September 2010

Sons of Perdition

Editor’s Note: Sons of Perdition kicks off the 2010–2011 Doc Soup season on Wednesday October 6 at 6:30pm and 9:15pm at the Bloor Cinema. Tickets are still avail­able as of this writing for the 9:15pm screening.

Doc Soup is a monthly doc­u­mentary screening pro­gramme run by the good folks at Hot Docs. It gives audi­ences in Toronto, Calgary, Edmonton and Vancouver their reg­ular doc fix each year from the fall through to the spring, leading up to the Hot Docs fest­ival itself.

Sons of Perdition (Directors: Tyler Measom and Jennilyn Merten): Polygamy was out­lawed in the US and banned by the main­stream Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints more than a cen­tury ago, but an off­shoot of the Church called the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (FLDS) con­tinues to prac­tice it in a few isol­ated set­tle­ments in the American (and Canadian) West. The centre of FLDS life is the border-straddling com­munity once called Short Creek and which now com­prises Hildale, Utah and Colorado City, Arizona. Still called “The Crick” by its inhab­it­ants, it’s an insular com­munity in which everyone’s lives are gov­erned by the dic­tates of FLDS Prophet Warren Jeffs. Before his arrest and impris­on­ment on sexual abuse charges in 2007, Jeffs lived in a huge house with as many as 80 wives and an unknown number of children.

By their very nature, poly­gamous com­munities are unsus­tain­able over time as men are forced to com­pete for wives, and this has led to the phe­nomenon of “lost boys” or “sons of per­di­tion.” These are usu­ally adoles­cent boys who have been exiled from their com­munity; some expelled by the Prophet for petty viol­a­tions (watching movies, talking to girls), others simply leaving on their own accord. Most don’t go far.

Sons of Perdition gives us a glimpse into the lives of three of these lost boys who leave Colorado City around the same time. Sam is 17 and seems determ­ined to make some­thing of his life, des­pite his lack of formal edu­ca­tion. Joe is also 17 and is expelled for watching a movie in the com­pany of his exiled brother. Bruce is just 15 when he decides to leave, after his father falls out of favour and has his wives (including Bruce’s mother) and chil­dren taken away from him. All three end up in nearby St. George, Utah, just 30 miles from their fam­ilies, where they crash with various other exiles at first. Needing a stable address to get into high school, Sam flirts with the idea of having him­self adopted, but opts against it when the pro­spective family treats him like a poten­tial crim­inal. It’s very clear that away from their fam­ilies, these boys are really strug­gling. To make things worse, most have rudi­mentary edu­ca­tions and are barely lit­erate. They know little about the rest of the United States, never mind the rest of the world. Something as mundane to the rest of us as a Catholic church is a brand new world to them. “Catholics believe in Jesus?” Bruce won­ders. “I guess so…” replies Joe. “Sweet.”

Eventually all three are taken in by a wealthy young couple, Jeremy and Sharla, who quickly become sur­rogate par­ents. But their motiv­a­tions are a bit of a mys­tery and after Jeremy sur­prises the trio with a drug test and finds the res­ults not to his liking, he throws them out. Although the boys protest their inno­cence, we have seen them indul­ging in some enthu­si­astic drinking, smoking and cussing earlier in the film. Literally damned to hell by their Prophet, they are just as likely to act out as they are to pine for their mothers.

Luckily, the film­makers fol­lowed the boys for more than two years, and by the end of the film, there have been some encour­aging devel­op­ments. But there are def­in­itely going to be huge holes left in the lives of these young men. Without con­nec­tions to their fam­ilies and to the com­munity where they were raised, and with a huge cul­tural deficit that makes it nearly impossible for them to make friends out­side of the small com­munity of FLDS exiles, their lives will always be dif­fi­cult. These lost boys, though now free to choose their own lives, have lost a lot that can never be recovered.

I appre­ci­ated the fact that the film focuses on boys. The media has been full of stories about the abuse suffered by girls and women in these com­munities, and Sons of Perdition never down­plays that. Indeed, there are seg­ments where women tell their stories as well. But the untold story has been these boys, who though ostens­ibly more free within the sect, have very few pro­spects for a happy and ful­filling life. Their futures are just as much sub­ject to the whim of the Prophet. The tragedy is that for a com­munity that claims to put so much value on family (look at all those chil­dren!), they routinely sep­arate chil­dren from par­ents and spouses from each other, sub­ject only to the whim of the Church lead­er­ship. As Sam pon­ders his newly-independent future, he laments. “I don’t think reli­gion should ever come between family — family should be your religion.”

Official site of the film

8/10(8/10)

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One Foot Under (Toinen jalka haudasta)

Nordic Nights returns for another season! This monthly screening series of Finnish and Icelandic films takes place at the NFB Mediatheque (150 John St.). Tickets for the Icelandic films are $10 ($8 for stu­dents and seniors), while the Finnish ones screen for free. All screen­ings fea­ture English sub­titles and begin at 7:00pm, pre­ceded by a free recep­tion at 6:00pm. Here’s the schedule for the next few months:

I’ll attempt to update this as more inform­a­tion is confirmed.

Nordic Nights is presented by the Finnish and Icelandic con­su­lates in Toronto as well as the Icelandic Canadian Club of Toronto.

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Lapland Odyssey

by James McNally on September 19, 2010

in Film Festivals,TIFF

Lapland Odyssey

Lapland Odyssey (Director: Dome Karukoski): I’ve always been a fan of Nordic com­edies so it was a treat to see this on the last day of this year’s TIFF. I also have a very tiny con­nec­tion with Lapland. When trav­eling in Europe by myself in 1989, I had an unlim­ited rail­pass, so one day while I was in Helsinki, I decided to cross the Arctic Circle. 18 hours later by train and I was in Kemijärvi. I wandered around for about two hours and then got right back on the train to Helsinki. Mission accomplished.

I think that sort of mad determ­in­a­tion also drives our hero Janne. Well, per­haps not at first. Ever since his busi­ness went bank­rupt five years ago, he’s lived on wel­fare. There aren’t many jobs in Lapland, but at least he has a wife. Most of the women even­tu­ally move south, but he’s been with Inari for nine years, although her patience with his leth­argy is wearing thin. When she gives him money to buy a “digibox” so they can tune in cable tele­vi­sion, he sits around all day and misses the store’s closing time, pre­fer­ring to hang around with his lay­about friends Kapu and Tapio. She gives him an ulti­matum. Return by 9:00am the next morning with a digibox or she’ll be gone. He’s also spent the money she gave him on beer, so he and his pals will have to earn some money overnight too.

It’s a Friday night, so his first idea is that they’ll use Tapio’s car to run a freel­ance taxi ser­vice out­side the local hotel bar. That doesn’t go too well when they run out of gas and decide to siphon some from Inari’s ex-boyfriend. When they finally get to the hotel, the real cab­bies take umbrage, but Janne ends up finding a rather unique task where he can earn some money; that is, if he can avoid tempta­tion. Meanwhile, mama’s boy Tapio just may have found the woman of his dreams. I won’t spoil the rest of the plot, but it turns into a sort of quest movie in which the heroes are very dim indeed.

As with all Nordic farces, there’s a dark under­cur­rent of gloom and fatalism. In this case, it’s Janne’s friend Kapu, whose ancestors going back five gen­er­a­tions have given in to des­pair and hanged them­selves from a par­tic­ular tree in the vil­lage. In a clever pro­logue, we see their reasons (one involved hockey!), and it seems that Kapu might be headed the same way if his cir­cum­stances don’t change soon. Because this is a comedy, I don’t think I’ll spoil any­thing by saying that Kapu doesn’t kill him­self. In fact, things turn out rather well for our gang of dimwits.

Lapland Odyssey uses both the beauty and strange­ness of its far northern set­ting to great effect. Although we laugh at the very lim­ited oppor­tun­ities Janne has to earn money, we also sym­pathize with his lack of inertia. When he does even­tu­ally decide to fight to keep the love of his wife, he’s pretty hard to stop. Although none of the char­ac­ters really changes all that much (a bril­liant deus ex machina moment occurs at the end of the film which will leave you grin­ning), we see the begin­ning of a desire to change, and that’s enough.

Granted, this is not the most ori­ginal plot, at least in its gen­eral out­line, but the set­ting and char­ac­ters are just spe­cific enough to make this a unique sort of road movie.

7/10(7/10)

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Erotic Man (Det Erotiske Menneske)

Erotic Man (Det Erotiske Menneske) (Director: Jørgen Leth): This some­what exper­i­mental and extremely per­sonal film raised so many issues for me to think about that I’m not sure my rating will align much with that of other reviewers. I don’t mind at all. Leth, who has been making films for more than 40 years, has made per­haps his most honest and per­sonal one yet. An exam­in­a­tion of the erotic, it’s more of a per­sonal memoir, a record of an attempt to recreate (or create) memories or fantasies (romantic/sexual) from years of exper­i­ences all over the world. Leth seems to have an affinity for the exotic, having traveled extens­ively in Africa, Latin America and Southeast Asia. Since 1991, he’s lived in Haiti, and this film seems to have emerged from a long-term love affair he exper­i­enced there. In fact, this film and his memoir The Imperfect Man have caused con­tro­versy in his native Denmark because in them he details his rela­tion­ship with Dorothie, the 17-year-old daughter of his cook. It’s very clear from the film that his five years with Dorothie were among the hap­piest in his life, and his attempts to describe the erotic can be seen as an extended love letter to her.

At the begin­ning of the film, we are simply presented with sev­eral sequences of beau­tiful women, often nude, reciting poetry. We move from Haiti to Senegal to Brazil, from 1999 to 2002 to 2008. Are these love affairs simply cap­tured documentary-style? Then Leth pulls back the cur­tain. We see him in Brazil at a casting ses­sion. He’s looking for beau­tiful women for his film. He tells them he’s recre­ating memories of past love affairs, and each woman is to lounge naked on a hotel bed, reciting a poem (often his own — Leth was an accom­plished poet before he ever began making films) and sim­u­lating post-coital bliss. It’s a con­structed dream, and the women are paid to por­tray memories and feel­ings they’ve never had.

It’s undoubtedly beau­tiful to look at, but it’s not erotic because these are not my memories or my fantasies. But Leth raises all kinds of issues with his honest desire to pursue his vision of erot­i­cism. He’s a savvy film­maker and a man of vast exper­i­ence of the world. He must know that the places he’s chosen to travel to doc­u­ment erot­i­cism (Eastern Europe, Thailand and the Philippines in addi­tion to the coun­tries men­tioned above) have been places where sex traf­ficking takes place. Places where women sell them­selves (or are sold) to men as can­vasses for whatever fantasies they want to pro­ject. Though Leth is clear to the women that he’s not making por­no­graphy, the dynamic is the same. He’s a rich white Westerner who is offering money to women to do sexual things. It raises the ques­tion as to whether all male con­cepts of the erotic involve the same thing. We are aroused by looking, by seeing, by cap­turing and by keeping what isn’t neces­sarily ours. We often pay to pre­tend it is. There is a whole scale of activ­ities, from staring at beau­tiful women on the subway train, to staring at them naked in magazines or strip clubs, to paying them for more and more sim­u­la­tion. This kind of erot­i­cism is con­structed, it’s not real. The inter­esting thing about Leth’s pro­ject is that the act of making a film is also a way of con­structing a reality that is not real. Eroticism, like cinema, is a con­structed reality. He is cap­turing, trying to hold onto, some­thing that is eth­ereal (memory) and untame­able (female desire/love). It’s a film that could only be made by a man closer to the end of his life than the beginning.

In Leth’s per­sonal life story, the erotic often equates with the exotic. He loves women unlike those in his native Denmark. He likes dark skin and hair, warm cli­mates and sen­sual music. In these places, women often seem more sub­missive. They have no problem playing their parts in his movie. Like actors, they don’t mind that he is giving them the lines they are to read. I sus­pect that many women in the “developed” world will see this film and think Leth is just an unre­con­structed sexist. I’m not sure I’d agree, but I do hope that his hon­esty and vul­ner­ab­ility might lead to more open dis­cus­sion of the dif­ferent expres­sions of erot­i­cism. The film is a bit like a mirror. What you think about it will very much depend on what you see in the mirror.

9/10(9/10)

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Balada Triste (The Last Circus)

Balada Triste (The Last Circus) (Director: Álex de la Iglesia): Though I haven’t seen everything he’s made, I’ve been a big fan of Álex de la Iglesia since I saw his bril­liant Crimen Ferpecto (review) at TIFF way back in 2004. The man has a gift for sat­ir­izing the rich and powerful. His first film, the crim­in­ally hard-to-find Accion Mutante, was set in a future world ruled by the beau­tiful where a gang of mutants and out­casts kidnap the daughter of a powerful busi­nessman to demand more rights for ugly people. So I was very excited to see what he would do with the still-somewhat-taboo sub­ject (at least in Spain) of the Spanish Civil War and life under the dic­tat­or­ship of Franco. I was not disappointed.

The film begins in 1937, as the Spanish Republic is rap­idly crum­bling under the advance of Franco’s army. Republican forces compel a troupe of circus per­formers to join them in repelling an attack and in the ensuing battle, a machete-wielding clown cuts down dozens of fas­cists. Sent to a labour camp, he tells his teen­aged son that he must follow in his foot­steps, but that he will be a sad clown. The only way the young man will exper­i­ence love, the father says, is by exacting revenge. When son takes up his father’s chal­lenge by bombing the work camp, it leads to his father’s death and a con­front­a­tion with a sad­istic Colonel which leaves the com­mander blind in one eye and eager for his own revenge.

Fast for­ward to 1973, and young Javier is now a chubby middle-aged nebbish about to begin a job as the sad clown with a ragtag circus troupe under the sad­istic con­trol of Sergio, the “happy clown.” Sergio tells Javier that if he wasn’t in the circus making chil­dren happy, he’d be a mur­derer, and it doesn’t take long for him to dis­play the truth of that admis­sion. At a post-show dinner, he tells a joke in extremely poor taste, and Javier is the only one who doesn’t laugh uproari­ously. Then Sergio punches his girl­friend, lovely trapeze artist Natalia, right in the face and leaves her lying uncon­scious while the group con­tinue to listen to his funny stories. When they leave, Javier comes to her aid and is imme­di­ately smitten. As the days go on, Natalia flirts with and con­fides in Javier, and Sergio’s jeal­ousy reaches insane heights. In their act together, Sergio takes it out on Javier, leaving him bruised and humi­li­ated. When he catches Natalia and Javier on a date at a fun fair, he goes crazy and beats Javier almost to death.

From his hos­pital bed, Javier vows revenge and soon returns to exact it. Seething with rage after he finds Sergio and Natalia having sex, he attacks his rival with knives, leaving his face badly dis­figured before run­ning off into the night. When the troupe can find only the local veter­in­arian to repair the damage to Sergio’s face, he’s left looking more like a mon­ster than a clown. Meanwhile, Javier is living in the forest like an animal, naked and eating raw meat, still sense­less with anger. After Sergio also dis­ap­pears, the circus has to close up shop.

Balada Triste (The Last Circus)

But our two rivals are still intent on win­ning Natalia’s heart and there will be even more Grand Guignol spec­tacles of violent retri­bu­tion to come, including self-mutilation, a humi­li­ating encounter with Franco, a mem­or­able reunion for Javier and the Colonel, and a Hitchcock-inspired chase across the giant cross at the Valley of the Fallen.

It’s boldly oper­atic film­making, and the added weight of meta­phor makes it even stronger. Two clowns fighting over the same woman rep­resent, for de la Iglesia, two sides fighting over the same country. While his sym­pathies are with the Republicans, he clearly shows how war trans­formed the rational into the irra­tional until both sides resembled the same type of mon­ster. In the end, the entire country suffered. Jealousy, pos­sess­ive­ness, ego and a bloodthirsty desire for revenge have left deep scars on the country both sides claimed to love, and Balada Triste turns up the viol­ence and the car­toon­ishly insane beha­viour of the lovers to heighten the effect. The end result is out­rageously enter­taining and sobering at the same time. As with his pre­vious films, de la Iglesia hides his angry fist inside a humourous glove, but he still hits very hard. This is def­in­itely a film that will reward repeat view­ings. At the first viewing, it will be hard to be any­thing other than dazzled; he’s not a subtle film­maker. But I think there is much more here than just hom­icidal clowns.

Official blog of the film (Espanol)

Here is the Q&A with dir­ector Álex de la Iglesia from after the screening. As always, he’s wildly enter­taining, having just enough English to endear him to the audience.

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (ver­sion 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest ver­sion here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Duration: 14:56

I couldn’t find a trailer yet for the film, but here is the song by Raphael that is the inspir­a­tion for the title. This footage is actu­ally used in an important way in the film, too.

Update (June 20, 2011): Trailer now available:

9/10(9/10)

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