Category Archives: Iranian Cinema

Cambridge Film Festival #1: Our first day

The 5th day of the festival was the first of my visit. I’m aiming to cover some of the lower profile films and focus on films from outside the US and UK.

The festival is relatively low key but with plenty of buzz around the principal venue at the Arts Picturehouse and if the three screenings I attended today are anything to go by, attendances are pretty good. The three films that I chose are I think representative of the range of material being presented.

First up was Gravy Train (Canada 2010), an indy comedy thriller from the writer-director team of Tim Doiron and April Mullen (who also play the lead roles). Doiron and Mullen’s first feature was a crowd-pleaser at the 2007 Cambridge Festival and this time they were in attendance. They’d already done a Saturday session, but here they were on a Monday afternoon doing it all over again and clearly enjoying themselves. Their second film is full of silliness based around a backwoods town with a 20 year-old murder mystery and a classic melodrama plotline. Much of the fun comes from the 1970s throwback setting and I’m sure that I caught whiffs of cheesy US cop series mixed with Russ Meyer (sans the enormous breasts) and Mel Brooks. On top of that the film features spoof local TV news, fantasy sequences and a plotline that was once a mockumentary on indie filmmaking.

 

Tim Doiron in one of the fantasy sequences from Gravy Train

 

I’m not sure that I found Gravy Train quite as funny as the publicity claims, but I’m not really the audience. What I did recognise was the skill and commitment that went into its making. It looks very good on screen and the RED 1 camera is certainly going to gain some more fans. Excellent production design utilising primary colours also helps. Mullen and Doiron have attracted some major players as well and they are clearly thinking about how to develop as producers.

Although made close to the border in Niagara Falls, this is very much a ‘Canadian’ film with some touches of British humour and it did get a brief cinema run in Canada via Alliance. That means that there will be a Region 1 DVD release if this kind of silliness is your bag. April Mullen and Tim Doiron are two likeable and talented filmmakers – I hope they get more chances.

The Miracle of Leipzig (Das Wunder von Leipzig – Wir Sind das Volk, Germany 2009) was screened in the largest auditorium which was nearly full. This is a conventional documentary combining archive material, reconstruction and witness interviews. It’s skilfully made but I was a little put off by some rather heavy-handed musical scoring and an English-language voiceover that I found quite irritating. I wonder why this voiceover was necessary – or rather why it had replaced the original German. I’m guessing that it was thought necessary in order to sell the doc to TV in America and the UK where the extra subtitling might be thought onerous. Fortunately, the story is so gripping and the witness interviewees so engaging that eventually I stopped noticing the voiceover and even the music.

The ‘miracle’ is the great demonstration in Leipzig in October 1989 that was one of the major factors in the collapse of the East German state and the tearing down of the Berlin Wall. After several weeks of gradual build-up with many dissenters imprisoned or harassed by the Stasi, 70,000 marched around Leipzig city centre in open protest, chanting ‘Wir sind das Volk – we are the people!’. This was too much even for the combined might of the police, Stasi, paratroopers and workers’ militias, many of whom were not prepared to face their own relatives on the street. The film’s producer was at the screening and he made the telling point that the ‘miracle’ occurred only a few months after the Tiananman Square massacre. The fact that the demonstration passed peacefully with no violence was indeed a miracle. (Though there had certainly been violence from the police in the weeks leading up to the march.) The other interesting point is that there was relatively little archive material and virtually no ‘social media output’ at this time. It was effectively banned in the DDR – few people had cameras and few were prepared to be seen using them. Much of the ‘official’ footage was destroyed by the authorities fearful of how it might incriminate them so that the events of just 20 years ago are much less well covered than those of the 1930s and 1940s.

I had to leave the Q & A because my next film was starting, but I think that this film is likely to turn up on TV around the world and it’s worth looking out for.

The Hunter (Shekarchie, Iran/Germany 2010) also deals in a way with protest by ordinary citizens and is also funded via Germany, but it’s a very different kind of film. Rafi Pitts is writer-director and star, best known in the West for his previous film It’s Winter (2006), his third feature (which I haven’t seen). The Hunter focuses on Ali who works as a security guard in a car factory in Tehran. He works the night shift and sees little of his beautiful wife and small daughter and we discover that he has been in prison and that wife and daughter kept him sane. The opening third of the film offer us a real sense of Tehran as a city, contrasting the busy nightlife of the old city with the more alienating environment of concrete highways and high-rises in the suburbs. The film is very slow-paced and I confess that my attention wandered so that I might have missed a few clues, but there seemed to be some questions about Ali’s past – and possibly about the wife and child.

 

Ali (Rafi Pitts) in The Hunter

 

One day when Ali is out hunting in the hills away from the city, there is an incident back in the city and his life goes into turmoil. Ali reacts violently and the closing third of the film becomes more like a crime thriller when he goes on the run. All these events take place against the backdrop of Iranian elections and unrest on the streets (although we don’t see much of this). There is a sense that the film is metaphorical about persecution and the capacity for individual action, but I think that audiences are going to need a little more guidance to get the most from the film. Artificial Eye have picked up the film for UK distribution, so we might discover more. (The film’s pressbook is available here.) Rafi Pitts trained in the UK at Harrow/PCL (now Westminster) in the early 1980s and then moved to France. The final scenes in the forest work well in the ‘human drama’/thriller mode, but I’d like to see it again to get more out of the first half. You can tell that my attention wandered because I kept wondering if the Iranians once drove on the left not the right – this is what happens when it is your third film in a row!

Buddha Who Collapsed Out of Shame (Iran 2007)

Abbas and Baktey

Abbas and Baktay

Has the mainstream finally lost interest in the wonderful world of the Makhmalbaf Film House? The latest offering by the Makhmalbafs is Buddha Who Collapsed Out of Shame, directed by 19 year-old Hana, produced by her older brother and written by her stepmother Marziyeh. When I checked on IMDB after a local screening, I was shocked to find only a handful of reviews and the normally authoratative Variety review was frankly pretty shoddy.

The simple story follows six year-old Baktay as she tries to find a school which will teach her the funny story that her next door neighbour Abbas has in his schoolbook. The quest takes all day in the small Afghani community of Bamian, housed in and around the cliffs where the Taliban shocked the world by blowing up a giant carving of Buddha.

Baktay faces all kinds of obstacles in her quest, not least the struggle to find 20 rupees to buy a schoolbook, pencil and rubber (eraser). The overall aim is to present the story as a metaphor for the struggle against the legacy of the Taliban – or rather the history of struggle against the Russians, the Taliban and now the Americans. In one sense, this is a typical Makhmalbaf production with a neorealist approach based on finding non-actors who can act out a simple story. Marziyeh Meshkini provides a script with several surrealist touches, but Hana makes it distinctive with her camerawork. As far as I could make out, the footage was shot on relatively low resolution DV and printed to 35mm film – so it looks rather ‘soft’ and sometimes a little pixellated. The most distinctive feature is the consistent use of big close-ups, especially of Baktay. I was surprised at how well the child was able to hold my attention and I became engaged in her quest, almost despite myself. At one point I could hardly watch her progress as she clutches four eggs in her tiny hands, offering them for sale at 5 rupees each. I was so fearful that she would drop them or that they would be stolen.

The strength of the simple story is that the audience is given time and space to decide what is important. Clearly, most will recognise the critique of the Taliban etc., but the film is not didactic. There is a discourse about what children learn from seeing violence for real (as Hana argues on www.makhmalbaf.com) but also a suggestion that children need to play and to explore the world around them. You can probably discern that Hana doesn’t think too much of teachers in a formal school system (she herself has mostly been educated at home). Baktay is likely to have learned more from her experiences than from the rote learning offered by the teacher. Interestingly, the most helpful to Baktay are Abbas – remarkably calm in the face of provocation – and the old man who promises to buy bread from her and does so.

I was most intrigued by two aspects of the film. The surrealist touches I assume came from Marziyeh and this film would make an interesting double bill with Marziyeh’s film The Day I Became a Woman (both are under 80 mins). I enjoyed the empty chairs and blackboard in the deserted field that served as a classroom and the wooden ducks in the river. I’ve no idea what they meant, but the images were striking. I also enjoyed the ‘violent’ kite seemingly attacking the community. And on an ethnographic note, I was intrigued by the range of facial features and hair colours amongst the children. One boy was seemingly of Russian parentage, several seemed to be from Central Asia and there were plenty of freckles and red-blonde fringes (emphasised by lipstick on young faces – and nail polish!). This presumably happy coincidence in the choice of non-actors worked well in Hana’s overall strategy.

I see no reason to abandon the Makhmalbafs – I’m sure they will keep astounding us for some time to come.

Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles (China/Hong Kong/Japan 2005)

Mr Takata and translator Jasmine.

Mr Takata and translator Jasmine.

Back to the DVD bargain bin again for another Chinese film not released theatrically in the UK. This time it’s Zhang Yimou’s 2005 film made between House of Flying Daggers and The Curse of the Golden Flower. Ironically, I watched this low-key film just a few days before Zhang Yimou stunned an enormous TV audience with his Olympic Games opening ceremony.

My take on Zhang Yimou is that he has proved to be adept at three different kinds of directorial activity: the expressionist melodrama (e.g. the ‘Red’ trilogy, including Raise the Red Lantern, the action spectacular and the neo-realist drama. Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles falls into the third category. The film is built around the weighty star persona of the Japanese star Takakura Ken, often referred to as the ‘Clint Eastwood’ of Japanese Cinema. All the Chinese characters in the film are played by non-professional actors, as in Zhang’s earlier Not One Less (1999). Takakura Ken plays Mr. Takata, a Japanese man in his seventies living quietly in a fishing village and long estranged from his only son, Kenichi. When the son is hospitalised in Tokyo, his wife contacts the old man, who learns that his son’s wish is to return to China to film a folk opera ‘Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles’ in the Western Chinese village where he has spent several years of research. The father, realising that the son is seriously ill and that he wants to do something to bring about a reconciliation, determines to go to China and film the opera himself, despite being unable to speak the language.

The trip is long and complicated and Mr Takata relies heavily on his translator Jasmine. A number of obstacles are thrown up, not least the temporary replacement of Jasmine by a local guide with only rudimentary Japanese. In the final part of the film, Mr Takata builds a relationship with a small boy who is himself the son of a father he hasn’t ever met (the man who is supposed to perform the central role in the opera).

The film runs a number of risks, not least that it will become overly sentimental and that it will lead to a feelgood ending – the kind of resolution often expected of a Hollywood film featuring a revered old actor and a ‘cute’ child. But this isn’t a Hollywood film and though there is an emotional charge to the narrative, Takakura Ken and Zhang Yimou are too highly skilled to mess it up. They both work exceptionally well with the non-professional cast. Perhaps the Eastwood comparison is apt. Takakura Ken does very little, but has enormous presence, matched only by the jaw-droppingly beautiful cinematography in the mountains. The ending of the film is not contrived and audiences prepared to think about the narrative as well as engage with the emotion should find it very rewarding.

The American reviews of the film are mixed. Some recognise its qualities and praise it highly, others find it ‘lightweight’. There are even some attempts to see the film as ‘propaganda’ for Chinese officialdom and the ‘happy lives’ of the village folk. It is of course a matter of taste, but I would argue that the film sits easily in the neo-realist tradition. The story is not contrived, the behaviour of characters makes sense in the situation and we learn something about human relationships – what’s not to like?

From a wider perspective, the film does begin to explore the Sino-Japanese relationship at a time when there has been some tension over the representation of the war of 1937-45. Zhang himself was responsible for the popular film Red Sorghum in which the brutality of the Japanese offensive was portrayed. In Riding Alone, we see the icon of urban Japanese action films taken to the rural Chinese hinterland and the attempts between the two to communicate on a basic human level. Interestingly, rather than film the Japanese scenes himself, Zhang appears to have delegated this task to the veteran Japanese director Furuhata Yasuo (who has worked wih Takakura Ken on big commercial pictures). The Japanese scenes are cool and quiet and visually present a sharp contrast with those in the village/towns of Western China. The two are often linked by phone conversations and this was one aspect of the film that reminded me of earlier comparisons I’ve tried to make between Zhang’s neo-realist films and those of recent Iranian Cinema. There is a scene in Abbas Kiarostami’s The Wind Will Carry Us (Iran 1999) in which an engineer from Tehran, visiting a remote village, has to climb a hill to get a mobile signal. In Riding Alone, a group of villagers follows Mr Takata around the village and onto the rooftops in a search for a signal. (In fact, the more I think about it, the more similar the two films become – in the Iranian film, the busy engineer travels to the village where a relative is dying and during his stay learns something about himself through observing village life.) I’m impressed that you can get through to Chinese villages from Tokyo on a mobile phone – there are parts of rural Northern England where getting a signal is very difficult.

The representation of Japanese technologies – phone, still camera, video camera and 4×4 vehicle – are very important in the story, but I was also reminded of recent Chinese films (e.g. the work of Jia Zhang-Ke, such as Unknown Pleasures, 2002) in which community music performances and local use of video technologies is key to the ‘New China’.

Riding Alone was distributed in North America by Sony and promoted as a Zhang Yimou film. I think it would have sold reasonably well in UK cinemas. I’d certainly recommend it.

24 Frames: books on regional cinemas (1)

The Cinema of North Africa and the Middle East, Gönül Dönmez-Colin (ed), Wallflower Press, London 2007, ISBN 978-1-9056-7410-7

’24 Frames’ is a very welcome series from Wallflower Press that over the last few years has begun to introduce new audiences to films from ‘national and regional cinemas’ around the world. These are scholarly collections with 24 articles on individual films in each collection. The definition of a ‘regional cinema’ is always going to be arbitrary and the introduction to this collection by the editor turns the arbitrariness to the advantage of the book. On the one hand, the definition here of ‘North Africa and the Middle East’ includes three major film-producing countries, each of which deserves its own volume. On the other, there are good reasons, historical, political, cultural etc., why it is useful to group these cinemas. Commercially, the ‘region’ represents only a small part of the international film market, even though there are sizable local audiences and the potential for wider distribution. To illustrate the problem of definitions, the annual ‘World Film Market Trends’ publication, Focus (from the European Audio-Visual Observatory) includes all of Africa and the Middle East, but not Turkey. In this collection, Turkey is included, but not sub-Saharan Africa.

The Middle East is a highly problematic term that has arguably increased in usage with its importance as a concept in American foreign policy. The term was first popularised during the European colonial/imperial period, but then it referred primarily to Iraq and Persia/Iran. As a child, I remember the term the ‘Near East’. For the British, the ‘East’ began at Suez and the ‘Far East’ began at Singapore. India and Burma were the Raj. These are my memories of terms that lingered on after the Empire went. These terms at least had a (Eurocentric) logic that isn’t there in current usage. As Gönül Dönmez-Colin points out, the term ‘West Asia’ is sometimes used by Indian scholars and it does make more sense. Egypt and Turkey then conveniently straddle Asia and Africa/Europe respectively.

The region does not have a single language culture. Although Arabic, English and French are used extensively, Turkish, Hebrew and Farsi are distinctive language cultures. Religion and ethnicity are also mixed, especially in the littoral that the French used to call the Levant, with Lebanon and Beirut in particular celebrating diversity. This cultural mixing has contributed to several distinctive modes of film culture, both in production and in distribution/exhibition. The latter means that whilst some films from the region have been widely available in European and American specialised cinema circuits, others (generally those more popular with local audiences) have struggled to be seen outside parts of the region. There is now the beginnings of a Turkish popular cinema in limited distribution in Germany and other parts of Europe for the Turkish diaspora and also the possibility of Arabic-language films on satellite, but again these are unlikely to be seen by ‘Western’ audiences.

The difficulties of distribution mean that I have only seen three of the 24 films discussed in the book (although I have access to a couple more that I will get to eventually). It’s difficult therefore to evaluate the coverage of the diversity of material presented here. I can’t criticise a book because I haven’t seen the films, but the availability of films is an issue in opening up study. You can just imagine the headache the editor must have had trying to commission authors and titles, trying to represent an historical perspective and a spread across national cinemas, popular cinema and specialised cinema. For the record, the book has entries on four films each from Egypt, Turkey and Iran, four from the Maghreb (Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria) and seven from what was the Levant (Israel, Lebanon, Syria and Palestine – several involving co-productions, often with France) with the last entry about an Iraqi film, Forget Baghdad: Jews and Arabs – The Iraqi Connection, produced from Switzerland and Germany. The only films made before 1970 are Ghazal Al-Banat (Candy Floss) and Bab El-Hadid (Cairo Station), both from Egypt in 1949 and 1958 respectively, the first representing the Egyptian studio system, the second Egypt’s principal auteur, Youssef Chahine.

I have seen two of the films in the last couple of years, Silences of the Palace (Tunisia, 1994) and Uzak (Distant, Turkey, 2002), so I’ll focus on the analyses of these two. Viola Shafik’s essay (10 pp with references) on Silences of the Palace proved invaluable in working on the film for a recent course. The film did very well on the festival circuit winning prizes and it received distribution in Europe. It tells the story of a young woman growing up in the ‘women’s quarters’ in a Bey’s house (Beys were the aristocratic rulers in Tunisia, granted privileges by the French colonial administrators) in the 1950s. The story is told in flashback by the central character who has become a cabaret singer by the 1960s. Shafik begins with a commentary on the film’s critical reputation and she points out that although revered in the West as an ‘art film’, partly because it deals with the position of women in Islamic society, it is in fact a skilful re-interpretation of a classical melodrama. Shafik then notes that in 1995, the film was distributed widely in the West but, apart from within Tunisia itself, it was not sold to distributors elsewhere in the Arab world (i.e. unlike popular Egyptian melodramas). She goes on to explore the complex set of theoretical issues around ‘popular’ and ‘art cinema’, the denigration of Egyptian melodramas, the subtle transformation of the genre in Silences, the ‘moment’ of liberation from colonial rule as represented in national cinemas etc. By providing useful specific cultural knowledge as well as contextualising insights, Shafik makes possible a much richer reading of the film.

Nuri Bilge Ceylan has ‘arrived’ in Europe and North America as an auteur, introduced outside the festival circuit by Uzak. In 2007, his position was firmly established by the critical reception to Iklimler. Uzak deals with the arrival in snowy Istanbul of a man from the rural hinterland. He comes to the apartment of his cousin, a photographer and very much the ‘metropolitan man’. The cousins have a very ‘distant’ relationship, exploration of which is the focus of the film. (The photographer is a typical character partly based on Ceylan himself.) S. Ruken Ozturk’s essay is just eight pages. Again, like Viola Shafik, she provides contextualising information about Ceylan’s earlier career, about the differences between Ceylan’s work and those of diaspora filmmakers such as Fatih Akin. She emphasises that Distant has been seen by far more cinemagoers in France (150,000) than in Turkey (60,000). What follows is again a rich reading of the film in terms of allegory and metaphor (Istanbul is a ‘distant place’ of 10 million souls caught somewhere between Turkey and Europe, the tale of the two cousins is played out in three scenes using a mousetrap – linked to the fable of the town mouse and country mouse) as well as in terms of a discourse of masculinity. I would have found this very useful after I’d first seen the film and again when I was teaching Iklimler.

If the rest of the entries are up to these two, I think that this will prove to be a valuable book. It has certainly encouraged me to think about hunting down more of these films on imported DVDs.

24 Frames: The Cinema of Central Europe, Peter Hames (ed), Wallflower, London 2004, ISBN 1-904764-20-7

The ‘naming’ of regions is also an issue in this collection. For far too long, the four countries of Hungary, Poland, Slovakia and the Czech Republic have been viewed as generally ‘East European’ and up until 1989 as part of an Eastern bloc dominated by Soviet Communism. As a result, the films have been viewed through a prism of ideological awareness – judged by the extent to which they have confirmed or resisted Soviet hegemony. But before 1939 ‘Central Europe’ was something of a powerhouse of artistic achievement deriving in part from the nationalist struggles of artists within the Austro-Hungarian Empire and in the new nation states that followed the break-up of the Empire after 1918. In this conception, I would expect to include aspects of German and Austrian Cinema, but I’m sure they will be part of another volume (and in any case will have different kinds of concerns).

Peter Hames’ collection of essays covers the four countries and the films range from the 1930s to the mid 1990s with a perhaps understandable focus on the mid 1960s (the period of the Czechoslovak New Wave). Apart from some of the earliest films, most of the titles have been distributed in the UK and several are now available on DVD. These include films by well-known European auteurs such as Andrzej Wajda (Ashes and Diamonds, 1958 and Man of Marble, 1977) and Krzyzstof Kieslowski (Dekalog, 1988).

In this case, I have seen many of the films discussed and I have used material in the book on an evening class covering Central European Cinema. I found it extremely useful and I’d recommend it.

At Five in the Afternoon (Iran/France 2003)

Samira Makhmalbaf (right) with actor Agheleh Rezaie and Marziyeh Meshkin

At Five in the Afternoon is an Iranian film made in Afghanistan. A young woman and her parents arrive in ruined Kabul. The young woman attends a newly opened school and she takes part in an exercise in which she argues her case to become the next president of the country. She meets various people, including a photographer, a poet and a French peacekeeping soldier. Her conservative father is troubled by his daughter’s assertiveness. When she is out of his sight, she lifts her veil and puts on a pair of Western court shoes.

Samira Makhmalbaf is currently the most visible member of the formidable Makhmalbaf Film House – the Iranian family of filmmakers. At Five in the Afternoon is her third feature and the second to win a prize at Cannes (after Blackboards in 2000). Ms Makhmalbaf was just 18 when she first presented The Apple (1998) to international audiences at various festivals. She also contributed one of the episodes to 11″9’01 (2003), the compendium film focusing on 9/11.

The Makhmalbaf family work together, with Samira and her younger sister, brother and stepmother learning from the established filmmaker, Mohsen Makhmalbaf. All of them contributed in different ways to At Five in the Afternoon, but the film clearly bears the stamp of Samira.

All of the Makhmalbaf Film House productions appear to draw upon the approaches developed in Italian neo-realist cinema in the 1940s. They develop stories from the reality of people’s lives (rather than writing stories in order to create something to say) and they generally use ‘non-professionals’. These were two of the precepts adopted by Roberto Rossellini. At Five in the Afternoon sometimes resembles the Italian postwar films, with refugees and survivors of the war struggling to find food and shelter amongst the ruined buildings. Samira Makhmalbaf refers to this approach as allowing her to represent the ‘spirit’ of the people of Afghanistan – in direct contrast to the representations constructed by the global media such as CNN:

Basically, radio, TV and satellites are the official voice of regimes and powerful authorities but cinema is the only broadcast medium where the author voices the spirit of nations without any tribune. We understand the spirit of India from Satiyajit Ray’s films, not from musical video clips on satellite TV. Ken Loach presents the spirit of the British people, while the BBC or Tony Blair can only be the spokespersons of England’s official policies. (Cannes interview on www.makhmalbaf.com)

Perhaps it is her father’s teaching or perhaps she has developed her own sense of what it means to be a cinema auteur, aware of the political nature of the medium and the possibilities for individual expression. In answer to a question about whether or not the film is a ‘realistic portrayal’ of contemporary Afghanistan she says:

Godard says that at first cinema was for showing reality but now it has led to entertainment. In the film I tried as much as possible not to entertain – contrary to the style so much a part of the media – but also avoided passing any type of judgment. In that sense this film is similar to The Apple. I have tried to understand a father who is a supporter of the Taliban and their culture and a girl who opposes that culture and depict what exists not at present but what I prefer to exist.

I chose the film’s characters among ordinary people and got the film’s details from their lives. I picked up much of the dialogue while searching for actors and locations and from what I heard from ordinary people in the streets or markets and re-enacted them in the film. In contrast to those who are used to simplify complex matters I haven’t tried to blame the Taliban for all the problems or with their fall, like the American reportage, portray a non-existent well being after the conquest of Afghanistan by Rambo.

This film aims to understand and show the mystery of this region’s backwardness and the hidden war between the two generations of the past and present and the differences that exist between men and women’s situations.

As far as the realities of Afghanistan are concerned, this film is quite realistic in my opinion. On the one hand it also looks at the poetic side of cinema and not because one of the characters is a poet and reads a poem in the film. (Cannes interview ibid.)

This is an eloquent statement about an approach which combines ideas from neo-realism with elements of surrealism or perhaps ‘magic realism’ – a combination also identifiable in films by Mohsen Makhmalbaf (Kandahar 2000) and his second wife Marziyeh Meshkini (The Day I Became a Woman 2000). Samira Makhmalbaf knows Afghanistan from early experiences with her father’s productions and in her previous film she worked across another Iranian border in Kurdistan. She is able to find the actors and create the dialogue, almost from an ‘insider’s position’. Several commentators have suggested that she shoots in a documentary style. Yet she also chooses the incidents in the story and the locations so that they present poetic or perhaps symbolic images rather than something resembling a newsreel. The different feel that this gives the film is central to its message.

Aesthetics
There are three broad categories of image in the film. Conversations or dialogues are conducted by characters shown in medium close-up and often facing the camera (without actually looking out towards the audience). This works particularly well when the central character Noqreh lifts her veil to speak, often amongst other women who are still covered. A complementary shot is the close-up of Noqreh’s feet as she slips between her workaday slippers and the white court shoes with a floral bow and a low heel. We spend some time following these feet across the ruined streets of Kabul. We are also offered a link to her father as we watch him washing his head and feet.

These shots are contrasted with the long shots of the environments of the characters, including the ruined palace, the wreck of an aircraft and other abandoned buildings. These shots are at once ‘realist’ with the crowds in dusty streets and ‘surrealist’ in the compositions of the women in blue-green burqas and umbrellas. Sometimes, they become symbolic as the motorised rickshaw passes the horse and cart.

The long shots also provide the means to move the narrative along in a series of long tracking or ‘travelling’ shots as we follow Noqreh through the city and across the desert, often with the high mountains on the horizon line.

A female perspective?
Samira Makhmalbaf, her younger sister and stepmother represent an unusual group of women directors in a society that has been reluctant to allow women to express themselves through the variety of media available to women in Europe and North America. How important is gender in influencing the ways in which Samira chooses to show the women of Afghanistan? There are practical advantages for a woman director working in Afghanistan and Samira does on occasion operate the camera (although the crew list shows a male sound recordist). Although Samira wrote the screenplay, the original story idea was her father’s. Making links between the material captured by the camera and the creative talent behind it is not straightforward. This is why the concept of ‘representation’ has so fascinated film and media theorists. Nevertheless, the public appearances of an eloquent and impassioned young woman filmmaker such as Samira Makhmalbaf must have some effects upon the reception of her film by audiences.

Theme
The heart of the film is in the way in which Noqreh moves between the interaction with her father and sister-in-law (the traditional Afghanistan) and a very different interaction with the poet and the soldier (the prospect of democracy in Afghanistan). The sequences in the school are somewhere between the two. There are several occasions when the struggle to define the possibilities for Afghan society are encapsulated in specific actions – e.g. when the photographer tells Noqreh to pull down her veil. He believes that this image of the ‘covered woman’ is the correct one for a candidate for the presidency.

The meeting with the French soldier (a consequence of the co-production deal?) enables the filmmakers to pose questions to a Western audience. What do we really understand as ‘democracy’? Is the soldier’s ignorance of or indifference towards how his president is elected very different to the Father’s reverence for a traditional Afghani way of life? Massoud Mehrabi (see web resource below) suggests that the search for water – always in short supply – is a symbol for the search for democracy. He notes that the water that is desperately needed to keep the baby alive is used by the Father for washing – cleanliness is more important than survival.

The poet appears to represent the sophisticated (optimistic?) view of what could happen in the new Afghanistan. How is this linked to the choice of Lorca’s poem about the bullfight for the title of the film and its opening and closing lines? The more you think about these ideas, the more the film becomes an intriguing commentary on “the new world order”. How must it feel to be an Iranian filmmaker, at odds with your own government, watching the Americans misunderstanding and threatening the futures of your neighbours in Afghanistan and Iraq?

Useful web resources

Interview with Samira Makhmalbaf by Sally Vincent
Article on the Makhmalbaf family by Hannah McGill in Sight and Sound, April 2004
Review by Massoud Mehrabi, Iranian film writer (in English)
Makhmalbaf Film House – a treasure house of interviews, articles, reviews, images compiled by the family and its collaborators.

Questions for discussion

1. How helpful is the suggestion that At 5 in the Afternoon employs both ‘realism’ and ‘surrealism’ in representing the new Afghanistan?

2. What did the film say to you about the possibilities for the future in Afghanistan? Which were the important scenes for you?

3. Do you think the gender of the filmmaker was important in the way the story developed and the ways in which characters were shown by the camera? Can you quote any examples?

4. Samira Makhmalbaf clearly believes that her film has a political purpose. How would you describe that purpose and do you think that she succeeds?

Roy Stafford 3/3/05

(These notes are a slightly adapted version of materials written for a screening of the film at Cornerhouse Cinema, Manchester in 2004)

Not One Less and neo-realism

Wei

Wei Minzhi as the young teacher in Not One Less

(Notes used on an event considering how film could be used in the context of teaching about ‘global issues with students aged 14-16. The first section was actually written in 2000.)

The most influential ‘film movement’ in the history of the cinema was arguably the promotion of neo-realism in Italy during the 1940s. The model of filmmaking practice that emerged from a very specific set of circumstances in that turbulent period became the inspiration for a diverse range of celebrated directors from Satyajit Ray in Bengal and Sembène Ousmane in Senegal to Jean-Luc Godard and Francois Truffaut in Paris and Ken Loach in Britain.

At a time when the average Hollywood film costs $50 million, it is heartening that the digital explorations of the Dogme 95 group offer something that recalls the freshness of neo-realism. But whilst those merry pranksters have arguably achieved as much through the brilliance of their marketing as through their films, it is even more heartening to see the recent release of two films that go right back to the ‘ur’ neo-realist model. Not One Less (China 1999) and The Wind Will Carry Us (Iran 1999). Very different in their tone and address, both gain from adherence to the fundamentals of neo-realism and offer teachers and students a way in to one of the important debates about cinema (and one specifically addressed in the UK by A Level Film Studies – FS5 World Cinema).

Neo-realism
Most film histories trace the idea of neo-realism back to Jean Renoir’s work in the 1930s and particularly to his 1934 film, Toni. Shot on location in the south of France, Toni dealt with immigrant workers around Marseilles in the form of a melodrama. It represented the coming together of the French documentary tradition and the fiction film, long before the British wartime films of the 1940s. Renoir said at the time:

“My ambition was to bring the non-naturalistic elements, those that don’t depend on the play of encounters, to a style as near as possible to that of everyday acquaintanceship. Similarly with the decor, there is no studiowork; the landscape and houses are as we found them. The human beings, whether played by actors or by the inhabitants of Martigues strive to resemble the passersby whom they are supposed to represent. The professional actors, with a few exceptions, belong to the social class, the nation, the races, of their role.” (quoted in Durgnat 1974)

Here are two of the tenets of neo-realism, the location-shooting and the use of non-actors (or actors suited to their roles). Renoir’s skill in terms of ‘outdoor’ shooting was next seen to marvellous effect in the sublime short feature Partie de campagne made in 1936. Renoir then turned away from this style, but one of his assistants was Luchino Visconti, who in 1942 produced his own first feature Ossessione, an adaptation of James M.Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice set in the Po delta region of North East Italy. The outdoor scenes strongly evoked Renoir’s style but the film was censored by the Fascist authorities and because of copyright problems surrounding the adaptation, the film was not seen in Britain until the 1970s. Now, however, it is regarded as the forerunner of the Italian neo-realism that developed after 1945. Visconti was one of the great names associated with this period, primarily for La terra trema (1947), an account of tuna fishermen in Sicily struggling to survive economic oppression and the terrors of the sea.

More central to the influence of neo-realism outside Italy were Vittorio de Sica and Roberto Rossellini. De Sica produced the best known and one of the most commercially successful neo-realist films in Bicycle Thieves (1948). This film also confirmed the twin narrative requirements of neo-realist films:

• the setting reflected the social conditions of the time and dealt with social problems
• the plot was developed from a single everyday incident.

A unemployed man is dismayed when the bicycle he uses to search for work is stolen. He sets out to find it with his son. This is the essence of the neo-realist approach, formulated into a ‘manifesto’ by the scriptwriter Cesare Zavattini, who described how it was possible to write a story beginning with a simple act. “A woman goes into a shop to buy a pair of shoes. They cost 7,000 lire.” From this Zavattini must create a two hour story – how? He simply asks, why does she need new shoes? How will she find the money? Does her husband know about the purchase? What else might she have spent the money on?

Trying to write a story from this kind of opening premise is an excellent exercise for students. In de Sica’s case it tended to lead towards melodrama and perhaps a sentimental film. This isn’t a charge that could be levelled against Roberto Rossellini, who certainly used melodrama, but in the context of a much more hard-headed approach to social, political and philosophical questions. Roma, citta aperta made in 1945, not long after the Nazis departed, shocked the world with its depiction of the partisan struggles in the city and Paisa in 1946 went further in its use of non-actors and actual locations to detail the struggle throughout Italy.

Rossellini became the philosopher-king of realist cinema. He became opposed to the idea of cinema as mere entertainment. He believed that scripts should not be constructed artificially, but that ideas should be “born in the film, from the subject”. Most of all, neo-realism should pose problems and make audiences think. Rossellini produced a body of work unique in cinema history and well worth exploring. His 1953 film Viaggio in Italia was written as it was filmed, incorporating local events into the story. This bewildered the Hollywood star George Sanders but inspired Jean-Luc Godard when he came to make films in the 1960s. An article by Laura Mulvey on Viaggia in Italia appears in the December 2000 issue of Sight and Sound.

Neo-realism worldwide
Jean Renoir was instrumental once more when he travelled to India in 1950 to make The River. Here he met the aspiring filmmaker and Bengali intellectual Satyajit Ray, who became an ardent supporter and effective pupil. Ray also made a trip to London where he saw several neo-realist films. When Ray eventually completed Pather Panchali in 1955 he introduced the possibility of film production in the developing world outside the commercial film industry. Ray had nothing to do with the ‘all India’ films from Bombay and his method once again turned to location shooting with non-actors and a story, although adapted from a classic Bengali novel, that detailed the lives of a single family in a rural village.

Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, filmmakers from Africa, Asia and Latin America trained in Paris, Rome or Moscow and returned home to make first features in countries with little film industry infrastructure. Inevitably, the filmmaking model that attracted them was neo-realism, not only because it promised a low budget and the possibility of shooting without local support, but also because of its tradition of asking questions about social conditions – perhaps the overwhelming motivation for filmmakers in newly independent countries trying to come to terms with the end of colonialism and their hopes for the future.

‘Social realism’ in the west
Realism has long been a contentious issue in Europe and North America and there isn’t space here to rehearse the whole debate, but simply to note that the most celebrated contemporary British director worldwide is still Ken Loach.

Loach himself refers to his main influence as the Czech New Wave of the 1960s, but he also acknowledges a debt to neo-realism. He always appears to have difficulty releasing films in the UK, especially when they dare to address issues. At the time of writing the release in the UK of Loach’s latest film Bread and Roses, about the struggles of immigrant Mexican workers in Los Angeles, has been put back yet again. The suggestions are that it is “not very good”. Well, maybe it isn’t his best film (and I haven’t seen it) [I have seen it now and it is up to the usual high standard], but it’s fair to suggest that Loach working at 50% of effectiveness would be better than most features that are released in the UK. More to the point, this kind of response to politically engaged work helps to make it more difficult to get new films made and released. Interestingly, the film opened in France in November on 87 screens – far more than is likely in the UK.

Loach’s current production, The Navigators, is about the effects of railway privatisation on a group of workers. Trade reports suggest that because of funding changes brought about by the Film Council, The Navigators will go straight to television without a cinema release in the UK (it will, of course, get a release in Europe where Loach is appreciated and where he has consistently found backers). Ironically, Loach and his crew were in the process of derailing a train as part of The Navigators shoot when the Hatfield crash on the GNER mainline caused four deaths, subsequently blamed on poor maintenance of the track.

Not One Less
The political force of ‘realism’, as irritant to both left and right, is neatly illustrated by the release of Not One Less. One of two films released in the UK by Chinese director Zhang Yimou during 2000 (The Road Home is currently on release), Not One Less is an almost exemplary neo-realist film that could easily have been written by a Chinese Zavattini.

In the mountains of Northern China (filmed in Western Hebei province) a teacher in a tiny village school needs to visit his dying mother. He makes an arrangement with the local mayor to leave the school and its twenty pupils in the care of a 13 year-old village girl, Wei Minzhi.

The girl tries to teach the children local songs but her attempts are disrupted by the absence of a boy who has gone to the city to seek work. Minzhi knows that she won’t be paid her bonus (of a few pounds) if he does not return, and she turns school work into a project to raise the bus fare to take herself to the city, find the boy and bring him back.

Zhang Yimou is in some ways an unlikely neo-realist, known in the UK for the sumptuous colours, breathtaking cinematography and glorious melodrama of films like Red Sorghum, Ju Dou and Raise the Red Lantern. He first came to notice as a cinematographer on Yellow Earth, directed by fellow ‘Fifth Generation’ film school graduate Chen Kaige in 1984.

The so-called Fifth Generation were the first filmmakers to complete film school after the end of the ‘Cultural Revolution’ of the 1960s and 1970s. Their appearance at film festivals and on the world scene was dramatic – a cohort of fresh talent with high degrees of skill and wide knowledge of techniques from a traditionally strong film industry long in the doldrums. They were allowed to choose a much wider range of film subjects than had been possible since 1949, but they were still aware of the possibility of censorship and Zhang tended to select period pieces for his own directorial work.

Then in 1992 he made The Story of Qiu Ju, a contemporary film in which a pregnant young woman in the countryside is so incensed by the failure of the local bureaucracy to deal with an attack upon her husband, that she travels to the city to gain redress. This was in many ways a neo-realist piece, shot, in a much less extravagant style than Zhang’s previous work, on location in the country and the city. But its leading player was Gong Li, who even with a freshly scrubbed face and peasant dress, remains one of the most beautiful women in the world and a genuine international star.

In Not One Less, Zhang goes all the way with non-professionals. All the principals play themselves and the performance of Wei Minzhi, decidedly not ‘glamorous’, contributes greatly to the film’s emotional power. Beautifully shot and edited and with knockout performances, Not One Less shows what can be done with a simple narrative idea.

Generally well-received, the film has also been criticised for its ending. Minzhi finds the boy after making a tear-filled announcement on television and the ‘community tv’ crew from the city station travel back to the village to record the homecoming. Critics suggested that Zhang, who has had numerous run-ins with the Chinese authorities over the years, had made the film to please the government – showing life on the streets as romantic rather than a national disgrace and covering up a social problem rather than exposing it.

Exploring this view would be a good exercise for students. There is no doubt that the ending is somewhat sentimental, but it could be argued to be critical of the way the tv station uses Minzhi’s story. The film was supported by the Hollywood studio Sony Pictures and there are a number of interesting product placements (the tv gear is all Sony) including a moment when all the children clamour to spend some of their earnings on a can of coke. Is this a celebration of American junk culture or a critique of globalisation? Not One Less is highly recommended for study.

Using ‘local’ films in teaching about development issues and critical thinking in global citizenship
There are several issues for anyone wanting to use films made by non-European/American film industries with young people. The first is simply a question of availability. Relatively few films from the ‘under-developed’ world are shown in the UK. Those that are will generally be taken to be examples of a form of ‘international art cinema’ – they were not made for a popular audience at home, but for an art audience around the world (or they are made for the home audience, but fail to get screened in competition with more commercial films from abroad). These films are ‘difficult’ for most audiences, simply because they do not conform to the conventions of popular entertainment cinema, either Hollywood, Hong Kong, Bombay Cinema etc. In the UK, such films generally play to older, more middle class audiences.

Popular films from India, Hong Kong etc. are more likely to appeal to an audience of 15 year-olds, partly because cultural differences are to some extent compensated for by familiar action, and music sequences. Unfortunately many of the ‘action films’ which might actually raise interesting social questions, such as City of God, set in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro in the 1980s, are Cert. 18 or 15. So even though City of God would attract a lot of student interest, it isn’t appropriate. There are relatively few films rated U, PG or 12 available and appropriate.

‘Local’ implies films conceived and produced in the country by indigenous filmmakers. Some recent films have appeared to be local, but have actually been made by European filmmakers or by exiles working with European funding, i.e. The Story of the Weeping Camel (Germany/Mongolia 2003). This is not to criticise the film as such, simply to suggest that such films are made with a European audience in mind (see the opening para of this section). In other cases, especially in relation to recent ‘independent’ films in China, foreign production deals are the only means whereby filmmakers can explore ‘sensitive’ issues – e.g. Blind Shaft (China/Germany 2004), a film about the dangerous conditions and corruption in the Chinese mining industry.

The article above attempts to introduce the main aesthetic idea to be adopted by filmmakers across the world who have little money, but who wish to explore important social questions. Following Rossellini, these are not ‘entertainment films’ in the Hollywood sense. They involve a local audience because of their ‘truthfulness’ and the importance of the issues. For outside viewers they present a problem in that the ‘spaces’ the films set up (as part of their generally slow pace) are there to allow the audience to think about the issues. Our students won’t be able to do this if they don’t have the social background. This may have to be taught separately. However, one ‘way in’ to thinking about such films is to compare them with more familiar Hollywood films and recognise how certain conventions are being used differently:

Not One Less could be considered as a simple ‘quest narrative’. But what is different about the quest here compared to Hollywood?
• A similar question: What kind of hero is Wie Minzhi? What are her heroic qualities and how do they compare to those of Hollywood heroes

Other possible films
The article above was written in order to celebrate the release of two films, Not One Less and an Iranian film The Wind Will Carry Us (1999). This latter film is not appropriate for KS4 students, but many Iranian films are, partly because they are also ‘neo-realist’ in approach. A possible choice would be The Day I Became a Woman (Iran/France 2000, Cert U), directed by Marziyeh Meshkini, a member of the ‘Makhmalbaf Film House’ (she’s the second wife of Mohsen Makhmalbaf, a self-taught Iranian filmmaker who has in turn taught all his family members about filmmaking). The film has three episodes focusing on three female characters at points in their lives when they and the world’s attitudes towards them changes. The location is on the island of Kish in the Persian Gulf, just off the Iranian coast. In the first episode a young girl is separated from her childhood friend, a boy, because it is the ‘day she must become a woman’ and be separated from men. In the second episode a young wife seeks her independence by taking part in a bicycle race as an act of defiance against the men of her husband’s family. In the final episode, an old woman is bemused by the ‘consumer experience’ of shopping in the modern store by Kish International Airport. Each story has an element of surrealism or possibly ‘magic realism’.

Marziyeh’s stepdaughter Samira Makhmalbaf is actually the more experienced filmmaker, having won a prize at Cannes as an 18 year-old. Her film At Five in the Afternoon (Iran/France 2003, Cert PG) is a very sophisticated film which takes its title from a poem by Lorca and which focuses on the possibility of democracy in Afghanistan. Samira and her father have made three films about Afghanistan (one of the countries which borders Iran). At Five in the Afternoon is perhaps a less accessible film than The Day I Became a Woman, but it could be used to raise issues about a place in the news – presenting the country in a very different way to American or European news stories.

Finally, a film which is also a PG (although it does have quite a violent scene towards the end), and which could be used to complement Not One Less, is Beijing Bicycle (China/Taiwan/France 2001). Directed by a ‘Sixth Generation’ Chinese filmmaker, Wang Xiaoshuai, the film directly quotes the famous neorealist film Bicycle Thieves (Italy 1948) in its story about a young man from the country who comes to Beijing and gets a job as a bicycle courier. The bicycle is essential for his job and is ‘rented’ to him by his employer. After a few weeks he should be able to buy it outright, but it is stolen by a schoolboy. The film explores the struggle of the two young men to survive in the ‘new China’

Roy Stafford, 5/7/06

Chinese Directors: Zhang Yimou (b 1951)

(These notes from 2004 fill in some of the background on Zhang Yimou’s films seen in the West. There are links to entries on this site for individual films.)

Zhang Yimou has been the most prolific Chinese filmmaker to emerge since 1984 in terms of films seen internationally. He graduated from Beijing film academy as a cinematographer and worked on One and Eight (1983) for Zheng Jun-Zhao, Yellow Earth (1984) and Big Parade (1986) for Chen Kaige and Old Well (1986) for Wu Tian-Ming before moving into direction. Following the trilogy of ‘Red’ films (Red Sorghum, Judou, Raise the Red Lantern) the second two of which were initially denied a release in mainland China, his work as a director began to meet official approval with the release of his next film The Story of Qiu Ju in 1992. This tells the story of a young peasant woman (again played by Gong Li), whose husband is physically abused by the village chief. She seeks justice from the state bureaucracy but is forced to pursue her case through a whole system of local and regional bureaucracies. Heavily pregnant and with little money she braves the big city to win support.

Filmed in what in the West would be seen as a ‘neorealist’ style with location shooting on busy city streets, The Story of Qiu Ju represented a change of aesthetic and also a change of tone. Many critics saw this as Zhang Yimou ‘pleasing’ the authorities with a film which in some ways validated the system, even if it emphasised the hardships of the peasantry. In his films since, Zhang Yimou has developed a range of styles and has varied his subject matter between the historical (the twentieth century for To Live (1994), the 1930s for Shanghai Triad and ancient China for Hero (2003)) and the contemporary (Happy Times (2002)). Not One Less (1999) is another neorealist film, though it may owe more to realism as interpreted by Iranian Cinema, of which Zhang is a big admirer. The romantic sweep of The Road Home (2001) also has some Iranian influences and some which seem to echo Hollywood ‘pioneer’ westerns. This film also features Zhang Ziyi, Gong Li’s successor as Zhang’s female star.

With Hero and The House of Flying Daggers (2004), Zhang Yimou has shown himself capable of bridging the gap between ‘art’ and ‘popular cinema’ in China. He has thrived in a commercial world of co-productions with Hong Kong, Taiwan and Japan as well as the Hollywood studios. He has shown himself adept at dealing with censorship and has emerged as an idiosyncratic voice in Chinese culture, even if some of his recent films (e.g. Hero) have been seen as supporting centralised control of Chinese society.