PSIFF10: DAWSON ISLAND, 10—The Evening Class Interview With Miguel Littin

"We wanted to change history, but destiny led us to this strange sensation of uncertainty and defeat. What did we do wrong? What mistakes did we make?"—Sergio Bitar, Dawson Island prisoner, and author of Isla 10.

"I felt like the protagonist of one of those World War II movies. When we arrived at the camp, some of us cried to see so many wire fences. There were 27. It was difficult to believe."—Baldovino Gomez, Dawson Island prisoner.

"A story starts when someone is born, someone dies, someone leaves, or someone arrives."—Director Miguel Littin, quoting Ernest Hemingway.

The arrival in September 1973 of approximately 50 former Chilean President Salvador Allende's Popular Unity ministers, senators and deputies to Dawson Island—a concentration camp "at the end of the world"; i.e., latitude 53 South at the western end of the Strait of Magellan—introduces a political crime largely unknown by the world, let alone most Chileños; a calculated historical omission that acclaimed Chilean filmmaker Miguel Littin sought to redress through his feature film Dawson Island, 10 (2009), which screened at PSIFF10 as Chile's official submission to the Best Foreign Language Film category of the Academy Awards®. Although Littin has been nominated twice for an Oscar®—first, as Mexico's official submission for Actas de Marusia (1975), and then again as Nicaragua's official submission for Alsino El Condor (1982)—Dawson Island, 10 marks the first time he has represented his native country. Although Dawson Island, 10 did not make the Oscar® shortlist, Littin advised me that he was pleased with the attention that the submission process afforded the film. The film is the first Chilean-Brazilian co-production and likewise represented Chile at Spain's Goya Awards.

However, as reported by Pascale Bonnefoy for The Global Post, some people—including former Dawson Island prisoner Miguel Lawner—have taken exception to how Littin's film "sometimes consciously sacrifices accuracy to dramatic license, offering viewers a trade-off: exposure to this period of history at the expense of the historical record." Lawner criticized: "The movie is full of situations that aren't like they actually happened. I went to see the movie very skeptical, but since then, I have gotten many calls, especially from young people, impacted by the movie, saying they had no idea all of that had happened. In that sense, I guess Littin achieved his objective, in spite of the liberties he took."

That such an impact should be but one of Littin's prime objectives in recounting the story of Dawson Island seems evident; but—as he has likewise forcefully asserted in a piece for Moving Pictures Magazine—"Making a film in Latin America and especially in Chile is not just a technical and economic challenge but is also a matter of confronting censorship that moves through shadows, hidden powers with the mission to keep these histories forgotten. That's why there is a permanent disqualification. Cinema must not be political, they say as they scare away and use the power of the media to quietly squelch whoever dares to tell the stories, and many filmmakers fall into their traps and enter the game. Cinema, an ontology that is born from life, projects it and, through emotion and truth, permeates the consciences of free men and women of this world. In their names and for them, I film."

Dawson Island, 10 is based on the book Isla 10 by Sergio Bitar, who in 1973 served as Minister of Mining under President Allende. Currently, Bitar is Minister of Public Works under President Michelle Bachelet. In addition, Bitar is part of the Executive Committee of the Inter-American Dialogue in Washington, DC. Prior to these positions, he was a Senator and Chairman of the Party for Democracy (PPD), which forms part of the current government coalition in Chile since 1990. As indicated by Boyd van Hoeij at Variety—despite Bitar's assistance on the screenplay—Littin's adaptation relegates Bitar to "a bit player" in its narrative preference for a more general overview. But Littin has made it clear in his interview with Alt Film Guide "that the book and the film were two different bodies, but with the same soul."

Miguel Littin was born in Palmilla, Colchagua, Chile, earned a Dramatic Art Degree from the Universidad de Chile, and has written and adapted a vast number of plays, including El Hombre de las Estrellas (The Man of the Stars). At the age of 25, he shot the film El Chacal de Nahueltoro (1968), which became one of the most successful films in Latin American cinematography and has since gone on to be recognized as a classic worldwide. Littin has been awarded many prizes and distinctions. The French Government bestowed upon him the official title of Caballero de Las Artes y Letras. In 2002, Littin was granted Mexico's most important official recognition: La Orden Aguila Azteca. As well as being a novelist, Miguel Littin has been the subject of Gabriel García Márquez's 1986 book Clandestine in Chile: Adventures of Miguel Littin.

My thanks to Cheri Warner, publicist at Weismann/Markovitz Communications, for inviting me to interview Miguel Littin and for patiently arranging same. Also, I'm grateful to Lilinas Mejiras, Assistant Trade Commissioner for Pro/Chile, for stepping in to offer interpretive assistance.

* * *

Michael Guillén: It was fascinating for me to watch this story because I knew nothing about Dawson Island. And—as you've stated in your director notes about the organization of memory: that memory is not restored, but awakened—Dawson Island, 10 awakened for me the memory of the shame I felt as an American citizen of the Nixon administration's involvement with Pinochet's overthrow of Allende. That made me wonder about how the Chilean public has responded to having their memories awakened about events in the not-too-distant past?

Miguel Littin: Extraordinarily well. All of the screenings were sold out. It was very satisfying for me to see the long lines waiting outside the theaters to get in to see the movie. And the audiences were composed of people from four different generations. The film caused different emotions: some people laughed; some people cried; some people experienced deep emotions. The film is still being screened in Chile.

Guillén: Clearly, the timing to tell the story of Dawson Island was just right?

Littin: Yes.

Guillén: I'm aware that you have adapted other literary works to film. This particular film was based upon Sergio Bitar's book and Bitar helped you to write the screenplay. What is the value for you as a filmmaker to work with existing literary works?

Littin: I am fascinated with literature in general. When I read a book, it's a pleasure to imagine a script. It's my passion. I remember when I adapted Alejo Carpentier's El recurso del método [The Recourse to the Method, 1978], I was writing the script in the margins of the pages. When I adapted Gabriel García Márquez's La Viuda de Montiel (1979), I spoke with García Márquez and he asked me how the script was going? I showed him two empty notebooks. "So where's the script?!" García Márquez asked. I told him, "It is in my mind. It's in my head." In that instance, I didn't take any notes to write the script. I have a fluid connection with literature and scriptwriting.

Guillén: And also with poetry?

Littin: Yes.

Guillén: In this film, I appreciated the sequence where you shot the sea with the recitation of Pablo Neruda's poem. In watching a lot of Latin American cinema, I often see this connection between politics and poetry. Can you speak to that connection?

Littin: It has to do with identity. Latin America's identity has a lot to do with its poetry, much like Walt Whitman is associated with American democracy. Neruda, [César] Vallejo, and many others have provided a democratic identity for Latin America. Poetry is included in Latin America's history, in its memory, and expresses the Latin American fascination with the word. In his words in the poem read in that sequence, Neruda is linking nature—the sea, the mountains—such that they move forward to create an identity that also creates a history for Chile, from love poems to historic poems.

Guillén: Which leads me to consider how you have effectively used the image of the pencil as being equivalent to a weapon; self-expression as a weapon. Also, in the image of the inscribed stones. Did the prisoners at Dawson Island actually carve into stones? Or was that a poetic license inspired from Neruda's poem: "In every stone, I left a telegram written"?

Littin: No, that actually happened.

Guillén: Do these stones still exist?

Littin: When they premiered Dawson Island, 10 in Santiago, they had an exhibition of the carved stones.

Guillén: I would love to see those. Where are they now?

Littin: They're still in Santiago. The people who were collecting the stones loaned them by way of exhibition to the premiere of the movie.

[Note: As if to confirm the equivalency of self-expression with weaponry, José Tohá's testimony at the Chile Information Project relates: "The island produced 'an enormous feeling of isolation, of intense cold, wind, few sunny days. It was a prison, surrounded by water, with absolutely no escape. One of the great things was to be allowed to carve the stones: it relieved the stress and for some brought in some income.' Until one day an officer decided that the implements used were dangerous weapons and carving was banned."]

Guillén: Your conscious usage of the camera as a tool is pronounced throughout your work. In Dawson Island, 10, you shifted the palette frequently from black and white to color throughout the film. Why did you do that?

Littin: Well, it's like when you play poker and you show your hand. It's a way to get people involved in the game. I made a proposition at the beginning of the film that it was going to be this way or that way. Was it going to be like a documentary or a feature film? I mixed everything up—fiction, documentary—and used a narrative language combining both.

Guillén: So are you saying you were hedging bets to win the best audience?

Littin: I'm not sure about that. But I wanted to create a link between the audience and the movie.

Guillén: Why did you choose to combine authentic documentary footage with reenacted simulations made to look like documentary footage—specifically the scenes of Allende in the palace during the 1973 coup d'état? [Note: This was one of the scenes objected to by Miguel Lawner for suggesting that Allende was murdered, rather than the official recognition of his death by suicide.]

Littin: Because nothing of what happens in the movie would have happened without Allende. The history of Chile is marked and addressed by the presence of Allende. Allende was forefront in the memory of all the Dawson Island prisoners. It's similar to Hamlet: when he remembers his father, he can't live. The remembrance of Allende doesn't allow Chile to live quietly. Until all the wounds are healed, neither Denmark nor Chile will be quiet.

Guillén: As Dawson Island, 10 starts out, the characters are rendered fairly black or white. The audience knows straight off who the good guys are (the prisoners) and who the bad guys are (the guards). But, by film's end, that certainty has capsized. This created a compelling ambivalence for me. I didn't know what to feel towards certain of the characters, the director of the concentration camp (Sergio Hernández) for example, who—though harshly adherent to military protocol when the prisoners arrive—became recalcitrant with his later interpretations of that protocol, thereby actually saving the lives of the Dawson Island prisoners from military factions wishing them executed for expediency's sake. What were you trying to show in this ambivalent behavior?

Littin: That's it. That life is neither black nor white. There are greys inbetween. And the importance of that is that nothing is definite, one can change things, different outcomes can be achieved dependent upon oneself. Instead of only taking orders, the soldiers from the army were also able to impact results. In the end, it's about having faith in the human condition; having faith that the human condition is fragile but changeable. In some ways this example from Dawson Island tells soldiers in the military that they cannot behave this way again because they are also human beings who have feelings, not just soldiers. By dividing the army from the civilian populace, we're doing militarism a favor. When you promote individual responsibility, however, these problems become different. Besides, it was the true story. I didn't make it up. That's how it happened. That's how they behaved.

Guillén: It's a great honor for me to speak with you today because of the strength of your career and the evident influence you have had on so many younger Chilean filmmakers. I've spoken with many of them—Alicia Scherson, Pablo Larraín, Sebastián Campos—and I'm wondering if you have any final thoughts regarding Chile's younger filmmakers?

Littin: I interact with them all the time. I admire their films.

Guillén: Among them, is there anyone you would single out to have me pay attention to?

Littin: There are several who are really good, including those you have mentioned. Sebastián Campos's Navidad is quite good. Also the work of Alejandro Fernández Almendras (Huacho). The work of Andrés Wood is very important. He's made some good films like Machuca (2004); but, I think he is accomplished and mature and will soon have a big hit.

But more important than specific recommendations is to remember that Chile's film industry possesses four generations of filmmakers currently making films. This continuity or lineage began in 1968 when a new wave of filmmaking in Chile was encouraged. This has generated more and more satisfying films out of Chile. All of these young filmmakers have their eye on the human being.

Cross-published on Twitch.

PSIFF10: I KILLED MY MOTHER—An Evening Class Question and Q&A With Xavier Dolan, Anne Dorval, François Arnaud, & Patricia Tulasne

Who hasn't heard about the meteoric rise to notoriety of Xavier Dolan, the Québécois teenager whose first feature film J'ai tué ma mère (I Killed My Mother, 2009) received—not only an eight-minute standing ovation at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival—but, three awards from Cannes' Director's Fortnight? Festival audiences have embraced the energy and evident promise in Dolan's film, which has earned nominations and awards worldwide. I Killed My Mother arrived at PSIFF10 as Canada's submission for Best Foreign Language film at the 82nd Academy Awards®. Although it did not make the Oscars® shortlist, it did garner Anne Dorval PSIFF10's FIPRESCI Award for Best Actress "for her nuanced performance as a bruised and bruising matriarch mired in love/hate land with her teenage son."

Though Dolan has gained much worldly wisdom in just the past couple of years and is now all of 20, I had to ask:

Michael Guillén: As such a young artist, how are you coping with so much notoriety suddenly thrust on you with your first feature film? How is that feeling for you?

Xavier Dolan: It makes me nervous somehow. And some days I think that I don't have the energy nor the talent to deal with this. But then when you're in a group like this with your friends and traveling, you realize there is a total other side to the media experience, there are audiences that ask great questions and interesting things to those activities. Another thing too is that sometimes I question the enthusiasm around the movie. I wonder if the movie is being appreciated? Or if it's only because when I did it I was kind of young? Those are the interrogations through which I go some days. There are all kinds of questions and neuroses you get to deal with. But I think it's not so bad being selected in festivals. I think it's good.

On Writing the Script

Dolan: This film is actually inspired by and adapted from a novella that I had written when I was 16 in college. I had just dropped out of CEGEP, which is kind of equivalent to junior college here in the States. I had nothing to do but kill time and write movies so I wrote this film. I thought it would be irrelevant and of no interest to anyone because it was too personal and nobody would really care about it. So I put it back in a drawer and worked on other very bad screenplays, which unfortunately the actors had to read. Finally, I understood that I was working on those vainly so I took back I Killed My Mother and gave it to a friend who plays the teacher in the movie and she told me it could be worth investing time and energy into. That's basically how it all started. Then, of course, I thought I could play the lead because it's my story. When I wrote it, I thought maybe it would be the occasion to finally act. Originally I'm an actor; but, for years all my auditions resulted in the same broken record saying: "Too young, too old, too small, too tall" so I didn't act anymore and I missed that a lot.

On His Influences

Dolan: I have a lot of influences, but for this film I don't know if there are so many references I can give. I guess that I thought My Own Private Idaho would be something I would want to pay tribute to. It's not so obvious. The stories are not so similar. But the Super 8 images that you saw at the end, I had seen that bit in My Own Private Idaho and I thought it could be a nice way to end the movie. Other than that? I admire a lot of people; I admire Truffaut, Godard, Bergman. I don't think my movie is like their's. It's just a personal story. It's not really into homage, tributes or references.

On Casting His Actors

Dolan: I knew Anne [Dorval] and she had read several scripts that I had written that were not good. I came one day and said, "Listen, I know that you've read many things that were not essentially ready or fine-tuned; but, I have this screenplay that I just wrote and if you could take a look at it, that would be great." I met Patricia [Tulasne] on a movie that we shot together as actors, which was a terrible experience. She was my mother in that movie and we were killed with a shotgun. We had squibs and blood and all the blood was getting into my hair and it was horrible. The director was French and he was horrible. I met François [Arnaud] because he is a young actor from my generation. I saw a play in Montreal in which he had a role. That's basically how we came together. It's a rather stirring story for me because the project was refused by many people. It traveled from offices to offices, and to reviewers who didn't really believe in the film and didn't believe this would happen; but, some people never really left and always remained faithful throughout the experience, my best friends, the actors who were always there, and the producers.

On How the Experienced Actresses Felt
Being Directed By A Teenager

Anne Dorval: It was not just a guy who was 17 years old. He knew exactly what he wanted. It's easy when you meet people like him to abandon yourself. To let go of your fears.

Patricia Tulasne: He was really open to suggestions. If you had something to say, to propose, he was really open. It was easy to work with him. You were in coalition. We don't feel the difference of age.

François Arnaud: I'm not an actress.

On Whether His Parents Have Seen the Movie
and What They Had to Say

Dolan: Yes, they did. And they said, "Congratulations." My father is very proud and says out loud, "I'm not like this in real life." And he's right. My mother says that too, "I'm not like this in real life" and she's wrong. [Laughter.] Vengeance! She saw the film. There weren't a lot of words. We didn't get into an extensive conversation about it. She said, "I loved it. I cried and I laughed" and that's a great reaction: laughing and crying. It's what's expected. But we really didn't talk about it. Was she insulted? No. Well, maybe. Yes? Like I said, we didn't talk about it. I think time has to pass before we can reach that step of communication of talking about it as a work of art. We have to wait.

02/04/10 UPDATE: As reported at indieWIRE, the young people's jury of the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR) awarded the MovieSquad IFFR 2010 Award to Canadian Xavier Dolan's debut feature J’ai Tué Ma Mère. The award comes along with $2,000 to spend on promoting the film within the Netherlands.

Cross-published on Twitch.

FROM PARIS WITH LOVE—Peter Galvin's Review

From Paris With Love concerns the forced pairing of a straight-laced ambassador's aide (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) with a wildcard secret agent (John Travolta) as they strong-arm their way through the Paris underworld. There's something about a terrorist attack and a cocaine deal and a conference of diplomats, but I couldn't quite nail it all down. Of course, coherence of plot is not the reason people go to movies like this anyway—they go for the action and hope for a few jokes. And, more or less, that's what you'll get here. The fight scenes are choreographed to the point of nonsense, but Travolta and Meyers seem honestly amused as they attempt to crack each other up for an hour and a half, and more than a couple of things explode.

No doubt, opinions about such a film are going to be divided. From a critical standpoint, the movie is hollow, cliché and nonsensical—but the sense of fun is there nonetheless. There's the impression that no one was taking this thing seriously, a levity which can be contagious, though I'm not sure the screenwriter was in on the joke. Hoping to steer the viewer from pondering such things, the rapid-fire editing careens us from shootout to shootout at a pace that allows no time for analytical thought.

Say what you will about the ups and downs of his career, John Travolta has an undeniable presence, and his presence is even more appreciable when he's the sole funny guy in a film full of "straight men". Sporting a bald head and goatee, his pairing with the lip-stachioed Meyers seems to strive for the classic buddy-movie mismatch, but it falls short of the chemistry that made Rush Hour (2002) the first in a trilogy. As I compare the two films, I can hear picture writer/producer Luc Besson salivating at the idea of a From Paris With Love franchise.

Besson once was the king of movies like From Paris With Love. In the early '00s he was the preeminent money man behind a slew of action movies that were just a little better than straight-to-DVD: The Transporter (2002) and Kiss of the Dragon (2001) come to mind. As vehicles for a variety of action stars, such films serve their purpose and assuredly make their investors' money back quickly, but I sometimes wish Besson had more interest in returning to the gritty tableau that began his career. The Professional (1994) and La Femme Nikita (1990) were consummate examples of '90s action cinema, where characters had real stakes and action was rough and painful looking.

I mentioned earlier that people don't go to action movies expecting a decent story anymore, and it's a sad truth. Perhaps there's just not enough money these days in putting decent screenwriting before slam-bang action. We seem to have forgotten that we can have our cake and eat it too. Though an embarrassingly entertaining diversion, From Paris With Love also reflects much of what is lacking in contemporary action films.

Cross-published on Ornery-Cosby and Twitch.

PSIFF10: THE SUN BEHIND THE CLOUDS (2010)—An Evening Class Question and Q&A With Ritu Sarin and Tenzing Sonam

It seems like you can't go to a film festival anywhere these days without national cinemas ending up in some kind of political stand-off. Whether or not one believes that a film festival is the proper venue to broker political agendas, programmers and audiences alike had best prepare themselves for what appears to be an increasing trend.

Two Chinese films selected for the 21st Annual Palm Springs International Film Festival—Lu Chan's City of Life and Death (Nanjing!, Nanjing! 南京!南京!, 2009) and Ye Kai's Quick, Quick, Slow (超级50, 2009) were withdrawn early last month by the state-run China Film Group in response to the North American premiere of The Sun Behind the Clouds: Tibet's Struggle for Freedom (2010), a documentary by Ritu Sarin and Tenzing Sonam about the Dalai Lama and his trials and tribulations over an eventful year, including the 2008 protests in Tibet, the long march in India, the Beijing Olympics, and the breakdown of talks with China.

Commenting on the films, Festival Director Darryl Macdonald said, "After meeting with representatives from the Chinese government regarding their request to cancel our screenings of The Sun Behind the Clouds: Tibet's Struggle for Freedom, we have respectfully declined their request. I'm saddened that the Chinese film authorities have chosen to withdraw their films from PSIFF, as the Festival is an international cultural event whose mandate is to present a wide cross section of perspectives and points of view. That said, we cannot allow the concerns of one country or community to dictate what films we should or should not play, based on their own cultural or political perspective. Freedom of expression is a concept that is integral both to the validity of artistic events, and indeed, to the ethos of this country."

As reported by the USC US-China Institute, a Chinese official reportedly told festival director Macdonald that since the US government recognizes China's sovereignty over Tibet, including Sun Behind the Clouds put the festival at odds not only with Beijing but also Washington. The Chinese official was right about official US policy, but naïve if he thought that festival organizers would worry about this. Macdonald told The Desert News that he replied, "Sorry, this is an arts event and we believe in freedom of expression."

However, as USC US-China Institute's report emphasizes, programmers at PSIFF10 should have anticipated that China's leaders would see things differently. Mao's economic policies were jettisoned long ago, but his thinking on art still drives state policy. In 1942 he said, "There is in fact no such thing as art for art's sake, art that stands above classes, art that is detached from or independent of politics."

In earlier instances, China pulled their films from the Melbourne International Film Festival after organizers there refused to drop a film featuring an interview with Uyghur dissident Rebiya Kadeer. Beijing accused Kadeer and the Uyghur World Congress of fomenting the July 2009 Ürümqi riots.

In spring 2008, China's government blamed "the Dalai clique" for unrest in Tibet and pro-Tibet demonstrations hounding the Olympic Torch relay. Though neither Kadeer nor the Dalai Lama say they seek independence, Beijing calls them separatists. China's leaders see participating in festivals which also screen films they deem sympathetic to these individuals and their causes as consorting with anti-China forces. Participation is too important an issue, the leaders conclude, to be left to filmmakers to decide.

Asked about the decision to pull his film, Lu Chuan told The Hollywood Reporter: "My feelings are very complicated. On the one hand I'm very grateful to the film festival for giving my film greater exposure, on the other hand, when it comes to Tibet and politics, we directors have no choice but to stand together with our film company." Lu added that he had "absolutely no knowledge" of the Tibet documentary.

I felt compelled to ask filmmakers Ritu Sarin and Tenzing Sonam (Dreaming Lhasa, 2005; The Reincarnation of Khensur Rinpoche, 1992) how they felt about this development.

* * *

Michael Guillén: With regard to recent events here at the festival proper, I'm curious if you were anticipating this conflict and if you have encountered such problems at other festivals?

Rita Sarin: No, we didn't expect this kind of response. In the past, with another film of ours that we showed at the Toronto Film Festival, the Chinese consulate did call up the director of the Toronto Film Festival and said, "Would you please remove the film?" They said, "No" and that was the end of it. So we didn't really expect them to come all the way from Los Angeles and pull out the films. We were really shocked. In the current climate, it seems that the Chinese are flexing their muscles more than they have done because they are so economically strong at this point. It took us by surprise. We are very sad that the Chinese films couldn't come here and the Chinese filmmakers aren't present; but, I guess we have no choice because it's their government's decision and they can't do very much about it.

On How the Filmmakers Became So Intimate With the Dalai Lama

Sarin: The first time we filmed the Dalai Lama was in 1986. Tenzing was the first Tibetan filmmaker to come out of the broadcast school at UC Berkeley. We were asked to film the Dalai Lama on his 1986 trip to Europe. Consequently, we did a lot of documentation with him. So, for example, when he won the Nobel Peace Prize, we were documenting that trip and his visit to Washington. So many many years ago before he was actually as famous as he is now, we spent a lot of time traveling with him. Over the years, of course, we've been making films about Tibet: about Tibetan Buddhism, about the Tibetan resistance and how the CIA was involved with the Tibetan resistance. We made a film about that. We've made many films over the years so I guess we know the subject intimately and I hope we can convey that because it's so complex. Sometimes when we watch our films, we sit here and think, "That makes sense to us but—if somebody doesn't know the issue—will they comprehend all the complexities?" Our challenge is to, hopefully, convey some of that.

On How the Future Incarnation of the Dalai Lama Is Determined

Tenzing Sonam: In Tibet there is a system of reincarnation and there are many reincarnate lamas, of which the Dalai Lama is the foremost; but, there are many other lamas. In the film you saw a young lama who is also a reincarnate lama. But the way the system works is that: when a lama dies, he is reincarnated again so he can continue the work that he started in his previous life. It's a lineage. It's a line. So you can't have a reincarnation unless the person has died. In the case of the Dalai Lama, when he passes away the search for his reincarnation will begin. What's happening now is that the Chinese have already put into place a law that says that they can select and approve their own Dalai Lama.

On Whether the Reincarnation Of the Dalai Lama

Can Be From Another Country

Sonam: That's what he implied in his interview within our film. He said, "If I die as a refugee, then logically I will be reborn in a free country." Which means he will be born outside of Tibet. A precedent has already been set in Tibet. The second highest lama in Tibet, the Panchen Lama, remained in Tibet. He didn't go into exile. When he died, the Dalai Lama selected his reincarnation [Gedhun Choekyi Nyima], who was promptly whisked away and hasn't been seen since—it's been about 15 years—and the Chinese instead placed a boy of their own choosing [Gyaincain Norbu] and said he's the Panchen Lama; but, Tibetans call him the fake Panchen Lama.

On the Chinese Government's Criticism of the Tibetan Serf System

Sonam: Tibet was a feudal society in the past, which means that—especially in central Tibet—large areas were controlled by the aristocracy and by the monasteries. It was a less than ideal system, for sure; it was medieval. But what the Chinese are claiming now is that it was a cruel society where people suffered and the serfs had no rights. That is absolutely not true. For instance, my own mother comes from a serf family and was forced to work for an aristocratic family; but, her memories of her childhood are just of being very happy. Although the system was certainly in need of reform and I think the present Dalai Lama—if he had remained in Tibet—would have made these reforms, this Chinese justification for invading and occupying Tibet is absolutely not true. It's a colonial argument that all colonial powers have used, where they say the countries they have colonized are backward, underdeveloped, and need a colonial power to come in and "save" them. It's a classic justification.

On the Chinese Assertion that Tibet Has Always Been A Part of China

Sonam: That's what the Chinese say. However, the whole idea of a nation-state is a modern construct. It was only after the first World War that nations got this idea of nationhood. Before that, there were empires. China was an empire. China itself, at different times of history, was under the Mongols, under the Manchus. If you take their current argument further, you could say that Mongolia now has the right to say that China is part of Mongolia because they controlled China at some point.

It's important to understand that, historically, there have been periods when China has been very influential in Tibet; but, I don't think there was ever a time when China physically controlled Tibet. As the historian in the film mentioned, between 1911 and 1950, Tibet was a de facto independent country. It had all the trappings of a nation. It had its own currency; it had its own postage; it issued its own passports. By modern standards, Tibet has every right to be an independent country.

On Whether Increasing Chinese Demographics in

Tibet Will Ever Allow A Tibetan Majority to Regain Rule of Their Country

Sonam: This is a huge problem that Tibetans face now because, demographically, Tibet is being altered. As I mentioned in the film, all the big cities of Tibet have more Chinese living there than Tibetans. Of course, in another generation or two, these Chinese people and their descendants will be a part of Tibet. How do you then differentiate? It's very complicated. They've already done that in inner Mongolia and Manchuria, where the native populations are completely outnumbered by the Chinese.

On the Distinction Between the Threats of
Chinese Militarism and Chinese Cultural Imperialism

Sarin: The writer in our film references the presence of the Chinese and the changing of Tibetan culture. She's differentiating between the Chinese military threat and Chinese cultural imperialism. Even, for example, Tibetan New Year—which was a completely Tibetan festival—is now using Chinese products and customs. The customs are changing and the way of living is changing.

On The Role of the US Government

Sonam: The US government supports the Dalai Lama's Middle Way approach and it has consistently prevailed upon the Chinese leadership to engage with him; but, in reality, the pressure they can put on China is nothing. If China chooses not to listen to them, there's nothing much they can do.

On Dhondup Wangchen

Sonam: Dhondup Wangchen has been sentenced to six years in prison just last week. That's his crime: he filmed people's interviews. [USC US-China Institute expands: "Much less is known about the case of Dhondup Wangchen, a self-taught Tibetan filmmaker. Though they don't know what the charges were, members of his family say he was sentenced on December 28 to six years in prison. Wangchen has been in police custody since March 2008. He was arrested after violence broke out in Tibet and just after he passed more than forty hours of videotaped interviews with 108 other Tibetans on to a British citizen of Tibetan descent. Wangchen knew he was taking risks. He had gone to India in 1993 and met the Dalai Lama. Before he began filming, he sent his wife and four children to India. According to the website for Leaving Fear Behind, the short documentary he made using the interviews, he wanted to focus attention on Tibet during the run up to the Olympics. Wangchen argued that if China's government "really want[s] to preserve and improve Tibetan culture and language in Tibet then they should withdraw Chinese people living in Tibetan areas." The website with Wangchen's film is blocked within China.

On Why the UN Is Not More Involved

Against Obvious Crimes Against Humanity

Sonam: Again, China sits on the UN Security Counsel and constantly blocks any legislation that it doesn't like. So there's no way the Tibet issue could ever come up before the UN. The UN is quite ineffectual when it comes to the big powers.

On Intermarriage (Integration?) Between Tibetans and Chinese

Sonam: It's happening to a small extent; but, Tibetans and Chinese lead very separate lives and there's a very strong distinction made by both sides: "You're a Chinese. I'm a Tibetan." But, definitely, intermarriages are happening.

On What Americans Can Do

Sarin: There are many things you can do in the United States. There are many organizations that are there to do something about the Tibetan cause. If you're a young person in a university there is Students to Free Tibet. It's worth joining one of these organizations. There are a lot of support groups all over the country. They all need support and help. Every single person counts finally in the long run. It's important to keep some sense of hope. Without hope you can't do anything. You have to keep hope for the future and work as much as you can. I know it's a very difficult situation. We are aware of that. But it doesn't mean one just gives up.

On the Preservation of Tibetan Culture

Sarin: The Tibetan culture is being preserved fairly well in exile and in parts of Tibet. However, of course there are so many changes in the world now. For example, the monasteries used to survive because they were cut off from the world and people could practice Buddhism and their studies quietly and that's becoming harder and harder to do. On the whole the Tibetans have been a successful refugee group and have been able to continue their tradition and their cultural practices.

On Whether the Beijing Olympics Were An Opportunity
For Increased Awareness Or A Missed Opportunity

Sonam: I think it was both. Obviously, the demonstrations in Tibet happened because they knew the focus was on China and that created a huge wave of sympathy and awareness all around the world; but, nothing came of it. It disappeared. And by the time the Olympics actually happened, Tibet was a forgotten issue. In that sense, we didn't capitalize more on the moment when we could have.

02/26/10 UPDATE: The PSIFF controversy has been expertly summarized at dGenerate Films. Further, as reported at The New York Times, Film Forum removed City of Life and Death from their spring calendar when National Geographic Entertainment, the film's North American distributor, advised they could not guarantee that a print of the film would be available in time for its scheduled release. In its stead, Film Forum has scheduled The Sun Behind the Clouds, adding one more layer to the existing tension between the two films. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that City of Life and Death will screen as scheduled at the upcoming San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival.

Cross-published on Twitch.

PSIFF10: The Misfortunates (De helaasheid der dingen, 2009)—An Evening Class Question and Q&A With Felix Van Groeningen

Along with The Over the Hill Band and Altiplano, the third Belgian feature I caught at PSIFF10 was Felix Van Groeningen's The Misfortunates (2009), Belgium's official submission to the Academy Awards® foreign language category. Though it did not make the Oscar® shortlist, The Misfortunates won the Prix Art et Essai at the Cannes Film Festival's Quinzaine des Réalisateurs, and three Golden Starfish Awards (Best Feature, Best Screenplay, Best Cinematography) at the 17th Hamptons International Film Festival.

Adapted from Flemish author Dimitri Verhulst's semi-autobiographical novel De helaasheid der dingen (The Alasness of Things), the condensely-entitled Misfortunates is—as Boyd von Hoeij writes at Variety—"a bittersweet meditation on whether familial love and pride are enough to sustain a proper upbringing."

As with its Belgian counterpart Altiplano, The Misfortunates frequently shifts its palette from black and white to color and so I felt compelled to open the Q&A questioning on that stylistic choice.

* * *

Michael Guillén: I'm intrigued with your shifting palette between color and black and white footage and—as I couldn't see that it had anything to do with temporal placement—I'm curious about this stylistic choice?

Felix Van Groeningen: Technically, the film was completely digital [it was shot on The Red] so all the effects—the grainy looks, or the black and white, or the yellow or blue grading—were decided upon and added afterwards during the editing. I could say something about that; but, I'll make my answer a bit wider and speak about how I work in general. Generally, I just like to experiment with things, to start off with an idea and see where it takes me, usually without knowing in the beginning why it attracts me or why it could be good; to try a lot of things with that; to discover why it could work or why it works even though I didn't think of it upfront.

I wanted to do something with black and white—that was one of the first ideas in the beginning when I started the film—because there's an important Belgian photographer who makes beautiful portraits of people and of things that are disappearing in Belgium. They have a beautiful atmosphere. That photographer inspired me to do something in black and white, which we decided to try when we were editing. The most stupid thing to do was to put all the scenes in the past in black and white and to do all the other scenes in color. Because I started with this idea that I wanted to do something with the black and white, we tried that; but, it didn't seem to work. How can we push this idea further? What does it mean, this black and white?

It started working when my editor said, "Maybe we shouldn't just use black and white; but, also different colors, and different looks that refer to photos?" Then we thought, "Okay, this could work." All the scenes that play in the past are like photos, as if Gunther (Valentijn Dhaenens) is looking through a photo album of his youth, wherein he sees black and white pictures, Polaroid pictures, or pictures that have become yellow and faded because of the sun. Then we just played with those colors during editing and it started working for me emotionally. It added to making the film a journey into the past, into melancholy.

On Shifting Emotional Registers Between Comedy and Drama

That was the main thing with this adaptation. It's an adaptation of a book. When I read it, I found a lot of things hilarious but I chose to make a film out of it because—when I read the scene where Gunther goes to his grandmother and thanks her—I cried and was really touched by then. That's the real reason why I thought I should make a film out of it because in that scene everything came together. Although a lot of melancholy comes into Gunther's adult life and he becomes really cynical, in that scene with his grandmother he's okay with everything and he thanks her. I found that beautiful. That's the reason when I read the book, I thought, "This story is worth making a film about."

But, yeah, there were hilarious scenes. For example, the scene where one of the uncles invents his Tour de France game had to be in the movie because it was so inventive and hilarious. When I was writing, when I was directing, when we were shooting or editing, what I constantly had to keep in my mind was: "Yes, it can be funny; but, it has to be this story of this little boy, this dramatic story." I worked a lot with the actors to develop the scenes to make them emotional, to not just have them drinking and having fun. All the scenes had to relate to how this little boy was feeling. Then it was a matter in the editing of shifting between the film's two emotional registers. To be honest, in the editing we also tried a lot of things and the final film is really different from the shooting script because in the first cut it didn't work, it wasn't doing what it had to do, so we had to rethink how the two stories could develop together, but especially how you could get into the story and ride the good feeling while on the other hand understanding from the beginning what the problem is about this boy.

On Drunk Parents Raising Children

I guess it' s still around, but this story really talks about Belgium 20 years ago and the author wrote it because he's also saying that these things are happening less now. He is really happy that he got out of his situation and that there are social workers who take care of that and who try to do something about it. So he's actually saying that it exists less and less, although that's not really true. In Belgium nowadays there still are kids who accompany their parents to the bar and who maybe sleep on the billiards because their dad is drunk; but, it happened a lot more 15 years ago.

On Whether Alcoholism In His Own Upbringing Influenced the Film

I had an uncle, yeah. My mom and dad weren't alcoholics but my father had a bar so I saw a lot of things. And then I had the alcoholic uncle. What I got from experiencing being with my uncle was that he could also have a great deal of fun. That's one of the things that I think is special about this film. That was also in the book. They're alcoholics and there's a lot of bad things going on but they're also having a lot of fun. It starts with a lot of fun and then it goes wrong. It always goes wrong also; but, it always starts out as a lot of fun.

On the Locations

Actually, it was quite hard to find the bars. We wanted real authentic bars from the '80s and the ones that we saw in the beginning, there were too many elements that were from today that were hard to take out. Then we found some empty bars and put all kinds of props to make it look like the '80s, to make it authentic. They are disappearing, those kinds of bars.

On the Film's Budget

The film's budget was about 2,200,000 Euros, which is a good budget for a Belgian film. It's not huge; but, it's a good budget.

On Using Natural Light

My DP would have wanted to use more natural light; but, because it was shot in digital—using The Red—you need some lights to make it look beautiful. If you shoot in 35mm you can use real natural light. If you have one bulb, you can make beautiful images with it. We didn't do that but that's because of the format, I would say.

On What He Would Change If He Had An Extra Day to Edit

Nothing. Actually I wanted to change some things before it got accepted at Cannes. We sent it to Cannes and we were waiting two or three weeks—the film was finished, the editing was finished—and we were waiting to hear if we were going to be accepted or not. I had the editing suite at my home and then I thought, "I think I can make it better" and I changed some things. I showed it to the editor and the producer and they were like, "Felix, don't do it. Now you're really pushing it." I couldn't let go of it. I didn't have this with my other films. It was very strange. My other films, when they were finished, they were finished. I worked really hard on this film. I felt that this film had to be a big step in my career and I wanted to make the best possible film. I just couldn't let go of it. I'm really happy that my editor and producer stopped me. I really would have blown it, I think, because I couldn't let go. Really. But now I'm okay with it. I will never ever change it.

On Whether His Future Plans Include Hollywood

I'm developing a new Belgian movie. Actually, it is fairly easy to make a film in Belgium compared to Hollywood, I've learned. There aren't so many people. Once you have accomplished a few films, it's fairly easy to go on. At this point. Maybe in 10 years it won't be that possible; but, now I think I have to continue making Belgian films because the strength of this film is also its authenticity. It would be a lot harder for me to make a film with the same authenticity in Hollywood. But, on the other hand, it would also be nice to make a film in Hollywood. Who knows?

Cross-published on Twitch.

INDIEFEST 2010—Michael Hawley's Quartet Preview

The 12th edition of the San Francisco Independent Film Festival—better known as SF IndieFest—takes over the Roxie Theater for two weeks starting this Thursday, February 4. Out of the fest's three dozen programs worth of features, docs and shorts, I had the chance to preview four on DVD screener. Happily, they're all winners.

The film I'm most excited about is No One Knows About Persian Cats, Kurdish-Iranian director Bahman Ghobadi's controversial portrait of Tehran's underground indie-rock scene. It won an Un Certain Regard Special Jury Prize at Cannes last year at the exact same time the film's co-writer, Iranian-American journalist Roxana Saberi, received a suspended sentence on espionage charges and was released from Iranian prison. More controversy occurred last autumn when Iranian auteur Abbas Kiarostami publicly admonished Ghobadi for this decidedly unsavory look at life in Iran. Ghobadi responded with a bitter, anguished open letter to his one-time mentor. Brouhaha aside, Persian Cats is a remarkable film and an inspired departure for its director, best known for lyrical, but unsparing rural parables about war-ravaged children (Time for Drunken Horses, Turtles Can Fly). And though he's previously touched on the plight of musicians in Marooned in Iraq and Half Moon, this is his first time working in an urban milieu.

Shot clandestinely in 17 days, Persian Cats follows two musicians as they pursue a vague-ish notion of performing in Tehran before embarking on an elusive foreign tour. After hooking-up with a sketchy, motor-mouthed music promoter, the trio buzz around Tehran perched on a single motorcycle, in search of band members, passports, visas, practice space and a venue. Harassment by the authorities is constant. During these excursions we're introduced to a variety of local musicians and musical styles—Persian-flavored rap, heavy metal, alt-rock, neo-soul—with song performances rapid-cut MTV-style to images of Tehran street life. The musicians appear to be playing versions of themselves, with sincere, somewhat stilted acting that works fine within the film's semi-documentary vibe. The exception is actor Hamed Behdad as the manic promoter Nader. The scene where he wheedles his way out of 75 lashes and a massive fine for possessing foreign DVDs and alcohol is the film's comic highlight. (Runner up: the heavy metal band playing for distraught cows on a dairy farm.)

With a mixture of resignation and outrage, No One Knows About Persian Cats proves that tenacious youth and rock 'n' roll will somehow find a way, even in an Islamic theocracy. The film is also beautifully shot, making it all the more fortunate that SF IndieFest will be screening it in 35mm (one of only four such films in the fest).

In Belgian director Johan Grimoprez' wildly original mash-up/collage/essay film Double Take, we get an 80-minute riff on paranoid USA/USSR Cold War relations by way of Alfred Hitchcock's assertion that "if you meet your double, you should kill him. Or he should kill you." Clips of Hitchcock—mostly stuff from his droll film promos and TV show intros—are woven into a Hitch vs. Hitch narrative with the help of professional look-alike Ron Burrage and sound-alike Mark Perry. That's all cleverly edited with archival footage of the Nixon-Khrushchev debate, the Cuban Missile Crisis, worrisome Space Race updates (Sputnik! Pupnik!), Red Square military parades, flying saucer movie clips and a series of insidiously hilarious Folger's Instant Coffee commercials ("How can such a pretty housewife make such bad coffee?!"). Fascinating, spooky and poetic (with the occasional drift into ponderousness), this is the most original vision I expect to see at the movies all year.

While Persian Cats and Double Take contain non-fiction elements, the other two films I previewed are straight-up documentaries. Don Argott's The Art of the Steal tells the story of the world's most valuable collection of post-impressionist and modern art, and how it became subjected to "the greatest act of cultural vandalism since WWII." Philadelphia pharmaceutical magnate Albert C. Barnes amassed the collection in the early 20th century, putting it on public display in 1923. The exhibition was reviled by Philly art critics, causing an outraged Barnes to move the whole thing to a building in the suburb of Lower Merion, PA. (The collection contains 181 Renoirs, 59 Matisses, 46 Picassos and is currently valued at around $25 billion.) In his will, Barnes specified that the collection should stay in Merion, and never be sold or go on tour. Director Argott meticulously details how Barnes' wishes got thwarted over the years by a tourist-hungry metropolis, ambitious politicians, clueless judges and duplicitous foundation board members. It's a thorny, engrossing tale well told. This is another film IndieFest will be screening in 35mm. The Art of the Steal is also scheduled to open at a San Francisco Landmark theater on March 12.

I don't know if Palestinian-owned grocery stores are a phenomenon unique to San Francisco, but for 35 years I've never lived more than two blocks from one. Katherine Bruens' Corner Store, which is having its World Premiere at IndieFest, is the story of one such store and its soft-spoken proprietor. For 10 years, Yousef Elhaj worked at the Church St. Market from 7:30AM to midnight, 364 days a year, closing only for Easter (Elhaj is Christian). He slept in a back storeroom, saving money to support his wife and three children back in Bethlehem. His intention is to bring them to America, and—once all US bureaucratic hurdles have been cleared—the film follows him back to Bethlehem. Once there, however, Elhaj feels conflicted about returning to the US. On one hand, he loves being back amongst his people and culture. On the other hand, life under Israeli occupation, with its checkpoints and separation barriers, is extremely difficult. Friends, family and neighbors all weigh in with their opinions. I won't reveal what happens, but I promise this touching documentary will make you care one way or the other.

Cross-published on film-415 and Twitch.

ARGENTINE CINEMA—Cuando el Pueblo fue Hollywood (When the Pueblo Was Hollywood, 2009)

Fortuity provides an intriguing thematic segue. Brushing up on my Val Lewton research in anticipation of PFA's Complicated Shadows series, I came across a brief mention at The Val Lewton Screenplay Collection—a fantastic resource for Lewton fans—that, allegedly, Val Lewton drafted a 400-page treatment of Nikolai Gogol's historical novel Taras Bulba. I have no idea if this has anything to do with the 1962 film Taras Bulba—whose screenplay adaptation is attributed to Waldo Salt and Karl Tunberg—but, nonetheless, this bit of trivia caught my attention because no less than a week or so ago Federico Windhausen—who I met at Susan Oxtoby's reception for Robert Beavers—contacted me to let me know that he had recently completed a documentary on the making of the 1962 film, Taras Bulba, which he advised had been filmed in—of all places—Salta, Argentina.

Director's Notes: "When the Pueblo Was Hollywood, directed by Federico Windhausen (Assistant Professor of Media Arts, Visual Studies, and Fine Arts at California College of the Arts) and shot by Rubén Guzmán (filmmaker; cameraman on Cowards Bend the Knee and The Saddest Music in the World), discloses a kind of waking dream experienced collectively by the residents of Salta, an Argentine province located at the foothills of the Andes (known to me through the films of Lucrecia Martel). In 1961, this remote section of northwestern Argentina served as the primary location for a large-scale Hollywood adaptation of Nikolai Gogol's novel Taras Bulba, which brought to provincial Argentina such actors as Tony Curtis and Yul Brynner. The production hired thousands of locals as extras, dressing them as 16th-century Cossacks and Turks, and it contracted dozens of gauchos to carry out dangerous falls on horseback during battle scenes. Chronicling a unique—and often contentious—cultural encounter, the documentary serves as both a portrait of a fading generation of Salteños and a reflection on the ways in which we live through the cinema."

As a document of heartfelt curiosity, and admittedly an idiosyncratic (though welcome) historical footnote in cinema history, When the Pueblo Was Hollywood utilizes cinéma vérité cinematography to capture the remembrances of male and female Salteños regarding the filming of Taras Bulba in Salta and the transformative effect it had on their way of life. As one woman recounted, Salta at that time was a "small town, big Hell" which became, first, inflated by the Hollywood presence, and then conflicted and resistant to its commercial demands, resulting in strikes and repercussions. Wobbly camera work is more than compensated by fascinating testimonials recounting how Salta was temporarily transformed by Hollywood into a microcosm of fantasy, dream and ambition.

Of notable interest is how the different classes of Salteño society claimed the experience for their own ends, ranging from naïve fantasy to eventual understandings of cinema's capacity for deceit. Listening to the gauchos explain how they performed their horse stunts during the film's epic battle sequences is thoroughly fascinating. One only wishes that Guzmán had made more use of a tripod and that vintage photos of the era had been edited with voiceover rather than simply held up to the camera lens. Notwithstanding, as a document of the disruptive power of studio filmmaking in a relatively rural setting, Windhausen's film effectively captivates and he is to be commended for capturing these stories before the participants have passed on. There's a resonant sweetness in elegantly-framed photos of Tony Curtis hung in the barbershop whose barber cut Curtis's hair each day on the set.

Kurt Anderson has conducted an on-air preview of the documentary for Studio 360 and San Franciscans have the opportunity to catch a free preview screening of the film on Friday, February 5, 7:00PM in the Timken Auditorium, California College of the Arts, at 1111 Eighth Street (between Hooper & Irwin), San Francisco. Directions can be found here.

Disclaimer: Reviewed from screener.

02/02/10 UPDATE: A little more research reveals that Val Lewton worked on David O. Selznick's 1934 proposed adaptation of Taras Bulba. According to Nick Zegarac at The Hollywood Art: "Lewton's mother, Nina—a Selznick employee in the story department was advised to assemble a writing team of Russian talent to aid in the research and development of this property. Unbeknownst to Selznick, Nina slipped in the name of her own son. Lewton was promptly hired. Though Selznick's plans for Taras Bulba eventually fell by the waste side, Lewton quickly acquired a toe hold in the writer's department, eventually rising through the ranks to become Selznick's story editor."

Cross-published on Twitch.