Monthly Archives: April 2017

Less is More

Film Review: "Ida" (2014)

The 2013 Polish film Ida, directed by Pawel Pawlikowski and set in 1962, is both a coming-of-age story and a retrospective look at Poland’s complicated history.  The main character, Anna, is an adolescent girl about to take her vows to become a nun.  She is sent to visit her only living relative, Aunt Wanda, before committing to life at the convent.  Almost immediately we learn that Anna is Jewish and that her given name is actually Ida.  From Wanda’s home she and Ida, strangers to each other, travel together across the Polish countryside to unravel their shared past.  The story includes moments of anti-Semitism and weaves together the historical consequences of both Nazi and Soviet rule.  These larger themes are present throughout all aspects of the story, but for most of the film they take a back seat to the emotional transformation of the characters.  The film is a study of subtlety, in overall message as well as in its visual and auditory effects.

Ida and Wanda go back to the family farm to discover what happened to Ida’s parents and Wanda’s son.  Once there, they meet the farm’s current tenant, Feliks.  Wanda tries but is unable to obtain any specific information about why her sister died and where the family was laid to rest.  It becomes clear that while Ida is piecing together her identity by learning about a family she never knew she had, Wanda is seeking closure by learning about the family she lost.  As the two women travel on, they meet Lis, a young musician who takes a liking to Ida; his presence magnifies the differences between them.  Ida is constrained by her reticent personality and the routines she practiced while at the convent.  Her steadiness and rigidity is offset by Wanda’s recklessness, emotional transparency, and copious drinking.  Agata Kulesza, who plays Wanda, portrays strength and vulnerability from one shot to the next, from threatening police officers and verbally assaulting Feliks to lying naked in bed after a night of drinking and meaningless sex.  Wanda is free in many ways that Ida is not and yet unlike Ida, is weighed down by her past, specifically the death of her son and sister.  The director does not need to include inner monologues or flashbacks to explain the characters, but allows the audience to read between the lines.

After discovering that it was Feliks who murdered Ida’s parents and Wanda’s son, but who spared Ida because she could pass as a non-Jew, the two women retrieve their relatives’ remains and take them to a family burial plot.  At this point the two women come together in mourning.  After paying their respects the two women part ways; they go back to their respective homes and attempt to readjust to their former lives.  Wanda fails to achieve closure and ends up committing suicide.  Ida likewise cannot go back to her old life; having experienced the outside world she finds the routines of the convent ludicrous rather than reassuring.  She postpones taking her vows and once again leaves the convent, this time to go to Wanda’s funeral.  In Wanda’s home, Ida tries drinking, smoking, and dressing up for the first time.  She even sleeps with Lis.  Her actions pay tribute to her aunt’s lifestyle and show that she is interested in sampling a different life.  The symbolic weight of these mundane activities show once again how the film is capable of speaking volumes with simple scenes.

The entire film, shot in black and white, gives a melancholy feel and invites the viewer to take on a meditative state.  The absence of color reflects Ida’s simple lifestyle in the convent and the bleak political climate. The somber mood is made clear by the large sections of film with no dialogue.  Ida communicates largely through her dark expressive eyes and spends most of the film silently absorbing information and experience.   Although this could make Ida seem naïve, the actress, Agata Trzebuchowska, successfully appears reserved, making Ida’s character more nuanced.  The choice to minimize stimuli makes every instance of dialogue and every visual cue more poignant.  It allows the film to strike a careful balance between subtle changes and raw emotion.  Even though the material in the film is dark and heavy, nothing the characters do is overwrought.

This minimalist style holds true for plot.  The film lacks explicit explanations.  Instead, the director opts for understatements.  Any triggering action in the film, whether it be suicide, murder, or sex,  is alleviated by music and the absence of explicit visuals.  Instead of an action-packed film the director chooses to focus on introspection.  The shot of Feliks in the grave of those he killed, face in hands, is more powerful than any words. Even in this moment of revelation the film fails to explain every detail, instead focusing on the mood.  Why exactly Feliks kills Ida’s parents is unclear: was it to take over the farm or for fear that the Nazis would discover and punish his father’s actions?  This and other ambiguities make the film more powerful.  The narrative is more realistic in that it lacks tidy resolutions.  After a night of living like Wanda, Ida gets up and leaves Lis, still asleep in her aunt’s bed.  As she walks away from Lis, and any future she might have had with him, she also walks away from Wanda and rejects the kind of life her aunt led.  Ida dons her habit and walks towards the unknown along a plain dirt road.  Ida is, in many ways, just as alone at the end as when the film began but with many more lived experiences.  This final shot captures the disillusion of post-war Poland and the uncertainties faced by its people: life goes on no matter what.

 

 

Magic in the Orchard

Film Review: "Women without Men" (2009)

Adapted from the Iranian magical realist novel of the same name, Women without Men is a beautiful piece of cinematography and storytelling. The film is visually stunning, and director Shirin Neshat elegantly weaves together the personal stories of four women surrounded by wider political and cultural conflict.

The film begins on a rooftop. The house below is white, contrasted sharply against the blue sky and the black of the chador and hair of the woman standing there. She wanders around the rooftop, occasionally peering over the side while the call to prayer echoes around her. Each time, we see her face and then a shot of the sidewalk below. Finally, the woman leans forward, and her hair floats back towards the camera. Her chador hits the ground, and she soars through the sky as we hear her voice say, “Now I’ll have silence… silence… and nothing.” The sound of running water breaks the silence of several shots of clouds; a small stream appears. The camera pans along the stream while the woman’s voiceover resumes, saying, “And I thought, the only freedom from pain is to be free from the world.” Once she finishes speaking, the camera centers around a small opening in a wall through which the stream continues. The camera advances along the stream and through the opening into a mystical orchard during a two-minute continuous shot, until the title of the movie appears on the screen.

The detail of this opening scene is important because the sequence introduces several key aspects of the film: the cultural context of the story, indicated by the call to prayer and the chador; the centrality of women; the magical realism of certain sequences; and the context of the orchard as an escape from the world and its pain. Neshat successfully introduces and expands upon these themes throughout the film in a concise but artistic way that puts Women without Men in a class of its own within the first ten minutes.

Women without Men follows the story of four women: Munis, the woman from the opening sequence; her naive and conservative friend Faezeh; a young prostitute named Zarin; and a worldly woman of the Iranian bourgeoisie, Fakhri. After the opening sequence, the movie flashes back to an afternoon when Munis is trying to listen to the radio in order to participate in the life and conflicts taking place just outside her door, and her brother, Amir Khan, rips the cord from the radio to force her to make dinner and prepare for a suitor’s visit; Faezeh seeks to marry him and share his conservative lifestyle. Her purity makes no difference, however, as he is set to marry a woman who is rumored to not be a virgin. Zarin’s storyline, in contrast to Faezeh and Munis’s lives of domesticity, begins in a brothel where she lives a monotonous, yet draining, life that is interrupted one day by the traumatic hallucination of faceless men. Each man that she sees, starting with one of her own clients, has no face. She runs to the baths and scrubs herself till she bleeds, trying to cleanse herself of the impurity that is causing the hallucination. When neither bathing nor prayer works, she leaves the city and the pain of the world, and begins walking down a long road under a blue sky.

Meanwhile, Fakhri faces demons of her own within the elite and privileged circles from which the other three women are excluded. A former lover returns from America, and her disillusionment and disappointment with her husband, an army general, reaches such an intensity that she decides to leave. She retreats from the pain to a secluded orchard managed by a quiet, unobtrusive male gardener, down the long road under a blue sky, and begins an independent life there.

The story finally returns to the opening sequence when Faezeh and Amir Khan find Munis dead on the sidewalk. To save his and his family’s reputation, Amir Khan buries her in the garden while Faezeh looks on. She is traumatized, but life goes on for Faezeh until the day of Amir Khan’s wedding; in the midst of a celebration of his success and happiness, Munis comes back to life and leaves his house for good to pursue her own interests and goals. But when the shame that she feels becomes too much for Faezeh after she is raped, Munis is able to guide her down the long road under the blue sky because Munis has already been to the orchard. Munis reenters life after a retreat from the world, a future that we are then able to envision for Faezeh and Fakhri. Zarin, however, is not strong enough for the world outside the orchard and eventually dies from exposure to it. The film ends with Munis’s reflection on why all four women wanted to escape: they wanted to find “a new form, a new way. Release.”

From an aesthetic perspective, I noticed that Neshat and the film’s director of cinematography, Martin Gschlacht, manipulate light and color (especially blue and white) to create an ethereal effect. The characters of Zarin and Munis are the two centers of magical realism in the story, with extraordinarily surreal experiences like hallucinating men without faces and coming back to life, and they are also the centers of Gschlacht’s manipulation of blue and white. Each camera shot is so precise and a piece of art in its own right that while watching the film, I felt I was seeing the world in an entirely new way.

The film makes certain changes to the original story written by Shahrnush Parsipur on which the film is based that are worth highlighting. For example, the role of the gardener is never explained and minimally explored in the film, despite the fact that he plays a central role in the book. The environmental symbolism of the novel, culminating in plot points such as one character’s eventual transformation into a tree, is barely touched upon in the film. The film only lightly alludes to this storyline when Fakhri finds Zarin partially submerged in a pool in the orchard, almost as though she and the orchard were one. Most notably, the film spends a significant amount of time depicting the Iranian Revolution, which is much less of a focal point in the novel. Neshat is an expatriate of Iran, and uses the film as an opportunity to add a political dimension to the story that the author never makes explicit in the book. Although some may see these changes as a loss to the story, I believe that they simplify and streamline the plot, which allows the film to more effectively communicate the parallel between the women’s search for a new way and a new form of being, and Iran’s struggle for independence and autonomy. Fakhri is disappointed by both her proud Iranian husband and her Westernized lover, while Iran is left broken by competing ideologies and world powers. Faezeh is learning how to reconcile her conservative past and beliefs with respect for herself and faith in her own strength, just as Iran is trying to balance elements of conservatism and modernism in its society. Above all, Zarin reminds us that unless women are prioritized and nurtured, unless they are given the space to be women without men, Iran’s progress is unsustainable.

The Fall to Freedom

Film Review: "Women without Men" (2009)

Women Without Men, directed by Shirin Neshat and released in 2009, is a film focusing on the gender-based adversities that four women face during the political turmoil in Tehran, Iran, during the 1950s. Although the women are from different social and religious backgrounds, they all seek liberation from oppression in a patriarchal society and the freedom to realize their desires.

Munis shows a deep interest in the political climate of the time and yearns to become more active in the fight against a foreign-backed coup. She spends her time glued to the radio listening to the news and refuses to greet the suitor whose visit has been set up by her fervently religious brother, Amir Khan, who rips out the radio cord in anger. Faezeh, a friend of Munis, is deeply religious and wants to marry Munis’ brother; however, she lets go of any hope after she is raped by two men from a teashop and faces shame. Zarin is a prostitute who is constantly berated by the madam of the brothel to greet her male customers. She hugs herself on the floor of her room, scrubs her body until it bleeds, and runs away from the brothel after looking at one of her customers and discovering he is faceless. Fakhri, the fourth woman, is fifty, wealthy, and married to General Sadri, who threatens to get rid of her for another wife if she cannot satisfy him. She leaves him and moves out to a property with an orchard, where Zarin and Fakhri also eventually find themselves after running away from their unsatisfying lives.

From the start, the film presents death as a way to achieve freedom. We first see a flash-forward scene in colour where Munis jumps to her death to escape Amir. This contrasts greatly with a dark, desaturated scene where Munis sits on the floor and is violently scolded by Amir, who threatens to break her legs if she leaves their home. The lack of colour in the scene reflects the bleakness of Munis’ life – a life where she is unable to act politically and fight for what she wants. These two scenes also show by the physical position of her body how Munis finds place of power and freedom through death. She sits on the floor at her brother’s feet while he shouts at her. Whereas before Munis dies, she is shown in a low-angle shot on a tall roof overlooking the city. She has chosen the freedom to break her own body rather than allow a man to do so.

Neshat chooses to present the rest of the scenes with Munis in colour: Munis can finally live out her heart’s deepest wishes in death. This is an example of the film’s use of magical realism to portray her after death. Here, Munis continues to listen to the radio, even in an environment meant only for men, and joins the communists in fighting against the tyranny of the Shah. After Zarin also dies, we flashback to the scene where Munis dies and narrates how death is release from a world where women cannot change their lives.

Much like death, letting go of the chador represents a liberation for the women from their past constraining lives. Before finding her way into the orchard, Zarin lets go of her chador and leaves it by the stream. She finds herself in a sanctuary of peace and reflection, where no madam is constantly calling for her to serve her body to a male stranger. Living with Fakhri in the home by the orchard, Faezeh also discontinues wearing her chador and embraces a happier life with Fakhri who makes her smile and provides her with a place of safety. When Amir visits Faezeh to propose she be his second wife (while his first wife will be her servant), he sees she is not wearing her chador and questions whether she is still religious. Faezeh stands up for herself and her new way of life, which no longer centers around having Amir as her husband. When Faezeh leaves the orchard on the long, dirt path, she is wearing a floral dress instead of the black chador that she wore on her way to the orchard. Before Munis’ body hits the ground in her suicide, we see her chador falling and landing first; she too has let go of her life of oppression.

The film makes use of the human voice to represent the world of chaos driven by men, and contrasts this with the use of silence that represents a world of freedom for women. When Zarin is waiting for customers in her room, the madam is constantly shouting her name. When she is walking alone after her bath, she stops by a group of women in black chadors mourning and wailing loudly. It is only when Zarin reaches the orchard where there are no men that she is surrounded by silence and peace. Throughout the film, the men, such as General Sadri and Amir, are always loudly talking while the women are in silence and in pain. For example, Munis is constantly chastised by her brother, Amir. Fakhri sits sadly at her table as General Sadri is noisily voicing his opinions in the background; she escapes this world of chaos by moving to the orchard as Zarin did. We see how silence also contrasts with the sound of the adhan, the Islamic call to worship, when Munis falls to her death. As she flees from the calls that remind her of pious brother, the voices stop. There is also the whispering of Faezeh’s name, which is followed by a voice that echoes her worry that people will found out she is not a virgin. The whispering stops when she finds inner peace and embraces her woman’s body as she looks in the mirror.

A life where women can live without men is portrayed as desirable in a country wrecked by political upheaval and unwilling to give women the freedom to make their own choices for their bodies and futures. The women and Iran serve as metaphors for one another; both are undergoing a period of oppression from which they try to escape. The women seek to live freely and in control of their own bodies, while Iran tries to fend off the control of foreign governments and the dictatorship of the Shah.  It is either through death or escape to the orchard, far from the chaos of political demonstrations and the violence of a patriarchal society, that the four women can finally achieve freedom.