The County: NZIFF Review

Mustering as much fire and brimstone as a story of the little people can, Rams director Grímur Hákonarson delivers a quietly empowering tale.

It's the story of Inga (a fire-in-her-belly Arndís Hrönn Egilsdóttir) a farmer in the Nordic lands, whose life is overturned when her husband dies driving a truck. With the farm owned by the Co-operative run in the region and with outside trade stifled by the organisation, Inga starts a rebellion when she likens the group to the Mafia.

As the one-person-against-the-machine battle intensifies, Hákonarson chooses to centre the fight on the dignified but indignant Inga as she takes on the Co-op and its apparently corrupt CEO.

But this is no all-guns-blazing kind of affair.

Instead, as with Rams, Hákonarson elects to slowly build the tension and seeds the story of dissent from within long slow scenes that are character-led and predominantly revealing by their subtleties.

Egilsdóttir may be older and ravaged by time and tribulations of debt upon the farm, but not once does this timeless tale of David vs Goliath go for cliche. 

As the crusade begins against corporate bullying, Hákonarson never shifts focus away from Inga, her resolution and the plight of the smaller man within the valleys. In many ways, The County is not a new story, but with long wide shots, a simmering tension found in smaller communities and by never bedevilling any involved, Hákonarson delivers something akin to a tragedy as it plays out against the bleakness of the valleys.

It may end positively, but The County wins the festival for the bleakest happy ending delivered to the screen yet. In many ways, it could feel like a paean for the New Zealand leg of the festival itself - shorn of conventional routes, and taking on the uncertainties of Covid-19 on the cinema, Hákonarson's The County ends up being a resounding success and quietly moving salute to the common man and woman caught up in the machinations of the big corporate machine.

The Kingmaker: NZIFF Review

A chilling indictment of power and delusion, Lauren Greenfield's The Kingmaker works wonders by never turning its central character into the villain she truly is.

With a sensitive lens and a steady hand, Greenfield's gradually gobsmacking documentary places the focus squarely on Imelda Marcos and the ill-gotten gains and political powers at play in the Philippines.

With a side-focus on the rise of son Bongbong Marcos and a sudden end inclusion of President Duterte's rise to power, The Kingmaker leaves scenes of utter power and disgust to swirl in your gut.

Opening with Marcos handing out obscene amounts of money to those mobbing her, and then doing something similar in a hospital while showing little to no empathy to the suffering around her and caused by herself and her husband, Greenfield slowly damns Imelda into the pantheons of monsters.

Ego, desires to be seen on the world stage and utter contempt build in a heady concoction as the doco plays out, and while Greenfield never chooses to damn Marcos, she certainly delivers Marcos enough rope to essentially hang herself.

Hubris and arrogance rise to the fore - from Imelda Marcos' desire to bring animals from Africa to Philippines on a whim to the secret puppetry behind Bongbong's rise to the top, what emerges is a truly chilling damnation of a country unable to shake itself from inexorable corruption.

Utterly compelling, truly frightening and likely to leave your blood boiling, The Kingmaker is essential documentary-making, a terrifying mirror to a society unable to ever shake itself free - and a piece of film-making that exudes quiet power in every frame.

Carrion: Nintendo Switch Game Review

Developer: Phobia Game Studios

Publisher: Devolver Digital

Platform: Nintendo Switch

Slither, slather and slaughter.

Phobia Game Studio’s delightful Carrion allows you to love the alien as you take control of an amorphous blob, hellbent on causing chaos in an underground lair.

Initially miniscule and able to slime your way around the caverns, Carrion grants you the chance to channel all your rage in what developers say is a reverse-horror.

As you cling to the walls, humans try and stop you - but using tendrils and your slimy nefarious desires, you can devour them.

Doing so and consuming them gifts you extra girth (though it does make you more of a target later on as the fight back takes shape.)

Through a series of environmental puzzles and access to minor upgrades to your eco-skeleton, Carrion grants you the chance to deliver carnage how you want.

See a human that looks troublesome? Flick a web and pin them to the wall before devouring them.

Graphically, Carrion is basic at best, looking more pixelated than crystal clear.

But given how fluid your beastie is that barely matters. 

Movement is clear and defined, but equally messy the bigger you get. Bits of you hang from the walls and Carrion grants you the feeling of the extra terrestrial and gifts you the gore.

It may lack a map, but thinking of it from the alien’s perspective as it slithers in places unknown, the world is fit for exploring and finding things anew.

The more Carrion carries on, the bolder you get - luring victims to death and ambushing them are just bonuses. The simplicity is the key to Carrion's success - games don't need to be complicated, and this one keeps to its MO and delivers it more than effectively.

All in all, Carrion may be brief, but this beastly brevity is a blast.

Keep calm and Carrion, indeed.

A review key for Carrion was provided by the publisher for the purpose of this review.

The Long Walk: NZIFF Review

Meditative, and almost soporific, filmmaker Mattie Do's Laos-set thriller about one man walking back through his timeline is filled with mystery and atmosphere.

It begins with a man harvesting scrap and trading it for credits to a chip in his arm, and builds to a complex story about forgiveness, fate and family - as well as ghosts.

The Long Walk defies easy explanation and confounds immediate examination of what's transpiring.

But what Mattie Do commits to screen, thanks to an oddly aloof leading man (Yannawoutthi Chanthalungsy, whose facial lines betray every ounce of his existence) is something deeply thoughtful and frustratingly slow with answers.

That said, its rhythms are to be relied upon and weighed into as the meandering narrative unwinds. 

Beautifully lensed and sparsely shot, The Long Walk's central performances are what give it its indefinable edge, and deliver its benefits to the screen. In Chanthalungsy, the camera has found a wearied man, contemplating his errors and trying to correct some of his ways as the tangled time lines unfold.

Not everything is successful in The Long Walk, but if you take a step back, there are plenty of joys - and discussions - to be had within.

Jesus Shows You The Way To The Highway: NZIFF Review

It's obvious that Jesus Shows You The Way To The Highway is going to be in some people's wheelhouses a lot more than others.

Miguel Llansó's nutty film is really a mashing of various genres and for some, a test in patience.

Riffing kitsch with Commodore 64 graphics, stop motion with martial arts, and 70s capers with sleaze, the loose story concerns CIA Agents DT Gagano (on his last job) and Palmer Eldritch. 

Both are guinea pigs in a top-secret experiment where they’ll go into a coma to fight a Soviet computer virus named Stalin in a virtual reality world. Only that world sees them wearing paper masks in a kind of low-rent Hallowe'en style showdown.

Granted, there's creativity rippling through Jesus Shows You The Way To The Highway, but to be honest, you need to be at least three beers deep or deeply in love with film-making to fully appreciate what's transpiring here.

There's no doubting Llanso's gonzo style recalls portions of Town Called Panic's creativity, and the head-trippery on show here is something that really does need to be embraced before it induces a migraine.

Jesus Shows You The Way To The Highway won't be for everyone, and that's fine. It could only be part of The Incredibly strange section of the programme - so embrace its weirdness for what it is.

Martin Eden: NZIFF Review

Martin Eden is the very definition of a film festival film.

Artfully shot, with a central character who's lost in purpose and deep in love, and a protagonist whose looks are set to swoon.

And yet, it's all so painfully meandering and devoid of real emotion that Martin Eden becomes a slog not an uplifting experience.

Luca Marinelli stars as the titular Eden, a sailor who is considered lowly in the world.

Romanced by women, but ultimately adrift, he one day saves a lad from a beating on the docks and is taken home to say thanks. There he meets Jessica Cressy's Elena, and promptly falls in love.

But lacking an education and a sense of culture, he feels he's not worthy and so sets out to better himself - all the while clashing with the world he's come from.

There's no denying Pietro Marcello's adaptation of Jack London's Martin Eden is beautifully shot.

On 16mm film and lensed with subtlety and with throwback soundtrack, it feels like the essence of a coastal Italian holiday, complete with lots of good looking people and working classes mingling and clashing.

But the heart is missing within, making Martin Eden feel like the characters are just that - certainly Elena is nothing more than a doll speaking lines, and it's distracting.

Marinelli makes a more likeable lead, with his old time good looks marking him out from the crowds and showing his conflict within the classes.

However, ultimately, this tale of self-education is a little too self-obsessed and brooding to appeal to the masses. Its self identity is lacking, and while its wafting qualities are committed well to the screen, its final feeling is one sadly of indifference.

Leap of Faith: William Friedkin on The Exorcist: NZIFF Review

The Exorcist is not a film that requires further discussion.

Much has been written, filmed and even spoken about the 1973 film, which would lead you to believe that Leap of Faith: William Friedkin on The Exorcist isn't worth your time.

And while director Alexandre O. Philippe's documentary at times feels like more of a director's commentary on a DVD rather than an essential hitherto unseen or unheard chat of the film, it has one single thing going for it - William Friedkin.

Over the 100 minutes duration, Friedkin is the sole reason to stay for this examination of the most influential horror movie ever.

With a spry touch and an energetic dissection of parts of the film and the making of it, Friedkin is great company. From the spat with Lalo Schifrin that ruined their friendship to Friedkin's disappointment after a meeting with a composer, the director's penchant for a good story and a level-headed approach to the movie and its legacy renders Leap of Faith: William Friedkin on The Exorcist a little more heft than perhaps it's due.

Philippe may have done previous work on dissecting Psycho and Alien, but it's here that he lets Friedkin perform the dissection, gifting insights from inside the production and his own thoughts on fate and the flaw he perceives to be in The Exorcist.

There may be a feeling that much of the discussion's come from previous releases, and there is only really one new insight into the movie, but Friedkin makes for such a genial host and gifts you the feeling you alone are being talked to, that Leap of Faith: William Friedkin on The Exorcist feels like a more intimate experience than you'd expect.

There are moments when Friedkin looks lost in reflection, and perhaps a more aggressive interviewer and format would have pestered their subject to prise more information out.

But by leaving Friedkin to do the work, Philippe's documentary feels more authentic and more insightful than what thousands of others have said on The Exorcist before.