Whānau Mārama: New Zealand International Film Festival Capsules

Written by Tom Augustine.

Janet Planet (Baker, 2023)

 

There’s starting your Festival off right, and then there’s starting with playwright Annie Baker’s woozily transcendent debut, a vividly rendered set of recollections that effectively transports and dumps the audience directly into a quiet summer in rural America in the early-2000s. Baker’s quiet but profoundly accomplished Janet Planet follows a pre-teen girl (Zoe Ziegler, remarkable) who, over the course of a fateful summer and via the presence of three interlopers in their household (stalwart character actors Will Patton, Sophie Okonedo and Elias Koteas), comes to see her mother (an excellent Julianne Nicholson) as less of an idol and more of a flesh-and-bone person, with all the below-the-surface tectonic anguish that idea suggests. Baker is an incredibly subtle and poetic filmmaker, with an immediate mastery of poetic, painterly imagery and lushly atmospheric sound design. Somehow, Janet Planet simply feels like summer.  

Rating: Four-and-a-half stars

 

Good One (Donaldson, 2024)

 

Serving as a compelling, possibly even more accomplished B-Side to Janet Planet is Kiwi director (and daughter of legendary Sleeping Dogs, Smash Palace and No Way Out director Roger Donaldson) India Donaldson’s thematically and filmically similar debut. This small-scale, Kelly Reichardt-inflected work tells the story of a teenage girl named  (Lily Collias, in a formidable star turn) who accompanies her father and his best friend (James LeGros and Danny McCarthy) on a trek into the deep woods of New York state. There, the observant Sam is drawn quickly into adulthood through the subtle shifts in dynamic between herself and her two fellow travellers, condensing into a single, incredibly tense moment of perspective shift around a campfire. Donaldson is an incredibly cunning and astute manager of human interaction, deepening first our affection for our characters, then our mistrust. It’s the kind of quiet but thrilling debut that promises great things to come from this Kiwi expat. 

Rating: Five stars

 

Dahomey (Diop, 2024)

 

How does one make a documentary feel like a dream? For Mati Diop, the French-Senegalese mastermind behind one of the best films of the last decade, Atlantics, it comes all-too-naturally. This story, nominally about the transportation of sacred Beninese artefacts from the Kingdom of Dahomey that were plundered by French colonial troops over a century ago, Diop uses this framework to dive into the ethical, spiritual and national issues that the lingering shadow of colonialism have left upon the country. Connecting these ideas to the world of spirits and long-gone ancestors through the (literally) disembodied narration of the one-time ruler of Dahomey, King Gezo, Diop’s short (68 minutes!) but stunning documentary flows gently from one perspective to another, withholding any true sense of celebration or victory in the returning of these artefacts. The world these astonishing statues return to is not the one they knew, or were built for – everything has changed and the scars will never heal.

Rating: Four-and-a-half stars

 

Black Box Diaries (Ito, 2024)

 

It was a genuinely overwhelming experience to witness Shiori Ito, the remarkably brave subject and creator of Japanese documentary Black Box Diaries, ascend to the Hollywood Avondale stage as the credits rolled. Ito, a journalist sexually assaulted by a high-ranking media figure and close friend of then-Prime Minster Shinzo Abe, took on an enormous apparatus of power dead-set on silencing her in her demanding of justice and accountability. Ito documents her own journey, even revealing some of the darkest moments of her life, in her dedication to truth and openness. The result is a film that counteracts some cookie-cutter filmic elements with strident depth of feeling, culminating in a staggeringly powerful final twenty minutes. An illuminating glimpse into the antiquated sexual assault laws in Japan that also serves as a spotlight on one of the most remarkable figures to emerge from the #MeToo era. Rating: Three-and-a-half stars

 

Pepe (De Los Santos Arias, 2024)

 

The most legitimately disappointing entry in the Festival thus far is this endlessly frustrating and opaque offering from Dominican experimentalist Nelson Carlo De Los Santos Arias, which uses as its jumping off point the bizarre true story of a hippopotamus transported from the jungles of Africa to the private zoo of legendary drug kingpin Pablo Escobar to muse on issues of existentialism, the afterlife and the twin legacies of colonialism in both Africa and Central America. The film is undeniably gorgeous, rich in colour and frontloaded with striking frames that are ably assisted by some startling and intriguing narration from the spirit of the since dead hippo, aiming to place Pepe somewhere in the middle ground of last year’s EO and this year’s Dahomey. Unfortunately, the film suffers from a lack of discipline and too wide a remit, casting wildly about for new points of interest, eventually leaving the (genuinely interesting) perspective of Pepe for far less interesting perspectives of human counterparts hunting Pepe across the rivers of Colombia. There’s experimental cinema that probes and challenges the strictures of narrative cinema, and then there’s oddness for oddness’ sake, and all too often Pepe succumbs to the latter.

Rating: Two stars

 

Cuckoo (Singer, 2024)

 

Not nearly as bonkers or daring as its marketing material aimed to position it as, this grabby A24 horror thriller nevertheless succeeds in being diverting, ardently-watchable fun, an ideal palate-cleanser following a day of heavy offerings. An exceptional Hunter Schafer anchors this story of a teen girl who goes to live with her father and stepmother after the death of her mother, joining them as her father (New Zealand’s Martin Csokas) takes a job at a mysterious lodge deep in the German alps, where all is most certainly not what it seems. There’s some enjoyable moments of tension here, and Schafer and co-star Dan Stevens (as the delightfully nefarious lodge manager) gives the material much more oomph than it deserves, but Cuckoo works far better as a maintainer of atmosphere than as a genuinely frightening creature feature. While certainly an enjoyable, passable time at the movies, one wonders what a more daring helmsman than Tilman Singer (Luz) might have done with similar material.

Rating: Three stars

 

Menus Plaisirs – Les Troisgros (Wiseman, 2023)

 

At four hours long, this was the most formidable time stretch of my first week of the Festival, and I stocked up on Boss Coffees to try and stave off a sleepiness I was sure would set in. I needn’t have worried, though – Frederick Wiseman’s glorious, hypnotic Menus Plaisirs is utterly gripping and serves as yet another, possibly final salvo in a late career period defined by a fascination with process and a methodical focus on craft, underlining the pursuit of excellence as the true stuff of life. Highlighting the work of the chefs of the swanky Les Troisgros restaurant in the French countryside, Wiseman flits between the current owner, Michel, his sons, the kitchen and waitstaff, guests, and the various farms and suppliers whose food fuels the entire enterprise. At its heart it’s a portrait of Michel, an artist who hopes to pass on his legacy to his sons, who are more modern and have different ideas for how to approach cuisine (Succession allusions abound) – but there’s a compelling undercurrent of class awareness. The only people who can afford to dine at Les Troisgros are the richest (and whitest) of patrons, and prices are only going up. Wiseman admires the artistry while not turning away from the capitalist framework that makes it all but inaccessible to most beyond the magic of the documentarian’s images.

Rating: Four-and-a-half stars

 

The Seed of the Sacred Fig (Rassoulof, 2024)

 

Winner of a Jury Prize at Cannes, the latest stridently political work from Iranian filmmaker Mohammad Rassoulof carries with it the haunting reminder that Rassoulof himself has since fled his home country and cannot return, facing a prison sentence for his criticism of that country’s government. There’s no denying the weighty, worthy subject material at the heart of Seed of the Sacred Fig, which documents the tragic dissolution of an Iranian family after the patriarch Iman receives a promotion to work as an investigating judge for the Revolutionary Court. However, the external factors that lend Fig an immense sense of importance don’t necessarily jibe with a film that all too often is overly obvious and structurally messy. What begins as a Farhadi-esque morality play, in which the fundamentally decent Iman finds himself unravelling as he continually is forced to compromise his own morals, bringing him into conflict with his more liberal-minded daughters (Mahsa Rostami and Setareh Maleki, both fantastic) and straining his relationship with his supportive but tortured wife (Soheila Golestani, who becomes the emotional anchor on which the entire project revolves). While naturally much of the great cinema that comes out of Iran can be classified as ‘political cinema’ (just ask Jafar Panahi), Rassoulof’s prize-winner feels like a far more traditional iteration of that idea, morphing into a paranoiac thriller before our eyes but without much nuance or finesse. The deployment of this traditional approach feels tailor made for the Western highbrow audiences of Cannes, who respond well to work that can assure them of their moral high ground. Rassoulof’s artistic fearlessness is incredibly impressive and laudable. Unfortunately, his film isn’t of the same level.

Rating: Three stars

 

A Different Man (Schimberg, 2024)

 

One of the most genuine surprises of the Festival has been this magnificent, Kafkaesque dramedy of the absurd, the second collaboration between filmmaker Adam Schimberg and actor Adam Pearson (the first being Chained For Life). Some will recognise Pearson, who lives with neurofibromatosis – which manifests as benign tumours that grow on the skin, usually on the face – from his turn in Jonathan Glazer’s Under the Skin. Here, he plays a vital supporting part in the story of Edward (Sebastian Stan), another man living with the same condition who opts to undergo experimental treatment in the hope of removing the tumours on his face. When it works, falling away in gloriously revolting style to reveal Stan’s handsome visage beneath, what begins as a seeming second chance on life turns into a nightmare folding in on itself – Edward is a new man, but what happened to the man who was, and lives on within him? This is made more fraught when Edward agrees to act as a version of himself in a play his beautiful next door neighbour (a luminous, demonstrably terrible person perfectly performed by Renate Reinsve) has written, only to again face chaos at the emergence of Pearson’s interloper, a similarly disfigured gentleman who nevertheless seems to only win at life. It’s a relatively straightforward metaphor – be careful what you wish for, more or less – but director Schimberg finds the outright hilarity and profound sadness of the situation with aplomb. The film feels at once modern in its concerns and timeless in its execution – the New York it proffers is both of the moment and unstuck in time, and the tenor of Schimberg’s direction lends a playful, often riotous absurdity that recalls artists like Roy Andersson and Terry Gilliam, and yet is resolutely its own beast. Pearson is fantastic, naturally, but Stan is a revelation – a performer who has often faded into the background against flashier co-stars here steps into the spotlight, adapting the physicality of a man trying to shrink into himself with heart wrenching skill. 

Rating: Four-and-a-half stars

 

Black Dog (Hu, 2024)

 

The winner of Cannes secondary competition Un Certain Regard was this warm and deeply enjoyable picture from Chinese filmmaker Guan Hu, which draws on recent Chinese history and mingles it with elements of the Western genre – as well as one heck of a good dog. An excellent, nearly silent Eddie Peng is Lang, Black Dog’s iteration of the Man With No Name, a laconic, mesmerising ex-con one-time rock star who returns to his dilapidated industrial hometown seeking to make a fresh start. After picking up a job for the upcoming 2008 Beijing Olympics rounding up the strays that have since accumulated after residents left the economically starved town, Lang begins to bond with a notorious black hound that others believe is rabid. Hu finds humour and depth in this man-and-his-dog yarn, one that reinvigorates the conventions we think of with this kind of tale, precisely managing tone so that the film never indulges in the saccharine. Visually, the film is fascinating, presenting the grey and rundown town in blanched, desaturated tones that lend an almost post-apocalyptic sense to the proceedings. It serves to heighten the hardscrabble kindness at the centre of Black Dog, to make it precious and worth preserving. 

Rating: Four stars

 

Alien Weaponry: Kua Tupu Te Ara (Belcher, 2024)

 

With the exception of Josephine Stewart-Te Whiu’s strong feature debut We Were Dangerous, the real choice offerings of this year’s Aotearoa New Zealand festival crop belongs to its documentarians. While Katie Wolfe’s The Haka Party Incident may be the single finest New Zealand title this year, it would be foolish to discount this extremely enjoyable rock-doc about the inspirational young metalheads who make up the Te Reo-based band Alien Weaponry. Following in the footsteps of Anvil! The Story of Anvil and This is Spinal Tap, the debut from cinematographer and fly-on-the-wall documentarian Kent Belcher is another testament to the fact that heavy metal proves fertile ground for great stories. Tracking brothers Henry and Lewis de Jong, their parents, and their various bandmates, managers and supporters over a six year period that sees the two rockers age from teenagerdom to adulthood, it’s a frequently hilarious and warmly homespun project, even as the band is propelled to heavy metal megastardom across the globe. The use of Te Reo is particularly profound in sequences abroad, witnessing enormous crowds singing back to the band in their native tongue. The editing of the film by Sacha Campbell wisely leaves space for a parallel narrative exploring the life of the de Jong boys’ parents Niel and Jette, whose relationship to each other and to their boys as they grow older is the film’s most deeply moving aspect. If the mark of a great music documentary is that it appeals beyond the band’s established base, then Alien Weaponry succeeds and then some.

Rating: Four stars

 

What else am I catching in the last few days of the Festival? About as exciting and eclectic a lineup of films as I could imagine; the Irish rap sensation Kneecap, fresh from Sundance; Miguel Gomes’ dreamlike travelogue (and Cannes prizewinner) Grand Tour; the much-buzzed about follow-up to Drive My Car from Japanese master Ryusuke Hamaguchi, Evil Does Not Exist; the late night 35mm screening of ‘80s cult horror classic Anguish; restorations of Peeping Tom and Paris Texas, glorious on the big Civic screen; the vital and furious Palestinian documentary No Other Land; Cannes Grand Prix, Cámera D’Or and Un Certain Regard winners All We Imagine As Light, Armand and Black Dog; Jane Schoenbrun’s widely praised sophomore effort I Saw the TV Glow, and several others. Most thrilling to me, though, is the chance to celebrate one of Aotearoa’s finest, the wonderful Garth Maxwell (Jack Be Nimble), who brings his remastered short documentary Naughty Little Peeptoe to the ASB Waterfront screen. If you’ve never encountered Maxwell before, he is a giant hiding in plain sight in New Zealand, and this one should not be missed. 

See you in the velvety dark of the Civic, under the glittering stars.

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