TIFF 50: Between Spain and the Sahara in "Nomad Shadow," "Sirât" and "Calle Málaga"

by Cláudio Alves

Histories of colonialism were omnipresent at TIFF, even in films that, at first glance, might not seem to be in dialogue with these imperial pasts and legacies. Consider the matter of Spanish occupation in North Africa, how it has influenced tensions in the region long after the purported triumph of decolonial movements and still lives, haunting-like, in the contested partition of the Western Sahara between Morocco and Mauritania. Sometimes, it's something as simple as the children of colonial rule living in a limbo of their ancestors' making, caught in cultural intersections that feel bound to unravel any day now. 

In his feature debut, Nomad Shadow, Eimi Imanishi touches on some of these realities through the story of a Sahrawi woman deported from Spain, while Oliver Laxe's Sirât dances entranced across a minefield on the disputed desert. Finally, Maryam Touzani sings a song of displacement in Calle Málaga, where Carmen Maura – the original Chica Almodóvar! – must abandon the life she's always known in Tangiers after her daughter arrives from Madrid with terrible news. These latter two are their countries' submissions for the 98th Academy Awards, with Sirât representing Spain and Calle Málaga Morocco…

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TIFF 50: Lucía Aleñar Iglesias wins the FIPRESCI Prize for "Forastera"

by Cláudio Alves

Light has character. In Lucía Aleñar Iglesias's feature debut, Forastera, it also has a soul, manifesting spirits intangible and far away. Through variable brightness and mysterious movements, it bridges times and places, the here and there, our commonplace existence and something that might not be the beyond but is closer to such abstractions than to matters of the flesh. You can feel it in your bones, even before a sage old woman looks at a flickering light and describes its inconsistency as proof of ghosts roaming around the house. It's right there, at the film's start, when Iglesias sets her camera on two sisters sunbathing during their Mallorcan vacation.

The eldest shares the tall tale of a dolphin sighting, daring the other girl to doubt her. As they talk, clouds pass over and the temperature of the tableau shifts from warmth to cold grey and back again. They flicker like the faint impression of a candle flame, a picture of serenity volatized. More than just its subject, the frame itself feels animated by an impossible life…

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Intl' Oscar Updates: Bulgaria, Chile, Palestine, Philippines, Spain

by Nathaniel R

Multiple but brief International Oscar updates for you this fine Monday morning. We'd previously discussed the possibilities from Switzerland and three finalists from Czech Republic. Both countries have now made their decisions. Switzerland is going with The Late Shift, a hospital drama starring Leonie Benesch (September 5, Babylon Berlin). Czech Republic refused the recommendation from their Academy (which was trying to steer their votes to a different film) and went with the experimental documentary I'm Not Everything I Want To Be by Klára Tasovská which focuses on a photographer that's considered the 'Czech Nan Goldin.'

But that's not all...

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Best Ibero-American Film?

by Nathaniel R

Kill the Jockey and I'm Still Here are hoping for both Oscar & Goya nominations

The Spanish Film Academy Goya Awards (essentially Spain's Oscars) aren't held until February 8, 2025 but they've released a list of the eligible titles for their "Best Ibero-American Film" category. This category has been around since the beginning of the Goyas with Argentina, Mexico, and Chile frequently favored among nominees and winners of the category.  Here are the 2024 entries they'll choose between for the Ibero-American nominations for the 39th annual Goya Awards...

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NYFF '24: "Afternoons of Solitude" is a Barbaric Beauty

by Cláudio Alves

When I was very young, I remember being besotted by bullfighting. Around where I grew up, the so-called art of the "tourada" was fundamental to the local culture, a noble practice to be celebrated. My parents were a tad horrified by my interest, and I was an ignorant child. For some reason, I had never realized what was happening in the arena, too blinded by the matador's glamorous figure, the dance-like spectacle, and the thunderous applause. But seeing it live and then watching TV recordings, I realized something. What I thought were theatrical tricks and mud were actual violence and blood splatter. Back then, I dreamed of being a vet, so the thought of all that animal pain made me feel nothing but revulsion for what I once found beautiful.

I was reminded of this while watching Albert Serra's Afternoons of Solitude, a documentary on Peruvian-born "torero" Andrés Roca Rey which earned the Catalan director the biggest prize at this year's San Sebastián Film Festival. For once, I saw some of the beauty again, along with the brutality and the horror. I felt tears in my eyes and nausea erupt from within. Quite the cinematic experience…

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