NYFF '24: "bluish" paints post-COVID malaise in many shades

by Nick Taylor

A quick note of appreciation: I am so excited to have received press accreditation to digitally cover this year’s New York Film Festival. This is pretty amazing! Even if I’m sitting at home, nestling with my man and our cats for a good movie rather than sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes of Payal Kapadia and Mati Diop, this is a version of a dream fulfilled. Honestly, being able to appreciate a film festival without being separated from the kids might even be the preferable option? Much to consider.

But enough about me! Instead let’s talk about bluish, the very first film I watched as part of this NYFF coverage. Directed by Milena Czernovsky and Lilith Kraxner, bluish follows two unnamed young women played by Leonie Bramberger and Natasha Goncharova, navigating life in an Austrian metropolis that should feel more lively than it is. The city and the protagonists are stumbling through a post-lockdown balance of intimacy and isolation. There’s still noise and color and motion, but it all feels so fragile now, so much harder to participate in. bluish is a sad film, but it’s also one of the most evocative portraits of trying to reintegrate into society and full personhood in the wake of COVID (which is still happening, by the way!!) I’ve seen yet...

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NYFF '24: Portuguese pastoral poetry in "Fire of Wind"

by Cláudio Alves

The first thing one notices about Marta Mateus' feature debut, Fire of Wind, is its striking look. A vineyard extends as far as the eye can see and the camera gobbles up every detail, crisp and razor-sharp in that way digital filmmaking so often is. The visual style is almost aggressive in how much texture it seeks to pack into every shot, a spin on haptic cinema that ensures the spectator considers each line in the grapevine and the rustle of plump windswept leaf. You can almost count the blades of dry grass below, far into the distance, as there's no artful shallow focus here, no anamorphic distortion or other trendy affectations of the cinematic image. It looks like little else out there – not even the films of Fire of Wind producer Pedro Costa...

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NYFF '24: "Viêt and Nam" finds heaven underground

by Cláudio Alves

In the darkness of the movie theater, filmmakers can conjure images the audience has never dreamed of. Sometimes, they reveal the impossible, dreams that only exist on the silver screen, that looking glass in endless molten metamorphosis. They can reflect the audience back to themselves and the world, too. Sometimes, they're the sweet secrets within your heart or fears you never even knew you had. The power of image-making cannot nor should it be underestimated. Watching Trương Minh Quý's Viêt and Nam, I felt such power, the wonder and awe. 

And it all starts underground, at the bottom of a mine. It starts somewhere where death waits, yet freedom blossoms. It's a trip down to hell that leads to paradise, temporary as it may be…

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NYFF '24: "Lázaro at Night" asks what you really want

by Cláudio Alves

Treading the line between documentary and fiction filmmaking, Nicolás Pereda continues his collaboration with the Lagartijas Tiradas al Sol theater collective in his latest film. Lázaro at Night can, at times, feel like an acting exercise spinning out of control yet perpetually low-key, a sort of screwball comedy on a morphine drip. It's the story of three friends in their forties, living in Mexico City, where they pursue work as actors and fall into a peculiar love triangle. In this, Lázaro G. Rodríguez, Luisa Pardo, and Francisco Barreiro are basically playing themselves. Or, at the very least, a fictionalized version of their identities, twisted for the pleasure of Pereda and a film that confounds aplenty but is also captivating in its own odd way…

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TIFF '24: A Dozen Capsules and Final Farewells

by Cláudio Alves

PERFUMED WITH MINT was one of many gems in TIFF's Wavelengths section.

At long last, let's close this seemingly unending TIFF coverage, so that The Film Experience can move on to some NYFF reviews, maybe even some peeks into the Lisbon festival scene. Still, before bidding Toronto adieu, a dozen titles need assessment, even if it's through a cornucopia of capsule reviews, plus a personal top ten to close things off properly. Spread out through five different festival sections and four continents, these twelve final films span from the experimental to the conventional, from dreamy stylization to dry dreary realism. There are beautiful sights to appreciate and performances, too, including a pair of wildly different characterizations from Chilean actress Paulina García. 

To open the belated farewell, I propose a look at my favorite TIFF section – Wavelengths. Within its radical offerings, one can find pictures that look like none other, such unique visions as Muhammad Hamdy's Perfumed with Mint and Jessica Sarah Rinland's Collective Monologue…

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