.

Yes, the majority of the set-pieces are presented once in regular time, and then again from an ‘inverted’ perspective, making for an utterly predictable watch.

There are a few positives, at least, as the cast all do their best to make sense of the baffling material.

Although John David Washington’s character has been given no more depth than a generic, faceless protagonist in an average video game – his character is literally called the Protagonist – he still manages to emit enough

charm and charisma to mark himself out as a potential action superstar.

Meanwhile, Robert Pattinson plays the clear Nolan surrogate Neil, who accompanies the Protagonist through most of the film and spends his time giving exposition and laughing at everyone around him – and the audience – as they struggle to understand what is happening.

At one point, he actually asks Washington “Is your head starting to hurt yet?”

Yes, Christopher, it is.

Not because your plot is particularly complex but, rather, it lacks coherence.

That and the horrendous sound design.

Another downfall of the film is the casting of Kenneth Branagh as he is totally out of place in this film. He portrays the

most basic of basic Bond villains, complete with a massive yacht, Russian accent, and devious, world-ending plans.

Elizabeth Debicki plays his abused and blackmailed wife Kat – a disturbing trend in her filmography – with her usual repertoire of sad eyes and just enough underlying resolve.

Despite Debicki’s talent, Kat is unfortunately not an improvement on Nolan’s track record of underdeveloped and suffering female characters. There is even a scene where she is brutally beaten by Branagh’s character which apparently had to be cut by nine whole seconds.

The scene is bad enough as it is but that extra nine seconds would be gratuitous and indulgent.

Overall, that is the biggest

problem with this film: Christopher Nolan indulging himself in the worst elements of his filmmaking. He strains himself trying to add complexity to a bog-standard, savethe-world story. There are no genuinely compelling characters with any form of depth past their archetypes (the protagonist, the know-it-all sidekick, the abused wife, etc.). He makes us watch his – below par by his standards – set-pieces not once, but twice. And his awful treatment of women on screen does not look like changing any time soon. A major disappointment.

JOEY FANTHOM

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AMP LI FY DIRECTORS Spike Lee Ava DuVernay Barry Jenkins Mati Diop Boots Reilly Dee Rees Marlon Riggs Alile Sharon Larkin Cheryl Dunye Mahamat Saleh Haroun Sabaah Folayan Bruce W. Smith Ryan Coogler Jordan Peele Steve McQueen Kahlil Joseph

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