By Orla Smith.

At two points in Call Me by Your Name, when the central pair of lovers kiss, their faces fade out of focus like a memory strained to remember.

This is summer 1983, ‘somewhere in Northern Italy’. The life-changing summer romance between Elio (Timothée Chalamet) and Oliver (Armie Hammer) feels deliriously in-the-moment: wide shots saturate the world with sunshine; skin screams out with an urgent need to be touched. However, a barely detectable layer of hazy nostalgia rests overhead. While they’re in motion, the days that Elio and Oliver share seem nothing more than inconsequentially playful and fun ― until it becomes clear that both will remember them as the best days of their lives. This is ‘somewhere’, sometime, someone… a moment in time fondly recalled by a person longing to live in it forever.

“The usurper”: Elio Perlman labels Oliver in the first line of the film without realising how true his words will turn out to be. Unlike the previous guests who have stayed at the Perlman family’s Italian summer villa for each of Elio’s seventeen years, Oliver’s ‘usurping’ extends far beyond forcing Elio to vacate his bedroom. Elio is drawn irrepressibly to the enigma of the older, 24-year-old man, who is staying with the Perlman’s in order to study under Elio’s professor father (Michael Stuhlbarg). Oliver swaggers into the house with a magnetic self-assurance. His limbs are impossibly long, but unlike the gangly and impulsive Elio, Oliver has a mastery of his own body. He cuts every conversation short with a curt “Later!” and leaves before anyone has a chance to process his going. It’s brash, American rudeness, Elio decides ― or is he shy, as Mr. Perlman muses? The suggestion catches Elio off guard, and it deepens the agony of not having access to Oliver’s head. Elio longs to know if he cares at all ― about anything ― and if so, how much?

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAYeaXFb9w4

Chalamet gives a performance that fully utilises physicality in order to convey Elio’s restless energy.

He tosses and turns in his sleep, unable to sit still for even a moment. Oliver asks Elio how he passes the time on his yearly Italian holidays: “Wait for summer to end”. The six weeks of Oliver’s stay are long and languorous. Nothing is required of Elio, so he is constantly looking for ways to occupy himself: playing the piano with vigorous energy, listening to music, reading… soon all these things lead his thoughts to Oliver. He starts to play for Oliver; songs he hears feel like they’re speaking directly to him; a quote in a book ― “Is it better to speak or to die?” ― is what finally propels him to confess his feelings.

In the manner of an adolescent mind in the passionate throes of first love, the music in Call Me by Your Name is ever changing. We go where Elio’s head goes: the impeccably curated piano score is classical when Elio is able to luxuriate in his longing. When his desire excites him, the score bursts into a flurry of modern, staccato piano ― music brimming with possibility, like a flurry of birds released from their cage and tumbling out into the sky. Sufjan Stevens acts as the film’s narrator, using two original songs and a reworking of Futile Devices to give voice to Elio’s feelings in a way mere words never could.

While it becomes apparent that both Elio and Oliver developed feelings for each other almost immediately after meeting, Elio is the first to confess them. It gives him a newfound sense of power: before, he had simply idolised Oliver as an object of desire. As they expose more of themselves to each other though, Oliver’s insecurities are revealed. Elio comes to realise that Oliver’s easy confidence is the product of years of practice, and not a genuine expression of indifference. With the knowledge that Oliver wants him in the same way that he wants Oliver, Elio is given the confidence to take the lead.

In Call Me by Your Name, the only conflict is self-imposed. Unlike Luca Guadagnino’s previous film A Bigger Splash ― which was just as sensual but a lot more cunning in spirit ― the enjoyment comes from watching good people take joy in each other’s company. The heartbreak comes from knowing it has to end.

We’re told from the very start: six weeks is all they have. Elio and Oliver spend so much time tip-toeing around each other that when they finally both allow themselves to give in fully to their relationship, all they can do is lament: “We wasted so many days”. The film does not announce their farewell, simply cutting without warning to their final hug goodbye. They hold on to each other for as long as is reasonable, but still not long enough to satisfy. No words pass between them because no words could say what needs to be said. All they can give each other is one final, helpless look.

In its closing scenes, Call Me by Your Name puts the agonising ecstasy of a fleeting first love into the kind of perspective that can last a lifetime. Stuhlbarg delivers a father-to-son monologue of immense wisdom, preceding an epilogue set six months later. Elio holds himself high once again, spinning around the house and draping himself over furniture. We are granted a sigh of relief as the film recognises that Elio has managed to recover ― that life will, indeed, go on. When he is then reminded of Oliver, he is also reminded of his heartbreak and the wound briefly reopens ― but replaying that perfect summer in his mind brings not only sadness, but joy too. Call Me by Your Name transcends because it dares to not only ask, but also answer the question posed by so many love stories throughout history: was the love worth the pain? Yes. Without a doubt, it was.

By Last Caress.

The Unraveling opens on a heroin addict going through the process of injecting his drug of choice. That heroin addict is Michael (Zack Gold), and he’s servicing his addiction in a flophouse full of similarly addicted folk, almost all of whom are presently off inside themselves, far from reality. In the act of procuring a blanket for a poor wretch having a bad experience, Michael uncovers a dealer’s stash of drugs, cash and a firearm, with which he takes off, sharpish. Michael’s got to get home.

At home is Michael’s pregnant fiancée Jess (Cooper Harris). She knows Michael is a former addict but Michael hasn’t told her that he’s backsliding into his old habit once more, although she certainly suspects as much. When he slips out to get high, he tells her he’s picking up night shifts at work. Of course, there’s never any extra money from these extra “shifts” but, lookey here! Michael’s got $6,000 tucked inside an envelope. Why, he must have been back-paid for his hard graft, right? Yeah, right. The sudden appearance of an overly fat wad of cash does nothing to assuage Jess’s concerns but, well, there’s a baby on the way and money’s tight, and she wants to believe Michael. She tells him she just doesn’t like him being out there and he promises her that once the baby comes, he’ll quit. They’re talking about the extra shifts at work, but of course they’re not talking about the extra shifts at work at all.

The following day whilst out by the skips at work, Michael is grabbed, bound, gagged and thrown into the boot of a Chevy SS by a quartet of hockey mask-wearing goons. I guess this is what you get for taking off with a significant quantity of somebody else’s illegal product, right? Wrong; many miles out into the wilderness, the four “goons” let Michael out of the trunk and reveal themselves to be his buddies Alan (Jason Tobias), Louie (Bennett Viso), John (Jake Crumbine) and Shane (Bob Turton). Turns out Michael, in a drug-bound stupor, neglected to show up for his own stag party, arranged by these gentlemen in Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. Well, you know the saying: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. What also stays in Vegas is the cash they spent on their Sin City sojourn, so now they’re “treating” Michael to a more immediate – and far cheaper – stag option: an enforced camping trip out in the woods with his buds. Of course, they don’t know about Michael’s continuing habit (except that, like Jess, they kind-of do, really) and Michael’s quietly pissed because, having been snatched in the manner that he has, he only has a small quantity of gear on him. How’s he going to power through this “fun” experience?

The fun peters out quickly enough anyway as John, suspicious of Michael’s constant need to nip off for a wee, goes through his bag and confiscates the last of Michael’s stash which brings tensions over Michael’s habit to the fore. Still, that’s a picnic compared to the downturn the guys experience next when John vanishes only to be found suffocated in the car, which has been tampered with and rendered useless, stranding the remaining foursome out in the middle of nowhere. What is happening? Who has killed John, and why? Is Michael’s hasty snatch-and-run catching up with him for real this time? The last forty minutes of The Unraveling are a big old game of cat-and-mouse interspersed with flashbacks of Michael’s descent back into the drug scene; but this game mightn’t play out as one would expect…

Man. With a title like that, I was smugly half-hoping for The Unraveling to start well before dissolving into tired cliché just so’s I could say that it “unravels” as it goes, ha-bloody-ha. But it does nothing of the sort. First-time director Thomas Jakobsen keeps The Unraveling as tight as a drum throughout the entirety of its brisk eighty-minute runtime, and whilst each of the five principal characters are initially painted quite broadly (one’s funny, one’s an asshole etc etc), they’re all distinct, relatable and, crucially, likeable. Lead Zack Gold plays Michael with a touch of Aaron Paul about him; a sweet guy who simply wasn’t paying attention when the tide of addiction swept him out to sea.

All in all then, The Unraveling is a well-written, beautifully staged independent thriller featuring a terrific cast and a satisfying conclusion to the proceedings. Recommended.

The Unraveling official site

By Orla Smith.

“When it hurts it means it’s working”. Those words, spoken by The Wound‘s withdrawn protagonist Xolani (Nakhane Touré), neatly summarises the cultural attitude the film depicts ― and rallies against.

Director John Tengrove examines a South African tradition in the Xhosa community, designed to celebrate burgeoning manhood. Annually, teenage boys travel to the Eastern Cape mountains and are violently circumcised, followed by a two week process of healing in which displays of toxic masculinity are encouraged, and showing signs of physical or emotional pain is not an option.

Xolani was one of those boys many years ago. Now he is a quiet, worn-down and closeted factory worker who returns to the mountains each year in order to train one of the teenage initiates. This year, that’s Kwanda (Niza Jay), a head-strong teen who is mocked by the other initiates for being a rich boy from Joburg. The ritual that the boys participate in is brutal and archaic; the film takes place away from technology, so you’d be forgiven for thinking these things happened in another time. However, the brief appearance of cell phones, and Kwanda retreating to his car to listen to pop music, remind us that these practices take place in the modern world.

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubSlj-G4P6I

The Wound screened as part of the Cambridge Film Festival’s African Film strand, as well as recently winning the Sutherland Award for best debut feature at the BFI London Film Festival.

While not as precise an artistic vision as some other films up for the award ― Ava, Summer 1993 ― it’s unsurprising that The Wound is connecting with audiences. It deals unflinchingly with toxic masculinity and how it suppresses queer desire, themes that are ever relevant and ripe for awarding when handled correctly. The Wound has something to say, and it says it directly.

While The Wound hits many of the right notes, a more considered approach may have made it more effective. It almost runs too smoothly, hitting all the expected narrative and emotional beats and therefore not never becoming challenging or confrontational enough to be truly vital. The film comments aggressively on the way that marginalised people internalise oppression, but I found the note it ends on to be unnecessarily sadistic and untrue to the nature of the characters as depicted up until that point. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth after a film that is generally worthwhile.

By Marti Dols Roca.

Historically there have been two ways of approaching sex related crimes on the seventh art: visually hinting what happened and dwelling on its consequences and implications or expounding on it leaving no room for the imagination and sometimes ending up closer to gore and sophisticated ultra violence than to the cruel and cold reality. Obviously, the amount of reasons for taking those choices is endless: subtlety, elegance, comfort of the viewer, censorship, ignorance, lack of respect or just aesthetic reasons.

However, there are times when the filmmaker succeeds in articulating a scene that portrays a rape (for instance) in a way that feels as close to reality as can be; therefore, the scene is both difficult to watch but effective. Not only in the construction of a successful cinematic moment but in, indeed, making the audience uncomfortable and, ultimately, provoking a thought, a reflection, a reaction.

One of the most famous examples of such can be seen in Gaspar Noé’s Irreversible (2002), during the nine minutes long one shot sequence in which the character played by Monica Bellucci is vaginal and anal raped. Irreversible is a film that relies a lot on an oppressive and disturbing atmosphere achieved by lightning, sound design and performance. It’s part of the tone of the film and of Noe’s trademark. A similar closeness to reality, but in a completely different movie in terms of genre, story and feel, is found in Strangled (Árpad Sopsits, 2016).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzgZQ0hI0L8

Strangled had its UK Premiere at the BFI London Film Festival last week and will have its theatrical release in the British Islands on November 17^th. Previously, the film collected nine statuettes in the Hungarian Film Awards 2017 and has premiered in renowned festivals like Warsaw, Sitges or Parma, amongst others. Based on real events, this psycho-thriller set in post war Hungary (1960s) follows a veteran detective and a young prosecutor on their chase for the truth regarding a series of despicable crimes in a small Hungarian town. Several reviews and synopsis on the film can be found in the internet praising its visual appeal, dark atmosphere or compelling storyline; rightfully so, as the movie successfully delivers a gripping story full of political and social implications.

Nonetheless, one of the most remarkable aspects of Strangled is its approach towards the sexual violence scenes: those being part of the movie but not in a repetitive or abusive way; as it obviously centers in the investigation and the nightmare the wrongly convicted culprit goes through. In any case, returning to the initial point, it is gratifying (in absence of a more accurate concept) to see that rape and sexual related crimes can be shown on screen without being too explicit but not losing an ounce of veracity. As an audience, the viewer goes through a bad time, but that is the intention of the author when shooting the scene; to use it as a tool in order to tell the story and explore all its nuances as well as, hopefully, make a point.

Strangled is the prove that even though every genre and story within it has been told in a thousand different ways, the thousand and one can be as satisfying, striking or disturbing as the first one if done loyally to the core of the story and the demands of the medium in which is told.