Day 3 – Monday, February 11

Suchandrika Chakrabarti meets John Akomfrah
Ben Cho introduces Chinese filmmaker Wang Xiaoshuai and reviews his competition entry In Love We Trust
Dilek Aydin reports on the panel "Cairo Underground"
Martyna Olszowska attended the panel "Heroes vs. Anti-Heroes. Success Stories in Cinema"
Mayank Shekhar reviews Majid Majidi's The Song Of Sparrows (competition)
Natalia Ames reviews Elite Squad, Brazilian director José Padilha's competition entry (and Golden Bear winner)
Shaibu Husseini talked to screenwriter and producer Dick Ross

Giving Shape And Coherence To Existence
By Suchandrika Chakrabarti

Reporting is sometimes a dangerous job. As I sat in the car with director John Akomfrah, fresh from his appearance on the "Senses and Sensibilities — Documentaries for the Big Screen" panel, it started to move off with the door open. I clung to the seat for dear life. My subject saved my life with a quick word to the driver, and we soon got back to the business of delving into his mind.

Akomfrah was born in Accra, Ghana, in 1957, but grew up in west London. His multi-award-winning debut documentary, Handsworth Songs (1986) is about early 1980s race riots in Birmingham, central England. Themes of race, conflict and the disenfranchised run through his work.

Akomfrah says that "certain precepts of journalism are good diktats to work with" in documentaries. For instance, it's important "to recognize the propriety of an event," that is, to set it properly in its political or historical context, something that is essential to news journalism. "Sometimes," as he says, "it's just a riot — not a revolution."

He teaches his students to worry about answering the great questions properly: the wheres, whys, hows and whens. How you answer those questions is your space for "analysis, poetry, creativity." He confesses, "I am fascinated by the overlap between fact and fiction. I return to that again and again," because it is always relevant to documentary.

Gaining the subject's trust is essential for the documentary filmmaker. Akomfrah sees this as a process happening in three acts. The first is "characterized by subject hostility," which thaws over the middle period. "By the time you get to editing the film, they love you!" he says with a chuckle. This is because the film can make people feel valued, that "oh, somebody believes us."  They are grateful when someone gives "shape and coherence to their existence. It says, 'you're not just cattle'."

With that, our whirlwind journey from HAU 1 to the Hyatt hotel is over. We bid goodbye and I scurry off, vowing to stick to the Campus shuttle bus in future. (Suchandrika Chakrabarti)

Left, Right Or Straight Down The Middle
By Ben Cho

If there's been a predominant thematic concern running through all of Wang Xiaoshuai's work it's been a focus on society's drifters, ordinary citizens displaced by economic, social or geographical pressures and often a combination of all three. Consider the migrant males of So Close To Paradise, Beijing Bicycle or Drifters, the struggling artists of The Days, the performance artists trying to find an outlet for radical expression in Frozen or Shanghai Dreams' Qinghong and her family who "went" to reside in country Guiyang and couldn't find their way back to the glitz of the title city. Given the enormous societal change and the geyser of social, economic and geographical problems which have erupted from China's rapid transition from developing-nation to behemoth super-power, Wang's gallery of loners, misfits, dreamers and schemers has imparted great insight in to not only the constantly-morphing nation but more specifically (and satisfyingly) the street-level realities and mindsets of its vast population.

Wang's latest in competition at the Berlinale, In Love We Trust (Zuo, you, China) apparently departs from his previous work primarily by shifting his concern with societal pressures to purely emotional ones. But upon closer inspection Wang has merely shifted his focus to the nation's bourgeoning middle class and so interpreted as a kind-of sociological study of how contemporary Beijing is leaving its middle class emotionally adrift the film works far better than as a mere family drama.

This modest (in ambition anyway) film is underpinned by a rather immodest proposal: a divorced couple must reunite to have another baby so they can save their first child with the blood of the newborn. They're both remarried and their new partners are understandably opposed to the idea. Wang's first major hurdle is rendering this roadblock plausibly and thanks to top-notch performances from the four majors and a strong attention to the quotidian aspects of their lives, Love overcomes this potential trap remarkably well.

But where the film slightly falters is in the development of the quartet's emotional dynamics after this major conflict is thrown into the mix. An icy breeze descends over the film at the exact point where you'd expect Love to ignite with fiercer emotions and passions and the only explanation would to be that Wang was attempting to reconnect the personal back to the political. With all the brouhaha about the impending Beijing Olympics and the colorful uber-spectacle expected to unfurl, Wang's vision of the PRC's capital couldn't be further from the authorities' desires.

Outer city Beijing is conceived as a bland, cool-as-ice metropolis, its skyline littered with lifeless grey apartment blocks and concrete buildings little more than shells desperate for occupancy. Amidst the pale color palette of Beijing's surroundings and the capitalist aggressiveness how can stronger emotions spring forth? Can love survive in a city choking on pollution and materialist lust? The Chinese title (literally "left, right") suggests a kind of back-and-forth between the two couples over the central dilemma but maybe it's also prescribing an antidote for future living. Go left or right but don't settle for middle-of-the-road. (Ben Cho)

Other Face of Cinema
By Dilek Aydin

"Cairo Underground" touched important issues related to independent film making in disadvantaged areas. Moderated by Viola Shafik, the discussion hosted four speakers from Cairo, feminist film maker and producer Hala Galal, visual artist and Professor Shadi El-Noshokaty, and talents Kaiser and Emad.  

All four speakers said that Cairo had a promising group of young film makers. These people call their work 'underground' because the mainstream cinema in Cairo, Hollywood and popular Indian films get the biggest part of the pie. Hala Galal, one of the founders of Semat, an organization that provides free equipment and workshops for young film makers in Cairo, emphasized the difference between commercial and independent cinema from the audience's perspective. She claimed that audiences in Egypt are not aware of any kind of cinema other than the mainstream Egyptian or American films. Galal's point reminds me of independent cinema in Turkey which is not very different from Cairo. People are a little bit more aware of independent film makers like Nuri Bilge Ceylan or Zeki Demirkubuz but they still prefer to spend their money on mainstream films. Galal also said that people think this is not the normal way of making cinema. The films by independent film makers are not the ones to spend money on. They think they should be free. But how can independent cinema exist without any money? This international problem can only be solved by funds and willing people. Thanks to European funds, some other sponsorship mechanisms, and committed film makers, it's possible to make alternative films against the system. In this framework, Shadi El-Noshokaty gave some examples of his students work. Although they don't have the latest technical opportunities in Cairo, they successfully experiment with basic equipment and end up creating films up to a universal standard.

The discussion reminded us of the yawning gap between mainstream and independent cinema. But it also made us aware of the fact that the lack of facilities leads us to use simple ways to express ourselves. For sure it keeps us close to an experimental way to create alternative films against dominant ideologies. Looking at the issue from this perspective, everyone in the discussion agreed that it's better to stay underground than compromise. (Dilek Aydin)

Charming Anti-Heroes
By Martyna Olszowska

"I love a bad guy!", declared Julie Delpy during the panel "Heroes vs. Anti-Heroes. Success Stories in Cinema," which took place in the HAU 1 auditorium at the Berlinale Talent Campus. Directors Benjamin Gilmour from Australia and Ralph Ziman from South Africa along with the actresses, Julie Delpy and Julia Jentsch (winner of the Silver Bear 2005 for Best Actress in Sophie Scholl — The Final Days), discussed how artists and the audience relate to heroes in the contemporary cinema.

It was Delpy — familiar from her romantic comedy 2 Days In Paris, and from screen roles in Europa Europa and Three Colors: White — who dominated the panel. "She's a one man show", said the moderator, Grahame Weinbren, describing an actress, screenwriter and director who has an immediate rapport with her audience. Young filmmakers reacted warmly to her jokes. "Contemporary cinema is a nightmare, with its returning to those perfect heroes from the fifties. It's so deadly boring!", she asserted. "The French New Wave was interesting because it liked anti-heroes, who are always more fascinating." As Delpy noted, there could be a danger of commercializing controversial personalities. "Like Paris Hilton in a T-shirt featuring Che Guevara," she adds.

Benjamin Gilmour, whose maiden feature Son Of A Lion was screened in the Forum section of the Berlinale, reminisced about the production of his movie in Peshawar. "People from this area of Pakistan have the reputation of being anti-heroes," he said. But as he admitted, he had to change his image of these people and in the end, also modify the script. All the actors were non-professionals from the region, including the main character — a young boy who was the son of the director's host. "In fact, I wasn't telling this story, I just created a platform for the Pashto people to talk about the issues from their perspective," added Gilmour. Julia Jentsch maintained that she had tried to make the character of Sophie Scholl not so much a heroine as an ordinary young girl.       

As Ralph Ziman, the director of Jerusalem (shown in the Panorama section), commented, meeting the anti-heroes the film is about could sometimes be surprising. "I've once met Lucky Kuenene, the heavy in my film, and he turned out to be ugly, smooth, charming and utterly fascinating," he said. Asked about the differences between serious stories and mere entertainment, all the panel guests admitted that they want to divert, but that sometimes simple narratives that stay with the viewer also constitute a kind of entertainment in themselves. (Martyna Olszowska)

A Long-Drawn Song
By Mayank Shekhar

I am not sure if it's true for any other major city in the world. But Teheran has this unusually democratic relationship with its cabbies. Anyone who owns a car or motorcycle, it turns out, can run his private taxi-service in the Iranian capital. You could slow down or park yourself at a street-corner. If it looks like you're willing to take on a ride, somebody will hop on, and pay you an extra buck.

This is pretty much how old Karim, a villager (Reza Naji, suitably cast), lands himself a job in Teheran, ferrying busy city passengers (even electronic goods) on his dilapidated two-wheeler. Karim used to work among ostriches up in the highlands. He lost an ostrich, his farm-job thereby, and the simplicity of a shared, self-satisfied rural life thereafter. He has a family of five to provide for alone, besides an expensive hearing-aid to urgently buy for his daughter. Religion (or inner conscience) is also quite clearly an omnipresent motif of the film.

Majid Majidi uses Karim's story about the loss and restoration of self to strike contrasts between the materialism and greed of an urban existence, and the old-world compassion and temperance of a quiet countryside. The charming humanism of The Song Of Sparrows (Avaze gonjeshk-ha, Iran), featuring the Berlinale Competition, hearkens back to the late 1940s, early 1950s Italian neo-realism, particularly Vittorio De Sica's The Bicycle Thief that this one clearly owes its roots to. Yet, this slice of Iranian life appears as richly thick as it's recurrently long. This is less because of the time spent in the theatre, more because Majidi has walked in with a personal purpose, but almost entirely without a clearly defined plot (or too many undefined ones), unlike his better works (Baran, The Children Of Heaven).

His delight in the mundane, though mostly a stunningly visual and an intimate experience, also appears at the cost of his audience's interest (or patience) levels. You get the point; you wish you got the picture too. No surprise then that the sum of emotional parts rarely add up to an equally engaging whole. (Mayank Shekhar)

A Controversial Depiction of Reality
By Natalia Ames

Violence appears to be the leitmotif in the recent successful movies from Brazil: drug dealers, delinquents and corrupt policemen are the main characters of these films. Apart from the strong impact of the images in these movies, some of them also try to transmit an ideology; but sometimes the message the director wants to deliver is unclear and can lead to different interpretations. That is the case with the Berlinale competition film Elite Squad (Tropa de elite, Brazil) by José Padilha, who previously directed the documentary Bus 174 (Ónibus 174, Brazil).

The film is about the BOPE, a special squad of Rio de Janeiro's police in charge of "pacifying" the favelas. The director, at times using a documentary style, tells the story of a special mission of the BOPE before the visit of the Pope in 1997, and it focuses on three characters, two of whom (Caio Junqueira and André Ramiro) are just beginning their careers in the squad and one, Captain Nascimento (Wagner Moura) who is feeling the consequences of the extreme violence and wants to quit.

Based on the testimonies of two ex-BOPE (both of whom co-wrote the script with Bráulio Mantovani), the movie shows how the policemen are brainwashed when they enter the squad. The film has been extremely controversial in its country because of the description of BOPE's methods, which include torture and random murders.

Even if Elite Squad does not glorify violence through plastic, gaudy images (as did City Of God), it is told through the point of view of Nascimento, a man who justifies the use of torture to fight crime and accuses the middle-class of promoting violence in the favelas when they buy drugs. The film has caused a lot of debate in Brazil because everybody feels touched and affected by the reality shown.

The violence is very direct and graphic yet not sensationalistic, as if the director were strangely fascinated by the BOPE's methods. What José Padilha is really thinking, we cannot know for sure, but he does have a radical point of view about the reality of his country and the ways to end its problems. (Natalia Ames)

A Grand Old Man of Film on the Right Way to Go
By Shaibu Husseini

The small meeting room on the second floor of HAU 2, venue for a lecture called "The Heart of the Matter — Emotions vs. Intelligence", was filled to capacity and understandably so. SOURCES 2 (Stimulating Outstanding Resources for Creative European Screenwriting), working in partnership with the Berlinale Talent Campus, had brought an award-winning storyteller, scriptwriter, film consultant and a grand old man of film to do justice to the topic. Dick Ross delivered. By the end, Ross, 90, winner of the European Script prize for The Red Apple Tree and producer of The Late Liz, left the audience with a strong sense of the importance of the filmmaker/audience relationship in filmmaking. Talent Press spoke with Ross after the lecture.

You stressed the need for filmmakers to devote time to certain audience expectations. Won't this be a hard sell for young filmmakers who have to meet deadlines?

Dick Ross: Yes, it is a problem. If the young filmmaker is helped to talk about his work in relation to how people react to it, he or she will very quickly learn if that will work with an audience. Young people are dying and desperate to make films, and we that are older tend to say that they don't care what they make. But they do care. It's just that they are not being helped to come to that analysis which is: "Who are you talking to?". The audience have expectations not only of content but the way it is delivered. What you have to say has got to matter.

How do you determine that you have achieved that change in attitude?

Dick Ross: I think it is at the point where you have to say to a young storyteller: "What is it about this story that you think I care about?" That is a killer of a question. They must learn to answer that question, and once they have learnt to answer the question, then they are really writers.

Do you have any stories in the works?

Dick Ross: I am writing a script at the moment. I have been a year and half writing it. I told them I will write it in two months and I am a year and a half into it. I am pretty old and it takes me a longer time to do it. (Shaibu Husseini)

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