The 10 best films from Tallinn Black Nights 2018

This year offi­cial­ly marks the cen­te­nary of the Repub­lic of Esto­nia – a time to reflect on col­lec­tive vic­to­ries and past trau­mas. How­ev­er, in-keep­ing with the Baltic nation’s rep­u­ta­tion as one of Europe’s most pro­gres­sive coun­tries, this year’s Tallinn Black Nights Film Fes­ti­val used the occa­sion as an oppor­tu­ni­ty to ush­er in a new future, show­cas­ing an eclec­tic mix of films from some of cinema’s most excit­ing new voic­es. Here, in no par­tic­u­lar order, are 10 films which shone bright­est in this year’s programme.

Rid­dled with guilt after acci­den­tal­ly run­ning over a sheep, a truck dri­ver picks up a hitch­hik­er, only to dis­cov­er he’s on his way to com­mit a mur­der. He leaves the stranger at a fork in the road, but some­thing about this chance encounter sees their des­tinies become inex­orably inter­twined. The dead­pan exis­ten­tial­ism of Tibetan direc­tor Pema Tseden’s sixth fea­ture calls to mind the ear­ly work of Jim Jar­musch, but tonal­ly it’s far more attuned to the mys­ti­cal land­scape of the Himalayan plains. A mas­ter at piv­ot­ing between social crit­i­cism and Tibetan folk­lore, Tseden lat­est is a med­i­ta­tive road movie about kar­ma that’s beau­ti­ful­ly alert to the ten­sion between tra­di­tion and modernity.

Five broth­ers liv­ing under the watch of an author­i­tar­i­an father find their del­i­cate dynam­ic threat­ened by the pres­ence of the out­side world in Emir Baigazin’s hyp­not­ic fam­i­ly por­trait. The final chap­ter in a tril­o­gy of films depict­ing teenage life in rur­al Kaza­khstan, Baigazin com­bines moments of sur­re­al­ism with polit­i­cal alle­go­ry to illus­trate why the eco­nom­i­cal­ly depressed steppes of post-Sovi­et Kaza­khstan might not be the best place to start a fam­i­ly. A rig­or­ous­ly com­posed and char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly aus­tere film about pow­er and per­sua­sion, The Riv­er casts a spell that will entice admir­ers of uncom­pro­mis­ing cinema.

In the wake of her father’s death, a young pho­tog­ra­ph­er decides to leave Cana­da and vis­it her pater­nal grand­moth­er in Uruguay. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, nei­ther woman is ready to acknowl­edge their shared loss. Kather­ine Jerkovic’s impres­sive debut is a fine­spun dra­ma with an under­cur­rent of feel­ings so mod­est­ly ren­dered that at times it’s hard to dis­cern any emo­tion at all. Instead, we’re encour­aged to observe the pro­tag­o­nists and sep­a­rate the still­ness of their every­day lives from the grief they’ve inter­nalised. A film fuelled by cul­tur­al and gen­er­a­tional dif­fer­ences, this mut­ed and mind­ful dra­ma might sound mod­est, but it gen­er­ous­ly rewards with rue­ful insight and emo­tion­al complexity.

Hand­some­ly lensed by Roman­ian cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Mar­ius Pan­duru, the moun­tain­ous land­scape of North­ern Alba­nia enrich­es this sim­ple tale of a goat herder tor­ment­ed by a sense of unful­fill­ment. The son of a Catholic moth­er and a Com­mu­nist father, Besnik (Arben Bajrak­taraj) is a devout Mus­lim, but an unex­pect­ed death in the fam­i­ly dis­rupts the har­mo­ny of this mul­ti-faith com­mu­ni­ty and forces Besnik to forge his own path. For a film built around high-mind­ed ideas about reli­gion, A Shel­ter Among the Clouds is lack­ing in spir­i­tu­al heft, instead suc­ceed­ing on a more basic lev­el by por­tray­ing the cir­cum­stance and dai­ly rit­u­als of peo­ple of faith with unyield­ing compassion.

Last year’s Black Nights her­ald­ed a New Wave of Kyr­gyzs­tani cin­e­ma, screen­ing both Aktan Arym Kubat’s Cen­taur and Temir­bek Birnazarov’s The Night Acci­dent – the lat­ter tak­ing home the festival’s Grand Prize. Both films explored issues con­cern­ing post-Sovi­et iden­ti­ty, but Kyrgyzstan’s first musi­cal takes it cues from the past, com­bin­ing Kyr­gyz folk tra­di­tions with the codes and con­ven­tions of an MGM-style show­stop­pers. Set dur­ing the 1800s, Aibek Daiyrbekov’s ambi­tious debut is an out­landish tale of ancient curs­es and for­bid­den love. An unex­pect­ed col­li­sion of East­ern and West­ern sto­ry­telling, this fas­ci­nat­ing curio is an absolute delight; a film of ener­getic ambi­tion and charm­ing sincerity.

An alle­go­ry for a cold, and uncar­ing world, Wolf­gang Fischer’s nau­ti­cal thriller is a sur­vival movie that makes pal­pa­ble the mor­tal dan­gers that migrants face trav­el­ling to Europe. Depict­ing a soci­ety where the benev­o­lence of the indi­vid­ual is drowned out by the cru­el­ty of oth­ers, the film depicts the moral dilem­ma of a young doc­tor who encoun­ters a dam­aged refugee boat whilst sail­ing sin­gle-hand­ed­ly from Gibral­tar to Ascen­sion. Guid­ed by a moral com­pass that refus­es to be blown off course, Styx feels like a much need­ed wake-up call for a world increas­ing­ly dead­ened to compassion.

A Columbian road movie chart­ing the awk­ward jour­ney from ado­les­cence to wom­an­hood, Rubén Mendoza’s fourth fea­ture is dis­tinc­tive in its every­day ordi­nar­i­ness. The film is told from the per­spec­tive of 12-year old Angela (Sofía Paz Jara), the youngest of four sis­ters reunit­ed after the death of their phi­lan­der­ing father. Angela has nev­er met her adult sis­ters, but she receives a crash course on the com­plex­i­ties of wom­an­hood as they dri­ve her across the coun­try to live with her aunt. Inti­mate and sen­su­al with­out ever feel­ing lech­er­ous, Mendoza’s film vibrates with a ten­der­ness of feel­ing that makes you wish the trip would nev­er end.

Ryo Kawasaki’s debut fol­lows Junko, a 29-year-old office work­er near­ing her ​‘best before’ date, some­thing she’s remind­ed of when she vol­un­teers to become an egg donor. Just like its shy pro­tag­o­nist, Wast­ed Eggs is the sort of unas­sum­ing dis­cov­ery that could get lost in a crowd and, for a film about gen­der inequal­i­ty by a female direc­tor, the absence of cyn­i­cism is quite sur­pris­ing. Instead, what we’re pre­sent­ed with is a warm-heart­ed per­spec­tive of the lim­it­ed pro­fes­sion­al options for women in Japan, with Kawasaki’s teas­ing minor-key emo­tion­al and psy­cho­log­i­cal insight from this min­i­mal­ist drama.

In Kore­an direc­tor Jang Woo-jin’s third fea­ture a mar­ried cou­ple find them­selves accom­pa­nied on a trip down mem­o­ry lane by the ghosts of their for­mer selves. A gen­tle, yet art­ful­ly spon­ta­neous study of how space is inhib­it­ed by the past, this wist­ful tale about mid­dle-aged dis­ap­point­ment begins with the cou­ple search­ing for a miss­ing phone. Each new scene feels like turn­ing a page in a diary, and as mem­o­ry blurs into melan­choly the pair begin to realise what they’re real­ly search­ing for is a lost future.

A hazy trip through Berlin’s hedo­nis­tic sub­cul­ture, Hen­ning Gronkowski’s debut explores the social dynam­ic of Mil­len­ni­al self-indul­gence. Described as a Ger­man ver­sion of Lar­ry Clark’s Kids, the film fol­lows four teenage girls as they exper­i­ment with drugs and sex. The plot mechan­ics are a lit­tle crude, but the verac­i­ty of the rev­el­ry and the actors them­selves (all non-pro­fes­sion­als) ele­vates this sim­ple premise into some­thing greater than the sum of its parts. Pecu­liar­ly, for a film built in euphor­ic highs, there’s no bru­tal come­down and, with the excep­tion of one scene involv­ing a male friend, a reper­cus­sive point nev­er emerges. Just as it seems the film is about to sur­ren­der to tired­ness and irri­tabil­i­ty, it gets a sec­ond wind, trans­form­ing into a sen­si­tive por­trait of female friend­ship in the 21^st century.

For more info on this year’s fes­ti­val vis­it 2018​.poff​.ee