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Review: A family’s past and present intermingle in Germany’s eerie, elliptical ‘Sound of Falling’

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Review: A family’s past and present intermingle in Germany’s eerie, elliptical ‘Sound of Falling’

There are ghosts inhabiting “Sound of Falling” — you just need to know where to look for them. German director Mascha Schilinski’s astonishing second feature could scarcely be more ambitious as it offers an impressionistic portrait of four young women who take turns residing in the same house over roughly 110 years.

But where other movies are overly precious while collecting the invisible string that binds characters from different time periods, “Sound of Falling” is stark and unsentimental. Covering the early 20th century through the present, gliding back and forth between eras with the deftest touch, the film views the living as merely the latest iteration of a fragile species that has been constantly struggling against unseen forces that drag it down, generation after generation. So many of the movie’s characters are long dead, their hopes and dreams now erased, while we strut and fret our hour upon the stage.

Winning the Jury Prize at last year’s Cannes, “Sound of Falling” introduces us to Alma (Hanna Heckt), a child living on her family farm in northern Germany around 1910; adolescent Erika (Lea Drinda), who occupies the house in the 1940s; flirty 1980s teen Angelika (Lena Urzendowsky); and Lenka (Laeni Geiseler), a shy tween hanging out with her mother and sister in the 21st century. Schilinski doesn’t hold the viewer’s hand, providing no title cards to indicate which time period we’re visiting. “Sound of Falling” doesn’t even start chronologically, opening with Erika as she silently adores her sleeping, bedridden uncle Fritz (Martin Rother), an amputee whose hairy chest and sweat-filled bellybutton entrance her. The reason for Fritz’s injury will eventually be revealed, but not immediately — Schilinski will not be rushed as her epic tale slowly unfolds.

In a sweepingly offhand way, “Sound of Falling” is a canny exploration of how sexism and repression echo across the ages. The unconscionable treatment of maids in Alma’s era finds uncomfortable parallels in the 1980s, when Angelika is both appalled and intrigued by the leering looks of her uncle Uwe (Konstantin Lindhorst). But Schilinski never underlines her points: Events occur not because the plot twists are attached to a larger thematic idea but, rather, because these women’s lives are crushingly commonplace for their time periods. It is only by seeing them in concert that we fully understand the whole symphony.

Much like the exceptional recent dramas “Aftersun” and “Nickel Boys,” “Sound of Falling” plays as an act of re-created memory. But while all three dreamlike films expertly mimic the imperfect act of remembering, Schilinski’s makes the past seem irretrievable — a ghost whose presence we can feel but not touch. “Sound of Falling” presents Alma’s and Erika’s agrarian segments as dusty museum pieces, with even the 1980s and 21st century portions coming across as hazy snapshots. The rueful voice-over from myriad characters is spoken in the past tense, the onscreen moments (even the present-day scenes) seemingly being recollected long after. And Fabian Gamper’s spectral cinematography sometimes incorporates POV shots that produce the sensation that we, the viewer, are physically touring these long-abandoned rooms. When the characters occasionally look at the camera, the effect is chilling, briefly but powerfully bridging the distance between then and now, them and us.

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Audiences will gradually realize that there are familial connections between these women, although those specifics are best left discovered within “Sound of Falling’s” temporal drift. Family is central to Schilinski’s work. (Literally: She and Gamper are married, recently welcoming their first child.) Thus far, though, her films express misgivings about the virtue of those bonds. Her 2017 debut, “Dark Blue Girl,” concerned a young girl scheming to keep her separated parents from getting back together. In “Sound of Falling,” incest rears its ugly head, as does suicidal ideation and a relentless desire to escape. The four young women never meet, yet they share a sense of despair. Alma’s confusion at the secretive manner in which adults behave is no different than Lenka’s insecurity a century later as she befriends a girl (Ninel Geiger) who seems far older and wiser. What if Alma and Lenka could talk, “Sound of Falling” asks. What would they say to one another?

Such questions are central to this elusive marvel, which invites the viewer to complete the drawing that Schilinski evocatively sketches. Images and ideas repeat over time periods: buzzing flies, the taking of photos, the haunting use of Anna von Hausswolff’s 2015 ballad “Stranger.” The song’s lyrics don’t directly correspond to the beauty and pain contained in “Sound of Falling” — it’s just one more layer of enigma in a movie that doesn’t answer all its riddles. But these lines are a useful guide to appreciating its ghostly spell: “There is something moving against me / It’s not in line with what I know / Changing the heart, changing the spirit / Changing my path, changing my soul.” To see this film is to be transformed.

‘Sound of Falling’

In German, with subtitles

Not rated

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Running time: 2 hours, 29 minutes

Playing: Opens Friday, Jan. 23 at Laemmle Royal

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Buffalo Kids

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Buffalo Kids

Buffalo Kids follows siblings Tom and Mary—and their friend Nick, who has cerebral palsy—as they travel West in search of a family. The film is a sweet, animated story that emphasizes the importance of friendship, family and the need to look past physical differences. Content stumbles include some Native American spirituality and toilet humor.

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Review: From Iceland, ‘The Love That Remains’ shows a fractured family tied to the landscape

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Review: From Iceland, ‘The Love That Remains’ shows a fractured family tied to the landscape

The gorgeous, quirky and melancholy “The Love That Remains,” from Icelandic filmmaker Hylnur Pálmason (“Godland”), opens with an exhilarating shot from inside a long, empty seaside building, from where we can see the roof suddenly wrenched off by some exterior force. As it hovers in the air above, we get to consider the two parts of this one-time whole and how the light changes inside this deconstructed space.

In one respect, that’s the whole of the movie encapsulated, as we encounter a family of five living in the wake of a separation. Visual artist Anna (Saga Garðarsdóttir) looks to assert herself while still living in the rural home she shared with her teenage sweetheart. The increasing alienation leaves fisherman Magnús (Sverrir Guðnason) living offshore on a big trawler as his hold on domestic security slips. Their kids, meanwhile — teenage Ída and twin boys Grímur and Þorgils (the trio played by director Pálmason’s own children) — exhibit a healthy absorption of the circumstances, meeting moments of togetherness with plenty of humor and spirit.

What we glean of the past comes from the fragmented present, as if we’re leafing through a stranger’s exquisitely curated album (there’s only Harry Hunt’s piano score for sad commentary). Elsewhere we see that home-cooked meals, chores and foraging excursions occasionally bring this fractured family back together. But when Magnus pushes to stay for a while, Anna firmly claims her independence.

While apart, their working lives — his at sea, hers on land — speak to a confluence of the elemental and the man-made. Pálmason, who serves as his own cinematographer (and a great one with the 4:3 framing), revels in the sweep and heft of deep-sea fishing, a seasonal trade that gives purpose to Magnus’ days and nights but also fosters an increasingly unwanted solitude. Anna, meanwhile, devotes herself to earth art, turning machine-lasered iron cutouts laid on white sheets in the open air into large-scale, rust-patterned pieces. Getting her work appreciated, however, is another matter. In one painfully funny sequence, a visiting gallerist (and gasbag) barely seems to care about her art, showing more interest in a goose’s nest that has materialized in an enclosure.

Is love another natural element susceptible to age and wear? Across a running time tied to the shifting seasons, pocked by images of breathtaking beauty, Pálmason is after a feeling that only patient observance yields: a lasting reality about the passing of relationships. One of the director’s frequent visual cutaways is to a knight-outfitted dummy the children build on a picturesque spot, lashed to a stake. It’s an indelibly amusing and heartbreaking totem, suggesting play and suffering, and eventually manifesting wounds both real and internalized. (The director’s 2022 short “Nest,” which captures the building of a tree house over a year, is a precursor to his temporal approach to this feature.)

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On the heels of Pálmason’s masterful “Godland,” a 19th century colonizer epic of faith and conquest that couldn’t be more different, “The Love That Remains” nevertheless positions this filmmaker as a gifted craftsman of adult storybooks, no matter the era or scope. This is a delicate, confidently imagined fiction made with the eyes of a naturalist, the heart of a believer in family, and a sensibility with room for both the Pythonesque and the Lynchian.

‘The Love That Remains’

In Icelandic and English, with subtitles

Not rated

Running time: 1 hour, 49 minutes

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Playing: Opens Friday, Feb. 6 at Laemmle Royal and Laemmle Glendale

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With Love Movie Review: A romcom with likeable leads and plenty of charm

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With Love Movie Review: A romcom with likeable leads and plenty of charm

With Love Movie Synopsis: Sathya meets his school junior, Monisha, in a matchmaking setup. They like each other but Monisha suggests an idea that leads both of them to revisit their school days and old crushes.With Love Movie Review: Debutant Madhan’s With Love is the latest addition to the wave of feel-good films that Tamil cinema has been churning out lately. Though the premise isn’t particularly new, the film attempts to find freshness through its characters and their interactions with each other.Sathya’s (Abishan Jeevinth) sister, who has been pushing for him to get married, sets up a matchmaking meetup between him and Monisha (Anaswara Rajan). Monisha turns out to be his junior in school and the two hit it off instantly. However, Monisha comes up with an idea. She suggests that they try to get in touch and express their untold feelings to their school crushes they aren’t in contact with anymore.It does take a while for the film to find its footing. Initially, it’s difficult not to draw parallels between With Love and other recent Tamil romcoms. The initial interactions between the lead characters also lack a natural ease. However, once the film starts exploring the characters’ flashbacks, With Love becomes more assured and finds its flow.The film relies heavily on the relatability factor. As in all romcoms, the makers have attempted to slice together situations that the audience can resonate with. But this approach doesn’t always work. For instance, a character in the film states that she always knew another character was in love with her because, as a woman, she can sense it. The placement of such broad statements feels engineered for effect rather than organic. It also does not provide further context into the characters’ feelings. With Love works far better when the interactions and one-liner jokes are character-specific rather than when it resorts to being overly generalised.With Love doesn’t reinvent the genre. It follows a conventional pattern but finds the charm in its likeable lead performances, Sean Roldan’s vibrant music and a lovely supporting cast. Abishan, in his debut as a lead, does justice to the boy-next-door role. His unassuming presence helps soften the character of Sathya, who could have come across as off-putting if played by another actor. Anaswara is wonderful. She performs both the emotional and serious moments with a natural ease and without any exaggeration.

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