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'Afire' movie review: The flame of love

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'Afire' movie review: The flame of love

Express News Service

It is likely that a lot of writers would see their own reflection, however unflattering, in Leon (Thomas Schubert), the protagonist of Christian Petzold’s Afire. I did. At times, I can be like him—living inside one’s own head, shunning human company, preoccupied with thoughts, agonizing for not being able to put them on paper, being self-obsessed yet wound up about one’s own creativity and creation.

Equally real is the oft-held perception by people around us, something that the film also shows, that writing is not “work”, as though it emerges magically, without an effort, from thin air.

However, despite there being a lot to empathise with Leon, he ends up inviting our scorn. On a visit to his friend Felix’s (Langston Uibel) holiday home by the Baltic Sea, he is in search of some peace, quiet, and isolation to dive deep into work and wrap up his second book. While fussing about it, he gets distracted by another occupier of the house, Nadja (Paula Beer), and her nightly dalliances with her lovers. Dissatisfied at his lack of productivity and mindful of his growing attraction for her, he is abrasive and annoying to others for their holiday fun and cheer, something he can’t afford. Meanwhile, the oppressive heat, lack of rain, and forest fires ensure that nature is also in an agitated state, like him.

Afire is as French as a German film can get. It is an eloquent reflection on relationships, friendships, and love navigated, formed and unformed amid creative enterprise with Wallners’ hypnotic and melodious assertion of freedom, the song “In My Mind”, playing oftentimes in the background. The film won the Silver Bear Grand Jury Prize at Berlinale last year and was recently showcased at the Singapore International Film Festival.

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In Afire, Petzold turns the typical holiday narrative (he wrote the film when down with COVID and watching Eric Rohmer movies) into an amusing and caustic character study of Leon—egotistical, self-absorbed, and self-centred, resentful, and jealous—with Schubert in great form, living the role from within. Beer is luminous as Nadja, and extremely likeable, unlike Schubert’s annoying Leon. Uibel is charming as Felix, working on his art portfolio on photos of people staring at the sea and, in the process, getting more than friendly with Nadja’s lifeguard lover Devid (Enno Trebbs). The film pivots on and moves along the interactions of the foursome. It is as much about the irritants that define Leon, as the reactions they elicit from the three.

As the forest fires get more intense, so does the mood of the film and of Leon as well. The turning point comes with his disparagement of Nadja (without quite realising who she is for real) for working at an ice cream cart, later allowing her to read his manuscript and then getting upset at her dismissal of it. It gets worse with his publisher Helmut (Matthias Brandt) rejecting it as well.

Petzold gradually replaces the fluid tone with a more uneven narrative, driving the funny towards the steadily darker, unsettling, and harrowing. A bear burnt to death, an emergency visit to the hospital, and tragic loss, is what it takes for Leon to start looking at, acknowledging, and understanding the world around him and find true creativity beyond the confines of his selfish persona. Too heavy a price to pay, perhaps, to get a life amid mortality, appreciate the bioluminescence at the sea in the throes of darkness, learn to smile in melancholy, and embrace life when a lot of time has regrettably slipped by. It’s eventually about Leon rising, metaphorically, from the ashes falling from the sky.

What was my takeaway from Afire? WH Davies’ poem Leisure: “What is this life, if full of care; We have no time to stand and stare.” A good film to end or begin a year with, one that reminds us to hit the pause button every now and then between the play modes and never say no to anything because “work won’t allow it”. 

Cinema Without Borders

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In this weekly column, the writer introduces  you to powerful cinema from across the world

Film:  Afire

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Movie Reviews

‘Black Rabbit, White Rabbit’ Review: Disqualified for the Oscars, Tajikistan Drama Is an Inviting, Meandering Meta-Narrative

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‘Black Rabbit, White Rabbit’ Review: Disqualified for the Oscars, Tajikistan Drama Is an Inviting, Meandering Meta-Narrative

Selected by Tajikistan but ultimately not accepted by the Academy to compete in the Oscar international feature category, “Black Rabbit, White Rabbit” begins ambitiously, with a famous quote from playwright Anton Chekhov about setups and payoffs — about how if a gun is established in a story, it must go off. Moments later, an inviting long take involving a young man selling an antique rifle ends in farcical tragedy, signaling an equally farcical series of events that grow stranger and stranger. The film, by Iranian director Shahram Mokri, folds in on itself in intriguing (albeit protracted) ways, warping its meta-fictional boundaries until they supersede its characters, or any underlying meaning.

Still, it’s a not-altogether-uninteresting exercise in exploring the contours of storytelling, told through numerous thematically interconnected vignettes. The opening Chekhov quote, though it might draw one’s attention to minor details that end up insignificant, ensures a heightened awareness of the movie’s artifice, until the film eventually pulls back and becomes a tale of its own making. But en route to this semi-successful postmodern flourish, its character drama is enticing enough on its own, with hints of magical realism. It begins with the tale of a badly injured upper-class woman, Sara (Hasti Mohammai), discovering that her car accident has left her with the ability to communicate with household objects.

Sara’s bandages need changing, and the stench of her ointment becomes a quick window into her relationships. Her distant husband rejects her; her boisterous stepdaughter is more frank, but ultimately accepting; her gardener and handyman stays as diplomatic as he can. However, the film soon turns the gunfire payoff in its prologue into a broader setup of its own, as a delivery man shows up at Sara’s gate, insisting that she accept delivery for an object “the deceased man” has paid for.

Mokri eventually returns to this story (through a slightly tilt-shifted lens), but not before swerving headfirst into a seemingly unrelated saga of extras on a film set and a superstitious prop master, Babak (Babak Karimi), working on a shot-for-shot remake of an Iranian classic. A mix of rapid-fire Tajik, Persian and Russian dialogue creates dilemma upon dilemma when Babak’s ID goes missing, preventing him from being able to thoroughly check the prop ammunition for an assassination scene.

Danger begins to loom — a recent Alec Baldwin case even warrants a mention on-screen — as the notion of faulty firearms yanks Chekhov’s wisdom front and center once more, transforming it from a writing tip into a phantasmagorical inevitability. In keeping with the previous story, the props even communicate with each other (through subtitles) and begin gossiping about what might come to pass.

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After establishing these narrative parameters through unbroken, fluid shots filmed at a sardonic distance, Mokri soon begins playing mischievous temporal games. He finds worthwhile excuses to revisit scenes from either different angles or with a slightly altered aesthetic approach — with more proximity and intimacy — in order to highlight new elements of his mise-en-scène. What’s “real” and “fictional,” even within the movie’s visual parlance, begins to blur in surreal ways, largely pivoting around Babak simply trying to do his job. However, the more this tale engorges through melodic, snaking takes, the more it circles around a central point, rather than approaching it.

The film’s own expanse becomes philosophically limiting, even though it remains an object of curiosity. When it’s all said and done, the playfulness on display in “Black Rabbit, White Rabbit” is quite remarkable, even if the story’s contorting framework seldom amounts to much, beyond drawing attention to itself. It’s cinema about cinema in a manner that, on one hand, lives on the surface, but on the other hand, invites you to explore its texture in ways few other movies do.

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Movie Reviews

‘Christmas Karma’ movie review: A Bollywood Carol with little cheer

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‘Christmas Karma’ movie review: A Bollywood Carol with little cheer

Kunal Nayyar in ‘Christmas Karma’
| Photo Credit: True Bit Entertainment/YouTube

Christmas jumpers are all I can remember of this film. As this reimagining of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol dragged on with sickly-sweet sentimentality and song, my eyes constantly tried to work out whether those snowflakes and reindeer were printed on the jerseys or, if knitted, how complicated the patterns would have been.

Christmas Karma (English)

Director: Gurinder Chadha

Starring: Kunal Nayyar, Leo Suter, Charithra Chandran, Pixie Lott, Danny Dyer, Boy George, Hugh Bonneville, Billy Porter, Eva Longoria, Mia Lomer

Storyline: A miserly businessman learns the true meaning of Christmas when visited by ghosts of Christmas past, present and future

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Runtime: 114 minutes

Gurinder Chadha, who gave us the gorgeous Bend it Like Beckham (who wants to make aloo gobi when you can bend the ball like Beckham indeed) has served up an unappetising Bollywood song-and-dance version of Dickens’ famous Christmas story.

A still from the film

A still from the film
| Photo Credit:
True Bit Entertainment/YouTube

A curmudgeonly Indian businessman, Ishaan Sood (Kunal Nayyar), fires his entire staff on Christmas Eve—except his accountant, Bob (Leo Suter)—after catching them partying at the office. Sood’s nephew, Raj (Shubham Saraf) invites him for a Christmas party which he refuses to attend.

He returns home after yelling at some carol singers for making a noise, the shopkeeper (Nitin Ganatra) at the corner for his business decisions and a cabbie (Danny Dyer) for being too cheerful.

His cook-housekeeper, Mrs. Joshi (Shobu Kapoor) tells him to enjoy his dinner in the dark as he has not paid for heat or electricity. He is visited by the spirit of his dead business partner, Marley (Hugh Bonneville), who is in chains with the spirits of all the people he wronged. Marley’s spirit tells Sood that he will be visited by three spirits who will reveal important life lessons.

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A still from the film

A still from the film
| Photo Credit:
True Bit Entertainment/YouTube

The Ghost of Christmas Past (Eva Longoria), with Day of the Dead makeup and three mariachis providing musical accompaniment, shows Sood his early, happy days in Uganda as a child and the trauma of being expelled from the country by Idi Amin.

Sood comes to Britain where his father dies of heartbreak and decides the only way out is to earn a lot of money. He meets and falls in love with Bea (Charithra Chandran) but loses her when he chooses paisa over pyaar even though he tries to tell her he is being ruthless only to earn enough to keep her in luxury.

The Ghost of Christmas Present (Billy Porter) shows Bob’s twee house full of Christmas cheer, despite the roast chicken past its sell-by date, and his young son, Tim, bravely smiling despite his illness.

The Ghost of Christmas Future (Boy George, Karma is sure a chameleon!) shows Sood dying alone except for Bob and Mrs. Joshi. He sees the error of his ways and throws much money around as he makes everything alright. He even ends up meeting up with his childhood friend in Uganda.

Apart from the mixed messages (money makes everything alright, let us pray for the NHS but go to Switzerland to get well) and schmaltzy songs, Christmas Karma suffers from weak writing and wooden acting.

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Priyanka Chopra’s Hindi rendition of George Michael’s ‘Last Christmas’ runs over the end credits featuring Chadha and the crew, bringing back fond memories of Bina Mistry’s ‘Hot Hot Hot’ from Bend it Like Beckham. Even a sitar version by Anoushka Shankar is to no avail as watching this version of A Christmas Carol ensures bad karma in spades.

Christmas Karma is currently running in theatres

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Movie Reviews

Dust Bunny

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Dust Bunny

An orphaned girl hires her hitman next-door neighbor to kill the monster under her bed. This R-rated action/horror movie mashup has lots of violence but surprisingly little gore. However, there are still many gruesome moments, even if they’re just offscreen. And some language and a strange portrayal of Christian worship come up, too.

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