For my second report, I’ve experienced three very potentially jarring films in varied ways. All three are provocative in perplexing aspects, but all are undoubtedly memorable.
A Vanishing Fog (Augusto Sandino)
While mystified, I still dug this quiet, aesthetically moving film.
Within Colombia’s ancient mountains, F (Sebastian Pii) takes care of his sickly father, all the while facing the dangers of his surroundings. In a lot of ways, this movie feels like a mystery, because we barely scrape the surface of F’s intentions, wants, and fears, but we recognize enough. I was entranced, to say the least, even when I wasn’t sure what entirely was taking place. I can see A Vanishing Fog being divisive among viewers because of its pacing and occasionally incohesive narrative (not to mention, a scene involving some fruit). It waxes poetic, blurs magical realism & drama, and has many images I won’t forget.
The film moves leisurely with limited dialogue and the main character moves through his life mostly unknown to this grand environment around him, and those he comes in contact with. Often romantic with F’s inner monologue (including the style of font) that we witness onscreen, we learn his somber and yet provocative, and yearning thoughts.
With some gorgeous cinematography that allures as much as it also makes us and our lead feel isolated is breathtaking, A Vanishing Fog shows Colombia in grand strokes but doesn’t recoil from showing its brutality, something that is invocated by its drug trade and frequent destruction. The fragility of the land, and of F’s life is never wavered from, often making this film feel like it’s a whisper away from vanishing into the ether.
Throughout, there is an element of fantasy, with some dream-like wonders that really aren’t ever explained, escalators that rise to the sky, talk of discovering new galaxies. And it’s okay, it’s not necessary: Dream big, even if it’s just inside your head.
There’s something moving about A Vanishing Fog, that makes this film seem like a mix of magical realism and grander insightfulness. Augusto Sandino mixes the surreal with the moving and it never stopped being inviting for me. While some choices will most likely stifle some viewers, at only a lean 76 minutes, it plays out with a symbiosis, never taking too much, and never giving much either. A Vanishing Fog is still quite subversive, allowing audiences into its nearly silent approach and look at climate change and the bleakness of one’s world. Sometimes too transcendent for its own good, I won’t deny I was transfixed and impressed with Sandino’s vision.
Soft & Quiet (Beth de Araújo)
When I first started writing about this film, I relived much of the guttural disgust again, nearly as stressed out as I had been during its entire run-time. As I sit, forced to reconsider the characters, their motives, and how good the performances are, I muffle (but don’t erase) the frustration, and think about Soft & Quiet: chilling harassment then turns to home invasion, and I had to contemplate that perhaps its broader strokes make the exclamation point more important than its ellipsis.
Emily (Stefanie Estes), our lead, gets together some liked-minded women to share stories, food, and discuss their community. Sounds harmless right? Clearly not, and from that onset of their grouping things spiral into a mess of mayhem, cruelty, and eventually lives lost.
There is nothing easy about this movie. Its start shows us Emily, coming out of school, with a homemade cherry pie, insisting on this idea of innocence as she brings about a group of women for a meeting. It seems like she’s a good-doer (even though she gives horrible advice to a student early on) but soon we recognize her motives as sour, sinister, and basically, the epitome of what’s wrong with society. The community she gets together is for “The Daughters for Aryan Unity” and with that recognition, a pit in our gut is created.
When they are told to vacate the location they are using, fellow members Leslie (Olivia Luccardi), Kim (Dana Millican), and Marjorie (Eleanore Pienta) agree to take it back to Emily’s house, after securing some more wine. After a brief run-in at the grocery store with two mixed-race Asian women, the group decides to head to one of their houses, to teach them a “lesson.” Beth de Araújo really battens down the hatches on making her audience uncomfortable.
This is a real stomach churner, one to sour many, upset most, and (if there’s a positive here) alerts some that this isn’t so far-fetched. The portrayals in this film are fictionalized, but originate from a real, sickening place of reality that many don’t want to admit is still very real and active. I wish there had been more of an ending that paid off, but ultimately, I understand why it didn’t. The privilege is very much active here.
As the film concludes and works through the horrendous nature of the characters, the poor lighting, and the uneasy feeling of what’s happening, there’s no moment of breath. It doesn’t allow you to. I wish that the final section wasn’t so dark as I could barely make out what happened, but as you know what is occurring, maybe it’s okay. Either way, Soft & Quiet proves to be challenging in every possible way.
Soft & Quiet is deeply discomforting to watch, but that’s the point. Beth de Araújo wants us as spectators, as it plays out in real-time, stuck with the most heinous, hateful women ever. A very bold debut, and the most terrifying and infuriating film I’ve seen yet because it shows us real world-horror, that often hides in plain sight with big shiny smiles.
The Locust (Faeze Azizkhani)
Hanieh(Hanie Tavassoli has written a screenplay that she holds dear to her heart. She just wants to make her movie. However, when she’s close to being kicked out of her apartment and desperately needs the money, she sells it to her best friend, Pegah (Pegah Ahangarani Farahani), who is also a directing. Her hope was to be able to maintain some semblance of her voice, but as the director and cast start to question, and rearrange her original intent, she becomes flustered with the process and finds regret in her choice. Even worse, she’s reading for the character of Fereshteh, the protagonist, during the table read which is the main cusp of the film. It rarely changes locales, staying mostly in this one building, giving us the anxiety and pressure of how one of these really plays out, especially when some personalities and ideals are clashing.
As the characters do their read-through, they often insult and question the main character’s motives, a character that is clearly based on Hanieh herself. It’s that element in particular that makes this play more like a tragedy than a comedy because my heart broke with every hateful or careless word spoken. As a writer, I felt for her, and I wanted her to tell the story as she wanted. That’s not to say The Locust didn’t make me laugh, it certainly did, especially as the tensions rose and more characters became entangled.
At times this does plod but it never wavers from invoking curiosity. With so much use of a fourth-wall-breaking, semi-autobiographical guise, it can occasionally become cumbersome. The strongest part of The Locust is the way that the camera never leaves Hanieh’s expression, her silent rendering of pain, and her consistent war with giving away this piece of herself, that in a sense, feels like an extension of her. It’s intriguing to bestow, even if it doesn’t always hit the humorous notes it hopes for. There are some interesting elements that feel abstract, and hints of magical realism, that also separate The Locust from other endeavors regarding the early stages of film production.
It’s an interesting look at a writer and their connection to their art. The rapid-fire style dialogue and meta elements mostly work, and despite the occasional missteps, you’re left impressed by Hanieh Tavassoli’s performance. Faeze Azizkhani never strays too far from our lead and shows the love that occurs between Hanieh and her creation, but also the degree of difficulty it can be to let that go.
All three films premiered at SXSW 2022 Film Festival. More coverage to come!
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