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Pick of IFFR: Sexual Drive, directed by Yoshida Kota

Tommy Hodgson — 2021-02-19T14:10:40Z

International Film Festival Rotterdam had some dazzling pieces in its programme this year, but Sexual Drive seriously stands out in its ambition and creative execution. Japanese director Yoshida Kota's odd but undeniably endearing film is triumphant in illustrating the intimate link between food and sex, at the sweaty intersection of lust and repressed desires. Sexual Drive is a striking piece in that the plot is three separate vignettes, all involving a seemingly sudden and dramatic emotional crisis between different characters. Yet the thread running through all of them is the revelation of the intricate erotica of everyday food, which is often perilous to the main protagonists.

The first story deals with a distant marriage. The devoted but physically unavailable husband Enatsu invites his wife Masumi's supposed lover over to talk, only to be confronted with lurid details of her sexual appetite. The man in question, Kurita, is a hypnotic character, a strange, devilish figure who shows up during all the tales to sew the seeds of food worship and sexual liberation in the unsure protagonists.

In an open and disarming manor, Kurita discusses Masumi's desire for nattu, a fermented soybean dish, as part and parcel of her sensuality, a fact totally unbeknownst to the husband. This gives way to the well-executed closing scene of the short - Masumi returning home, eating the sticky dish in front of her shocked husband, who is forced to confront the novel idea that this apparently mundane food is in fact a substitute for, and part of, her sexual appetite. This is accentuated by the director's masterful shots of Masumi eating the soybeans and rice in bright natural lighting, with close-ups of her mouth gently caressing the sticky food, licking her lips orgasmically to Enatsu's comical bewilderment.

Versions of such confrontational scenarios are played out in the other two stories but with more dynamic settings: a car accident which turns into an sadomasochistic ultimatum, and the pained discovery of a dark, noir-esque noodle bar full of slurping men and a specific, tantalising ramen dish. Kota's direction never falters in keeping an interesting pace to these mini-narratives, building up to an exciting and uncomfortable crescendo of sexual and emotional release. Kurita's role in each tale is always intriguing - he serves as both a taunt and representation of the buried sexual proclivities of the repressed characters.

The food politics of all three tales are expressive, turning traditional Japanese dishes into objects of sexual craving and unfulfilled fantasy. In this, food and sex are one and the same, things which have been dismissed or sidelined in these characters' lives only to come to the fore by the menacing and manipulative presence of Kurita. There is suddenly romance in the ramen, fervour in the tofu. Sexual Drive operates as more than just food porn, but it takes the deep-held pleasure we humans have for food to captivating extremes. It not only exposes our close relationship with food in a distressing and weird way, but illustrates its shocking potential as a substitute for genuine human intimacy.

Tommy Hodgson's Encounters TOP 5

Tommy Hodgson — 2020-10-01T19:16:18Z

Writer Tommy Hodgson offers his own top picks from this year's Encounters Short Film Festival.

Breadline (UK, director: Carol Salter): Breadline displays intimate footage of a food bank in a Northern town through the gaze of an elderly volunteer and, in doing so, serves as a damning indictment of the austerity state which the Conservative Party has manufactured and sustained within the UK. Carol Salter's short tale is a personal, and soul-searching look into the ordinary people who have chosen to help other ordinary people because their government has neglected them. Through basic conversations and mundane day-to-day tasks, Breadline is disarmingly successful in adding a layer of humanity to the political choices of this country. Understated and simplistic in its execution, Breadline gives a more realistic glimpse into modern Britain than a passive news report ever could.

Calvario (Spain, director: Lluís Margarit): From Spanish director Lluís Margarit comes a delightful gaze into insecurity and male fragility, specifically the perils of balding before one's time. As funny as it is tragic, the picture takes the toxicity of our self-image to hilarious extremes, within an easily digestible and relatable reality. Margarit's success lies with tapping into a male fear often assumed but not dwelt upon, and offering misdirects as to whether this supposed slight is real or imagined. Well-acted and not at all self-indulgent, Calvario is sure to produce a hearty laugh in its audience, regardless of their hairline.

Christy (Ireland, director: Brendan Canty): Christy is brilliant in its display of the often uncomplicated bonds of male friendship, and further how comradeship cuts deeper than job rejections and other setbacks in life. A fascinating depiction of life for the working-class youth in Ireland, it resonates with anyone who has ever been young and broke, faced with the anxiety of a job interview when you do not even know yourself yet. Director Brendan Canty's piece is ultimately positive in its message that there are rays of sunshine in friendship and petty revenge to counter the very adult drudgery and mundanity of a working life.

Christy (Short Film Trailer) from Brendan Canty on Vimeo.

Exam (Iran, director: Sonia K Hadad): When a teenage girl is pressured to deliver a package before school, her patience and limits are severely tested. An extremely tense and gripping short tale, Exam offers a simple premise but with unthinkable consequences. The build-up of tragedy is layered from the beginning, with intriguing use of over-lingering shots, often sticking closely and relentlessly to the back or front of the character's head to make the suspense more personal, and the fallout more dramatic. Touching on themes of authority, the black market and the perception of vices in Iran, Sonia K Hadad's refreshing direction and execution is simply masterful.

Soup (Russia, director: Inga Sukhordukova): Soup is a dark and dramatic piece, building layers of tension, guilt and the inability to articulate one's emotions into a tight eleven minute journey. The cost of success is apparent when a father and son are re-acquainted, and the unsaid strains on the relationship only infect the plot from there. Both actors successfully use subtle body language, micro gestures and erratic speech patterns to communicate the deep wounds of the relationship in question. It is fitting that the surroundings are sparse and empty, so only emotions cloud the set. Ultimately, Inga Sukhordukova's directorial debut is impressive in crafting a nuanced narrative - with overtones of political commentary about Russian family life and society, especially the state of LGBTQ rights in the country.

Check out more of Tommy's recent work: "Why Tearing Down Statues Is Tackling Britain's Racist History" & "Belarus' young photographers are capturing a country in flux".

A Dog Barking at the Moon - BFI Flare At Home

Tommy Hodgson — 2020-05-27T15:54:29Z

Tommy's review of the week is Xiang Zi's A Dog Barking at the Moon, streamed on BFI Player as part of the #FlareatHome film festival.

A Dog Barking at the Moon is a fittingly dramatic piece following the trials of a Chinese family as they deal with the revelation of repressed homosexuality within the family. Director Xiang Zi's semi-autobiographical feature brings the uncomfortable feelings and lingering resentments of each character to the fore through slow-paced shots, with long drawn-out scenes that intensify the gradual dig to uncover these long-buried secrets.

The saga is told through various points in time, dealing largely with the revelation that the character Li Jiumei's husband has secretly been living as a homosexual. This disruption provokes a range of responses from the family, with the style aptly showing how the secret has spanned across ages and circumstances. As we see in flash forwards, the couple chose to remain in a toxic marriage due to taboos about divorce and homosexuality - when their now-pregnant daughter visits from abroad, old tensions are brought back to the surface. The time jumps give emotional depth to the revelations and reactions from the characters, exploring themes of denial, anger and lost loves with honesty and clarity. The generational approaches to shame reveal a deeper pattern of unresolved issues that untangle but are left in the open, never to be fully or neatly concluded.

Naren Hua, who plays the pained matriarch Li Jiumei, deserves high praise for her portrayal of such an infuriating and tragic character - a reactionary, unsympathetic soul but a victim too of societal burdens and of her own pride in refusing divorce as an escape. As she is forced to face the reality of her husband's secret, she shifts the blame onto those around her and looks toward the paranormal, opting to join a religious cult to atone herself of this imagined sin.

Many of the characters seek ‘cures' in this fashion - external solutions to inward problems around homosexuality, desire and love; for instance a younger couple use a marriage of convenience to conceal both their sexual preferences and the decision to adopt. So much of the plot comes back to highlighting these specific aspects of both traditional and contemporary Chinese culture. The tensions often stem from the importance placed on perception of the family, with secrets or irregularities never to be spoken outside of the house for fear of judgement. As Li Juimei articulates with revealing insight into her character's mindset, ‘gossips can bury you alive'.

The direction uses a captivating theatrical style - even going so far as to represent a driving scene through chairs on an empty stage. As Xiang Zi elaborated in an interview for BFI Flare last month, a wholly realistic style was purposely not used to prevent the audience becoming ‘too close' to the characters; a sharp moment was needed every so often to bring the audience out of the story to reflect. Not being ‘trapped by the story' gives the viewer some much-needed emotional distance from the otherwise all-consuming and heart-wrenching tale. The cinematography focuses on delicate details of the sets, utilising long silences masterfully to draw attention to obsessive, repetitive actions such as preparing food. Incidentally, exploration of food culture in China is often a recurrence - deep, heavy conversations happen over meals but food also serves as a distraction from the penetration and pain of reality.

This personal and radical art piece is nothing short of cinematic excellence; one can only assume that speaking the language of the film would provide an even more profound understanding of the story than the translations can do justice. It is nominally about one family's journey - but gives greater context to China's interesting relationship towards homosexuality, pregnancy and the concept of marriage. From its inception, the piece draws you into this saga, approaching a heavy, soul-searching topic with nuance which details both the agency and pettiness of humanity. On a grander scale, A Dog Barking at the Moon illustrates what hiding the truth can do to foundational relationships, and the decisions we all make in either rising above societal pressures, or bowing to its will in potentially extreme and damaging ways.

Netflix Double-Bill

Tommy Hodgson — 2020-04-07T13:41:13Z

More top picks from our team. Here are Tommy's Netflix recommendations.

Fartsa

Fartsa TV series Trailes-HD with sub from Sreda Production Company on Vimeo.

A smart, vibrant Russian drama series about a young group of friends in the Soviet Union, 1961 - exploring the phenomenon of Fartovska, the act of illegally buying and selling foreign goods and currency. This particularly Soviet phenomenon occurred as part of the country's ‘second economy' which boosted the prestige of owning rare foreign products and revolved around bribery, speculation, and the black market.

Fartsa follows amateur writer Andrei, who returns home from a work placement - idealistic and swept up in national pride following the successful Soviet space mission - only to find his friends are entangled in criminal dealings and insecure debt with no escape plan. Hence the turn to Fartovska, which is treated as an inevitability of the particular circumstances the friends find themselves in. A multitude of characters are introduced throughout, many either hustlers or professionals or both, building an immersive web of relationships to gradually unpack as the series progresses.

The show makes glorious use of mid-20th century costumes and set designs which is reminiscent of the work behind AMC's Mad Men set in the same era, though the perspective of Soviet life provides many more historical curiosities to Western audiences. Fartsa often benefits from plot convenience; the show can be forgiven for some of its more jubilant plot moments as it is following on from its historical setting - the bright and positive films of the ‘60s Soviet era.

It is at its strongest when exploring of the pitfalls of idealism and challenging the simplicity of blind faith in ideologies. Colourful and attractive, Fartsa is both engaging in its drama and playful in its characterisations, making it a treat to watch; even if you have no knowledge of Russian history or Soviet society, consider this a laid-back and fun, if somewhat fictionalised, lesson.

Tiger King

This multi-part documentary series about pet tigers and lions has exploded in popularity in just two weeks since its release, and based purely on just the premise, it not hard to see why. Following a ridiculous zookeeper named Joe Exotic, who was infamously interviewed in Louis Theroux's 2011 documentary America's Most Dangerous Pets, the often-meandering series goes down a dark and absurd path as the the scale of abuses and rivalries in this strange industry become even more apparent. Tiger King purposefully crafts a narrative which makes you question if any of the events explored even occurred - as they are based on often unreliable narratives - and further leaves you wondering when human society left the realms of sanity.

The larger-than-life Joe Exotic exudes criminality, spite, paranoia and egotism - not so much as a personality defect but a fully-fleshed characteristic. His evident narcissism is apparent from the get-go, the same narcissism which seemed to have convinced all parties involved in this sordid phenomenon to adopt large cats in the first place. Far from being the tiger king, he is but part of a collection of tiger antiheroes.

The series - with its many dead-ends, gotchas, twists and turns - forces you to conclude that egomaniacs really can create their own worlds, away from what they view as oppressive structures, yet in reality they are merely building their own personal fiefdoms. Tiger King studies their deluded mindsets, pushing the boundaries of realism in showcasing their pursuit of exploitation of both animals and humans.

As well as the countless animals who will never know life outside of a cage, the victims of this affair are the numerous private zoo volunteers, often runaways and drifters with no other hope of a life, who came to believe in the vanity projects of these selfish charlatans to the point of cultish brainwashing and life-altering devastation. Truly the captivating part of Tiger King is not the bizarre eccentricity of Joe Exotic and his rivals, but rather the salient fact that barely a soul involved in the sleazy, backwards industry of big cat trading and breeding has a salvageable conscience.

It is not a study of tigers but of the monsters who see big cats as a pathway to their own gratification, a means to a rich and self-satisfying end. Outlandish, squalid and spirit-shatteringly sad, you just cannot look away.

LONDON SHORT FILM FESTIVAL - Conte Anglais (dir: Daniel Marc Janes)

Tommy Hodgson — 2020-02-01T15:47:28Z

This sweet, topical short from director Daniel Marc Janes is both profound and poignant, masterfully touching on the English psyche from an outsider perspective. Shot in 16mm, the visually warm picture ends with a more succinct and intimate expression of Post-Brexit Britain than any insider knowledge could secure. It was showcased as part of the London Short Film Festival's Visions of Albion event, which presented a formidable range of new shorts – each distinct in both theme and style but which all grappled with questions about our national identity and societal decline at this time of crux and crisis.

The strength of Conte Anglais, or English Tale, lies in its breezy style - both in the way it was elegantly shot and in how it brings the English seaside to life through bright colours, nostalgic lighting, loose fashion and, of course, the sounds of the seagull. The setting, Clacton-on-Sea, defies stereotypes about the Essex coast, instead creating a harmonious atmosphere of peace, fun, and the joys of youth.

The film follows two French girls, close to each other but with vocal differences in their philosophies on life and love, as they briefly explore this seaside town as part of a journalism assignment to investigate the Brexit vote. The schism is made apparent as it is revealed that Clacton is so close to Europe geographically yet so far emotionally, as evidenced by the population's overwhelming choice to leave the European Union. As the characters meet two local boys, their differences - between carefree lust and introspective desire for love - grow in stark contrast. The lads, with their innate Britishness but also their own apparent differences, give the girls an insightful glimpse into the mindset of England; in doing so they offer both the characters and the audience a roundabout representation of the national psyche.

The bittersweet atmosphere climaxes on the girls' last day in Clacton, as the main character vocalises her understanding of the aimlessness but more importantly the hope of the Brexit vote. After originally discussing the differences between the romanticism of French boys and the straightforwardness of English boys, she finally experiences an epiphany in her assignment. The Brexit vote, in this small town across the pond from Europe at least, did not come out of reason, logic or tactics but a romanticism of escape and adventure; she concludes by poignantly dubbing Brexit, with great irony, ‘the most French thing Britain has ever done'.

Find our more about the film on its official website.

Road to Palestine (1985), dir: Layaly Badr and Upper Gate (1991), dir: Arab Loutfi - London Palestine FF

Tommy Hodgson — 2019-12-18T11:07:59Z

The London Palestine Film Festival's ‘Women of the Revolution' event featured two films from female directors – both grainy but politically vital insights into the plight of Palestinians in the 1980s.

The first, Layaly Badr's Road to Palestine, served as a dark short with a long message – one of deep-rooted resistance and tragic injustices, a tale of Palestine's reality for decades. The film, as a cartoon, burdens stick figures with the results of conflict and oppression, in the setting of a Palestinian refugee camp. As Badr expanded in the Q&A after the film, the drawings were actually created by European children after hearing the story of airstrikes on these camps; thus the animation is purposely childlike in its style and reaction to the horror. The danger present in the short is accentuated through dark colours, the sound of beating drums and an almost psychedelic, disjointed animation style which brings an intriguing innocence to the whole film, as it deals with such a heavy subject. A heart-breaking point was made by the director; her film was an actual articulation of a 7-year-old Palestinian refugee's account of an airstrike on her camp, who described the bombs as ‘balloons from the sky'. Again, the grim spectre of innocence in the face of the horror of war is blatant. Ultimately, the film points toward the sad reality that work and struggle are unbreakable bonds in Palestinian existence, and hints at how kids grow up early in prison camps due to being forced to confront the reality that ‘struggle is our only way to Palestine'.

The second film featured beautiful archival footage of interviews with Palestinian refugees in Lebanon, peppered with the marks of time and, possibly, clandestine transportation. Arab Loutfi's Upper Gate shows real people, real lives affected by the occupation of Sidon in southern Lebanon. The diverse figures interviewed have many informative stories to tell; tragic, yes, but also at times humorous, blunt or meandering. As one interviewee expands, their position as refugees in another country left them stigmatised but the pride of their homeland never wavered, it is part of their constant psychological resistance to occupation. The film fluctuates between soothing voices, blotchy images and tales of tragedy and struggle. Though the interviews are of immense historical value, the diversity of points being made and the confusion of the conflicts they discuss often leaves one lost – a guiding narrative would've assisted greatly, though given the restrictions of the time, budget and otherwise, it is understandable why the dialogues are just presented as ‘raw'. Still, Loutfi managed to create an introspective piece featuring tranquil footage, of the sea or people laughing together, that contrasts seamlessly to descriptions of the brutality of the war.

Both these passionate female directors deserve recognition for what they achieved at a very politically dangerous and hostile time. As Loutfi articulated in an inspiring video testimony, ‘filmmaking is an expression and defiance against erasure of Palestinian identity.'

It Must Be Heaven by Elia Suleiman

Tommy Hodgson — 2019-12-09T10:18:01Z

The London Palestine Film Festival opened with an expectedly strong, but nonetheless captivating experience, screening Elia Suleiman's It Must Be Heaven at the Barbican. The film's protagonist leads a life by observation, with Suleiman playing himself - only presumably more silent and bemused. His quizzical looks throughout invite us to view the bizarre events before our eyes with a similar detached penetration, as Suleiman lives day to day in his home country, then to Paris and New York trying to sell his script, before returning to Nazareth. The film makes deft use of sound, or lack thereof in the case of Suleiman's demeanour, creating a coalition of familiar urban scenes and eerie abandonment. The astute use of sparse sounds – whether that is the rapping on a door or the distant thunder of fireworks evoking bombs – adds a layer of tension throughout, even in scenes which don't necessitate it.

The story plays out not as a fixed plot but as a series of comical vignettes complete with a silent-film star; short humorous snapshots of oddities loosely threaded into a narrative, with a journey and an ultimate return. Palestine, as a real place but also as the figurative, looms large; perhaps even larger outside of itself, as remnants of occupied life are uncovered in all locations. An over the top Palestinian solidarity meeting in New York and a white executive telling Suleiman that his film is ‘not about Palestine enough' are highlights of how the imagined ideal – an idea of Palestine - often trumps real, lived experiences, such as those of Palestinian filmmakers who don't want to make a Western-perspective creation about their homeland.

Though the mini absurdisms, a trend towards social commentary is gleaned – on nationalism, hyper-modernisation, societal repression and censorship – but slightly too often these scenes fall into pure irreverence over biting satire. The humour does, however, work in a way to blur the sense of realism in the film, giving it a dreamlike other-worldly quality that is refreshing – for instance, the emptiness of Paris in particular acts as an exposure, a bare-bones tackling of the police brutality and segregation apparent in the French state. Racial and class relations, especially salient in France, are not put under a microscope by Suileman's silent stare but perhaps, at least, a bigger lens. Though fantasy plays a part, the most chilling and memorable scenes bring an underlying, very real terror to the forefront. Outside of Nazareth, two Israeli Defence Forces' soldiers are shown driving at speed, eyes not on the road but rather into a phone's screen, as they take multiple selfies in front of their latest capture – a blindfolded young Palestinian girl in the backseat, whose appearance is highly reminiscent of 16-year old activist Ahed Tamini, who gained international attention for videos of her confrontations with Israeli soldiers. The glamorisation of the Israeli authorities' brand of violence is well-documented in real life, through propagandistic adverts from the IDF on Twitter for example.

Scenes like this prove the solace of humour and camaraderie is not always enough to reckon with such modern evil, and they truly bring the film back down to a cold reality. The final scene is moving beyond words, and acts as a rein to the film's few excesses, which were never a deal-breaker to its intelligence regardless. Perhaps Suleiman does not go as far as he could in drawing parallels between the oppression of his homeland and the latent authoritarianism of Western societies, but the links are left there for the viewer to connect the dots. After all, Suleiman's character is but the observer in this film – to go beyond inference is up to us.