NEVER LOOK AWAY (2024) [NZIFF]

Swashbuckling CNN combat camerawoman, Margaret Moth, risks it all to put the viewer inside the conflict. When a fateful injury gets in the way of her appetite for danger and adrenaline, Moth must find the strength to carry on.

Never Look Away, directed by Lucy Lawless, is a compelling and unique documentary-style film that immerses viewers in the extraordinary life of Margaret Moth. Moth, a New Zealand-born camera operator, defied the odds and broke through barriers in a field dominated by men, particularly in war correspondence. Her story is one of fearlessness, passion, and resilience, and Lawless' film attempts to capture the essence of a woman who lived life on her own terms.

The title Never Look Away is fitting for a film about a woman who spent her career staring directly into the face of danger, capturing the horrors of war through her camera lens. Moth's determination to document the truth, no matter the cost, is at the heart of the film. Lawless weaves together interviews, archival footage, photographs, and digital reconstructions to tell Moth's story, creating a film that is as visually engaging as it is emotionally impactful.

The documentary is structured around two main narrative threads. One focuses on Moth's personal life, including her controversial relationships and her hedonistic lifestyle. The other delves into her professional journey as a war correspondent, driven by an insatiable desire to expose the world's injustices. While both narratives are compelling, they do not always seamlessly intertwine. At times, the film struggles to balance these competing aspects of Moth's life, and the audience feels the film lacks a cohesive direction. Nonetheless, the documentary manages to convey the sheer complexity of Moth as a person, even if it falls short of fully integrating her personal and professional experiences.

Moth was not a conventional figure, and Lawless does not shy away from showing the more controversial aspects of her life. From her relationship with a 17-year-old boy when she was in her early thirties to her indulgence in drugs, partying, and open relationships, Moth's personal life was anything but ordinary. These elements of her life may be troubling for some viewers, but they also highlight her unapologetic approach to living. Moth lived by her own rules, and Lawless captures this rebellious spirit with unflinching honesty.

However, it is Moth's professional life that truly defines her legacy. She was one of the first female camera operators in war zones, a field fraught with danger and dominated by men. Moth's fearlessness in the face of peril is astounding. The film shows her repeatedly placing herself in harm's way to get the shot, from standing on rooftops during bombings to travelling through war-torn regions in Europe and the Middle East. Her work reveals the staggering human cost of war, particularly for innocent civilians caught in the crossfire.

Lawless uses creative storytelling techniques to bring Moth's experiences to life. One of the most visually striking elements of the film is the use of large digital dioramas, built by Wētā Workshop, to depict some of the more significant action sequences. These dioramas, combined with pastel filters and dramatic interludes with actors, add a layer of artistry to the film that elevates it beyond a standard documentary. While these stylistic choices are captivating, they can at times feel at odds with the film's more grounded documentary approach, creating a slight dissonance in tone.

The film does not shy away from the trauma Moth endured. A near-fatal injury shifted the trajectory of her life, turning Never Look Away from a tale of rebellion into a story of resilience and recovery. After being severely injured, Moth channelled her anger and determination into a remarkable comeback. Despite her injuries, she returned to the field, continuing to capture the horrors of war with the same fearless determination that defined her earlier career.

One of the film's shortcomings is its lack of detail about Moth's early life. There are hints of a painful past, including references to abuse, but much of this remains unexplored. With Moth's passing, many details of her life are lost, and the film relies heavily on second-hand accounts from those who knew her. This leaves some aspects of Moth's story feeling incomplete, and viewers may find themselves wanting more insight into the experiences that shaped her into the fearless woman she became.

Despite these gaps, the film succeeds in portraying Moth as a complex and compelling figure. She was not just a war correspondent; she was a woman who lived life to the fullest, embracing danger and defying convention at every turn. Her work in places like Baghdad, Kuwait, Bosnia, and Tbilisi made her a celebrated journalist, and her legacy is cemented by the powerful footage she captured. Yet, Never Look Away also reminds us that Moth was more than her professional achievements. She was a woman with a thirst for adventure and a desire to push the boundaries of what was possible.

The film's pacing reflects the chaos of Moth's life, jumping from one dangerous situation to the next with little time for reflection. While this mirrors the fast-paced nature of her career, it also makes the film feel somewhat disjointed. The audience is whisked from one warzone to another without a clear sense of resolution or growth. This frenetic pacing can be disorienting, but it also serves to highlight the relentless nature of Moth's work and the toll it took on her.

Never Look Away ultimately paints a portrait of a woman who was driven by a passion for truth and a thirst for adventure. Moth's story is one of resilience, rebellion, and an unwavering commitment to capturing the realities of war, no matter the personal cost. Lawless' film does not provide easy answers or neatly tied-up conclusions, much like Moth's own life. Instead, it offers a raw and unfiltered look at a woman who refused to be ordinary, even in the face of unimaginable challenges.

Never Look Away is a film that asks us to confront the uncomfortable truths of war and the human cost of conflict. It also challenges us to consider what it means to live life to the fullest, as Margaret Moth so boldly did. While the film may not be perfect in its execution, it is a powerful tribute to a woman who never looked away from danger, from injustice, or from the opportunity to capture the world as it truly is.

Never Look Away is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz

FLOW (2024) [NZIFF]

Cat is a solitary animal, but as its home is devastated by a great flood, he finds refuge on a boat populated by various species, and will have to team up with them despite their differences.

Animation, as a genre, often attracts attention for its visual artistry, and Flow is no exception. However, this film, directed by Gints Zilbalodis, manages to distinguish itself not by relying on the technological grandeur of studios like Disney, Pixar, or DreamWorks but by focusing on a unique blend of storytelling and artistic expression. In a world where big-budget animation dominates, Flow offers a refreshing take that speaks to the soul of the medium—an exploration of narrative through movement, atmosphere, and subtle character dynamics.

At its core, Flow is a minimalist film. It foregoes dialogue and narration, a bold choice in a medium where storytelling is often driven by spoken words. Instead, it places the onus on the animation to convey emotion, relationships, and plot progression. This approach demands a higher level of engagement from the audience. Without the comfort of dialogue to explain the world, viewers are invited to interpret the subtleties of movement, the quirks of the characters, and the intricate dynamics of their environment. This method may not appeal to everyone, as it creates a viewing experience that can feel more passive—like observing someone play a video game. However, for those willing to engage with it, Flow offers an invigorating and meditative journey.

The film centres on a black cat, a solitary creature navigating a world transformed by a near-biblical flood. The floodwaters rise, engulfing the forest in mere seconds, and from that point on, the cat struggles to survive in a strange new waterworld. The absence of human characters is notable; their presence is felt only through the remnants of civilization that occasionally appear in the background, half-submerged beneath the water. This gives the film a strangely video game-like atmosphere, where the cat is both a participant and an observer in a world reshaped by forces beyond its control.

One of Flow’s greatest strengths is its choice of animals, each of which carries a well-established set of characteristics that help define their roles within the story. The black cat, for instance, is portrayed with the familiar traits of aloofness and independence often associated with felines. Labradors, known for their loyalty and fun-loving nature, add a layer of warmth and companionship, while lemurs are depicted as resourceful and slightly obsessive hoarders. Capybaras, renowned for their friendliness and lazy disposition, contribute a sense of calm and laid-back charm to the group dynamic. By leaning into these well-known stereotypes, the film is able to build character depth without the need for extensive backstories. Viewers can instantly connect with these animals on a deeper level, recognising traits they’ve seen in real life, which in turn adds to the film’s charm.

Though the animation may not match the hyper-realism that we’ve come to expect from modern animated films, Flow is visually stunning in its own right. Zilbalodis’s style favours bold colours and broad strokes over intricate details. For instance, while the animals’ fur may not be rendered with the same minute attention to detail as in some blockbuster animations, the film compensates with vivid hues, striking sunsets, and a breathtaking depiction of water. The animation of water in particular stands out as one of the most beautiful aspects of the film. It flows and swells with a life of its own, almost becoming a character in the story as the cat battles against the rising tide.

Where the film truly excels is in its character animation. The black cat, the protagonist of this adventure, is brought to life with remarkable realism. The way the cat reacts to its environment, the way its ears twitch or its tail sways, and even the subtle changes in its pupils all contribute to a character that feels authentic. These small details, which may go unnoticed at first glance, are a testament to the artistry behind the film. Every motion, from a hesitant step to a defensive arch of the back, conveys the cat’s emotions and responses to the challenges it faces in this new world.

In a film without dialogue, sound design takes on a crucial role in storytelling, and Flow handles this beautifully. The sounds of the animals—the meows, barks, and chirps—help define their personalities and communicate their thoughts and feelings in ways that dialogue never could. The ambient sounds of the environment, from the gentle lapping of water to the rustling of leaves, further immerse the viewer in the world of Flow. The sound and animation work together to create a film that is emotionally resonant, even in its quietest moments.

Despite its visual and auditory beauty, Flow isn’t without its challenges. The plot is relatively simplistic, and towards the end, it can become somewhat confusing. The minimalism that gives the film its unique charm also means that certain elements are left unexplained. The film doesn’t spoon-feed answers to the audience, which can be both a strength and a weakness, depending on the viewer’s expectations. For some, the lack of concrete resolution might be frustrating, while others may appreciate the open-ended nature of the narrative, allowing for personal interpretation.

Thematically, Flow is a film about trust, companionship, and survival. At the heart of the story is the black cat, a wary and independent creature who gradually learns to rely on others. This journey towards trust and friendship is handled with a light touch, embedded in the narrative in a way that feels organic rather than preachy. It’s a message that resonates, particularly in a film aimed at younger audiences. The importance of friendship, cooperation, and mutual trust is conveyed with clarity, yet never over-emphasised, making it a wonderful film for children and adults alike.

The world of Flow is one of wonder and mystery. The animals drift through a landscape that is both familiar and strange, a place where the remnants of human civilization peek through the water’s surface. There’s a sense of melancholy in these scenes, as the animals passively witness the aftermath of a world that no longer belongs to them. Yet, there’s also beauty in this new reality—the night skies are breathtaking, the water shimmers with life, and the creatures that inhabit this world are weird and wonderful. Flow doesn’t seek to explain everything, and that’s part of its charm. The unanswered questions add to the allure of the world, inviting viewers to lose themselves in its quiet, contemplative atmosphere.

Flow is a beautifully-made, deeply cinematic film that offers an emotional experience rather than a traditional narrative. It is a film about survival, friendship, and the resilience of the spirit in the face of overwhelming odds. Though it may not appeal to everyone, particularly those looking for a fast-paced, dialogue-driven story, it is a film that rewards patience and introspection. With its captivating animation, stunning sound design, and heartfelt message, Flow stands as a testament to the power of animation as a storytelling medium.

Flow is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz

WILD DIAMOND (2024) [NZIFF]

Liane, 19, lives with her mother and sister in Fréjus in the south of France. Consumed by aspirations of beauty and stardom, she auditions for a reality show called "Miracle Island." 

Wild Diamond, directed and written by Agathe Riedinger, delves into the complex and multifaceted theme of desire. The film's protagonist, Liane, embodies various forms of yearning—she craves to be desired by those around her, her male friends long for her affection, she obsessively chases social media followers, and she desperately seeks to escape the control that life imposes on her. Riedinger’s narrative is steeped in ambiguity, intentionally leaving viewers with a lingering sense of uncertainty about where the story is headed. While Liane’s ultimate goal—to be desired—is clear, the journey to achieve it is unpredictable and disorienting, reflecting the chaotic nature of modern desires.

The characters surrounding Liane add depth to the film's exploration of desire. Two key male figures in her life share a common history—they have both been through the foster care system and are now attempting to reintegrate into family life. Their circumstances, however, are far from ideal. They face poverty, instability, and emotional difficulties, which bind them in their shared experience of not belonging. This connection underscores the central theme of the film: the longing to be wanted.

Despite their shared background, these two characters have vastly different aspirations. One dreams of a stable life, with a job, a career, and a home he can share with Liane. His desires are grounded in a traditional sense of stability and achievement. In stark contrast, Liane's desires are boundless. She wants everything she feels entitled to, driven by a deep-seated belief that her worth is tied to what she can possess and how much she is desired. This raises critical questions about the lengths she is willing to go to achieve her desires and what she might lose along the way.

Liane’s desire is not merely a wish to be wanted; it is intrinsically linked to her perception of power. She believes that being desired will empower her, making her successful and famous. However, as the film unfolds, it becomes clear that Liane struggles with the reality of this desire. She often shuns physical expressions of affection, unable to reconcile her fantasy with the harsh realities of life. Social media, her chosen platform for seeking validation, presents another challenge. While it offers her a stage to be seen and admired, it also exposes her to harsh criticism, which she finds difficult to handle.

The pacing of Wild Diamond may feel slow to some viewers, a deliberate choice that mirrors the uncertainty surrounding Liane’s journey. This slow burn is amplified by the contradictions within Liane’s desires. She yearns to be seen and loved for who she truly is, yet almost every aspect of her appearance is artificial. From stolen decorations to cosmetic enhancements, Liane is trapped in a cycle of altering her physical self to fit societal standards, even as she longs for acceptance as her authentic self. This tension between appearance and reality is central to the film’s narrative and underscores the deep sense of disconnection that drives Liane’s actions.

At its core, Wild Diamond is more than just a story about one woman's quest for self-love. It is a sharp critique of how modern media continues to select and shape individuals who are desperate for fame, perpetuating an illusion of beauty and success that is unattainable for most. Liane’s dream of becoming a social media influencer, a reality TV star, or someone significant and loved is emblematic of this critique.

Liane’s journey is marked by desperation. After working as a waitress and saving enough money for breast implants, she turns to shoplifting and selling goods on the street to make ends meet. Social media becomes her escape, with 10,000 followers who either idolise or vilify her. Riedinger does not necessarily endorse Liane’s choices, but the film provides a deep insight into why she makes them. It highlights the seductive power of social media and reality TV stardom, presenting them as seemingly attainable yet ultimately hollow escapes from a life of poverty. Her followers offer a form of love and validation that she never received from her mother, filling a void that only grows as she chases the dream of fame.

As Liane waits in increasing desperation to hear back from a reality TV show, Riedinger expertly crafts moments of humiliation and fleeting pleasures, building the tension to a point where, for Liane, it’s “Miracle Island” or nothing. First-time actress Malou Khébizi delivers a powerful performance, making Liane’s longing feel palpable and real.

Wild Diamond is shot in a constrained 4:3 aspect ratio, effectively boxing in the characters and intensifying the film’s themes of entrapment and confinement. The frame only opens up for brief moments, reflecting the temporary and fleeting nature of Liane’s hopes and dreams. The film’s visual style is stark and unflinching, capturing the bleak reality of a social class trapped in poverty and a generation addicted to the allure of celebrity. This is not a film about beauty, but rather about the desperation that drives people to chase it.

While Wild Diamond effectively portrays the flaws and struggles of its main character, the screenplay leaves several narrative threads underdeveloped. Liane’s relationships with her friends, sister, quasi-boyfriend, and mother remain largely unexplored, which may leave some viewers feeling unsatisfied. However, these gaps do not diminish the film’s overall impact. Instead, they reflect the fragmented and incomplete nature of Liane’s life, where connections are tenuous and often unfulfilled.

Ultimately, Wild Diamond serves as a cautionary tale about the corrosive effects of influencer culture and the worship of superficial beauty. It presents a world where the need to be seen and desired has overshadowed talent and effort. In this universe, the desiring gaze is no longer that of an active participant but of a passive community of voyeurs and followers.

While Riedinger doesn’t offer a clear condemnation of the pursuit of a social media career, the film’s message about the hollowness of this pursuit is unmistakable. What lingers most after watching Wild Diamond is a profound sense of loneliness, the aching absence of maternal affection, and the aimlessness of a life spent chasing an unattainable dream. Social media, in this film, is not a platform for connection but a mirror reflecting back the emptiness within.

Wild Diamond is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz

THE VILLAGE NEXT TO PARADISE (2024) [NZIFF]

A newly formed family confronts challenges while pursuing individual goals and facing the intricacies of modern life, relying on love, trust, and resilience to guide them.

The Village Next to Paradise is a striking debut from Somali-Austrian director Mo Harawe, blending a haunting narrative with a poignant exploration of survival, resilience, and the quiet struggles of daily life in a small Somali village. At its core, the film is a character-driven drama that deftly examines the intersecting lives of a small family against the broader, often harsh, realities of contemporary Somalia.

The film opens with a disconcerting sequence: a news broadcast detailing a U.S. drone strike on a vehicle suspected of smuggling contraband in Somalia. The broadcast, complete with CGI graphics depicting the strike, is a deliberate choice by Harawe. It serves as a stark contrast to the complex, nuanced realities that unfold in the village of Paradise, where the story is set. The news report represents the oversimplified narratives often presented by Western media, which reduce intricate situations to soundbites and visuals, while the film itself digs into the layers of life that such coverage often overlooks.

The story centres on Mamargade (Ahmed Ali Farah), a man burdened with the responsibility of providing for his family in an environment where opportunities are scarce and survival often depends on making difficult, morally ambiguous decisions. Mamargade’s primary occupation is digging graves, a job that tragically reflects the grim reality of drone strikes and the ever-present spectre of death in his community. However, Mamargade is also involved in smuggling, and transporting illegal goods to the nearby city to make ends meet. This duality in his character—part solemn caretaker, part reluctant criminal—forms the backbone of the film’s exploration of morality and survival.

Mamargade shares his home with his sister Araweelo (Anab Ahmed Ibrahim), a woman who quietly defies the traditional expectations placed upon her by society. Araweelo is recently divorced, a fact that carries significant social stigma in her community. Her marriage ended due to her infertility, a situation that was compounded by her husband's request to take a second wife—a request Araweelo firmly rejected. This backstory is crucial to understanding her character, as it underscores her determination to live on her own terms, even in the face of societal pressures. Araweelo dreams of opening her own tailoring shop, a modest aspiration that represents her desire for independence and self-sufficiency.

The third key character in this makeshift family is Cigaal (Ahmed Mohamud Saleban), Mamargade’s young son, who brings a sense of innocence and hope to the film. Cigaal is a bright, curious boy who idolises his father and dreams of a land filled with sweets—a symbol of the simple joys he yearns for in a life overshadowed by hardship. Cigaal’s dreams and his close relationship with his father provide a poignant counterpoint to the harsh realities that Mamargade faces daily.

Harawe’s film is notable for its deliberate pacing and understated storytelling. The narrative unfolds slowly, reflecting the rhythms of life in the village, where change is gradual, and the weight of daily existence is felt in every scene. This pacing allows the film to delve deeply into its characters, giving the audience time to connect with their struggles and aspirations. However, this approach may also test the patience of some viewers, as the film’s tension builds slowly, and the major revelations are reserved for the later stages of the narrative.

Cinematographer Mostafa El Kashef deserves special mention for his work on the film. His use of framing and composition enhances the emotional impact of the story, often placing characters on the edges of the frame to visually represent their marginalised positions in society. One particularly memorable scene involves Cigaal covering his eyes as the victims of a drone strike are rushed into a hospital. The camera remains fixed on Cigaal’s reaction, allowing the sounds of chaos around him to underscore the emotional weight of the moment. This focus on character reactions, rather than the events themselves, is a hallmark of the film’s visual style and contributes to its overall impact.

The performances in The Village Next to Paradise are another highlight. Ahmed Ali Farah delivers a nuanced portrayal of Mamargade, capturing the character’s internal conflict and deep-seated sadness. His performance is characterised by a quiet intensity, with much of Mamargade’s emotional world conveyed through subtle expressions and body language rather than dialogue. Anab Ahmed Ibrahim as Araweelo is equally compelling, bringing a sense of quiet strength and resilience to her role. Araweelo’s character is a silent hero in the film, embodying the perseverance and determination needed to navigate the challenges of life in a patriarchal society. Ahmed Mohamud Saleban’s portrayal of Cigaal is also noteworthy, as he brings a natural, unaffected charm to the role that makes the character’s innocence and dreams all the more poignant.

Despite its many strengths, The Village Next to Paradise is not without its flaws. The film’s pacing, while effective in building atmosphere and character depth, can feel slow and meandering at times. Some viewers may find the narrative too subdued, with the stakes never fully reaching the level of tension that might be expected given the subject matter. Additionally, the performances, particularly from the non-professional actors, occasionally lack the polish that might be found in more seasoned casts. However, these minor shortcomings do not detract significantly from the film’s overall impact.

The Village Next to Paradise ultimately stands out as a powerful meditation on life in a part of the world that is often overlooked or misunderstood by the broader global audience. Harawe’s film challenges viewers to look beyond the headlines and simplistic narratives that dominate Western media, inviting them to engage with the complex realities faced by those living in conflict zones. It is a film that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll, not because of any dramatic twists or action-packed scenes, but because of its quiet, humanistic portrayal of life’s struggles and the resilience of the human spirit.

Mo Harawe’s debut is a haunting and thought-provoking piece of cinema that marks him as a director to watch in the years to come. Through its carefully crafted narrative, strong performances, and evocative cinematography, The Village Next to Paradise offers a glimpse into a world that is both distant and deeply familiar, reminding us of the shared humanity that connects us all.

 

The Village Next to Paradise is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz

HEAD SOUTH (2024) [NZIFF]

In 1979, Angus, with his father's support, discovers the underground post-punk music scene in Christchurch, New Zealand, overcoming self-doubt, derision, and a family tragedy to perform.

Jonathan Ogilvie’s Head South is an autobiographical film that takes us on a nostalgic journey through the 1970s, immersing us in the burgeoning Kiwi post-punk scene. The film is rooted in a true story, drawing from Ogilvie’s own experiences as a teenager in New Zealand. With a runtime just under two hours, Head South manages to maintain a well-paced narrative that keeps the audience engaged from start to finish. It’s a film that captures the essence of a specific time and place while exploring universal themes of youth, identity, and the transformative power of music.

One of the film’s most striking features is its cinematography and set design. From the very beginning, the audience is transported back to the 1970s, with every detail meticulously crafted to reflect the era. The costumes, hairstyles, and overall aesthetic are spot-on, evoking a strong sense of nostalgia for a time that many viewers may not have even experienced firsthand. The film’s use of changing aspect ratios is a particularly effective technique, often employed in modern cinema but used here to great effect. These shifts in the visual format mirror the protagonist’s expanding worldview as he discovers new music, further immersing the audience in his journey.

The film’s ability to capture the spirit of the 1970s extends beyond its visual style. Head South skillfully conveys the thrill of discovering new sounds in a record store, the shy admiration for musicians who seem larger-than-life, and the communal excitement of creating music with friends. The record store, a central setting in the film, is more than just a backdrop; it’s a symbol of a bygone era where music was not just consumed, but discovered and cherished. In this space, the protagonist and his friends explore new genres, debate the merits of different bands, and forge their own identities through the music they love.

Head South evokes a deep sense of nostalgia, even for those who may not have lived through the 1970s. The film taps into a longing for the days when record stores were cultural hubs, where knowledgeable owners were in tune with the latest releases and supported the music community. This sense of community, which seems increasingly absent in today’s world of streaming services and digital downloads, is a central theme in the film. The camaraderie of discovering music together, debating its merits, and even forming a band on a whim is portrayed with a warmth and authenticity that is both touching and relatable.

The subplot involving the protagonist’s parents adds an interesting layer to the narrative, though it feels more like a tribute than a necessary part of the story. The parents’ presence provides a glimpse into the domestic life of the time, but it doesn’t significantly drive the plot forward. Instead, it serves as a backdrop to the main story of the protagonist’s coming-of-age journey through the world of music. This aspect of the film highlights the tension between the older generation, with their more traditional values, and the younger generation, who are carving out their own paths in a rapidly changing world.

At the heart of Head South is the character of Angus, a teenager who is relatable in his struggles to fit in and appear confident. Angus is portrayed as unmotivated and somewhat dull, yet his journey is one of self-discovery and growth. He stumbles awkwardly into the Kiwi post-punk scene and finds himself drawn to Holly, a sassy Londoner who embodies everything that seems exciting and new to him. Holly’s presence in Angus’s life serves as both an inspiration and an intimidation, pushing him to form his own band and step out of his comfort zone.

The film’s depiction of Angus’s life as a teenager in New Zealand is both humorous and moving. Angus’s desperate attempts to fit in, his awkwardness around girls, and his uncertainty about the future are all portrayed with a sense of authenticity that makes him a wholly relatable character. The friendship he strikes up with Kirsten, played by New Zealand singer-songwriter Benee, is a turning point in his life. Kirsten’s character, who works at the local drugstore, helps Angus find a sense of purpose and direction, reorienting his passion for music into something more focused and meaningful.

While the film is undeniably pleasant and enjoyable, it does have its narrative shortcomings. The story is somewhat thin in parts, with certain plot points left underdeveloped. For instance, the marital woes of Angus’s parents and Holly’s complicated relationship with Andy (played by Arlo Gibson) are introduced but not fully explored. Andy’s role in Holly’s life is left ambiguous—he might be her pusher, her pimp, or something else entirely—but the film doesn’t delve deeply enough into this subplot to provide clarity. These narrative gaps, while not detracting significantly from the overall experience, do leave the audience wanting more depth and resolution.

Despite the narrative thinness in certain areas, the performances in Head South are consistently strong. Oxenbould, who plays Angus, delivers a standout performance that captures the character’s complex emotions and inner turmoil. His portrayal of Angus is nuanced, with the right balance of awkwardness, fear, excitement, and a desperate need to appear cool. Oxenbould’s ability to convey these conflicting emotions makes Angus a character that viewers can’t help but root for, even when he’s making questionable decisions.

The supporting cast also delivers solid performances, though the script doesn’t always give them enough material to fully showcase their talents. Benee, in her role as Kirsten, brings a fresh energy to the film, and her chemistry with Oxenbould adds depth to their on-screen friendship. Holly, played by an actress whose performance embodies the allure and danger of the punk scene, is another standout, though her character could have been more fully fleshed out with a bit more screen time and backstory.

Ogilvie’s direction is both confident and creative, employing various retro techniques to give the film an authentic 1970s feel. From jump cuts and fisheye lenses to light flares and simulated film-stock distress, these stylistic choices contribute to the film’s overall aesthetic and help to immerse the audience in the era. One of the most memorable moments in the film occurs when Angus first hears “Public Image”—the impact of the music is so profound that the screen’s aspect ratio shifts from Academy ratio to widescreen, visually representing the expansion of Angus’s mind and world.

Head South is a heartfelt exploration of youth, music, and the search for identity in a time of cultural and social change. While it may have some narrative shortcomings, the film’s strengths lie in its evocative portrayal of the 1970s Kiwi post-punk scene, its nostalgic depiction of record store culture, and the relatable journey of its protagonist. Jonathan Ogilvie has crafted a film that is both visually striking and emotionally resonant, capturing the spirit of a bygone era while reminding us of the timeless power of music to shape our lives. For those who long for the days when discovering a new band could change everything, Head South is a must-watch.

The Beast is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz 

TO A LAND UNKNOWN (2024) [NZIFF]

A Palestinian refugee living on the fringes of society in Athens gets ripped off by a smuggler and sets out to seek revenge. 

To A Land Unknown is a gripping exploration of displacement, survival, and the complex moral landscapes that emerge when individuals are stripped of their rights and forced into the shadows. Directed with an acute awareness of the socio-political realities it portrays, this film tells the story of two Palestinian cousins, Chatila (Mahmood Bakri) and Reda (Aram Sabbah), who find themselves trapped in Greece while on a journey to reach Germany. Their quest for a better life is fraught with challenges that test their morals, principles, and ultimately, their humanity.

The film’s narrative is far from the traditional black-and-white portrayal of good versus evil. Instead, it delves into the shades of grey that define the real world. The story acknowledges that people do not always do bad things for bad reasons, nor good things for good reasons. This moral ambiguity is what makes To A Land Unknown so compelling. It presents a world where desperate circumstances force people to make difficult, often morally compromised decisions.

Chatila and Reda’s journey is emblematic of the plight of displaced people everywhere. They are individuals without a true home, having been pushed from one place to another, their land taken, and now left in foreign territories without credentials, paperwork, or identity. The film poignantly depicts their struggle to survive in a world that has stripped them of the basic necessities of life. They are unable to secure legal employment, unable to travel, and unable to reunite with their families without resorting to illegal means. The desperation of their situation leads them down a path where they must rely on smugglers and criminals to navigate their way to a semblance of normalcy.

The film forces its audience to confront the harsh realities faced by those living without privilege. It challenges the often simplistic view that one can easily obtain a passport, an ID, or a job. To A Land Unknown illustrates the brutal truth that when these basic elements of society are out of reach, people are forced into extreme measures. The cousins’ involvement in petty theft, exploitation, and even prostitution is presented not as a moral failing, but as a tragic necessity for survival in a world that offers them no other options.

Visually, the film is stunning. The cinematography, helmed by Mihopoulos, creates a claustrophobic atmosphere that underscores the characters’ entrapment. The environments are lived-in and authentic, with every element feeling as though it belongs in the world the film depicts. The urban elements of skating, hustling, and poetry mistaken for rapping add layers of realism to the narrative, portraying the characters’ descent into a world where survival comes at the cost of their humanity.

One of the film’s most powerful elements is its ability to build suspense and tension through a lack of information and constant obstacles. The audience, much like the characters, is left in a state of uncertainty, never knowing if something has worked or how close the cousins are to their goal. The goalpost is constantly shifting, with every potential solution leading to more challenges. This narrative technique keeps the audience engaged, rooting for the characters even as their circumstances grow more dire.

The performances by Bakri and Sabbah are nothing short of extraordinary. Bakri, in particular, captures the essence of Chatila’s internal struggle, portraying the fine line between his natural personality and the behaviours he adopts out of necessity. The warmth between the cousins, despite the harshness of their environment, adds depth to their relationship, making their story even more poignant.

The film refrains from making overtly political statements, but the context and the characters’ experiences naturally bring political issues to the forefront. For Palestinians, whose homeland was taken and whose lives are marked by invisibility in exile, the film’s portrayal of time running out resonates deeply. The characters are depicted with complexity, revealing the contradictions that make them human. Even as they are driven to morally questionable actions, they are shown as individuals with agency, navigating a world that offers them few choices.

To A Land Unknown is a film about survival in its rawest form. It’s a story of people pushed to the brink, where good intentions are often overshadowed by the need to survive. Yet, despite the bleakness of their situation, the warmth of the characters and the depth of their bond offers a glimmer of hope. It’s a film that challenges its audience to look beyond the surface, to understand the complexities of human nature, and to recognize the resilience of the human spirit, even in the face of overwhelming adversity

To a Land Unknown is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz

THE PEOPLE'S JOKER (2024) [NZIFF]

A law-breaking comedian who is grappling with her gender identity forms a new anti-comedy troupe with a friend and finds herself battling a fascistic caped crusader.

The People's Joker, directed by Vera Drew, is an audacious film that stands out for its vibrant, chaotic visuals and deeply personal narrative. Written by Vera Drew and Bri LeRose, the film stars Drew alongside Lynn Downey and Kane Distler. It is a patchwork of imagery that operates as a clever parody, blending familiar superhero tropes with a raw and vulnerable exploration of identity. While the film's chaotic nature might be overwhelming to some, its candid portrayal of gender dysphoria and identity resonates strongly, particularly within the queer community.

At its core, The People's Joker serves as a subversive take on the superhero genre. It features well-known DC Comics characters, including classic villains like the Penguin and the Riddler, and delves into the realm of deep cuts with appearances from lesser-known figures like Creeper. However, beyond its superhero facade, the film is a piece of outsider art—a deeply personal story told through the lens of superhero iconography. Vera Drew uses these familiar characters and tropes to reflect on her own experiences, including her transition into womanhood, her relationship with her mother, and her role in the comedy world.

Visually, the film is a whirlwind of styles and media. Drew employs a mix of low-budget CGI, traditional hand-drawn animation, and even action figures to craft fight scenes. This eclectic blend, while at times jarring, contributes to the film's DIY feel, reminiscent of a personal diary. The juxtaposition of various visual elements enhances the narrative's emotional depth, grounding the story in relatable human experiences despite the visual overload. This maximalist approach might feel overwhelming, yet it is anchored by a focus on deeply personal and universal emotions.

The narrative follows a woman yearning to be recognized for who she truly is, with dreams of making people laugh. This central theme of seeking recognition and acceptance is a relatable aspect of the film, making its story accessible despite the dense layering of visual and verbal gags. The film’s irreverent humor, self-deprecating wit, and raw emotional honesty add to its distinctiveness. It captures the spirit of those who gravitate towards societal fringes, portraying them not just as villains but as complex individuals navigating a world that often misunderstands or rejects them.

The People's Joker is an autobiographical confession, striking in its honesty. At times, the bitterness of the narrative can be overwhelming, reflecting the often harsh realities faced by those exploring their gender identity in a society resistant to change. The film does not shy away from uncomfortable truths, instead embracing them as part of its chaotic narrative tapestry. It explores themes of grooming, gender dysphoria, manipulation, gaslighting, and abuse, all leading to a poignant exploration of trans identity and genre expression. These themes are interwoven with a satirical critique of societal norms, particularly the pressures of conformity imposed by the straight community.

The film’s depiction of Batman is particularly noteworthy, reimagining the character not as a hero but as a symbol of conservative, corporate repression. This portrayal serves as a critique of capitalist structures and the fear-mongering tactics used to maintain control. It’s a bold narrative choice that aligns with the film's overall message of challenging the status quo and celebrating difference.

While not every joke in The People's Joker lands perfectly, the film never loses its grip on the audience. The absurdism is balanced with just the right amount of visual chaos, and the heartfelt story at its centre maintains a strong emotional hold. The film's hyper-awareness and its satirical take on millennial pop culture add layers of complexity, making it a rich experience for viewers willing to embrace its unique style.

Despite the film’s edgy, low-rent aesthetic, which springs both from budget limitations and deliberate stylistic choices, there is an endearing quality to its self-deprecation. The film cuts deep, not just in its humor but in its brutal honesty. It captures the struggle of growing up trans, finding oneself, and navigating relationships in a world that is often hostile to those who deviate from the norm. The portrayal of a repressive parent who perceives a child's gender dysphoria as a personal affront is particularly poignant, highlighting the generational trauma caused by societal attempts at conformity.

The People's Joker is a remarkable and unconventional film. Its anarchic blend of animation, low-fi effects, and live action creates a visually chaotic yet compelling experience. The film's strength lies in its deeply personal and emotionally candid storytelling, delivering moments of profound heartbreak and raw honesty. 

It may not resonate with everyone, but for those who understand or are curious about the complexities of gender identity and the challenges faced by the queer community, it offers a unique and valuable perspective. While the film's messy nature and maximalist approach may not be universally appreciated, they are integral to its identity, making it a standout piece of cinema that boldly defies conventional norms.

The People's Joker is one of 105 films screening as part of the Whānau Mārama New Zealand International Film Festival (NZIFF)

The full programme of 2024 films is outlined here.

Tickets can be booked online at www.nziff.co.nz