finland

Recipes for Disaster (Katastrofin Aineksia)
Editor’s Note: Doc Soup is a monthly doc­u­mentary screening pro­gramme run by the good folks at Hot Docs. It gives audi­ences in Toronto (and now Calgary and Vancouver!) their reg­ular doc fix each year from the fall through to the spring, leading up to the Hot Docs fest­ival itself.

Recipes for Disaster (Katastrofin Aineksia) (Director: John Webster): Anglo-Finn dir­ector John Webster decides to put his family (wife and two young sons) on a strict oil diet for a year and to film the res­ults. Ignore the standard archival footage and ser­ious voi­ceover about the prob­lems of cli­mate change; the most inter­esting thing about this film is def­in­itely the family dynamics. Webster’s wife is a reluctant par­ti­cipant and avoids telling her work col­leagues about the exper­i­ment, not wanting to draw atten­tion to her family. She also calls out Webster for his self-righteousness sev­eral times, at one point sar­castic­ally calling him “a real Jesus.”

And it’s a valid point. After Webster bans all oil products, including plastic, from his family’s life, things become very dif­fi­cult indeed. They try to make their own tooth­paste, with pre­dict­ably dire res­ults. They are forced to buy indus­trial rolls of toilet paper to avoid plastic pack­aging. It’s not enough for Webster, who decides they need to throw out nearly every plastic item in their house. In short, his obses­sion makes him less and less sym­path­etic as the film pro­gresses. In the eyes of his family, espe­cially his wife, he becomes well-nigh insufferable.

Luckily, by the end of the film, he’s recog­nized the ridicu­lous­ness of his beha­viour, while still acknow­ledging the import­ance of his cru­sade. After the year is up, the family con­tinue with a mod­i­fied form of their diet, while still allowing cer­tain items such as tooth­paste. Webster had replaced his car with one that had been mod­i­fied to run on biod­iesel, and he con­tinues to drive that. He buys his elec­tri­city from a green source, and equips his cot­tage with solar panels. All in all, he recog­nizes that he cannot change the world all by him­self. In fact, he can’t even change his family without some com­promise. But the film provides an enter­taining lesson in what can actu­ally be done, and it makes its points with self-deprecating humour.

Normally, Doc Soup screen­ings are accom­panied by a Q&A with the dir­ector present. Since it would go against the director’s prin­ciples to fly from Finland to Toronto just to answer ques­tions, he spoke to the audi­ence via Skype videochat. This worked remark­ably well, and showed that he was still attempting to live up to the lofty goals with which he began, to reduce his family’s carbon footprint.

Official site of the film

7/10(7/10)

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Lights in the Dusk

Lights in the Dusk (Finland/Germany/France, dir­ector Aki Kaurismäki): This is the third film in Kaurismäki’s “Helsinki Trilogy” (the others are Drifting Clouds (1996) and The Man Without a Past (2002)) While I haven’t seen the first, this film shares many them­atic and formal ele­ments with the second film, and I enjoyed it just as much.

Koistinen is a lonely security guard who is ignored by his co-workers; that is, when he’s not being teased by them. His life is soon turned upside down by a femme fatale, with heart­breaking res­ults. Despite the grim-sounding plot, the film is full of the director’s trade­mark deadpan humour. And I’m in awe of how he can make the film just radiate love des­pite the mannered acting and awk­ward sta­ging. Perhaps it has to do with the warmth of the lighting and the colour palette, as well as the use of nos­talgic music and art dir­ec­tion. Whatever it is, from the first frame, you know the dir­ector loves this sad sack and wants us to love him too.

The films of the Helsinki Trilogy all deal with people on the mar­gins, and it’s clear that Kaurismäki’s sym­pathies lie with the common people and not with those whose suc­cess or power has dehu­man­ized them. He is a true humanist, and his “heroes” all bear their suf­fer­ings stoic­ally; in fact, they quite lit­er­ally per­sonify a “never-say-die” atti­tude, and that makes them admir­able. Their hangdog expres­sions may make us pity them, but it’s their core of inner strength that makes us love them.

9/10(9/10)

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A Decent Factory

A Decent Factory (Finland/France, 2004, Director: Thomas Balmès, 79 minutes): In this doc­u­mentary, Finnish cell­phone giant Nokia sends its recently hired Ethics and Environmental Specialist to China to audit one of its sup­pliers’ factories. But instead of a mani­festo on the dangers of out­sourcing and glob­al­iz­a­tion, we get a much smaller film about cul­tural dif­fer­ences. Well, it’s not exactly that simple, either. I guess this one just didn’t catch fire for me the way I thought it would. Sure, the Finns find labour law viol­a­tions. But in the pres­ence of the factory’s European man­age­ment, they tend to focus on small things (some chem­icals are stored near the toi­lets) and gloss over the bigger issues (not a single employee at the factory has signed a con­tract). The truth is that the entire Chinese man­u­fac­turing sector oper­ates by very dif­ferent rules than the Europeans are used to. I looked for­ward to hearing the aud­itors inter­view the mostly-female employees of the factory, but when they do, they dis­cover the sort of com­plaints made by factory workers every­where: their super­iors insult them, the cafet­eria food is bad. The truth is that none of them actu­ally com­plain about the low wages, or the forced over­time or man­datory deduc­tions for food and acco­mod­a­tion. It seems like they are con­tent to live in single-sex com­pany dorm­it­ories. Things that seem to hor­rify the pro­gressive Finns don’t seem to faze most of the Chinese.

So, at least by focus­sing in so tightly on one factory, I think it’s impossible to look at the bigger issues involved in glob­al­iz­a­tion and the migra­tion of jobs over­seas. Many of the issues seem to involve more than just eco­nomics. There is a lot of cul­tural dis­con­nec­tion going on as well.

That’s not to say I’m an apo­lo­gist for unfair labour prac­tices. There are wide­spread prob­lems with almost all of China’s factories, hinted at by the film. Most factories keep at least two sets of books; one to show the gov­ern­ment and aud­itors like Nokia’s, and one more accurate set. And the issue of gov­ern­ment cor­rup­tion is not even mentioned.

So, even though the film failed to address these issues in a larger con­text, it was still an enlight­ening visit to a place where most of the world’s man­u­fac­turing will be done in the future, if it’s not already being done there now.

7/10(7/10)

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Saturday Films

by James McNally on September 8, 2002

in Film Festivals,TIFF

Sweet Sixteen (UK, 2002, Ken Loach, dir­ector): A com­pletely charming mix of hope and des­pair set in Greenock, a troubled shipyard town about an hour out­side of Glasgow. Fifteen-year old Liam spends his time trying to scrounge enough money to buy a caravan (trailer) for his mom and him to live in when she’s released from prison. He needs money fast, and decides to cut in on his mom’s boyfriend’s heroin trade. Of course, he’s soon in way over his head. Among the rest of the non-professional cast, Martin Compston’s per­form­ance floored me. He cap­tures that period between child­hood and adult­hood with just the right mix of emo­tions. He was sit­ting in the seat right behind me and when the film was over, I turned to him, speech­less, and just shook his hand. 10/10

The Man Without A Past (Finland, 2002, Aki Kaurismäki, dir­ector): This sweet-natured film tells the story of a man given a fresh start. After being bru­tally mugged, the man loses his memory and has to rebuild his life. Without a job or money, he lands among the poorest of Helsinki’s den­izens, living in a cargo con­tainer by the docks. He meets and falls in love with a Salvation Army worker, and this rela­tion­ship in par­tic­ular made the film seem like an old 50s melo­drama. The warm lighting and bright col­ours added to the romantic feel. This little twist of irony, as well as a gen­erous helping of deadpan humour, had me smiling even as our hero struggled against the pre­ju­dices of a society unable to trust a man without a name. 9/10

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