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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Víctor Erice's return will make you believe in miracles

by Cláudio Alves

Miracles haven't existed in movies since Dreyer.

So says a gruff film editor to his aged director friend in Víctor Erice's first feature in three decades, a work brilliant enough to make a lie of that line. Well, it was miraculous to me, though there must be some dissenters out there. Folks like Thierry Frémaux who infamously conned Erice into opening the flick at Cannes under the assumption it would play in competition. Only, Close Your Eyes didn't get to vie for the Palme d'Or, getting shafted into the newborn Premiere section. At this point, that farrago must be water under the bridge, though one presumes a big Cannes victory would have helped Close Your Eyes get to theaters sooner. For American audiences, it only now made it to screens, enjoying a limited release courtesy of Film Movement…

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TIFF '23: “Youth (Spring)” brings notes of optimism to Wang Bing’s cinema

by Cláudio Alves

Over a decade ago, Wang Bing’s first film explored the decline of an industrial district, state factories dying away as privately-owned businesses took over the Chinese economy. Since Tie Xi Qu: West of the Tracks, the director has applied the same ‘fly on the wall’ technique to various other projects, each growing in size until his filmography resembles a collection of non-fiction epics. The 2002 picture clocked at over nine hours, edited down from 200 hours of footage. For his most recent endeavor, Wang recorded 2,600 hours of material, deciding to present it as a trilogy named after one of the most exploited demographic in the nation’s industry – Youth. The three-and-a-half-hour Youth (Spring) represents the first chapter in the director’s new opus, introducing new tonalities to his work…

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TIFF '23: "Pictures of Ghosts" Sings a City Symphony

by Cláudio Alves

When I walk around Lisbon, I often pass by places that once were cinemas, temples of art and communion left abandoned or transformed for new commercial purposes. There's a big one that got bought by an Evangelical church years ago, its screening room turned auditorium for religious spectacle. I've witnessed some of these changes, but many had already happened by the time I found myself alone in the city. My parents' memories and souvenirs tell the stories of a metropolis I never knew, invoking ghostly cinemas I wish I had seen. Lisbon is a graveyard for a moribund culture, the moving image surviving in a few palaces that persist, raging against the dying of the light.

While watching Kleber Mendonça Filho's Pictures of Ghosts, I couldn't help but translate its reflections to my beloved Lisbon. I imagine most cinephiles will do the same for their homes. It's an identification that shouldn't betray the Brazilian master's intent, which is deeply personal. But in specificity, the universal resides...

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Review: Don't miss "And Then We Danced"

by Cláudio Alves

A man is a monument of strength, hard and unbending. A woman is a vision of purity, soft and willowy. For those who teach Georgian traditional dance, this binary is tantamount to a universal truth whose cosmic certainty must be supported by the choreographed bodies. But binaries are conventions fated to be broken by the messiness of being human. Merab, the protagonist of Levan Akin's And Then We Danced, is the element of humanity that breaks the convention and exposes its brittle frailty.

Merab's too soft to be a monument. He's too willowy to be the man of folkloric tradition. He's still a man, though, and a dancer too, one that trains to be part of the National Georgian Ensemble...

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