Film Review : The Eagle Huntress

Eagles fly overhead, guarding their nests with extreme jealousy. These are some of the most dangerous, yet beautiful animals on Earth; their wings stretch into the distance, and their talons are sharper than scissors. Such beautiful creatures are elegant, destructive and fascinating; beings to admire from afar. So, how is it that for centuries, native people from the wilds of Kazakhstan have trained eagles to hunt for them? In Otto Bell's film The Eagle Huntress, we are treated to a detailed account of the methods used, and the way eagle hunters take advantage of eagle's natural instincts to create a partnership that is beneficial for the interests of both humans and eagles.

            The focus of The Eagle Huntress is one particular eagle trainer; a passionate 13-year-old girl named Aisholpan. (At least, she was 13 years old during most of the filming.) As soon as she sees any eagle, a change comes over her eyes; she sees life, beauty, and magnificence. She interacts with her father's eagle with the same natural ease as if it were one of her own two siblings; later in the film, when she catches and trains her own eagle, it is as though she is dealing with a child of her own. 

            Aisholpan and her eagle have natural chemistry. It is amazing to watch her call to her eagle and ride horseback with bait, and to see the love in her eyes when the eagle catches the bait. Similarly, when she is the one releasing the eagle from a cliff top, she watches closely, with great affection and determination, as the eagle finds bait quickly. 

            Judged eagle hunting contests take place every year in a central Kazakhstan city, and one of Aisholpan's greatest desires to take part in a competition. Technically, Aisholpan doesn't have to take part in any competition in order to be an eagle hunter, but she sees it as a chance to prove her worth to the community as a whole, and as a way of challenging herself. She also thinks it will help her eagle become a more confident hunter in a real situation. There is also another issue; one that she never directly comments on, but one that has deeper implications not only for her interest in eagle hunting, but on the eagle hunting community as a whole. Eagle hunting in Kazahk society is seen as a profession for men only. Men find the food, women cook the food and take care of the house. No exceptions.

            Due to her love for eagle hunting, many see Aisholpan as an anomaly at best, so when Aisholpan aces the competition there is a certain amount of disbelief. There must have been people outside Aisholpan's family, friends and circle of acquaintances who approved of her entry into the trials. However, we don't hear from them because of the requirements of the film's narrative. The idea that a female could perform so well at the eagle hunting trials is not only an affront to certain tribal elders' ideals, it is also an example of cognitive dissonance. The elders who heard the news (and believed it) reacted mostly with stunned silence, although one suggested that the judges went easy on her because she was female. The idea that any female could perform at such a high level is astonishing to them, even when the proof is in front of their faces. Aisholpan herself doesn't care either way; she performed the trials, she got her scores, and now she's comfortable taking her eagle to the wild and hunting for real. 

            In this amazing documentary, we get to see Aisholpan evolve from eagle training neophyte to confident hunter, regardless of the biases of the society she lives in. She stands atop a cliff with her eagle, in search of prey, and watches with pride as her eagle soars.

Oded Aronson

Film Review: Eden

After contributing in past years reviews of his favorite festival films (Burning Bush, A Werewolf Boy, Himizu), I'm happy to receive Oded Aronson back and to post his review of Mia Hansen-Løve's great new film Eden. - D.D.

Imagine that flashing lights surround you in a room full of people barely conscious of what   they’re doing, pounding music knocks away at your brain and you’re lifted into a world of oblivion, magic thumps of the bass, and the screaming, shouting joy of dancing until falling to the ground nearly unconscious, dreaming of the music while the lights swirl around in your brain and you feel as though you’re floating into another universe. This is the world that Paul (Félix de Givry) and Cyril (Roman Kilinka), two men who form the electronic dance music group Cheers, strive to enter every day of their lives. Ever since hearing electronic dance music for the first time, they have felt the enormity of the music, understanding its primal power, and have strived to be DJs. Several years later, they have formed their group, and are touring around the US, hoping to become major DJs known throughout the world. Two acquaintances of theirs will eventually become Daft Punk, who will achieve that kind of   worldwide fame. As for Cheers, the love of music keeps them going, hoping only to achieve the feeling of power through music, and transferring that power to those who will go to the clubs whenever they play. 

However, when the neon lights fade out and daytime begins, there is a certain sadness and   desperation. When these same people are living their lives in the real world, all that gets them through their days is counting down the hours and minutes until they can enter the clubs again. The thought of holding jobs, marrying and having children, and handling their own finances terrifies them. So it is that everybody in the club scene is simultaneously freed and trapped by their own love for it. In the midst of it all, everybody tries to make some kind of connection, preferably with other people who frequent nightclubs so that they have at least one thing in common. Even if two people find each other amidst the chaos, there is no guarantee that they will actually like each other as people, or that their relationships will last. Still, people keep trying so that they don’t have to live alone. Many people go through relationship after relationship to such an extent that after a while they don’t even remember each other, or at least pretend not to remember so that they can live their lives without yet another thing to sadden them. 

Eden by Mia Hansen-Løve explicates the thoughts and feelings of people who live in the universe of clubs. Thoughtful, emotional and engaging insights about life and death fill every frame, and the actors play their roles in a brave, unflinching way, willing to embrace and illustrate both the likeable   and unlikeable elements of their characters. And then, of course, there’s the music. The original sets   by Cheers encapsulate the feeling that all DJs strive for; the excitement of the rhythm and the power   that leads to dancing. The joys and difficulties Cheers experiences in trying to secure live singers for their gigs ring true to life; anyone who has ever had to deal with real life talent could relate to the issues that Cheers experiences while trying to ensure the comfort and cooperation of one particular bullying diva. Of course, not all the talent is as unsavory; the joys of love, life and music are a major part of the lives of many characters the protagonists come across.  

The adventures of the characters when outside clubs are just as absorbing, but in a completely   different way. We can all identify with the struggle for people to make something of themselves, to   find someone they love who also loves them, and to deal with parents or other important figures who   fail to either understand or attempt to understand what gives them a reason to live. Eden is more than the story of what happens within nightclubs, or of only one particular genre of music; it is the story of anyone who has ever lived.

Oded Aronson

"Burning Bush" review by Oded Aronson

In the midst of the Russian invasion of Czechoslovakia in the 1960s, one man fell to his death; his body was charred from head to toe.  Thousands dispersed, unwilling to approach the body for fear of the fire.  Police discovered a note attached to his body; it stated that he would burn himself alive as a form of protest against the Russian invasion of his country.  His name was Jan Palach; he was only the first of many, the note said, and if the Russians did not immediately exit Czechoslovakia, more people from his group would burn themselves alive until they did.

The note was intentionally vague about the specifics of the group; the police were concerned about keeping the citizens of Czechoslovakia as far out of reach of this group as possible, but they had no information to go on.  After weighing various alternatives, they decided to ask Jan’s family, as they were the people police believed would have been closest to him.

The only issue was that none of them had anything to do with the group mentioned by Jan’s note.  At a loss as to how to proceed, the police then continued to conduct their investigation internally.  After a long period of time in which no progress seemed to be made, they sent an astonishing report to various newspapers.  According to the reports, Jan had never intended to kill himself; the group that he was part of had coerced him to take part in a massive demonstration by pouring himself with a newly created compound that would simulate the appearance of fire while keeping his body temperate; the reports dubbed it “cold fire”.  Unfortunately, a random terrorist had switched the chemical with a more toxic substance, and thus, Jan burned himself to death.

          Despite making these claims, the article never cited any sources other than to mention that the article was a result of the writers’ own research.  Jan’s family smelled a rat, but how would they find out the truth?  They knew Jan was too intelligent to fall for the trick detailed in the reports.  It was understandable that their fury and grief would cause them to lash out, but beyond that, an answer was officially on record; not necessarily a plausible answer, but an answer nonetheless.  How would they find anyone who would take their questions seriously? 

            Eventually they found a lawyer willing to take their case and sue for defamation of Jan’s character, but it took a lot of subtle pressure from her colleague’s daughter, who was secretly empathetic towards the Palachs.

            What follows is an excoriating critique of police states and governmental sanctions of media and news, made even more potent by the fact that this film is based on a true story.

            The acting is uniformly of high calibre.  Vilém Novy plays Martin Huba, the corrupt editor responsible for the fake story spread throughout Czechoslovakian news. Novy’s interpretation of Huba is  a man who you can tell has bad intentions from the mere look in his eye, yet his character goes through some interesting changes.  The lines on his face change into something very interesting, and the gradual morphing of his sensibilities is believable and fascinating to watch.

            As Dagmar Burešová, the lawyer who took on the case, Tatiana Pauhofová sells each scene, and makes a completely convincing and engaging figure.  Although Mrs. Burešová performed a courageous deed and did a great public service, Burning Bush doesn’t show her as a straight heroic figure.  The stress of representing such a complicated case takes a toll on her, and she often treats her family coldly because she is so frustrated at her lack of progress on the case.  Over the course of the series, after witnessing what Jan Palach’s mother goes through, she gradually becomes more appreciative of the close bond her family shares and she starts becoming a better mom as well as a fierce crusader for the rights of individuals.

            Libuše Palachová is a veteran actress, and she astonishes with a potent, depressing and emotional portrayal of Jaroslava Pokorná, Jan’s mother.  She communicates the loss and pain experienced by mothers who have outlived at least one of their own children so effectively that it caused many people in the audience to cry.  I was not the only one. 

            The best thing to be said about Burning Bush is that its nearly four hour running time feels shorter than it is.  I wanted to spend more time with these characters, and the shift from day to night outside the theatre was shocking.  Agnieszka Holland is a master director with a long filmography, and she has directed another masterpiece with Burning Bush.

Oded Aronson 

Film Review : A Werewolf Boy

A new guest contribution by Oded Aronson. – D.D.

A Werewolf Boy (Jo Sung-hee, 2012)

**** (Masterpiece) 

A figure crouches in darkness.  He is scared of his own shadow.  He doesn’t have contact with anyone or anything.  He is alone.

Meanwhile, a new family moves into the property where he lives.  They have moved to the countryside far away from the city’s overwhelming smog in order to attempt improving the health of Suni, their oldest daughter. 

Since the lone figure has stayed to himself for so long, no one knows that he exists.  One night, Suni wanders the property’s grounds on her own, wishing she was anywhere but in that dull place.  The meeting between her and the lone figure is inevitable.

Slowly, the two of them begin to trust each other, but the fact remains that they might as well come from different planets.  He’s a werewolf; wild, feral and knows nothing of human mannerisms.  He lacks the ability to speak, and thinks like an animal.  Eventually, the Suni family discover that the most effective way to deal with him is to train him as though he is a dog.  They also give him a name:  Chul-Soo.

Although progress is very slow, eventually the Suni family comes to understand that Chul-Soo is a  special man whose physical strength, ability to adapt to many situations, and extraordinary kindness is without parallel.  Others cannot see these capabilities in Chul-Soo because in many ways, he is not like them.  He growls at strangers, chomps his food like a maniac, and does not have the ability to contain his emotions.  Chul-Soo does not have the capability to smile through tears; when he is happy, he literally bounds across the room with joy; when he is sad or angry, his growls can be heard miles away. 

One person in particular who cannot abide Chul-Soo is Ji-Tai, the young man who owns the property.  Ji-Tai is an arrogant man who believes he is entitled to special treatment because he collects cash from the people who live in his property.  He openly mocks the dwellers for having less money than he does and every time he opens his mouth to talk about anything, it has the same portentous quality that arises when people learn there will be an upcoming earthquake.

He is also in love with Suni.

For Chul-Soo, Suni is more than just an attractive girl; even though she was afraid of him at first, Suni made the effort to understand and talk to him. Chul-Soo knows deep down that no one else would have been willing to make the effort to understand him on a deep emotional, instinctual, and intellectual level simultaneously. Ji-Tai can see almost immediately that Chul-Soo loves Suni, which makes him a threat to the relationship between Suni and himself that exists only in his mind. 

Consequently, Ji-Tai resorts to gradually more desperate measures to attempt to kill Chul-Soo.  He tries to make the people around him see Chul-Soo as nothing more than a beast whose only intent is to harm others. The fact that some people believe Ji-Tai emphasizes that in some cases, people will willingly side with people they know are bullies if that is what it takes to get rid of societal elements that they hate, fear and misunderstand. 

Fear of the unknown is difficult to deal with, and everybody thinks that their own way of dealing with fear is the most effective because it has allowed them to make peace with the processes which take place inside their own minds. Some people, like Ji-Tai, prefer to lash out and destroy anything which makes life inconvenient for them, while some others (such as Suni) try to talk to others and understand what is going on in both their own minds and the minds of those around them. 

A Werewolf Boy is a deeply intense, emotional plea for all of us to try to understand one another in the midst of chaos.     

Oded Aronson

Himizu Review

This is the first guest contribution by Oded Aronson. - D.D.

Himizu (Shion Sono, 2011)
**** (Masterpiece)
Ruins lie everywhere. Dust and smashed objects litter the atmosphere. A teenager stands in the middle holding a gun to his own head. The wind gradually becomes louder and dissolves into the sound of a million voices of the dead crying for mercy. The boy shoots himself. Blood streams out of his head, leaving a long red trail. He lies in the field, no longer remembering who he is. Then he wakes up.

The boy’s name is Yuichi Sumida, and his family has been left without any means of income because of a tsunami that has all but demolished his hometown. His family’s business is a boat rental company, which has not had any profits at all since the tsunami. Yuichi’s father is a nasty, abusive harpy who storms home at midnight most of the time and proceeds to beat him up then complain that he never wanted a child. Yuichi’s mother has run away from her husband with her lover due to years of frustration and blood, so Yuichi is left to fend for himself.

His financial situation is so poor that eventually he is forced to leave school so that he can work at the boathouse in the vain hope that someone will rent a boat. One of his classmates, Keiko Chizawa, has had a crush on him for as long as she can remember, and searches for him. Keiko’s family also has their own troubles; her parents want to kill her so that they can collect insurance money, and are in the process of building their own guillotine. Keiko is forced to pass the guillotine every day and notice its development.

For the first two thirds of the story, there is frequent juxtaposition of dark humour and straight faced drama. The attitudes of the two main characters play a role in that juxtaposition. Yuichi has become so emotionally inured due to the beatings he receives from his father that he has retreated into a dark, nearly silent shell. He is almost completely unwilling to open himself up to anyone or anything. On the other hand, Keiko’s lifelong preparation for her upcoming death at the hands of her parents has somehow opened up wells of emotion in her, and she feels as though she has to cheer people up for as long as she lives. Keiko goes far beyond optimism into the realm of desperation, which then becomes so pronounced that it feels like optimism again.

The two clash, but Keiko tries to become friends with Yuichi despite his protestations. Eventually, they end up sharing most of their scenes to the extent that everybody thinks of them as friends. Although Yuichi remains sullen, her presence does seem to have some kind of positive effect on the people other than Yuichi. Keiko tries to revamp the boat house. As a result, it finally begins to have some business. Yuichi’s father comes home for the last time one night and suddenly things become even more complicated than before.

The last part of the movie is emotionally brutal. Not all people will enjoy the descent into darkness, but it is appropriate for the material, and leads to a powerful climax that will be a source of joy for anyone who is in love with the movies. I strongly recommend Himizu, the best of the 25 movies I watched at this year’s TIFF. - Oded Aronson