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      <title>Film Fest Journal</title>
      <link>http://filmref.com/journal/</link>
      <description></description>
      <language>en</language>
      <copyright>Copyright 2009</copyright>
      <lastBuildDate>Sun, 28 Jun 2009 02:41:30 -0500</lastBuildDate>
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            <item>
         <title>Cinema of the Other Europe: The Industry and Artistry of East Central European Film by Dina Iordanova</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="other_europe.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/other_europe.gif" width="123" height="185" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />In <em>Cinema of the Other Europe: The Industry and Artistry of East Central European Film </em>, Dina Iordanova proposes a reframing of Eastern European cinema (and by extension, film culture studies) away from conventional, western-centric paradigms that tend to evaluate post World War II cinema from the "other Europe" within the context of cold war politics and chauvinism. Intrinsic in Iordanova's thesis is the prevailing notion of a shared, distinctive Central European ethos that continued to gain momentum in 1970s cultural studies as a means of distancing the region from a Pan-Germanic evaluation of twentieth century history that provided the catalyst for two world wars and the division of Europe, as well what H. M. Hughes describes as a nostalgia for a democratic and more culturally diverse pre-1918 Habsburg Empire (note the embodiment of this sentiment in the image of a multi-ethnic paradise lost in Jerzy Kawalerowicz's <em>Austeria</em> that is also directly correlated with the experience of World War II in the fate of displaced Hassidic Jews on the outskirts of Poland). More importantly, the idea of differentiating Central Europe as a bridge between East and West was also a way of reasserting a regional identity that was separate from the complex dynamics of the Balkan region as well as the cultural cross-pollination of an imposed Soviet hegemony. In essence, the idea of a shared cultural identity provided a means of aligning (or rather, realigning) regional interests closer to the illusive ideals of a democratic West with the eventual objective of breaking with Russia (and with it, chauvinist attitudes that being "non-West" was analogous with backwardness and underdevelopment) and "returning" to Europe after the collapse of the Soviet Union (Ironically, it is Russian filmmaker Aleksandr Sokurov who would capture this sense of isolation from "old" Europe and return to a shared cultural history in <em>Russian Ark</em>) - what Iordanova describes as a "remapping" of Eastern European films into redefined national cinemas that reflected the cultural amnesia of a post-Soviet landscape (most notably, in the absorption of East German films into a broader category of German cinema that glosses over the distinctive qualities of <a href="http://filmref.com/journal2001.html#DEFA">DEFA</a> studio productions, and also the reassignment of a collective Czechoslovakian cinema into separate Czech or Slovak film cultures). 

The second part, <em>Film and History, Ethics and Society</em> examines the role of history in the shaping of national identity as reflected in Central European cinema, creating a sense of impotence against the tide of history that, in turn, manifest as forms of escapism, whether through the romanticization of heritage epics (such as Andrzej Wajda's <em>Pan Tadeusz</em>), elements of surrealism (such as Wojciech Has's <em>The Saragossa Manuscript</em> and Juraj Jakubisko's <em>The Deserter and the Nomads</em>), or magical realism (such as Jerzy Kawalerowicz's <em>Mother Joan of the Angels</em> and <em>Pharaoh</em>). In each case, the encounters with history are rooted in personal - rather than collective - memory:

<blockquote>The people of Central Europe look at history from a specific angle: they come from small countries which are usually powerless to make developmental decisions, yet need to react to whatever political shifts and advances occur (usually at the instigation of a neighboring great European power). So the stories told here are not so much those of people heroically influencing the course of history but of those who cannot do much more but stand by and witness events; they are stories of the vulnerable and the powerless, the small and the weak, the pawns and the underdogs. The actions of these protagonists are marked by the overpowering consciousness of their own limitations.<br />
<br />
...The key concern of East Central European cinema is the interplay between historical and social processes and the personal experience of these processes. It is within this relationship, tilted towards the individual, where most identity issues and existential insecurities are played out. The never ending identity quest is often accompanied by an underlying frustration; there is an ongoing friction between objective historical events and their critical appropriation that limits the range of choices available to the individual. This is part of an eternally unresolved process of identification where all subjective moves are ultimately determined by the dialectical interplay with history.</blockquote>

Iordanova further examines the toll of "historical burden" through a survey of postwar <em>trümmerfilms</em> (films of the ruins) such as Wolfgang Staudte's <em>The Murderers Are Among Us</em> (East Germany), Géza von Radványi's <em>Somewhere in Europe</em> (Hungary), and Aleksandr Ford's <em>Five Boys from Barska Street</em> (Poland), as well as Andzej Wajda's war trilogy (<em>A Generation</em>, <em>Kanal</em> and <em>Ashes and Diamonds</em>), which are thematically connected by a sense of tragic inevitability as ordinary soldiers fighting on the losing side of the war. Conversely, Iordanova cites Andrej Munk's <em>Eroica</em> and its ne'er-do-well, accidental hero as a foil to the <em>trümmerfilm</em> paradigm, underscoring the arbitrariness of siding with history. Similarly, Miklós Jancsó's <em>The Round Up</em> and <em>The Red and the White</em> also reflect this dynamic in the ambiguous framing of partisans and collaborators, the victors and the vanquished.

In the chapter <em>State Socialist Modernity: The Urban and the Rural</em>, Iordanova argues that the conventional images of dour protagonists, mundane problems, and bleak industrial landscapes that characterize East Central European cinema are acts of subversion that would serve as fertile creative grounds for such seminal film movements as the Czechoslovakian New Wave and the Polish Cinema of Moral Concern:

<blockquote>Well aware of the excesses and dangers of totalitarianism, filmmakers saw the making of 'apolitical' films as a matter of priority. The films that they opted for would often be about disturbances of intimate relationships rather than heroic confrontations or class struggles; they would focus ordinary everyday life and thus, in the context of imposed excessive politicization of the personal domain, deliver a covert political statement.</blockquote>]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/cinema_of_the_other_europe_the.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/cinema_of_the_other_europe_the.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Film Related Reading</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Sun, 28 Jun 2009 02:41:30 -0500</pubDate>
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         <title>Brave Men, 2008</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="bravemen.gif" src="http://filmref.com/contact/2009/images/bravemen.gif" width="180" height="120" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />In its tale of childhood friends who grow up to be on opposite sides of the law, Edoardo Winspeare's <em>Brave Men</em> is an all too familiar one. A prominent judge, Ignazio (Fabrizio Gifuni) returns to his hometown to bury his friend Fabio (Lamberto Probo) who died from a drug overdose, and, in an attempt to draw something constructive from the painful episode, joins a task force that is investigating local drug traffickers who helped feed his self-destructive habit. His immediate connection with the past is mutual friend, Lucia (Donatella Finocchiaro), an attractive, single mother whose seemingly strained relationship with her former lover, a local mobster named Infantino (Beppe Fiorello) makes her an obvious choice to mine for information. From the onset, Lucia proves to be far from the upstanding perfume salesperson she seems, using her nefarious connections to try to root out Fabio's supplier and intimidating rival gangs into forging an alliance with elusive crime boss, Carmine Zà (Giorgio Colangeli). But as the investigation converges towards Lucia's complicity in the escalating mob war, Ignazio is also forced to reconcile his own unrequited feelings towards her, only to lose his objectivity and sense of moral duty in the process. Actress Donatella Finocchiaro commented during the Q&A that the film strives to capture the drug war climate of the late 1980s Italy when low level criminals started forming alliances among themselves to consolidate their power as a means of challenging established organizations. However, far from insightful commentary into the psychology and mechanics of gangland power play, <em>Brave Men</em> devolves into facile characterizations, glossing over deeply rooted socioeconomic issues (alluded in the disparity between Ignazio's privileged upbringing and Lucia's poverty that would separate them) in favor of a conventional mood piece on loss, fear, and desire. ]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/brave_men_2008.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/brave_men_2008.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Open Roads: New Italian Cinema</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Thu, 11 Jun 2009 16:44:33 -0500</pubDate>
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         <title>Animated Passions: The Films of Ursula Ferrara</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="ferrara_match.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/ferrara_match.gif" width="180" height="111" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />During the Q&A for the screening of <em>Animated Passions: The Films of Ursula Ferrara</em>, Ferrara commented that her body of work reflects the conventional progression of her formal art school training, graduating from monochrome to color, simple sketches to more complex forms. The theme of evolution and transformation is also integrally connected to the metaphorical image of natural evolution in her early pencil drawing films, <em>Lucidi Folli</em> (<em>Lucid Insanity</em>, 1986) and <em>Past Future</em> (<em>Congiuntivo futuro</em>, 1988) - a penchant for metamorphosis that Ferrara describes as a logical way to represent the subconscious creative process. Playful and singular, these early films reflect youthful exuberance and irreverence in their organic illustrations of recurring life cycles - love, work, leisure, sexuality, and reproduction (the image of an infant in <em>Lucidi Folli</em> and an egg in <em>Past Future</em>) - that unfold against the familiar rhythms of everyday life (as symbolized by the incorporation of contemporary pop music). 

<em>Asymmetrical Feel</em> (<em>Amore asimetrico</em>, 1990) and <em>As People</em> (<em>Come persone</em>, 1995) reflect a newfound maturity, distance, and restlessness in Ferrara's work. Vacillating between disparate modern art forms, in particular, cubism and graphic arts, Ferrara abandons the simple, flat space, line drawings of her early films to create more voluptuous and geometric forms. It is interesting to note that in the use of a violin adaptation of <em>Recuerdos de Alhambra</em> (traditionally, a guitar piece) in <em>As People</em> in lieu of seemingly random pop music that had accompanied her early films, Ferrara incorporates a more deliberate, tensile dimension to her work in this period, supplanting the brashness of her earlier films with a more introspective tone.

<em>Almost Nothing</em> (<em>Quasi niente</em>, 1997) represents Ferrara's adoption of oil paints on film, marking a transition from black and white to color, and also from singular lines to filled spaces. The shift towards volume, gradation, and texture is also reflected in <em>Five Rooms</em> (<em>Cinque stanze</em>, 1999) and <em>The Match</em> (<em>La partita</em>, 2002), where dimensionality is created through isolated framing that compartmentalize movement within the context of larger, overarching spaces (a house floor plan in <em>Five Rooms</em>, and spectators and players in <em>The Match</em>). Ferrara further experiments with faceting and layered compositions in her collage approach to the most recent film in the program, <em>News</em> (2006). Intriguingly, Ferrara's mixed media approach to <em>News</em> is also an integration of old (paper) and new (cel), combining found object (newspaper clippings) with hand-painted illustrations that insightfully convey the complex issues behind terse, often sensationalized newspaper headlines.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/animated_passions_the_films_of.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/animated_passions_the_films_of.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Open Roads: New Italian Cinema</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Wed, 10 Jun 2009 13:52:24 -0500</pubDate>
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         <title>The Sicilian Girl, 2009</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="SicilianGirl.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/SicilianGirl.gif" width="180" height="135" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />Marco Amenta's potent, yet understated, tightly crafted first feature film, <em>The Sicilian Girl</em> is a fictionalized account loosely based on the life and journals of Rita Atria, the determined, 17 year old daughter of a slain mob boss whose death after her denunciation of the mafia would lead to her martyrdom as a symbol of the country's ongoing war with organized crime. Interweaving the detailed observation of a court procedural with the drama and intrigue of a genre crime film, the convergence of fiction and reality becomes a metaphor for the heroine's (also named Rita) metamorphosis from self-involved girl to social activist. Having once lived a seemingly idyllic life of privilege and respect as the coddled daughter of a well-connected, old world mafioso, Don Michele (Marcello Mazzarella), Rita's teenaged years would be consumed with the thought of avenging her father's death when he is gunned down in a public square at the orders of rival Don Salvo (Mario Pupella) during a power struggle to expand their reach into the drug trade. But when Rita's older brother (Carmelo Galati) is also slain when the all-too-connected Don Salvio is tipped off about his plans for retribution, Rita turns to a thoughtful, hard-nosed prosecutor (Gérard Jugnot) for help - a character based on magistrate Paolo Borsellino - lodging a full-scale indictment of Don Salvo's wide-reaching organization with the help of Rita's meticulously detailed, years-long surveillance diaries of their operations. Illustrating the ingrained culture of regional disparity, chauvinism, corruption, and disenfranchisement, Amenta underscores fundamental social issues between Roman central authority and the local Sicilian population that contribute to the deep-seated friction and enable the broad reach of the mafia and its own inviolable codes. Also worth noting is lead actress Veronica D'Agostino's compelling performance, navigating the complex trajectory of Rita's tragic life from headstrong daughter, to obsessed avenger, to passive victim, and finally, to altruistic crusader.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/the_sicilian_girl_2009.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/the_sicilian_girl_2009.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Open Roads: New Italian Cinema</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Mon, 08 Jun 2009 16:50:08 -0500</pubDate>
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         <title>I Am Alive, 2008</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="sono_viva.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/sono_viva.gif" width="185" height="124" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />Vacillating between opaque social commentary on the inequity of conditional employment and idiosyncratic dark comedy, screenwriters Dino Gentili and Filippo Gentili's directorial debut, <em>I Am Alive</em> chronicles a day in the life of underemployed day laborer, Rocco (Massimo De Santis) who, faced with a stack of unpaid bills and mounting debt from his girlfriend's free-spending habits, agrees to take on an odd job from a disreputable businessman, Marco Resti (Giorgio Colangeli) to watch over his recently deceased daughter's body for the night in the empty family villa - having purportedly succumbed to a long illness earlier that day - while he makes arrangements for her funeral in the morning. At first, the film hews towards neorealism in Rocco's seeming redemption through work, evolving from desperate (and implicitly suicidal), unemployed worker to one determined to fulfill his obligatory vigil at all cost, making scattered home repairs to help pass the idle hours. However, the parade of eccentric visitors soon neuters the tone to something more akin to a comedy of errors - an unreliable co-worker, Gianni (Marcello Mazzarella) who leaves his post to go carousing, a playboy son, Adriano (Guido Caprino) who takes advantage of his father's absence to bring his friends home for a drug-fueled party, a former gardener, Vlad (Vlad Alexandru Toma) who has returned in order to force a resolution to the long-standing feud with his erstwhile employer - creating an uncohesive, all-encompassing slice-of-life portrait that, like its aimless protagonist, seems destined to sink in the gravity of self-inflicted, assumed roles, foundering without direction.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/i_am_alive_2008.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/06/i_am_alive_2008.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Open Roads: New Italian Cinema</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Mon, 08 Jun 2009 16:47:04 -0500</pubDate>
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         <title>Nippon Modern: Japanese Cinema of the 1920s and 1930s by Mitsuyo Wada-Marciano</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="nippon_modern.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/nippon_modern.gif" width="125" height="185" hspace="10" vspace="5" align="left" />In <em>Nippon Modern: Japanese Cinema of the 1920s and 1930s</em>, Mitsuyo Wada-Marciano presents an insightful, multi-faceted analysis of Japan's interwar cinema within the context of Tokyo's rebuilding efforts in the aftermath of the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923 (even as the process of industrialization had already been underway), in particular, the output of Shochiku Kamata Film Studio which, as the only studio in Tokyo remaining operational after the earthquake, continued to produce films during this transition period that embodied Japanese society's ambiguous relationship with modernization. To this end, Wada-Marciano examines the studio's prevailing representations of domestic and social spaces, the emerging middle-class, athletic competition, the modern girl (<em>moga</em>), nationalism, and ethnic identity that expressed the public's anxiety over Japan's rapid modernization, as well as the cultural transformation created by the country's international emergence ushered by the Meiji Restoration. 

The chapter, <em>The Creation of Modern Space</em> analyzes the complex role of spaces as a reflection of social and cultural transition. In this respect, the father's alternating role as both authoritarian figure in his home and office subordinate willing to make a fool of himself for his boss's benefit in Yasujiro Ozu's <a href="http://filmref.com/directors/dirpages/ozu.html#born"><em>I Was Born But...</em></a> reflects what Wada-Marciano describes as the public's unresolved <em>negotiation</em> with the process of modernization. Wada-Marciano further explores the social dichotomy through the bifurcation of geographic space itself, in this case, Tokyo's post-earthquake, transitional landscape that embodies what sociologist Yoshimi Shun'ya classifies as <em>kakyo kukan</em> (hometown space) and <em>mirai kukan</em> (future space) urban spaces. 

Citing the stories of the visiting provincial mother in Ozu's <a href="http://filmref.com/journal2003.html#only_son"><em>The Only Son</em></a>, the bus driver's encounter with a Tokyo-bound country girl in Hiroshi Shimizu's <em>Mr. Thank You</em>, and an industrialist's decision to stay with his new rural family instead of returning to Tokyo (and his legitimate family) in Mikio Naruse's <em>Wife! Be Like a Rose!</em>, Wada-Marciano illustrates the idealization and nostalgia for a distant, irretrievable <em>home</em> evoked in these colliding images of tradition and modernity. Another manifestation of negotiated space is in the integrated setting of Yokohama harbor as a gateway to the outside world in such films as Yasujiro Shimazu's <em>First Steps Ashore</em>, Hiroshi Shimizu's <a href="http://filmref.com/notes/archives/2008/05/japanese_girls_at_the_harbor_1.html"><em>Japanese Girls at the Harbor</em></a>, and Mikio Naruse's <a href="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2005/09/every_nights_dreams_1933.html"><em>Everynight Dreams</em></a> to represent the alien <em>other</em>, whether through overt notions of foreignness as criminal element and economic marginalization, or ethnic and cultural assimilation (Wada-Marciano astutely points out that the characters Henry and Dora in <em>Japanese Girls at the Harbor</em> represent a mixed race - and by implication, culturally diluted - population, and were portrayed by Eurasian actors, Ureo Egawa and Yukiko Inoue). 

The negotiation between domestic and social spaces in <em>I Was Born But...</em> also leads to the broader examination of the urban white collar workers and the amorphously defined middle-class that constituted the predominant audience for these films and popularized the <em>shoshimin eiga</em> (middle-class) genre. In the chapter, <em>Vernacular Meanings of Genre: The Middle-Class Film</em>, Wada-Marciano expounds on the idea of hometown by highlighting the studio system's ancillary creation of an interconnected, virtual "extended family" in the recurring casting of the studio actors who would appear in various roles across several film productions. Wada-Marciano further provides a comprehensive discussion of <em>I Was Born But...</em> within the context of audience identification by analyzing the sons' rebellion through the prism of ambiguous social roles in the face of a new, emerging urban middle-class, where society has paradoxically embraced modern ideals of equal economic opportunity through hard work, even as it reinforces archaic models of hierarchy:

<blockquote>The middle-class genre film suggests the antinomy between Japanese modernity and rising nationalism in the 1930s, in the sense of a Japanese national subject's split between the call to modernize and the contradictory longings for the mythic cohesion of the past. The idea of 'the middle class' at the center of the genre worked to mitigate long-standing differences in social strata and in the particularities of Japan's interwar social transformation; the collective image of the middle-class served as a national identity for the modern subject. The middle class that emerged in interwar Japan referred less to a reconfigured labor force than to a new citizenry of a modern social transformation.</blockquote>

In <em>Imaging Modern Girls in the Japanese Woman's Film</em>, Wada-Marciano proposes that the image of the <em>moga</em> has been shaped by modernity and nationalism in the absence of assimilating Western liberalism - in essence, reinforcing the distinction between <em>modernization</em> and <em>Westernization</em>. This distinction is revealed in such <em>moga</em> themed films such as Ozu's <a href="http://filmref.com/directors/dirpages/ozu.html#womanoftokyo"><em>Woman of Tokyo</em></a>, where the perceived scandal is implied in the sister, Chikako's (Okada Yoshiko) involvement with a left-wing organization rather than created by a morally transgressive act, a politicization that could not be explicitly stated because of government censorship and an imposed ban of socially progressive, tendency films since the early 1930s: 

<blockquote>In a further reading of Chikako's sacrifice, the film deploys another parallel in an act of whispering that occurs as the film reveals Chikako's moonlighting. The scandal is revealed to Harue by Kinoshita; first he states, 'Chikako seems to be working as a barmaid after her daytime job... The rumor involves not only that... '; then he whispers the rest to Harue, although the information is not shared with the audience. At this point we might imagine Chikako is involved in prostitution or something worse. More whispering occurs in a later sequence, when Harue reveals the rumor to Ryoichi. She says, 'What would you do if your sister was not who you think she is?' Then she whispers to Ryoichi, and again, the film conceals the information from the audience. Ryoichi replies, 'What are you talking about? It's too ridiculous!' Harue continues, 'That's not all. Your sister has disgracefully become a barmaid.' This information, as delivered, effectively undercuts the possibility that Chikako's suspected disgrace involves prostitution, but leads the audience towards another possibility - that of Chikako's involvement with a Communist political group. The film encourages such a political inference by embedding details of a hidden social progressive narrative, as in an earlier scene of the police officer's inquiry at Chikako's office and later in a headline announcing the arrest of a criminal organization.</blockquote>

The idea of Japanese modernity as a convergence of social discourse and national policy also forms the critical framework in the chapter, <em>The Japanese Modern in Film Style</em>, which distills the essential themes from the previous chapters into an analysis of Yasujiro Shimazu's <a href="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2005/09/our_neighbor_miss_yae_1934.html"><em>Our Neighbor, Miss Yae</em></a> within the varied contexts of modernist filmmaking (shooting the soon-to-be divorced, older sister Kyoko through old-fashioned, <em>shinpa</em> styled framing to emphasize the visual disjunction), urban spaces (images of the Ginza shopping district from a moving car that convey progression in its conflation of absolute and relative motion), athletics (after-school baseball practice), and nationalism (Yae-chan's family's relocation to Korea as part of Japan's expansionist campaign during the Fifteen Years' War).]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/nippon_modern_japanese_cinema.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/nippon_modern_japanese_cinema.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Film Related Reading</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Wed, 20 May 2009 12:08:23 -0500</pubDate>
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         <title> Lock-Out, 1973</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="lockout.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/lockout.gif" width="185" height="143" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />In its tongue-in-cheek illustration of misguided revolutionaries, Antoni Padrós's <em>Lock-Out</em> suggests a rough hewn and metaphoric - if more impenetrable and decidedly uneven - precursor to Rainer Werner Fassbinder's <a href="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/02/the_third_generation_1979.html"><em>The Third Generation</em></a>, interweaving episodes of straightforward narrative, dream-like interludes, and political manifesto into an abstract portrait of resistance and marginalization. For former finance worker Walter and his motley group of friends, ground zero for revolution is appropriately found in a salvage yard, where they have set up camp to pursue their own version of Francoist ideals to live off the land - albeit through recycling scrap materials rather than farming. Dropping out of society to lead a bohemian existence, the freedom they had hoped to find in the discarded rubble continues to elude them, their lives complicated by an unexpected pregnancy, romantic rivalries, and boredom. However, when their tedium is broken one day by the unexplained appearance of a handsome stranger who silently watches over them and refuses to leave, the friends decide to abandon their paradise and return to their former lives. Commemorating their return to "civilization" with a celebration, the friends soon discover that their delirious rite of passage is akin to a death ritual. Alternating between commitment and indulgence, absurdity and inanity, <em>Lock-Out</em> is perhaps the most artisanal and demanding installment in the series, where all-too-organic editing decisions to leave in verbal gaffes, miscues, and giggle fits sharply contrast against highly formalized, Bergmanesque shots and swooning pans (in particular, the celebration sequence) that invite germinal comparison to the intoxicated dance in Béla Tarr's <em>Sátántangó</em>. In hindsight, the captured sense of grotesqueness and dysfunction behind Franco's conservative ideals is paradoxically lost in the noise, translating as cavalier observation rather than call to action.  ]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/lockout_1973.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/lockout_1973.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Clandestine Catalan Cinema Under Franco</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Thu, 07 May 2009 17:10:38 -0500</pubDate>
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         <title>Sexperiencias, 1968</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="sexperiencias.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/sexperiencias.gif" width="185" height="114" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />Although allusions to François Truffaut's <em>Jules and Jim</em> and Jean-Luc Godard's <em>Breathless</em> suggest José María Nunes's affection for French New Wave, <em>Sexperiencias</em> finds greater kinship with Nagisa Oshima's fractured, interconnected themes of sexual and social revolution. In a way, young hitchhiker, María (María Quadreny) is also a stand-in for accidental revolutionary, Motoki in <em>The Man Who Left His Will on Film</em>, a cipher who, in trying to capture the rhythms of everyday life (albeit through photography rather than filmmaking), is politicized by an atmosphere of unrest. Finding momentary connection with an outspoken activist, Antonio (Antonio Betancourt), María's life is upended when her lover is imprisoned for dissent. Restless and adrift, she embarks on an affair with a nurturing, middle-aged engraver, Carlos (Carlos Otero), only to find her newfound life of comfort and stability at odds with the chaos of the world around her. But while Oshima's melding of fact and fiction captures the spirit of an internal revolution, Nunes's revolution is a distant one - a reminder of an empowered <em>other</em> reality that can be turned inward to incite change - galvanized by geopolitical headlines that dominated the local newspapers of 1968: Prague Spring and the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia, the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy, May 68 protest, the coup in Panama, the turning of the tide in the Vietnam War with Lyndon Johnson's decision not to seek re-election. Incorporating an incongruous soundtrack of nature sounds, assorted music, and ambient noise, Nunes creates a disorienting environment that is literally out of sync - the separation between image and sound implicitly reflecting the disconnection between the reality of Franco-era Spain and its projected image. Framed against the bookending reference to the U.N.'s adoption of the nonbinding <em>Universal Declaration of Human Rights</em> in 1968, the question of enforcement becomes an ironic coda to the problem of inaction, where the struggle is not in the ability to speak, but in an unwillingness to listen.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/sexperiencias_1968.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/sexperiencias_1968.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Clandestine Catalan Cinema Under Franco</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Wed, 06 May 2009 16:40:18 -0500</pubDate>
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         <title>Field for Men, 1973</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="field_men.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/field_men.gif" width="185" height="142" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />On the other side of the rural exodus captured in Llorenç Soler''s <a href="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/long_journey_to_the_rage_1969.html"><em>Long Journey to the Rage</em></a> is Helena Lumbreras and Marià Lisa's multi-faceted polemic, <em>Field for Men</em>, an exposition on the inequitable systems of landownership and tenancy farming under Franco that perpetuate a cycle of exploitation, unproductivity, and indenture. Wryly prefaced as the fairytale of a bountiful kingdom that once drove away evil forces looking to seize the land, the story is an overt reference to regressive Falangist ideals of returning to the simplicity of an ennobled peasant life. Dismantling the notion of the Second Republic's 1931 agrarian reform as a simple land grab aimed at seizing generations-old farms (a myth instilled by Franco as justification for his own revolution), Lumbreras and Lisa instead frame the reform in the context of disproportionate private ownership in places like Andalusia, where nearly half of the arable land is owned by less than one percent of the population, leading to such widespread problems as collusive, low wages, mismanagement, and wasted productivity. But beyond the familiar left-leaning calls for solidarity and collectivism, what is perhaps the most compelling argument in the film is the problem of urban migration. Far from the popular notion of <em>campesinos</em> moving to the city for entertainment and leisure, Lumbreras and Lisa instead presciently examine the repercussions of an independent, dual economy system in Franco-era Spain - one driven by a robust (and state-friendly) capitalist system, the other, by a traditional rural economy - that has led to mutually exclusive workforces (and consequently, social classes) that could not be easily integrated with the dissolution of the other: creating a subculture of disenfranchisement and transformational struggle (themes that Jia Zhang-ke would also subsequently capture in his images of modernized China).]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/field_for_men_1973.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/field_for_men_1973.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Clandestine Catalan Cinema Under Franco</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Tue, 05 May 2009 20:06:13 -0500</pubDate>
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            <item>
         <title>Long Journey to the Rage, 1969</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="journey_rage.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/journey_rage.gif" width="185" height="138" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />Similar to Llorenç Soler's previous film, <a href="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/52_sundays_1966.html"><em>52 Sundays</em></a>, <em>Long Journey to the Rage</em> is also a sobering portrait of poverty and marginalization. And like the bullfighting students of his earlier film, the people in <em>Long Journey to the Rage</em> are also anonymous immigrants who have abandoned a hardscrabble existence in the rural provinces in an illusive search of a better life in the city. Unable to find affordable housing, the immigrants pile into overcrowded, dilapidated apartments in rundown districts, paradoxically taking on menial jobs in a construction boom fueled by the transforming cityscape of a rapidly modernized Barcelona that systematically excludes them (a paradox that José Luis Guerín also revisits in his 2001 film, <a href="http://filmref.com/notes/archives/2007/09/en_construccion_work_in_progre.html"><em>En Construcción</em></a>). Soler's incisive sense of juxtaposition creates a remarkably complex and textural work from seemingly mundane images. At times, Soler contrasts rapid-fire images of luxury and conspicuous consumption - advertisements, fashion, high-rise apartment buildings, skyscrapers, fast cars (punctuated by the rhythmic precision of flamenco footwork) - against sobering accounts of exploitation and displacement that reflect the realities of economic polarization. At other times, Soler incorporates culturally iconic music to reinforce the cycle of hardship and desolation: the sound of <em>fados</em> as a family sleeps in a cramped apartment; Aretha Franlkin's <em>Chain of Fools</em> punctuating the morning commute to the city; a chorale that accompanies the image of homeless people sleeping on a vacant lot, presumably, new immigrants to the city, that cuts to the shot of the church baptism - both reflecting figurative rites of passage into a brave new world of constant struggle and ephemeral moments of grace.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/long_journey_to_the_rage_1969.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/long_journey_to_the_rage_1969.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Clandestine Catalan Cinema Under Franco</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Tue, 05 May 2009 13:54:37 -0500</pubDate>
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            <item>
         <title>52 Sundays, 1966</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="52_sundays.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/52_sundays.gif" width="185" height="138" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />On the surface, a film about bullfighting would seem an unlikely source of resistance. But Llorenç Soler's <em>52 Sundays</em> is far from a flamboyant celebration of Franco-friendly displays of skill and aggression. Filmed from the perspective of aspiring toreros, often poor, undereducated teenagers from the country who get together on Sundays in makeshift schools on the outskirts of the city to train as bullfighters, <em>52 Sundays</em> is instead a sublime and haunting portrait of marginalization. For Felipe, bullfighting offers a way to out of hazardous metalworking, provide respite for his parents, and an opportunity to escape the poverty of the slums. Rafael expresses youthful dreams of social mobility, flashy convertibles, and being able to afford the more high-end prostitutes in El Paralelo (along with altruistic whims of charity). Juan Manuel hopes to return to his village and embellish the town's modest statues of Jesus Christ and Virgin Mary, as well as build a ranch that will provide well-paying jobs for the community. Juxtaposing shots of the wide-eyed students in training with an actual bullfight, Soler implicitly parallels the fractured, parallel images of young bodies with the formidable presence of the bull in the ring. In a sense, their fates, too, are as intertwined by resilience and determination as it is by the inevitability of defeat - reflected, not as one clean, fatal stab, but after a prolonged struggle of debilitating strikes that lead to broken, exhausted surrender - death coming, not in the heat of battle, but in a crumpled coup de grâce, dragged from the fleeting glory of the arena back into the shadows of obscurity.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/52_sundays_1966.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/52_sundays_1966.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Clandestine Catalan Cinema Under Franco</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Tue, 05 May 2009 10:23:13 -0500</pubDate>
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            <item>
         <title>Happy Parallel, 1964</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="happy_paralelo.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/happy_paralelo.gif" width="185" height="116" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />Part of the <em>Morality and Society</em> program in the <em>Clandestí: Forbidden Catalan Cinema Under Franco</em> series, Enric Ripoli i Freixes and Josep Maria Ramon's <em>Happy Parallel</em> emulates the familiar format of official <em>Noticias Documentales</em> newsreels - the only shot footages of "real life" permitted by Franco under a 1942 ban on non state-sponsored documentary filmmaking - to capture a decidedly more candid, unofficial view of the rhythm of life in El Paralelo, a once bustling entertainment district in Barcelona during the 1920s and 30s that had fallen into hard times after the war. Composed of quotidian street images that were shot over the course of a day, El Paralelo transforms from a seemingly nondescript, working class community by day (in the shots of residents opening windows and heading to work), to notorious red light district by night - the streets dotted with bars, burlesque shows, hourly motels, brothels, and drugstores. But rather than simply illustrating socioeconomic division in the parallel tale of two cities, Ripoli i Freixes and Ramon also reveal through the day to night progression of the images that the disparity is integrally connected to the underlying symptoms of the neighborhood's dramatic transformation - problems that have been swept under the rug by the regime in an attempt to project its image of conservative and moralistic ideals - poverty (dilapidated buildings), unemployment (a busy pool hall), stagnation, substance abuse, homelessness, and untreated mental illness. Closing with a montage of El Paralelo at daybreak as workers supplant vagrants and the streets are swept clean again, the images express the broader hope of revitalization and transformation through community and hard work.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/happy_parallel_1964.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/05/happy_parallel_1964.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Clandestine Catalan Cinema Under Franco</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Tue, 05 May 2009 08:50:05 -0500</pubDate>
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            <item>
         <title>Good Cats, 2008</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="good_cats.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/good_cats.gif" width="180" height="120" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />Something like Jia Zhang-ke's portraits of contemporary China by way of Hou Hsiao-hsien's stationary long shots and sense of landscape, <em>Good Cats</em> returns to the hybrid fiction of Ying Liang's previous film, <a href="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/04/the_other_half_2006.html"><em>The Other Half</em></a> to capture the dislocation and moral vacuum left in the wake of China's rapid economic development. Similar to <em>The Other Half</em>, <em>Good Cats</em> is also set in Ying's hometown of Zigong, and like his earlier film, a frontal shot of the main character being questioned by an unseen interviewer also serves as the opening sequence (in this case, by a fortune teller looking to glean information for his palm reading), reflecting the interrogative nature of Ying's gaze. However, inasmuch as Ying frames the estrangement in <em>The Other Half</em> from a native point of view, the sense of displacement in <em>Good Cats</em> is also a geographic one - embodied by underemployed 29 year old, Luo Liang who works as a driver for light bulb salesman turned real estate investor, Boss Peng (his provincial upbringing is suggested in an early episode in which his co-workers tease him for not being able to eat spicy Sichuan cuisine), and also the villagers protesting their eviction from a tract of land that Boss Peng has targeted for redevelopment (in a tacit agreement with corrupt village chief Zong). Living in a dilapidated, gas-leak prone apartment with his over-critical wife (who, along with her parents, hound him to go to night school in order to land a more prestigious and financially secure job), continuing to support his neighbor and former mentor, Liu Xiaopei who has fallen into hard times, and assisting with the murky dealings of his increasingly unstable employer, Luo Liang is a marginal bystander to the country's alienating transformation - a figurative impotence that is reinforced in his extended family's strong arm attempts to goad him into starting a family as a means of saving face within their ancestral community. Moreover, Luo Liang's disconnection from his intrusive extended family also exposes a sense of rootlessness that reveal a broader cultural malaise - a despritualization that is suggested in the surreal shot of Luo Liang and Boss Peng impounding the disarticulated head of a Buddha statue into the back of a pickup truck as collateral for an overdue loan (in an absurdist convergence of spirituality and economics that recalls the failed crucifix venture of Roy Andersson's <em>Songs from the Second Floor</em>). Framed in the context of Luo Liang staggering through a communal farm, his instinctual quest to return home becomes a potent image of marginalized struggle and uprooted ideology.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/04/good_cats_2008.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/04/good_cats_2008.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">New Chinese Independent Cinema</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Mon, 27 Apr 2009 16:38:23 -0500</pubDate>
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            <item>
         <title>The Other Half, 2006</title>
         <description><![CDATA[<img alt="other_half.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/other_half.gif" width="180" height="135" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />In its fractured, interpenetrating (or rather, colliding) realities, Ying Liang's <em>The Other Half</em> foreshadows Jia Zhang-ke's <em>24 City</em>, capturing China's transforming industrial landscape through its alienated and displaced humanity. The opening frontal shot of job seeker, Xiaofei being interviewed by an off-camera recruiter establishes a sense of division - the unseen economic, social, educational, and gendered "other half" - that resurfaces throughout the film. Having landed the job as clerk for a law office, Xiaofei is now, too, on the other side of the camera (the supplanted image of Xiaofei with the people, often women, seeking consultation suggesting their interchangeable status), listening to potential clients as they seek advice for their grievances, whether a way out of a loveless or abusive marriage (or the financial repercussions of divorcing a wealthy husband), revenge for an extramarital affair, work-related problems, or even just to have someone listen to them (in one episode, a woman takes advantage of the firm's free consultation service to talk about her everyday struggles before a befuddled attorney). 

But Xiaofei's notes also prove to be transcriptions of her own imperfect reality: living with an aimless, trouble-prone boyfriend, Deng Gang whose only motivation in life seem to be gambling and drinking with friends (even as he boasts of being rich and important <em>someday</em>), estranged from her father (Liu Huibin) who had left years earlier to find work in Xinjiang, and goaded by her well-intentioned mother (Chen Xigui) to use her good looks to find a more marriage prospect-worthy suitor. In this respect, the running joke on Xiaofei's resemblance to actress Zhang Ziyi not only serves as comic relief, but also reinforces her role as a surrogate identity - the anonymous face of a marginalized working class and its idealization. This intersection between personal and professional, private and public spheres is also suggested in Xiaofei's earlier disclosure that she had applied for the job opening based on the employment agency's recommendation that is subsequently paralleled in her mother's (Chen Xigui) matchmaking attempts to introduce her to a wealthy businessman (despite still being involved with Deng Gang) - both reflecting a position of disempowerment and acquiescence towards her own future. Similarly, the incisive juxtaposition of a benzene accident at a Zigong chemical factory (made ironic by earlier broadcasts of the industry's commitment to environmental responsibility) against a kitchen fire in a neighborhood mahjong parlor also creates a sense of chaos and dislocation, illustrating the role of impersonal industries as manufacturers of artificial, uprooted communities - the residential evacuation of nearby districts as a result of windswept toxic fumes (leaving them to camp out in cramped tunnels, literally tripping over people in order to move ahead), that is contrasted against images of patrons hauling buckets of water to stamp out the blaze. Culminating with a long shot of Xiaofei's friend circling in and out of view (in a shot that evokes the poetic bicycle sequence in Jia's <em>Unknown Pleasures</em>) to offer her a ride home, the framing of a nearly indistinguishable Xiaofei against a vast, empty landscape becomes a paradoxical metaphor for erasure and persistence.]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/04/the_other_half_2006.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/04/the_other_half_2006.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">New Chinese Independent Cinema</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Thu, 23 Apr 2009 16:39:24 -0500</pubDate>
      </item>
            <item>
         <title>Refiguring Spain: Cinema/Media/Representation edited by Marsha Kinder</title>
         <description><![CDATA[Composed of three sections, <em>Historical Recuperation</em>, <em>Sexual Reinscription</em>, and <em>Marketing Transfiguration: Money/Politics/Regionalism</em>, <em>Refiguring Spain: Cinema/Media/Representation</em> is a collection of essays that examine the ways in which Spanish cinema has both defined and constructed a national identity in the latter half of the twentieth century under a transformative climate of repression, democratization, social liberation, and globalism.

<img alt="refiguring_spain.gif" src="http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/images/refiguring_spain.gif" width="129" height="200" hspace="10" vspace="10" align="left" />In the essay, <em>Reading Hollywood in/and Spanish Cinema: From Trade Wars to Transculturation</em>, Kathleen M. Vernon proposes that the inscription of Hollywood films in Spanish cinema - the use of excerpted scenes and placement of iconic American images in such films as Luis García Berlanga's <em>Bienvenido, Mr. Marshall</em> (that emulate Hollywood western and film noir aesthetics) and Victor Erice's <em>Spirit of the Beehive</em> (James Whale's <em>Frankenstein</em>), goes beyond simple pop culture reference and instead, conveys oppositional subtext that allude to the isolationism and xenophobia that marked Franco-era Spain, as well as the US government's enabling political climate against a shared Communist threat that reinforced the dysfunction. Vernon further examines the role of these inscriptions within Pedro Almodóvar's cinema that function, not only as tongue in cheek homage, but also reinforce the idea of illusive history as the country was undergoing a radical transformation to democracy (which culminated in the election of the socialist party, PSOE, that would remain in power until 1996). To this end, Vernon argues that <em>What Have I Done to Deserve This?</em> represents Almodóvar's most politically referential work, framing Bud Stamper's (Warren Beatty) dream of returning to a simpler life in Elia Kazan's <em>Splendor in the Grass</em> within the context of Franco's parochial policies:

<blockquote>Finally, in an ultimate irony, the character's flight from the city at the end of <strong>¿Qué hecho yo?</strong> though it marks the apparent fulfillment of their shared dream, reenacts the conclusion of the founding film of Spanish neorealism, José Antonio Nieves Conde's <strong>Surcos</strong> (Furrows, 1950). Hailed as the 'first glance at reality in a cinema of paper-maché', for its treatment of the problem of the rural exodus to the cities, in the hands of Falangist Nieves Conde, it also served as a cautionary tale regarding the moral corruption and destruction of family structures that awaited new immigrants to the city.<br />
<br />
...Far from the instance of the postmodern denial of history through pastiche, as in Fredric Jameson's account of the mode, through its juxtaposition in filmic intertexts, the ironic American pastoral <strong>Splendor</strong> with the Spanish cautionary tale <strong>Surcos</strong>, <strong>¿Qué hecho yo?</strong> casts suspicion on the workings of the cinematic imaginary. The longing for return is revealed as a return to the past of Francoism, a past Almodóvar's films disavow even as they actively re-evaluate its hold over the present.</blockquote>

The idea of a post-Franco reframing of official history also serves as a basis for Marsha Kinder's examination of Spanish documentary filmmaking, <em>Documenting the National and Its Subversion in a Democratic Spain</em>. Tracing the origins of what Kinder characterizes as the distinctive "Spanish inflection" of contemporary documentaries, Kinder cites Luis Buñuel's <em>Land Without Bread</em> and Carlos Saura's <em>Cuenca</em> as early examples of subverted documentaries that sought to create historical record even as they underscore the inexactness and malleability of such representation. The complex nature of historical reconstruction is also illustrated in two Civil War-themed documentaries, Jaime Camino's <em>La vieja memoria</em> and Gonzalo Herralde's <em>Raza, el espíritu de Franco</em>, which, as Kinder proposes, "not only provide an <em>archival record</em> of popular memory, ...but they also <em>perform</em> a historical and ideological analysis of this material." 

Kinder further examines two noteworthy, 1990s transition-era documentaries, José Luis Guerín's <a href="http://filmref.com/notes/archives/2009/01/innisfree_1990.html"><em>Innisfree</em></a> and Víctor Erice's <em>El sol de membrillo</em> as examples of highly regionalized documentaries that, nevertheless, reflect the impossibility of mediated representation: 

<blockquote>Erice's film is preoccupied with the serial performance of self-representation, which (no matter how narcissistic) must inevitably be historicized. The film demonstrates that no matter what subject you are documenting (on canvas or on celluloid, on paper or video), you are still representing yourself and your medium and bearing witness to the historical and cultural moment that shaped your subjectivity. Like <strong>Innisfree</strong>, both López's painting and Erice's filmmaking capture the traces of what is perceived and remembered.</blockquote>

Roland B. Tolentino's essay, <em>Nations, Nationalisms, and <strong>Los últimos de Filipinas</strong>: An Imperialist Desire for Colonialist Nostalgia</em>, in some ways, expounds on Kinder's thesis on cultural inscription - in particular, the systematic refiguring of cultural identity under Franco. By placing Antonio Román's film in the context of Franco's nationalist agenda, Tolentino proposes that the film's revisionism reflects Spain's campaign to rehabilitate its postwar isolation by invoking the shared colonial history of allied Europe, reframing the handover of the Philippines to the US as a geopolitical strategy rather than a defeat that marked the end of the Spanish empire. Moreover, by examining the integral role of religion in colonialism (in its moral rationalization of enlightened mandate) as reflected in the film, Tolentino presents an insightful parallel to Franco's regime, which drew support from the Catholic church. 

<blockquote>The troop's isolation in the Philippines is analogous to the isolation of the Francoist regime from other nations. The value of defending the empire to death is the latent hegemonic nationalist call. In the construction of the national ego ideal, the film narrative glorifies the 'conversion of the historical massacre into a religious sacrifice, one that is focused on the 'fetishization of virility and sacrifice.' Catholic orthodoxy is entwined with militaristic adventurism.</blockquote>

It is interesting to note that while Tolentino discusses Spanish colonial influence through its increasingly marginalized role in contemporary Filipino culture (which has been increasingly supplanted by American imperialism), the ideology behind the colonialist nostalgia of <em>Los últimos de Filipinas</em> with respect to Spanish society - the film's intended audience - is only indirectly broached in the essay, alluded in a comment on Catalan speakers and Basque nationalists' (apparently) tempered response to the film. Indeed, inasmuch as cultural erasure reflects the legacy of colonialism, it also represents a motivation for Franco's social policy, where the assertion of regional identity is seen as a threat to national unity.

The role of regional identity in the national discourse is further explored in Jaume Martí-Olivella's <em>Regendering Spain's Political Bodies: Nationality and Gender in the Films of Pilar Miró and Arantxa Lazcano</em>. Examining the parallels between Pilar Miró's <em>El pájaro de felicidad</em>) and Arantxa Lazcano's <em>Urte ilunak</em>, Martí-Olivella proposes that both films redefine the notion of center and margin through their non-dominant, alternative points of view. This occupation of shared space is illustrated in the use of interchanging language in both films (enabled by the standardized use of subtitles in the original language), creating an environment where multilingual dialogue is part of the cultural norm:

<blockquote>What is the reality that these two films try to 'normalize'? It is the reality of a shared political space, Spain, that still resists being reimagined and thus represented as a plurinational, multicultural, and heteroglossic community... They underline a common goal to reimagine the different languages and cultures of Spain as an essential richness rather than a constant source of national struggle.</blockquote>]]></description>
         <link>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/04/refiguring_spain_cinemamediare.html</link>
         <guid>http://filmref.com/journal/archives/2009/04/refiguring_spain_cinemamediare.html</guid>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">2009</category>
                  <category domain="http://www.sixapart.com/ns/types#category">Film Related Reading</category>
        
        
         <pubDate>Sun, 19 Apr 2009 00:05:40 -0500</pubDate>
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