10 highlights from the Tallinn Black Nights Film… | Little White Lies

Festivals

10 high­lights from the Tallinn Black Nights Film Fes­ti­val 2019

04 Dec 2019

Words by Patrick Gamble

Two black dogs sitting on a pavement in front of a brightly lit shop at night.
Two black dogs sitting on a pavement in front of a brightly lit shop at night.
Space dogs, mus­cle men and a Sovi­et cin­e­ma icon were at the fore­front of this year’s event.

As the cur­tain fell on the 23rd edi­tion of the Tallinn Black Nights Film Fes­ti­val, Anshul Chauhan’s Kon­to­ra walked away with the Grand Prix prize. How­ev­er, the most pow­er­ful films at this year’s event were those haunt­ed by spec­tres of the past – from Rene van Pan­nevis’ FIPRESCI Prize win­ner Loot­ed, where the death of Britain’s fish­ing indus­try looms like a preg­nant storm cloud, to Elsa Kremser and Levin Peter’s Space Dogs, in which the ghost of a canine cos­mo­naut haunts the streets of Moscow. Cel­e­brat­ing the extra­or­di­nary abil­i­ty of cin­e­ma to res­ur­rect the past, here are 10 high­lights from this year’s programme.

In 1979 Andrei Tarkovsky vis­it­ed Tallinn to shoot his enig­mat­ic sci-fi mas­ter­piece Stalk­er. He con­sid­ered the film his great­est achieve­ment, so It’s fit­ting a doc­u­men­tary about his career should screen in the Eston­ian cap­i­tal. Direct­ed by Tarkovsky’s son, and fea­tur­ing pre­vi­ous­ly unre­leased record­ings of poems by his father, Arse­ny Tarkovsky, this rev­er­en­tial por­trait of Russia’s most promi­nent film­mak­er is very much a fam­i­ly affair. Organ­ised around a vivid sense of loss, Tarkovsky junior weaves togeth­er fam­i­ly pho­tographs with footage from the director’s fil­mog­ra­phy to cre­ate a touch­ing trib­ute to the cul­tur­al and spir­i­tu­al bond between fathers and sons.

It’s nev­er explained who the real mon­ster in Tom Sullivan’s Gael­ic lan­guage thriller is. It could be the occu­py­ing British land­lords impos­ing rent increas­es, or the blight that infect­ed pota­to crops through­out Ire­land in the 1840s. Or per­haps it’s Pat­sy Kel­ly (Dara Devaney), an Irish ser­vice­man, turned desert­er, return­ing to Con­nemara with a grudge to set­tle? The film fol­lows Col­man (Dónall Ó Héalai) a duti­ful father wrong­ly accused of a ter­ri­ble crime, who ends up liv­ing as a fugi­tive dur­ing the Irish famine. This well act­ed and beau­ti­ful­ly scored film is born of the land itself; an aus­tere and implaca­ble dra­ma about find­ing hope when all else is lost.

The sex­u­al appetites of the over 70s are rarely depict­ed on screen, but the love life of an age­ing cou­ple pro­vides the foun­da­tions for Arturo Ripstein’s lat­est dra­ma. After decades of mar­ried life Beat­riz (Sylvia Pasquel) has grown tired of her hus­band (Ale­jan­dro Suárez) and his vio­lent out­bursts. Despite embark­ing on his own affair with a local hair­dress­er, his jeal­ousy regard­ing her sex­u­al past man­i­fests itself as wild accu­sa­tions of infi­deli­ty. Ripstein’s cam­era moves through the couple’s house like a ghost, film­ing their pugilis­tic rela­tion­ship in black and white to under­score the com­plex­i­ty of their rela­tion­ship. Run­ning the gamut from uncom­fort­ably cru­el to pleas­ing­ly trans­gres­sive, Beatriz’s suf­fo­cat­ing sad­ness bleeds into senes­cent eroti­cism in this allur­ing tale of geri­atric desire.

Set in Ukraine, and star­ring a cast of Ukrain­ian speak­ing actors, the debut fea­ture from Aus­tralian direc­tor Jay­den Stevens is a dead­pan study of lone­li­ness with a decid­ed­ly East­ern Euro­pean twist. Unset­tling our sense of what is nor­mal and habit­u­al in human inter­ac­tions, this puz­zling com­e­dy observes as a name­less man audi­tions a group of non-pro­fes­sion­al actors to play his fam­i­ly. Togeth­er they re-enact his child­hood mem­o­ries, but when his fake sis­ter becomes inspired to fol­low in his foot­steps the bound­ary between per­for­mance and real­i­ty dis­solves into some­thing much more authen­tic. Explor­ing the foibles of the human con­di­tion, Stevens’ film intel­li­gent­ly reflects a need to re-eval­u­ate the tra­di­tion­al fam­i­ly unit.

Sit­u­at­ed in the Mur­man­sk region of Rus­sia, the town of Apati­ty was orig­i­nal­ly built as a Gulag to help indus­tri­alise the Arc­tic Cir­cle through forced labour. Kse­nia Okhapkina’s doc­u­men­tary looks at how the total­i­tar­i­an sys­tems of the past con­tin­ue to haunt the res­i­dents of this iso­lat­ed min­ing town. Shot entire­ly at night, with min­i­mal dia­logue or analy­sis, she observes as girls are forced to per­fect their bal­let rou­tines, and boys are taught to march and dis­man­tle guns. The pre­vail­ing mood is one of res­ig­na­tion, with the film’s indus­tri­al sound design empha­sis­ing the extent to which these young cit­i­zens are lit­tle more than cogs in an ide­o­log­i­cal machine.

Lithuan­ian direc­tor Jur­gis Mat­ule­vičius announced him­self as a major new tal­ent with this impres­sive debut. Adapt­ed from a short sto­ry by Antanas Ske­ma, about life in Lithua­nia dur­ing the Sovi­et occu­pa­tion, the film art­ful­ly explores the trau­ma of liv­ing under con­stant sur­veil­lance. Mat­ule­vičius cut his teeth under Šarū­nas Bar­tas, and his tute­lage under the mas­ter of opaque, for­mal­ly auda­cious stud­ies of Lithuan­ian iden­ti­ty is very appar­ent. Filmed in black and white, with occa­sion­al bursts of colour, the film’s frag­ment­ed nar­ra­tive sym­bol­is­es the par­al­lels between Lithuania’s past and present, as themes of friend­ship, guilt and self-lib­er­a­tion play out against the lega­cy of the Holocaust.

Eschew­ing the grit­ty sen­sa­tion­al­ism com­mon­ly asso­ci­at­ed with crime thrillers, Rene van Pan­nevis’ debut is beau­ti­ful­ly attuned to the feel­ings of dis­place­ment that pre­oc­cu­py many British teenagers. The film fol­lows Rob (Charley Palmer Roth­well), a young car-jack­er from Hartle­pool liv­ing a dou­ble life. At night he’s part of a close-knit gang with his best friend Leo (Thomas Tur­goose), but dur­ing the day he’s a car­er for his father Oswald (Tom Fish­er), a retired sailor dying of lung can­cer. Inex­tri­ca­bly linked to the decline of the indus­tri­al land­scape which frames the sto­ry, Loot­ed is an inti­mate dra­ma that depicts the moral com­plex­i­ty of crim­i­nal behav­iour in a refresh­ing­ly hon­est manner.

Star­ring Craig Fair­bass and Cavan Clerkin (win­ner of the festival’s Award for Best Actor), Ger­ard Johnson’s third fea­ture is a pro­tein-pow­der-keg of rag­ing testos­terone that calls atten­tion to the fragili­ty under­pin­ning per­for­ma­tive mas­culin­i­ty. A slow-burn­ing psy­cho­log­i­cal thriller, the film cen­tres on Simon (Clerkin), an unhap­py office work­er whose life is com­man­deered by a per­son­al train­er named Tony (Fair­bass) who builds him up, only to knock him back down. Shot in black-and-white by Stu­art Bent­ley, Mus­cle has the lurk­ing inevitabil­i­ty of an uncom­fort­able dream, with Simon’s attempt to con­form with archa­ic stereo­types of viril­i­ty expos­ing the tox­i­c­i­ty that under­pins male dom­i­nat­ed spaces.

Star­ring Chilean lumi­nar­ies Pauli­na Gar­cia and Alfre­do Cas­tro, Jorge Riquelme Serrano’s Some Beasts is a pro­found­ly dis­tress­ing indict­ment of his country’s Bour­geoisie. Res­onat­ing pro­found­ly fol­low­ing the accu­sa­tions of indis­crim­i­nate vio­lence by state forces dur­ing the recent protests in Chile, the film observes as a wealthy mid­dle-class fam­i­ly tear them­selves apart after becom­ing strand­ed on a desert­ed island. Trou­bling scenes of sex­u­al and emo­tion­al cru­el­ty allude to Chile’s vio­lent past and the behav­iour that has led to the nation’s cur­rent state of unrest, with Ser­ra­no show­ing what hap­pens when the struc­tures that ele­vate the upper class­es are dismantled.

Those affect­ed by scenes of ani­mal cru­el­ty are advised to steer clear of Elsa Kremser and Levin Peter’s exper­i­men­tal doc­u­men­tary. The film is struc­tured around Lai­ka, the mon­grel dog turned cos­mo­naut, who became the first ani­mal to suc­cess­ful­ly orbit the plan­et. Rumour has it she returned to Earth as a ghost and haunts the streets of Moscow, with Space Dogs comb­ing archive footage of cru­el exper­i­ments car­ried out on ani­mals, with vérité footage of Moscow’s street dogs. Part satire on human progress, part study of the con­test­ed nature of pub­lic places, Kremser and Peter suc­cess­ful­ly sub­vert the anthro­pocen­tric gaze to Illus­trate the vio­lent way humans inhab­it space.

For more on this year’s fes­ti­val vis­it poff​.ee

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