9th Hippodrome Silent Film Festival

20 – 24 MARCH 2019. HIPPODROME, BO’NESS

Forbidden Paradise (1924) Directed by Ernst Lubitsch.

Above all else, the Hippodrome Festival of Silent Cinema is a joyful celebration of film and music. Speaking to other audience members, who had travelled far to Bo’ness for the unique atmosphere and live experience, it’s clear that the festival and this small town, delivers something very special. Home to the oldest cinema in Scotland, it is also a centre for national and international cinema heritage. This year’s programme offered thrills, chills, laughs, unexpected discoveries and truly memorable performances from some of the world’s finest accompanists. I arrived for the third day of the festival, staying until closing night and was delighted to see many films for the first time, introduced in the best possible way.

Hippfest’s traditional fancy-dress Friday Night Gala is always great fun, inspired this year by the glamour and military moustache twirling of Ernst Lubitsch’s 1924 Romantic Comedy-Melodrama Forbidden Paradise. This new restoration from the Museum of Modern Art, New York, was vibrantly accompanied by Jane Gardner (piano), Roddy Long (violin) and Frank Bockius (percussion). The trio complimented the tone of the film brilliantly and heightened its pace, enhancing the tension of court intrigues and Lubitsch’s characteristic brand of knowing comedy. Channelling the passion of Pola Negri as vampish, authoritarian ruler Czarina Catherine, it was an enjoyable, crowd pleasing caper, well suited to the whole occasion. Pre-screening period music by The Red Hot Minute Band, accompanied by fizz and canapes, added to the party atmosphere.

The Cat and the Canary (1927) Directed by Paul Leni.

Following on the heels of last year’s riotous late-night screening Seven Footsteps to Satan, Paul Leni’s The Cat and the Canary (1927) starring Laura La Plante, Creighton Hale and Forrest Stanley, set the stage for more ghoulish fun.  The story begins just before midnight, with scheming relatives of grand eccentric Cyrus West assembled for the reading of his will. Musicians Günter Buchwald (Piano, violin) and Frank Bockius (percussion) drew the audience into the eerie corridors of the West mansion with a startling variety of sound. The music mirrored the film’s high angle shadow play to great effect, in the hushed circular sweep of brushes on drumskin, the nervous tension of pizzicato strings, use of upper register violin whining like a cat and the spidery creep of piano. At one point, the reverberation of percussion, from drumsticks scraped over wooden notches, produced the most fantastic sound, like rasping, macabre human laughter. As Horror-Comedy, the tone of The Cat and the Canary ,reflected in the intertitles, is almost comic book and a relatively safe programming choice. With their range of musical expertise, I would love to see Buchwald and Bockius perform a darker psychological Horror/ Thriller in this late-night timeslot.

Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy, Hippfest Triple Bill.

Silent Comedies remain hugely popular and there’s nothing quite like watching them as part of a live audience. Visual gags hinge on anticipation and this is palpable in an auditorium, where laughter is immediately infectious. The circular architecture of the Hippodrome really brings you into the fold in that respect. This year’s Saturday morning Jeely Jar screening The Freshman starring Harold Lloyd and Jobyna Ralston was a great choice of film, appealing to the universal human desire to be liked and the imperative of being yourself. The transformation ‘from geek to cool’ is a trope which often lacks charm in more recent films. However, in Lloyd’s hands, the likeable innocence of the central character shines through, aided in this performance by John Sweeney’s adept accompaniment. Hippfest’s annual Laurel and Hardy Triple Bill is always a sell-out and this year’s audience were treated to comedic pandemonium with Wrong Again, You’re Darn Tootin and With Love and Hisses. Sadly, there was no horse on the piano (see Wrong Again), but Jane Gardner’s wonderful accompaniment more than made up for it.

Although I thoroughly enjoy events like the comedy triple bill, what I really come to Hippfest to savour is reinterpretation of film in performance and seeing cinema I’ve never seen before. Friday afternoon’s Cuppa Talk, Peace on the Western Front was one of those highlights. Dr Toby Haggith (Senior Curator of Second World War and Mid Twentieth Century from the Imperial War Museum’s Film Department) introduced the film and provided live narration, accompanied by Stephen Horne on piano. Seeing film restoration work in progress is a rare privilege and this deeply affecting film about what war really means, told father to son, stayed with me. With 2014-2018 centenary events concluded and those who lived through the conflict no longer with us, the question remains of how we continue to commemorate international conflict and warn future generations. Like many members of the audience, I was surprised to discover such a hard hitting and compassionate battlefield pilgrimage film from 1931. ‘The role of film in
memory’ is extremely significant, not just for survivors of the Great War who saw the film on its release, but in the present act of reconstruction.

In addition to seeing Peace on the Western Front for the first time and the important questions it raised, what I loved about this event was insight into decision making process, the complex negotiation of restoring film from different archival sources and re-interpretation through sound. With the original sound discs lost from this “all talking picture”, two archival copies of the film and a variety of documents were used to reconstruct the narrative. The press book for the film provided the basis of the script, together with lip syncing interpretation, identifying locations using a Michelin guide to the battlefields and contemporary press accounts. Underpinning all restoration is the immense task of remaining true to the intent of the original, in this case, a directorial collaboration between two WWI veterans, Fred Swan and Hans Nieter, drawing on experiences from both sides. Peace on the Western Front became an unofficial film for the League of Nations Union, promoting the cause of peace and disarmament, something that I’m sure will continue through the current restoration. Like all archival film it lives before an audience, which is why festivals like Hippfest are so important, doubly so when the quality of music enhances perception to such a high degree.

 Although this was a read through and the final recorded version will employ an actor for narration, the balance between the voice of the film and its soundtrack was beautifully realised. Seeing abandoned war-torn towns, the determination to rebuild and reclaim the land for living, speaks of the timeless value of film as an agent of self-reflection and growth. It’s the drive that music is made of and all the ways that human beings find to out-create destruction. Compassion is the core of this film, which enabled veterans who could not afford to return to the battlefields, a virtual experience of validation through cinema. Peace on the Western Front acknowledges their experiences, while the current restoration honours these memories. The darkened auditorium is a safe space to collectively grieve and it is also a place for audiences, then and now, to see what is possible.

The union of sound and image led the audience into a landscape of ruins and bomb blasted hollows, resting tonally on objects of horror and remembrance. A trinity of bayonets emerging from the ground marked the final resting place of three soldiers, killed where they stood. The cross fallen over them, like a figure bowed in lament, is an image held long in the mind. What we see are the dead in absence, so many never found and the rubble of civilization, like Paul Nash’s painting We are Making a New World (1918). However, Peace on the Western Front is also a hopeful vision, of people re-working the land and rebuilding their lives. The narrative explains what happened in these fields and villages, however, it’s the way that sound alights on human objects, encouraging deeper reflection on what they mean, that leaves a lasting imprint. As Stephen Horne described during the post-screening Q&A, the music enters the ‘spirit in which the film was made, rather than recreating what might have been played.’ It is ‘abstracted, serving the narrative, not focus pulling.’ This approach creates a more intimate, visceral connection with the audience, because we can’t sonically relegate what we’re seeing to a bygone era, shrouding the film in nostalgia or sentimentality to distance ourselves from uncomfortable truths.

The Blot (1921) Directed by Lois Weber

That quality of accompaniment was also present in the screening of Lois Weber’s The Blot (1921), introduced by Pamela Hutchinson and accompanied by Lillian Henley on piano. Although the hidden history of women in film is gradually coming to light, what will enable neglected cinema to enter public consciousness (and move us closer to equality) is connecting films like this one with live audiences. Weber (1879-1939) was a writer/director who made over 40 features and hundreds of shorts. In her own time, she was the highest paid director in Hollywood, placing the myth of continuous human progress and the current gender pay gap debate into perspective. Part of South West Silents’ initiative Silent Women Film Pioneers, Henley’s skilful new score for The Blot unobtrusively merges with Weber’s vison. Her live performance wove itself into the film’s closely observed domestic spaces, complimenting the unfolding drama and serving the director’s intent perfectly.

Focusing on middle class poverty, so acutely relevant today, Weber understood film as an agent of social change and brought missionary zeal to her examination of inequality in America. Her call for a living wage is articulated through the experiences of mother and daughter, normally cast in supporting roles, but here placed centre stage. We’re all too familiar with women on film portrayed as silent agents of social cohesion and ironically, here in the Silent era, they have a greater voice than in many mainstream Hollywood films circa 2019. Seeing the Griggs and Olsen families, side by side in stark contrast, is immediately resonant, reflecting the ever-increasing divide between rich and poor on a global scale. Supplanting expectations of Romance with sharp, social critique, the collapse of Middle America is ongoing. Weber’s famed ‘feminine touch’ as a filmmaker begs closer scrutiny, as her energies were directed above and beyond her gender. What she stood for was human dignity, empathy and self- determination. There’s a tendency that goes with the whole “feminine touch” label, dismissing interior details in The Blot, like decorative elements, simply belonging to a woman’s domain and aligned with the designated role of homemaker/filmmaker.  However, I’d suggest that seemingly passive imagery such as a pet cat and kitten, are more potent inclusions by Weber, suggesting eternal cycles of child bearing, linked to grinding poverty.

An image (or “blot”) that particularly struck me was that of a little girl, just learning to walk, observed by the central character Mrs Griggs (Margaret McWade). Tottering at the base of the stairs wearing one high heeled shoe, a plaything and basic item of clothing that the Griggs family cannot afford to buy, this sequence felt metaphorical rather than observational. As Pamela Hutchinson suggested in her introduction, if Weber had been a man, we’d have been having discussions about the vision of the director long ago, rather than seeing her films as reductively female. I’m quite certain, given Weber’s moral and ethical stance, that this scene in The Blot is more socially/ politically loaded than just a child playing games. Those games shape how we move through the world as adults and you can’t walk, much less climb the stairs, in one ill-fitting high heeled shoe. Although Weber delivers a strong moral message, this tempered throughout by feeling and projection, rather than grandiose sermonising. The shame of ostracism in work, the pride that tries to keep up with the Jones’s or class-based cues of dress and body language that inform how characters are made to feel, are aspects of self, shared with the audience. This is part of Weber’s life experience and congruence as a filmmaker. It’s a telling indictment that so many prominent women working in the film industry during its early years have silently disappeared from its history. Film restoration is also about reclamation, reappraisal and reinterpretation, which is why I was so glad to have seen this film as part of a live audience.

The Parson’s Widow (1920) Directed by Carl Theodor Dreyer

Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer (The Passion of Joan of Arc, Vampyr, Days of Wrath, Ordet) is best known for the profound seriousness and spiritual austerity of his work. The performance of a lesser known film, The Parson’s Widow (1920) demonstrated that there are many more layers to this deeply humane director, including a great sense of humour. It was an absolute pleasure to experience the sensitivity and understated brilliance of this film with an accompanist who equals it. John Sweeney has been accompanying Silent Film for over 25 years and I’m consistently moved by his ability to communicate the most vulnerable and subtle aspects of human behaviour in performance. In Sweeney’s hands, sound becomes a conduit for audience immersion in the emotional arc of the story and the predicament of the characters, rather than a simplistic trigger of emotive response. It’s why I love watching Silent Film live- it pares the art of film back to its most essential, universal language. As an audience we’re not reduced to manufactured cause and effect, but are presented with a pure, intuitive response to the film’s own trajectory in real time, that we can imaginatively project ourselves into. What Sweeney achieved in this performance was a revelation in terms of what makes Dreyer’s work so distinctive and timeless. Tapping into the human kindness, sparkling humour and humility at the heart of the story is his natural gift as an accompanist. As the relationships in the film become deeper and lessons are learned about the true nature of the main characters, Sweeney’s music embraced the lyricism, solemnity and richness of those connections. Dreyer’s conclusion of thanksgiving ‘for all the good days I have lived’ was expressed musically throughout. We begin with a story set in 17th Century Norway, where custom dictates that a young theologian must marry the previous parson’s widow to secure his position, finding a path back to ourselves by the end of the film. Deception, love, wisdom and human flaws are revealed as only Dreyer (and Sweeney) can. I can think of no finer introduction to this new Swedish Film Institute restoration of a Dreyer classic.

Au Bonheur Des Dames (1930) Directed by Julien Duvivier

Another of this year’s great Silent discoveries and a festival highlight was the World Premiere of Lobster Films restoration Au Bonheur Des Dames (1930). The incredible virtuosity and rapport of accompanists Stephen Horne (piano, accordion, flute) and Frank Bockius (vibraphone, percussion) continues to elevate every performance. Paired with an intensely moving film, they delivered a dazzling performance, driven by pure intuition and consummate artistry. Adapted from a story by Emil Zola and directed by Julien Duvivier, Au Bonheur Des Dames is an immediately relevant ‘modern parable’ for the 21st Century, as we now face the global, environmental and human cost of capitalist “progress.” The film is also a poignant memorial to the ‘final days of French Silent Cinema.’ The buildings we see being demolished on screen are those of the film studio, subject to the same ‘bulk buy’ attitude to branded entertainment as that of the “Ladies Paradise” department store. Small and independent gives way to retail empire in the film, something we see daily in every town and city High Street. Although the heroine Denise Baudu (Dita Parlo) eventually succumbs to this corporate vision of progress, and annoyingly for love, the film’s imagery and musical accompaniment cuts through the plot to deliver a more critical interpretation.

The mechanisation of desire and accelerating drive towards mass consumption were communicated beautifully by the accompaniment. Vibraphone and cymbals created a mesmerising sense of being seduced by glitter in a retail cathedral. The “Ladies Paradise” is certainly an ironic title given the treatment of the shop girls by their male managers. ‘Paradise’ is a dualistic idea, which regardless of belief, is associated with a fall of biblical proportions. The association between lust and shopping projects wider social concerns. In one scene, we see a woman covetously touching her throat, surveying jewellery and another stealing a fur from the department store display. Sound conveys misplaced desire, in the use of piano strings and syncopated percussion, creating an unnatural slant on all the shiny things we might own, perfectly in keeping with the subversive imagery. Sharp intercutting during a sale scene or frenetic movements along a city street, accompanied by palpitations of percussion give us a bodily sense of being in the frame.

The cinematography by André Dantan, René Guichard, Émile Pierre and Armand Thirard is frequently poetic and clever editing juxtaposes the fate of the individual with towering corporate dominance. When Denise’s cousin Genevieve collapses, the piano guides us emotionally through the doorway, accenting her vulnerability- cut to an upwards camera pan of a demolition site and we immediately feel that she (her hopes, the family business and way of life) are being literally and metaphorically crushed. The rumbling depths of the piano and percussion are abstracted- as unconscious as breathing in that moment of absolute immersion. There’s a very special circuitry of energy in play, led entirely by the film, related to what is visually inferred rather than spoken. It’s a circle, fuelled by imagination, connecting the filmmaker(s), the art object, accompanying musicians and audience across time. Horne and Bockius understand the language of film so completely (and intuitively in tandem) that the tonal qualities of a film; visual, psychological, emotional, are translated effortlessly to sound, the most immediate of all our senses. This is Silent Film accompaniment on a whole other level of craft and sophistication. Like a sublime symphony, the beauty of the composition (or improvisation) lies in us being consciously unaware of it. Ideally sound opens a channel in the hearts and minds of the audience, which is exactly what art is for.

Au Bonheur Des Dames has a beauty that has nothing to do with Romance or glamour. We experience it in moments of human recognition, like Denise’s view as she stands alone in her uncle’s shop looking out onto the street, through a line of stripped mannequins. Outside dust and paper scatter in the wind and the sun feels like twilight. Piano chords anchor us to this moment of meditation on what is passing before our eyes. This scene reminded me very much of the early documentary stills photography of Eugène Atget (1857-1927), who tried to capture the architecture and streets of Paris before they fell to modernisation. However, in Au Bonheur Des Dames, this melancholic, end of an era feel of Atget is realised with unbridled violence. As buildings are reduced to rubble by machinery, the shattering physicality of destruction was communicated in a frenzy of articulated blows from percussion. It was expression carried mindfully through the hands and body, informing the viewer’s perception not just of the action on screen but the overwhelming forces behind it. Throughout the film, imagery and music suggested a more questioning world view than the trajectory of the plot. That tension is part of what makes this film so interesting. Shots of the department store shop floor, seen from above, take a god-like view of what humanity has designed, later scattered in panic.

On many levels, Au Bonheur Des Dames is a very contemporary film and the highly sensitive accompaniment, reserving silence for moments of the greatest gravitas, played to those strengths. Most Hippfest films are prefaced by archival shorts and I love the way these can expand frames of reference inside the feature. In this case, the short film Out for Value from the National Library of Scotland Moving Image Archive was the perfect companion piece, chosen by Hippfest student placement Maeve O’Brien and accompanied by Forrester Pyke on piano. Archival footage from Isaac Menzies, Aberdeen, an Emporium taken over by House of Fraser and purchased in 2018 by mega-discounter Sports Direct, brought themes in Au Bonheur Des Dames resoundingly home. Another Scottish connection made this screening possible, with sponsorship from the Falkirk District Twinning Association, paired with Creteil, outside Paris.

Moulin Rouge (1928) Directed by Ewald Andre Dupont

Building relationships with long term partners, such as the Confucius Institute for Scotland and China Film Archive, Hippfest is able to bring rare films to the UK, such as The Red Heroine / Hongxia (1929), the oldest surviving martial arts film, largely unseen outside China. International partnerships are also instrumental in commissioning new work, promoting artistic development and cultural exchange. Co-commissioned by the Goethe Institut, Glasgow, and Hippfest, the world premiere accompaniment for Moulin Rouge (1928) by Günter Buchwald (violin), Frank Bockius (percussion) and Johnny Best (piano) recieved stellar applause from the audience. The story centres on Parysia (Olga Tschechowa), an aging cabaret dancer, universally adored for her exotic onstage persona. Her daughter Margaret returns from finishing school with her fiancé Andre, who soon becomes obsessed with his future mother in law. Director Ewald Andre Dupont was one of the early pioneers of German Cinema, best known for Varieté (1925) and Piccadilly (1929), both screened at previous Hippfests. It’s gratifying to be able to explore the work of a director over several years, a rare gift of continuity, and to see the film performed live in a collaboration between German and British musicians. This was the first time the trio of Buchwald, Bockius and Best had performed together and hopefully not the last. Günter Buchwald has been accompanying Silent Film since 1978, collaborating with Frank Bockius for over 20 years and Johnny Best, who is Director of the Yorkshire Silent Film Festival and a PHD researcher, has been accompanying Silent Film since 2014. The opportunity for musicians to learn and be inspired by each other, across borders and a variety of musical styles, is essential in preserving and developing the art of Silent Film accompaniment for future generations. The lavish production and arc of impending tragedy in Moulin Rouge was handled with great panache and gusto, hurtling towards the climatic scene at a heart-stopping pace and carrying the audience with it.  

Hindle Wakes (1927) Directed by Maurice Elvey

This year’s Closing Gala Hindle Wakes (1927), accompanied by multi-instrumentalist Stephen Horne, provided a world class conclusion to the festival, highlighting a largely unknown and strikingly progressive British Silent. Matching the right accompanist(s) with the right film is an art in itself and this performance illustrated what a skilled musician can bring to our perception of cinema. As Briony Dixon, curator of Silent Film at the BFI, London, stated in her introduction, ‘Stephen will accompany the film as only he can.’ Based on the 1910 play by Stanley Houghton and filmed by the UK’s most prolific director, Maurice Elvey, Hindle Wakes is a surprisingly radical statement of female independence. Set in a Lancashire cotton mill town, it’s a story of industrial slavery and ‘the ecstasy of freedom’, linking self-determination with a woman’s capacity to earn her own living. Accompanying the opening sequence on piano, stately, tonal pillars of expectation were contrasted with the excitement of heroine Fanny Hawthorn (Estelle Brody) and her best friend Mary, preparing for the annual mill closure and heading for the bright lights of Blackpool on holiday. Release from the drudgery of factory work into a fairy-tale world of leisure was captured by the otherworldly sound of the thumb harp, fragile music infused with human vulnerability. This sound aligned with a poignant shot of the Blackpool ballroom seen from above, a swirling mass of couples and confetti falling, as if the entire scene were held in time, inside a souvenir snow globe. Sparks of Romance and unease punctuated the soundscape, reflecting the central character navigating her way from youth to adulthood.

Horne’s ability to express the inner life of characters on screen is exceptional. When Allan and Fanny take their turn on the dancefloor amongst thousands of couples, a lesser accompanist might have simply played appropriately rhythmic period music over the sequence. Horne takes his cues directly from the frame and its visual composition, in the way that sound melts away, out of focus, creating an emotional depth of field around the couple and making the rest of the world disappear. We enter into what the dance means in that moment, and in life, temporarily suspended in reflection. This delicacy, attention and care, is what makes Horne such a master of the art and a multi award winning accompanist. Without giving too much away, the film’s conclusion doesn’t deliver what we’re conditioned to expect. The ending left me wondering at what point did stories such as this one cease being projected on screen? How many others have been lost and how many more were waiting to be discovered? Once again, a film that would be classified as Silent, historical or vintage delivers an unanticipated roar, revealing itself as more radical than many contemporary films would dare to be. Class representation, coupled with expectations of gender, make Fanny’s ultimate decision a revolutionary act, then and now. Regardless of when a film was made, if we don’t care about the characters on screen then the film is dead. The nature of Horne’s accompaniment brought reappraisal of a forgotten film to a wider audience. Bridging this gap between film archive and public consciousness is a matter of national importance. Beyond academia and dedicated organisations, the UK is slow to recognise its cinema history and champion its immense cultural value. Performances like this make the case very powerfully from the ground up, without saying a word.

In addition to the festival screening programme, workshops, talks and commissioning of new scores, Director Alison Strauss and the Hippfest team have exported the live Silent experience from Bo’ness, touring selected shows in the UK. Over the last nine years Hippfest has emerged as a national treasure and essential resource, enabling international collaboration and consistently punching far above its weight. In 2020, Hippfest will celebrate its 10th edition and I can’t wait to see what it has in store.

Hippodrome Festival of Silent Film Website:
http://www.falkirkcommunitytrust.org/venues/hippodrome/silent-cinema/default.aspx Hippfest 2019 Programme: hhttp://www.falkirkcommunitytrust.org/venues/hippodrome/silent-cinema/docs/brochure/2019%20Festival%20Brochure.pdf

15th Inverness Film Festival

November Directed by Rainer Sarnet

8-12 November, Eden Court Cinemas

“Film was born of an explosive.” Bill Morrison, Dawson City: Frozen Time

Over the last decade Inverness Film Festival has become a primary source of inspiration and discovery in the UK cultural calendar. It’s a festival that shows me the world within worlds, where the curation is exceptional and my only regret in taking time off to be there is not being able to watch all of it!  This year’s IFF Audience Award went to The Disaster Artist, directed and starring James Franco. In second place was Nicolas Vanier’s School of Life, screened in association with the French Film Festival UK, and in third place Just Charlie, one of the debut selection of films chosen by the Eden Court Young Programmer’s group. I saw none of the above, but with over 60 screenings and events over 4 days and 5 nights, tough choices had to be made! As usual I gravitated towards the more obscure, because for me that’s what film festivals are for- exposure to World Cinema of all ages that you’re unlikely see anywhere else. This year’s highlights were many and varied, but they all had their own spark of ignition in altering my perception. Each of them in their own way reminded me of what I value most in cinema as a medium for expanded awareness and potential change. I very much hope that all of these remarkable films will be picked up by other festivals and distributors, so that many more people in the UK and beyond will have the chance to see them.

Dede Directed by Mariam Khatchvani

The Scottish premiere of Director Mariam Khatchvani’s Dede brought the audience face to face with the question of cultural traditions, “those we need to carry forward and others which need to be left behind”. The story on one level is deeply personal and intimately connected to the filmmaker’s family history, but it is also universal in its themes of gender equality, personal freedom, self-determination and human rights.  The film is set in a truly breath-taking landscape of cultural and historical convergence, filmed in the UNESCO heritage site of Svaneti, Georgia, within the southern Greater Caucasus mountain range, bordering with Russia. There’s a powerful sense that the “Mother” of the translated title is present in these mountains. Images of human scale in relation to Nature suggest alternative ways of perceiving and honouring power, contrary to traditional, patriarchal structures of dominance and control. The film follows the story of Dina, a young woman who courageously resists a forced marriage and the will of her male elders to elope with the man she loves. However, her rightful pursuit of happiness comes at enormous personal cost, in a community governed by masculine pride and entitlement, played out in vengeful blood feuds.  As the audience discovered during the post-screening Q&A with Assistant Director and Casting Director Tamar Khatchvani, although bride kidnapping is no longer practised, the film is based on a true story from the not so distant past. As result there is a real sense of experience within living memory, translated in the very natural performances of the entire cast of non-actors. Everyone on screen is from the same village and as the region has opened to tourism, there have been cultural gains and losses for everyone involved.

The Scottish premiere of EXLIBRIS: New York City Public Library, provides an extensive view of this community orientated organisation and its wide-ranging activities. Directed by honorary Oscar winner and documentarian Frederick Wiseman, the film highlights inequality in contemporary America and the wider world. Rather than being a repository for books, it is a network of learning centres providing after school support, free access to the internet for thousands of citizens who cannot afford it, literacy and maths classes, English classes for immigrants, public discussions with authors, music concerts and performance poetry readings. The range and scope of activity is staggering. In many ways the library is spearheading the city’s response to social problems created by people falling through the cracks of government policy, or being left behind by an ever changing technologically driven world. At 197 mins long, it is an epic by mainstream feature documentary standards, but the wider implications of the link between knowledge, power and politics justify the exploration. Exposing universal social problems and working towards solutions through educational empowerment, both the library and the film are a means advocacy for the most vulnerable in society. Within the NYCPL collections are the words, actions and images of ancestors, leaders and artists, providing inspiration for new creative work and a space for reflection, thought and connection. It is a shame that many libraries in the UK that have been closed or are threatened with closure could not be perceived and utilised in such a vital way- as invaluable, enriching and ultimately money saving community resources.

Happy End Directed by Michael Haneke

Michael Haneke’s new film Happy End, nominated for the Palme d’Or at Cannes and starring Isabelle Huppert, Jean-Louis Trintignant, Mathieu Kassovitz and Toby Jones, places a self-absorbed bourgeois family under the microscope. In typical Haneke fashion there’s gallows humour, the disquieting exposure of uncomfortable truths and familial disfunction, run through with the family’s total blindness to the refugee crisis unfolding in their home city of Calais. It’s a film revealing respectable middle-class indifference to the suffering of others and the luxury of pursing a Happy End in life and death. An even more extreme vision of family life came in the form of IFF’s preview screening of The Killing of a Sacred Deer.

The Killing of a Sacred Deer Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos

Director Yorgos Lanthimos (Dogtooth 2009, Alps 2011 and The Lobster 2015) has made a career out of eviscerating the traditional family unit, middle class respectability, aspirations and patriarchal power. Lanthimos excels in cinematic immersion, creating highly critical microcosms aided by his regular collaborator, cinematographer Thimios Bakatakis. The opening scene in close up of open heart surgery, with its bloody exposure of flesh juxtaposed with swathes of cold blue, sets the emotional and intellectual tone of this powerful revenge thriller. The cast including Nicole Kidman, Colin Farrell and Barry Keoghan are excellent, ably communicating the horror, absurdity and hypocrisy of a contemporary, upwardly mobile family, with its roots firmly planted in Greek tragedy. The visuals and sound design, from the classical exposition to increasingly visceral, blended sound effects, is highly effective in placing the viewer in a progressive state of unease. As we discover what lies at the heart of the characters, the veneer of the perfect family unit starts to dissolve. Notions of professional success, wealth and power are scraped at like bone until it shatters, transforming the story into a parable of the human soul. Teenage boy Martin’s (Koeghan) eye for an eye demand for justice from Farrell’s passionless, negligent surgeon gathers the momentum of a pact. True to form Lanthimos puts the morality, ethics, loyalty, family bonds of his characters and the very fabric of society to the test. In many ways Martin is a willful agent of chaos, much like the Devil himself in banal, seemingly innocuous contemporary dress. Whether you like or loathe Lanthimos’s vision, I guarantee you will be thinking about The Killing of a Sacred Deer long after you’ve seen it.

Dark River by Director Clio Bernard

The alternative opening night double bill of Dark River and Loveless (Nelyubov) delivered an incredibly strong first night. In Dark River UK director Clio Bernard (The Arbor, The Selfish Giant) creates a world where human emotion and the natural world are essentially entwined.  Ruth Wilson’s central performance carries the film, bringing tremendous strength, vulnerability and subtlety to a character she inhabits completely. Following a 15-year absence and the death of her Father (Sean Bean), Alice’s return to the failing family farm triggers confrontation with an undertow of memory and with her volatile brother Joe (Mark Stanley). Bernard brings a real physicality to the experience of memory, carried in the body, effectively using sound design, elements of the countryside and flashbacks to humanely lay the familial backstory bare. She submerges the viewer in Alice’s lived experience, suspended in the cold, dark water of the swimming hole, buried in the deep, layered earth of the rain cleansed Yorkshire Moors and in knife-edged moments of conflict inside the emotional rabbit warren of the family home. As a filmmaker she’s a Master of the great unsaid, handling the most insidious of emotions, guilt and shame, with empathy, skill and compassion. It’s a film about betrayal of the worst kind, the pure bond between siblings and the fragility of rural life in decline. Although the plot does become a little stretched by the end of the film, it’s an impressive addition to Bernard’s work, cementing her status as an emerging voice in British Cinema.

Loveless (Nelyubov) Directed by Andrey Zvyagintsev

Andrey Zvyagintsev’s Leviathan was one of my favourite films at IFF 2014, so I had very high hopes for the director’s latest release Loveless (Nelyubov). The film has won several awards on the European festival circuit already, including the 2017 Jury Prize at Cannes, Best Film at the London Film Festival and Best International Film at the Munich Film Festival. The global scope, sheer artistry and potent relevance of this film exceeded all my expectations. Loveless is an eloquent, gut wrenching and highly observant film, examining the microcosm of a family splitting apart. It is also a reflection of increasing political, social and class divisions within Ukraine, a history of conflict and invasion from “Mother” Russia and indicative of a wider global crisis. Entrenched in the territorial battleground of a bitter divorce, Boris (Aleksey Rozin) and Zhenya (Maryana Spivak) are instantly unlikeable characters, narcissistic, petty, spiteful and utterly indifferent to the child they have together. Their primary concern is injuring each other and tending their own needs. Still cohabiting while they try to sell their apartment, the tension and fighting escalate, with their 13-year-old son Alyosha caught between his parents, neither of whom want him. Despite their relatively comfortable lives and upwardly mobile status, their cruel behavior immediately calls into question the idea of advantage and their ability to nurture anything. Although they have seemingly moved on with different partners, whenever we see scenes of intimacy they are driven to negation by selfishness, insecurity, neediness and immaturity. This is visibly compounded by the reliance on self-validation through technology as part of the whole, relentless drive of getting ahead. During the film our sympathy shifts as we are shown that this isn’t because they are inherently bad people. As we see when we meet Zhenya’s annihilating Mother, generations of enforced conformity, the rigidity of church and dictatorial state control have also had a significant role to play in creating a collective state of misery, unrealised and unrecognized human potential.  The infiltration of Western capitalist values, widening economic divide between rich and poor and pitching the false dream of democracy as the freedom to buy things is just as emotionally hollow. Both Boris and Zheyna resent their life choices and blame each other for them, but having never learnt to love or be loved they remain in a childlike, reactive state, unable to grow.

However, the most urgent casualty in this disintegrating marriage is their son and the upcoming generation he represents. As his parents abdicate responsibility in earshot, loudly negating his existence as nothing but an inconvenient mistake, he seeks refuge in a woodland near their apartment block. There is a real sense in these natural images, becoming progressively colder and emotively snowbound, of Nature bearing witness to the unfolding human drama. The camera lingers in the hollows of trees and the earth like it is searching for an answer, not just to the boy’s disappearance but to the loss of self, identity and purpose in life.  Although he has little screen time, Matvey Novikov’s performance as Alyosha is heartbreaking, exemplified in his physical and mental anguish in a brief scene where his mother storms into the bathroom following an argument, not even registering that he’s been right there, the whole time, absorbing every poisonous, self-depreciating word. Although it is a bleak vision of human relationships, diminished capacity and 21st Century empathy deficit, the ambiguity of Alyosha’s disappearance and the small army of dedicated volunteers, who have no self interest in trying to find him, is a definite ray of hope. There is a sense of mobilisation in this group of people, who witnessing the all too common occurrence of children running away or going missing, step in when the police/ state fails to find them. We see compassionate, practical action as a counterfoil to the useless blind cult of “What about ME?!” in a crisis, seen in Boris’s pregnant girlfriend’s reaction to him prioritising finding his missing child above spending time with her. She’s yet another adult nowhere near being emotionally developed enough to support the child she’s carrying. We sense that seeking love and self-worth through vanity, shopping, social status and endless selfies will be what is passed on to the next generation, together with an empty hole in the heart that all those things, including having a child, are attempting to fill. I loved the honesty, tenacity and vision of this film in acknowledging what is a global/ psychological crisis of lovelessness. The film may be set in Kiev and center on a single family, but the dynamics of care and its absence are everywhere. This film is a brilliant touchstone to begin to examine and challenge the soul-destroying dominance of the latter. Loveless is a thoughtful, essential film scheduled for wider release in the UK early in 2018.

The Woman He Scorned (1929) Directed by Paul Czinner

Another festival favourite was the little known British Silent Film The Woman He Scorned (1929), also known as The Way of Lost Souls, with a live improvised score by one of the world’s finest Silent Film accompanists, Stephen Horne.  Channelling the film through piano, accordion, flute, Bereney thumb piano and imaginative silence, this was the best possible introduction to a film that I suspect none of the audience (including myself) had seen. What separates Horne from other accompanists is his emotional intelligence, understanding of film as a medium and great skill as a musician. The ability to faithfully serve the story and interpret its characters with care and sensitivity is comparably rare and the audience were treated to a unique performance of the highest calibre. Directed by Paul Czinner and starring Pola Negri, Warwick Ward and Hans Rehmann, the story of a prostitute in a small coastal town and her relationship with a lighthouse keeper was reinterpreted for a contemporary audience in beautifully nuanced and unexpected ways. Although the title and brochure description alluded to puritanical morality and high melodrama, what Horne brought to the film was infinitely subtler, resisting cliché, drawing out the inner psychology of characters and illuminating the complexity, joy and anguish of what it is to be human. At the heart of the film is Pola Negri’s central performance which defies the stereotypical Vamp/ Femme Fatale in its range, a quality amplified with depth and feeling by the accompaniment. The ballsy bravado of Dance Hall solo piano, sharp, sassy Tango on accordion and its descent into chaotic dissonance, articulated beautifully that “the Vamp” is a performance. What we discover as the story unfolds is the heroine’s real vulnerability, due in no small part to how sound informs what we see in the moment. This musical elevation of character, above the narrow moral codes and judgements of the day, enhances our perception that this is a fallible human being we can all relate to. Horne excels at this kind of musical insight, exemplified in his score / live performance of Stella Dallas (1925), commissioned by the Hippodrome Festival of Silent Film in 2016.

In The Woman He Scorned we see a female protagonist trying to take control of her life and rise above dismal circumstances, triggered by a single act of kindness. At base Louise (Negri) is a working girl under the violent control of her pimp and the ever-present threat of destitution, a pariah in the eyes of society. Although John (Rehmann) first judges and rejects her, he later intervenes on her behalf and then takes her in, in an act framed in his mind as Christian charity. Louise’s attempts to navigate care and kindness she’s never been shown before and escape her past are incredibly poignant, heightened by the instrumentation. As she starts to take her place in village life, these first fragile steps of acceptance are communicated in all their delicacy by the ethereal sound of the flute. She metaphorically removes her makeup, beholds herself in the mirror and begins to see herself differently. The musical interpretation of the scene articulates how vulnerable she is in that tentative, blossoming sound, created with life’s breath. Horne’s accompaniment succeeds in portraying the character rising above societal/ biblical branding of a “whore”, which the character herself has taken on board and musically frees her soul before our eyes. This audience investment in the central character intensifies the drama and emotional impact of what follows. We are not just watching, but feeling the character’s predicament, internalised through the immediacy of sound. We want John to believe Louise because we have come to believe in her, with no persuasion through spoken dialogue at all. What we experience as a contemporary audience isn’t Silent Film as a historical relic, but as a living, breathing, universal artform that crosses all borders of culture and language. In establishing that timeless connection with such consummate skill, you really could not ask for more from a live cinema experience.

The variety of sound and pairing of instruments in Horne’s performances are always a source of surprise and discovery. Instruments are often played simultaneously, one in each hand, and in this performance the isolated use of human voice, a sampled element introduced from the original film soundtrack, brought past and present together.  Fully embracing the cut to a mesmerising sequence of suspended time in the wedding scene, the strange, percussive echo of the thumb harp created a hollow for the audience’s imagination to fill. The full sonic range of instruments from the interior strings of the piano to the otherworldly sound of the thumb harp, half way between dreaming and waking have a spatial quality, together with a sense of fluidity and movement. This is both physical and psychological, from the deep undertow of ocean waves, to the intimacy of John soothing Louise by stroking her hair, the accompaniment brought the audience closer to emotional core of each scene. The beauty of the Silent Film accompanist’s Art ultimately lies in being faithful to every compositional frame experienced in real time and achieving a state altered perception in the half light of the flicker, energy which translates directly to the audience’s live experience. It’s the difference between performing music on top a film and living it, both for the artist and the audience. As John stands on the shore in the final frames, sound divides like shards, mirrored by the accompanist’s hands physically divided between the upper and lower register of the piano. In that building temple of sound and consciousness we understand what has been lost, not just in terms of the individual character, but in the context of human judgement. Like the folkloric suggestion of drowned human souls, seen in the flock of gulls hovering over the sea in the very last frame, The Way of Lost Souls is collectively ours. The level of communication achieved with music and moving images as equal partners, created something truly magical and transformative, as only a live cinema experience in the hands of a master accompanist can.

78 / 52 Directed by Alexandre O. Philippe

Following his illustrated talk, the Last Silent Picture Show, Geoff Brown introduced The Woman He Scorned in the context of the British film industry circa 1929, during the changeover from Silent Film to Sound. Brown’s talk also gave valuable insight into Alfred Hitchcock’s development as a director in his discussion of the Silent and early sound versions of Blackmail (1929).  As an important precursor to the director’s mature work, Brown’s talk also had relevance to the screening of Director Alexandre O. Philippe’s 78 / 52.  This fantastic documentary explores one of the most revolutionary scenes in cinema history on multitude of levels. Breaking down the set ups and cuts in Hitchcock’s shower scene from Psycho (1960) might sound like the preserve of film students and cinema nerds, but there is infinitely more at work in Hitchcock’s films than just technique. 78/ 52 honors and celebrates that genre defining richness. At the heart of it all is Hitchcock the flawed human being, shaped by Victorian values, Catholic morality and his vision of a cruelly indifferent God, becoming the hand of the director. Today we take the crafting of suspense on film totally for granted as part of mainstream Popular Culture, so much so that it has become parody. What I loved about this film were the different perspectives on this watershed moment in cinema, the profound effect it had on audiences at the time and how it still affects and inspires filmmaking today. Even more than that, it made me want to watch the original film again, igniting the hope that post Scream franchise generations will perhaps find their way back to the original “master of suspense.”

Significantly Hitchcock cut his directorial teeth in the Silent Era and who he was is expressed in interesting ways through his films. 78/52 touches on his personal obsessions, the critical and competitive nature of his work and the wider political, social and cultural landscape of 1950’s and early 60’s America. Whilst it is an analytical film and we hear from many professional filmmakers, it is also a film about the psychology of fear, which in an age of the Trump administration feels particularly ripe for exploration. Psycho is a deeply subversive film on multiple levels and this documentary is a timely reminder of the value of artistic subversion. Made “in defiance of Hollywood” and its code of censorship, Hitchcock kills off the box office gold leading lady early, invades the sanctity and safety domesticity and transforms the concept of “Mother” into something truly monstrous, reflecting that which is carried within. Psycho also represents, as Director/ Interviewee Peter Bogdonovich points out, “the first time” that the naked “female body comes under attack” likening the effect of watching the film to an act of rape. It’s debatable whether a contemporary audience, saturated with images of violence to the point of anesthesia, can really appreciate the true Horror the film engendered, lessening the revolutionary nature of that moment. At the time of release people were viscerally screaming in shock, something I have yet to see in a contemporary cinema. Like Hitchcock’s “bomb under the table” analogy, we should never confuse a simple cinematic explosion wired for entertainment with the heightened anticipation of being told a bomb is going to go off, effectively placing the audience in the position of waiting for the inevitable. Hitchcock sets the audience up for confrontation with their own sense of death or punishment. His refined craft of suspense is a devilish, manipulative art and the “order and chaos” of that “magic act” is something Hitchcock understood completely. As an agent of the darker sides of human nature he is an extremely interesting director whose work will always have primal resonance. As the documentary commentary points out, he plays with audience expectation and makes us work, imagination infilling what we think we see projected on screen. The genius of the shower scene in Psycho in breaking rules, aligning natural sound, music, image and point of view remains breathtaking, affirming what a beautiful, terrible thing the human mind can be.

Dawson City: Frozen Time Directed by Bill Morrison

Director Bill Morrison has a gift for transforming fragmentary archival material into visual poetry. In Decasia (2002) Morrison created a celebratory Memento Mori, crafting decaying film stock into a mesmerising, meditative vision of humanity attempting to outlive itself through Art. The purity of moving images and a symphonic score, with viewers free to make their own associations, was not only refreshing in its use of raw material, but created a sense of sublime beauty in physical decay. Our essential connection to highly fragile, combustible celluloid nitrate is explored on multiple levels in his extraordinarily moving latest film Dawson City: Frozen Time which had its Scottish premiere screening at IFF. Here Morrison moves into more mainstream documentary territory, with commentary delivered entirely in text form rather than voiceover. As in all great Silent storytelling, he creates connective space between the lines for the viewer’s mind to inhabit, exploring different thematic threads on their own terms. This is a film about the memory, history and dreams held in each precious frame of film as lived experience, memorial and portal. This documentary feels very timely in an age where technological progress increasingly urges us as a society to shed the old and embrace the new via the latest upgrade. The question of what we conserve, what we lose, who makes that decision (if it is even conscious) and why, in relation to the back catalogue of World Cinema, has barely been considered. The fact remains that film is still the most tangible, stable material we have, nobody has invented a means of digital storage that equals it in terms of conservation. Morrison subtly reflects that truth in a world that urgently needs to take stock of itself and reveals that film is the very stuff we are made of in the process.

The story of 533 nitrate film prints dating from the 1910s – 1920s discovered in 1978, buried as landfill beneath an ice hockey rink, encompasses forces at work in the wider world today that have never been more urgently relevant. The history of Dawson city as a Klondike Gold Rush town is about human displacement, the decimation and endurance of First Nations cultures, the rise of capitalism becoming corporate rule by the few, the destruction of the environment for profit and the perpetual lie that Film is, like everything else in 21st Century life is simply disposable, consumable entertainment. As the last stop on the distribution circuit and with distributors avoiding the expense of transporting out of date films back to their place of origin, films in Dawson were first stock piled under the administration of bankers. When storage ran out they were then destroyed, thrown into the Yukon River, burnt or buried, painfully echoing the wider estimate that of all the Silent Films ever created, Humanity has lost 75% of them. However, this isn’t a film that preaches, the intention and craft behind it is seeing the bigger picture and extracting the metal. Morrison is all about seeing the debris and the entire landscape from above, within and below the winter permafrost we’re currently living through.  As such he is an important documentarian of our age. Dawson City: Frozen Time achieves universality in the crafting of images, the spark and substance of what it means to make things, to out create destruction.

Dawson City: Frozen Time Directed by Bill Morrison

The origins of film as an explosive material is a powerful metaphor and like the emotional aesthetic of Decasia, it is a double-edged sword as the truth often is. Significantly, film’s most profoundly moving and overwhelming moments are pure Silent sound and image. The morphing of Chief Issac’s face from that of an intensely proud, self-possessed young man, to an aged figure, eroded by exploitation expands into conscious awareness. Morrison is telling us nothing and showing us everything in that moment. In tantalising fragments of films we will never see in their entirety, countless archive photographs, faces and lives, many stories are woven together. The haunting closeup of Mary MacLaren in Bread (1918) directed by Ida May Park is a glimpse into many hidden histories. Through cinema Dawsonites saw the world, in a place that today appears as a last stop before wilderness and oblivion. The fortunes of a town which was born at the same time as the new media of photography and cinema, heralding the start of a modern age, is an excellent place to dig for what sustains and allows us to endure.

Although there were sequences when Alex Somers’ score felt repetitive and overbearing, the music connects emotionally with the imagery, evoking ghostly presences and the physicality of decay. The slowed tempo of human voices and strings operate like something holding on in the present tense of sound hitting the ear and not wanting to let go. The use of organ as an underpinning lament fading into recorded time and distant, echoing piano feel half submerged in the subconscious. There’s real pain in the ebb and flow of human fortunes and in the fate of discarded, abandoned material Culture. This is found footage filmmaking at a whole new level, over and above simple appropriation. As Writer, Editor and Director, Morrison brilliantly combines fragments of rare silent films, newsreels, archival footage, interviews and photographs, including Eric Hegg’s glass plate images which are a survival story in and of themselves. The final sequence of Dawson City: Frozen Time will be etched in my mind forever. Like “the salamander of the ancients [that] lived through fire unscathed”, everything which burns is not extinguished. We see a hand reaching out of the fluttering erasure of emulsion and a dancer, her head and eyes covered, unfurling her scarf in the flicker of free movement, hands raised, claiming and claimed by light. It’s a gesture that feels miraculous and far reaching in terms of human aspiration. It reflects the light, dreams and dust we are as human beings. Kinolorber’s description of the film as a “meditation on cinema’s past” really feels like an inadequate summation because like a lot of other Silent Film publicity it ignores the film’s universal thematic content. Like the image of Mae Marsh in Polly of the Circus (1917) in Morrison’s final sequence, this film is an awakening. Taking its cues and inspiration from original film stock, marked by human actions, neglected and resurrected in a different form, personal and collective loss is acknowledged in a film which is conclusively hopeful. I felt overwhelmed and enriched by watching it and as soon as the credits rolled, I wanted to watch it again.

November Directed by Rainer Sarnet

Another film of extraordinary beauty, artistry and substance is Rainer Sarnet’s November, based on the bestselling Estonian novel Rehepapp by Andrus Kivirähk, starring Rea Lest, Jörgen Liik and Arvo Kukumägi. Films like this one are the reason I go to film festivals! I hope that this Scottish premiere at IFF will be picked up by other film festivals and distributors so that many more people will have the opportunity to see it. Dredging the collective unconscious, Pagan and Christian mythologies are entwined with Estonian Folklore in this creatively striking, thoroughly immersive film. November is possessed of its own fluid logic and this dreamlike narrative is so visually stunning that you cannot help but surrender to it. Director Rainer Sarnet has created something captivatingly strange and magical. It’s a world cast between the physical and metaphysical, where the fantastical and irrational exist side by side with the hard, everyday grind of life, the reality of political oppression and centuries of class rule. True to Eastern European cinematic traditions of escape into fiction and fairy tale, masking social criticism, political and religious dissent, November is all about the human truth in fiction. At base it is a story of human yearning and unrequited love. Laced with black humour, national pride, observance of superstition, ignorance, greed and betrayal, this is a different kind of fantasy, grounded with roots that run deep within the human psyche.  In many ways it reclaims the primal forest from which all storytelling springs- some of the richest creative soil there is! Although I’m certain that there are many specific Estonian references lost on me and UK audiences in general, there are enough archetypal elements in this black and white vision of the living and the dead, found in cultures all over the world, which translate visually. In that respect November’s Director of photography, Mart Taniel was a very worthy winner of Best Cinematography in an International Narrative Feature Film at the Tribeca Film Festival. The Jury comment about their decision that “one film was particularly audacious and showed supreme command of its visual language” is a very accurate assessment of the film.

November depicts “an ancient land” “where spirits roam”, a world frozen in solarised light and the deepest of shadows.  Villagers create creatures called Kratts out of discarded wood, farm machinery and domestic debris, who serve them in exchange for souls. A young woman Lina is in love with village boy Hans, but he is obsessed with the baron’s beautiful daughter. In the emotional context of unrequited love Lina turning into a wolf, metaphorically consumed by her emotions, inner drives, needs and desires, isn’t nearly as crazy as it sounds. On the contrary, it’s a very apt manifestation of what the character is feeling and part of her journey, albeit in canine form. That felt sense, grounding what might appear at first glance as fantasy, is one of the most powerful elements of the film and there are many moments of human recognition throughout. The sequence where the cart and funeral procession cross and pass each other in the stark clarity of black and white is absolute poetry and devastation, as fate separates the living from the dead and a soul is paid for. Beneath its exquisitely crafted, labyrinthine world November suggests, “there is the soul we sell, the soul we long for and the soul we cannot live without”. The question of what human life is worth in alignment with these ideas goes beyond fantastical entertainment. Part of reclaiming our souls is reconnection with this ancient mode of storytelling and the masked wisdom the world has forgotten how to read.

Gloria Grahame in The Big Heat Directed by Fritz Lang

Aligned with the festival screening of new release biopic Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool starring Annette Benning and Jamie Bell, IFF’s superb three film tribute to Gloria Grahame was a definite retrospective highlight. The selection featured her Academy Award winning Best Supporting Actress performance in Vincente Minelli’s The Bad and the Beautiful (1952), her starring role as a sharp, sincere and sassy gangster’s dame in Fritz Lang’s The Big Heat (1953) and with Humphrey Bogart in the tragic anti-Romance In a Lonely Place (1950). Throughout Grahame demonstrates her stage experience, range and why she deserves to be better known. Hopefully the release of Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool will encourage people to seek her out her early film work. There is no device on the planet that can replace or simulate the beauty of black and white restorations on a big screen. IFF, together with the Eden Court Cinema programme generally, is committed to showing as many 35mm format films as it can. In the world of 21st Century cinemas this is a rarity and an absolute pleasure.

It is always exciting to see the work of emerging filmmakers and this year’s selection of short films were incredibly strong, diverse, refreshingly original and brimming with possibility. IFF has consistently championed the work of Scottish filmmakers and this year there were six collections of Short Films including two screenings of international shorts specifically for children. Two films in particular shone as part of the Bridging the Gap showcase in association with the Scottish Documentary Institute. Thomas Hogben’s Teeth (11 mins) cleverly combines archival footage, interviews with the director’s parents, Orthodontist and Dental Anthropologist Dr. Daniel Antoine, in a humorous and revealing story of how teeth express our fears, aspirations and ideals. It also poses important questions about the lengths we go to to try and achieve ideal Beauty. It’s an absorbing and entertaining film, charting the development of child to adult and tapping into the universal human need to belong. Hogben probes insecurities shared by the audience, exposing the horrors and unexpected healing powers of dentistry, with teeth as the mirror of Self.

Directed by Sean Mullen Inhale (15 mins) is an accomplished and sensitive story of family bereavement, grief and transformation from Northern Ireland. Working with horses provides the catalyst for transforming pain and outdoor drone photography is used very eloquently to express the interior life of the subject. Poignant and confessional, this is a film about enduring the loss of those we love and having the courage to let go, knowing that life will never be the same again. Faith is an important aspect of the film, conveyed in the voice of the central protagonist and the belief that “the infinite momentum of life via an energy never destroyed, only transformed.” Whatever your spiritual identity, it is a powerful and moving film. Other Scottish Shorts highlights included Flow Country (10 mins) by Jasper Coppes, beautifully shot using black & white 35mm and winner of Best Scottish Short at the Glasgow Short Film Festival, A Tail of Two Sisters (4 mins) by Lindsay McKee, part of the Edinburgh 48hr Film Project 2017, Selina Wagner’s captivating animation Spindrift (12 mins), Alison Piper’s timely political statement Free Period (6 mins) and Gordon Napier’s 1745 (19 mins) a story which highlights the largely hidden history of Highland slavery.

1745 Directed by Gordon Napier

It’s a great pleasure and a privilege to witness the creative development of local filmmakers over successive years and to see individuals making creative leaps, honing their craft and finding their unique voice. Director Mike Webster screened two films this year Eathie (9mins) and Coire Eilde (11 mins), both following gorge scrambles by Adventure and Wildlife Photographer James Roddie in largely unknown sites in the Highlands.  In the traditionally high-octane field of masculine/ mountain adventure films and festivals, it is refreshing and enlightening to see the process and care taken in approaching each pitch. The expectation of “adventure” is often in the spirit of man conquering the landscape, rather than “venturing into the unknown”. Finding your foothold and being fully conscious of your surroundings, to experience something beyond the everyday in the presence of Nature, is more akin to the idea of Slow Adventure. The idea of Nature as Culture in relation to how we experience the environment is only starting to be explored and there are some seeds of that ethos in Robbie’s descent of the Eathie Gorge on the Black Isle and Coire Eilde (the Pass of the Hinds) in Glencoe. As Roddie and Webster navigate their way into the natural environment, the path created by experience, skill and instinct is inspiring. Drone photography is used very effectively to broaden the viewer’s experience of this territory. It would be great to see more of the interior, psychological aspect of the adventurer in future films, enriching not only the conception of the landscape, but perception of what a masculine point of view in this genre can be. As Roddie states during interview what you really want from an adventure is “obscure” and “intimidating”, heading into an environment where you’re not too sure what you will encounter, equipped with the  tools and self-awareness to find your way through.

Eathie Directed by Mike Webster

The pairing of Webster’s films with those by another local filmmaker, Katrina Brown, were very complimentary in challenging preconceptions and prejudice. It is wonderful to see such a progressive leap in the space between IFF 16 and 17 in the screening of Brown’s two most recent projects, Woman Up (3 mins) and Riding Through the Dark (23 mins). Her natural ability to tackle difficult subjects, based on the trust established with interviewees and participants is a great strength for any documentarian. Making the voice of the subject the primary focus of the film and being led by it clearly drives her vision as a filmmaker. This authenticity aligned with stories that need to be told is a very promising and valuable combination. In Woman Up the stereotype of the “sporty woman” is challenged, following Eilidh, who discovered her passion for mountain biking, together with skills and confidence she didn’t believe she had. That sense of positive empowerment is further developed in Riding Through the Dark. It’s a film that juxtaposes the experiences of two groups of women, “one held in awe” and “the other in stigma”, asking the question of just how different they (and we the audience) really are. The individual stories of a group of elite female cyclists/ athletes and women taking part in a cycling to health and wellbeing programme are woven together and they are extremely honest, courageous and moving. Although the film tackles the issue of mental health and depression head on, it is ultimately hopeful and uplifting.  In revealing the insecurities, loneliness, pain and loss we all share as human beings, Brown and her interviewees shine a light on the possibility of regaining oneself when a safe space can be created, grounded in mutual respect and shared experience. In many ways the film creates that safe space for the audience, doing what cinema does best with the road and the world opening up, gaining understanding and projecting ourselves into the frame as viewers. Riding Through the Dark is also very realistic about the concept of recovery rather than cure. I’m sure that many people seeing the film will strongly identify with it, either in relation to their own experience or that of friends and family. Depression is the absence of hope and in telling their stories these brave women are a shining example of grasping that little bit of something in acute darkness, finding the strength to get back up and to keep going. Using cycling as a coping strategy and a means of being absolutely present in the moment is hugely inspiring, as both groups of women and individuals “create impetus” and “momentum” to move out of darkness, “ignit[ing] [that] passion into everyday life.”

As IFF 2017 drew to a close and I emerged out of the dark, the world appeared a good deal brighter. Outside the cinema it was pitch black and autumn chills, but I was carrying the sparks of everything I’d seen with me. In the cross fertilisation of fiction and documentary there is fire, hope and the possibility of positive change. The world needs imagination and the voices of independent filmmakers as never before, to find the truth, set things alight and make us see the world anew.

http://2017.invernessfilmfestival.com/welcome/