by Cláudio Alves
In a few days, we'll know the ten finalists for the Best International Feature Oscar. Until then, I shall continue exploring some of the 91 submissions. This batch includes last year's champion, Mexico, a prize-winning literary adaptation from Norway and a queer tragicomedy from Taiwan that's currently on Netflix. They're a varied bunch and represent the offerings of countries that have previously achieved great success with the Academy.
First, let's peruse the wintry wonders of the Scandinavian submission…
OUT STEALING HORSES (Norway)
Memory is beauty and it is pain. It's the echo of a shot that rips a family apart and it's the lustful dream of an open skirt. Memory is what haunts the protagonist of Hans Petter Moland's latest film and Per Petterson's bestselling novel. The ghosts of the past, of youth, consume old man Trond when he least expects it, but they're also the ambrosia he drinks to stave off the misery of the present. Memory punishes but it helps escape. There's much glory to be found in such reveries, both in the wintery sobriety of old age and in the summer of nostalgia, where the labor of lumbering becomes an art form. That's the miracle of Rasmus Videbæk's lensing and Gisle Tveito's sound design. They make hard work into a dance of blades denuding tree trunks, heavy spikes making music with their spearing and the grunts of sweaty men keeping rhythm. However, for every spark of genius, there's an instance of utter banality like the shadow of an uncaring patriarch or the endless voice-over. The poison of sentiment blunts what could be sharp and anonymizes what's most specific to this tale. It's a pity for there's a clear possibility of greatness lost. Waisted potential is always more frustrating than simple mediocrity. C+
DEAR EX (Taiwan)
Grief is complicated and loss has many faces. There's the crying face which is expected and appreciated by polite society. Though, if the tears are too copious and the wailing too loud, the teary face is traded for that of hysteria or rage. That one's easy to dismiss with an eye-roll and an empty platitude. Then there's the smiling face, a costume that hides the pain under a painting of calculated indifference. We call it a mask, but it's more of a shield. In life, we're all players and the play of mourning isn't the only one with costume changes. Love has many faces too. We learn as we grow, we learn to wear the right costume and to recognize them in others. For a young boy who just lost his father, it's as confusing to understand the masks he now wears as it is to recognize the costumes of grief others shield themselves with. To finish setting the scene, add a gay lover turned reluctant stepfather and a mother on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Paint the stage with bright colors, a couple of needless flourishes and scribble all over with the pencil of adolescent revolt. That's the formula for Kidding Hsu and Mag Hsu's Dear Ex. Did I mention it's a comedy? B
THE CHAMBERMAID (Mexico)
Hotels are like labyrinths of class separation, little theatres of luxurious slumber where the stagehand's movements are carefully obscured. Secret corridors and hidden spaces help keep the illusion going and everything is timed so that the guests see very little of the labor behind their comfort. Like many great films about the illusions of stagecraft, Lila Avilés points her camera at the backstage of such performances. Though, unlike many other filmmakers, this director resists the temptation of forcing drama into the setting, preferring to merely observe and document the repetitive rhythms of a chambermaid's daily work. Despite such an approach, there's formal precision to Avilés' work and a taste for the cold geometry of human architecture, giving structure to cyclical gestures and endlessly revisited settings. There's much to admire in The Chambermaid, but an unresolved conclusion robs the exercise of much of its shine while a lived-in performance from Gabriela Cartol anchors the whole thing with palpable humanity. Still, by the end of it, I couldn't help but question what the film had to say about its subject that other cinematic works haven't already said. B
Regarding these three contenders, Norway's submission seems to be the one closer to Oscar's usual preferences. I wouldn't be the least surprised if it appears in the shortlist and the eventual selection of five nominees. The Chambermaid also has some Oscar potential, unlike Dear Ex, which I think we can count out of the race.