TIFF 2024: Day Seven
Into the screener pile.
The busy weekend finally caught up with me as I passed out for an hour after work. It kind of put a wrench in my viewing plans, but I was still able to get both screeners watched. I just had to stay up to 1:00am to do it.
So, here’s to needing another hour nap today or tomorrow to make up for yet another late TIFF night. It never ends.
REVIEWS:
BOONG
(World Premiere - September 7th - India - Manipuri)
With sixteen months of on-going, violent ethnic clashes currently unfolding in Manipur, India, Lakshmipriya Devi’s BOONG takes on added meaning with its message of inclusion. The narrative concerns a young boy (Gugun Kipgen’s Boong) desperate to bring his father home as a present for his mother (Bala Hijam Ningthoujam’s Mandakini). It’s through this attempt that we witness the growing tensions in the region via his extended family’s conservative views, the local government’s hypocrisy, and the community’s inability to accept “outsiders” regardless of their family having roots in the state for over a century. That these conflicts have trickled down to school bullying only underscores the inevitable potential for what’s subsequently erupted in real life.
Prejudice isn’t an inherent quality in people. It must be taught. To Boong (a bit of an outsider himself due to his mother distancing herself from her husband’s oppressively traditional family), his best friend Sudhir (Vikram Kochhar) is just another Indian boy. To their new classmate Juliana (Nemetia Ngangbam), however, he is an “other” who demands ridicule and alienation because of the dark color of his skin. The difference is that Boong learned empathy and Juliana learned hate. She bullies them like she’s probably seen her parents bully adults with Rajasthan heritage. And despite Boong’s obvious love for his friend, it only takes one fit of anger to put the same bigotry in his mouth too.
Tensions are thus high and any misstep could spell disaster for those already looked upon as invaders hellbent on taking away jobs and land (sounds just like far-right republicans in the USA). It should be no surprise then that Manipur is also a border state with Myanmar and the potential for even more immigrants coming in. Heck, Boong’s own father runs a Burmese teak furniture shop many miles away from their Imphal home in Moreh to help make ends meet. That’s why Boong and Mandakini haven’t seen him in years and want to make certain he comes back soon. So, when their phone calls go unanswered and a death certificate suddenly arrives, they can’t help wondering if something else is going on.
Is he really dead? Has he become a revolutionary? Gone over the border to live in Myanmar? Without having an easy avenue to find out (considering the family refuses to consider a mystery is afoot), Boong must take it upon himself to get to Moreh and procure a definitive answer. He enlists Sudhir (and Juliana, once fears and jealousies dissolve to remind them all that their shared humanity matters more than their superficial differences) to help hatch a plan that will hopefully end with Joyjumar in tow. What they discover along the way is an expansive new world to explore that’s nothing like their quiet, insular home. The border’s vibrancy is definitely something a Madonna fan like Boong’s father wouldn’t want to give up.
The film is a charming little romp as Boong cajoles and tricks adults to get his way whether it’s choosing a new school, orchestrating a clandestine road trip, or organizing a free concert to flush out his dad. Devi ensures the line separating compassion and malice with these young characters is very thin so that their emotions can get the best of them and create avoidable drama with the ability to remind them of their own insecurities. It would be easy to push everyone away when times get tough, but Boong and Sudhir always seem to find that they worry about the other too much to ever stay mad long. Despite their jokes and frustrations, they’re fiercely loyal.
That's why Joykumar’s absence is so apparent. Boong sees the way his mother cares about him and how Sudhir’s father treats his son. Why doesn’t that carry over with his own dad? It’s what he’s going to figure out thanks to an old photograph, Sudhir’s business acumen, and a prayer to God. Add the assistance of a corpse, a trans singer (Jenny Khurai), and the ire of Burmese children treating Boong as an outsider and it seems no challenge is too big to conquer via friendship and fate. The result might not be what anyone hoped, but it makes perfect sense while simultaneously putting a damper on the mission and refocusing attention onto those who are present and invested.
Kipgen and Kochhar are a delight as guides into this world. They’re definitely troublemakers and perhaps too smart for their own good, but they also possess enough heart to make it so they ultimately get away with everything. That ability to endear themselves to strangers helps transform many conveniences into the fun little developments necessary to move things along and keep us laughing. And while the climax may seem a bit too serious considering the slighter nature of the rest, it doesn’t feel false. If anything it shows that charisma and desire can’t get you everything you want. Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be and that’s okay as long as you have someone in your corner to tell you everything will be alright.
- 6/10
HORIZONTE
(World Premiere - September 7th - Colombia/et al. - Spanish)
We meet Basilio (Claudio Cataño) in a cemetery searching for what we assume is the grave of his mother Inés (Paulina García). The undertaker doesn’t recognize the name to easily place its spot and Basilio doesn’t seem to know when it was she died to help narrow things down. So, he keeps on walking, eventually coming to a house covered in overgrowth with a woman inside who tells him to keep moving. He tells her he’s her son, but she doesn’t recognize his voice. So, he starts to describe what the property used to look like when he was a boy—details nobody but her son would know. Finally, she opens the door and we begin to realize they’re standing in a memory.
César Augusto Acevedo’s HORIZONTE takes place out of time in a construct that feels most like purgatory if not an afterlife that produces an approximation of the locations the dead have been rather than some Biblical divide between Heaven or Hell. Inés has simply stayed put, waiting in death for her husband and son to return like she also did in life. The former was gone very early—never seen after working a harvest, everyone telling her to accept he wouldn’t be coming back and not ask any questions. The latter was taken not much later. Basilio was still a boy when soldiers scooped him up while she watched from inside. And he never set eyes on that house again until now.
That’s why she doesn’t recognize his voice. Inés only remembers him as a boy. A mother knows, though. She sees him for who he is and doesn’t bother asking where he went or what he’s done because it isn’t difficult to guess. Their lives intersected during the so-called Colombian Conflict, a half-century-long “low-intensity asymmetric war” that saw many different factions (government, paramilitary, criminals, and guerillas) vying for power. If Basilio lived long enough to become a man, the assumption is that he must have done some terrible things. Maybe she doesn’t want to confirm as much and pity her son or maybe she feels guilty for allowing him to be taken and forced into becoming a monster.
Well, the only way to move past such a nightmare is to acknowledge its occurrence. So, despite Inés and Basilio deciding to go look for his father, the supernatural force that’s allowed them to reunite in this amorphous dreamscape has other plans. Rather than keep them from their destination, however, it merely ensures the road first passes through the heart of Basilio’s crimes. Not to seek forgiveness or supply his victims vengeance, but to bear witness to the truth. Because it doesn’t matter what the dead think of their murderer or that said murderer understands his actions were wrong. All that matters is that the world doesn’t forget. Neither Inés, Basilio, nor we get to pretend it didn’t happen.
The result is a powerful reckoning that unfolds through the eyes of a corrupted soul and the woman who can no longer hide behind her closed door. This isn’t a journey they take on by choice, though, and they do not know which victim of Basilio’s violence will arrive next or what their responsibility is to them once they appear. As Inés tells one of the ghosts, “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.” How could she? An apology isn’t enough. Retribution won’t bring closure. And ignoring what happened is a massive disservice to those affected by her son’s actions. All she can do is watch and walk and pray they’ll eventually escape the horror.
It’s an absolutely gorgeous film with stunning cinematography courtesy of Mateo Guzmán. So many shots linger in silent reverie, whether a glimpse of Basilio seen through the opening of Inés’ door or mother and son in an embrace of despair through a fog so dense we lose sight of them. There are shadows waiting to do Basilio harm and others demanding Inés see the brutality wrought upon them by her flesh and blood. One heartbreaking sequence has them digging up one of his victims from so long ago that he doesn’t recognize his assailant and instead hails him as a hero for freeing his soul. And there are the screams of nameless children who barely rate as footnotes on Basilio’s ledger.
Cataño plays the role in a constant state of distress. At one point he must relive one of his worst memories only to have Inés turn his gun to her chest in a bid to make him stop. But he can’t stop. He pulled the trigger then and must pull the trigger now before tearing out his eyes in the hopes he won’t have to keep reliving it all. Just because he’s blind, though, doesn’t mean he’s exempt from the suffering left in his wake. No matter what happens to Basilio or Inés in this place, they cannot die a second time. So, they get back up to meet the next figure and try to give them the respect in death he refused them in life.
The journey is slow, but impactful. Acevedo allows for plenty of introspection both on the part of the characters and the audience absorbing the ramifications of Basilio’s actions. There's visual poetry to how it’s presented. This isn’t a history lesson wherein we follow a soldier to different battles and endure the heavy cost. We hardly see any of his actual crimes, just the weight of the fallout via the ghosts of those who suffered his wrath directly and those who suffered indirectly as a result. These are the echoes of the dead—of which even Basilio is included as a victim of the hellish circumstances he would subsequently cultivate. It’s the story of a nation confronting its own devastating truth.
- 8/10
THE MOUNTAIN
(North American Premiere - September 11th - New Zealand - English/Māori)
It’s no surprise Rachel House gives the first credit at the end of her feature debut to Te Kāhui Tupua: the mountain at the center of THE MOUNTAIN. Co-written by Tom Furniss (from his original story), the film follows a young girl (Elizabeth Atkinson’s Sam) who decides to climb their peak in order to request that they use their power to save her life. She’s recently discovered her cancer returned and hopes tapping into the ancestry of the father she never met might help. So, Sam escapes the hospital in pursuit of Taranaki Maunga, emboldened to find her identity and conquer her illness in one fell swoop with the assistance of two new friends met along the way.
Mallory (Reuben Francis) makes the journey because his late mother (who died of cancer) always wanted to hike it one day with him and his father (Byron Coll’s Hugh). Today happens to be her birthday, so he asked if they could climb it in her honor only to be met with a quick deflection. Bronco (Terence Daniel) conversely has no specific destination. He’s simply attempting to run away and live in the wild as a conservator of Mother Earth. He’s angry that he had to move here, had to leave early to keep his father (Troy Kingi’s Tux) company, and had to discover Dad’s work leaves no time for him. So, when Mallory agrees to be Sam’s Sherpa, Bronco tags along.
The majority of the film therefore focuses on this young trio becoming friends on an impromptu adventure they’re making up as they go. We learn about their lives and current pain as they look at the stars to share Māori myths and wishes for guidance. All the while, Hugh and Tux realize their sons are missing just as Sam’s mom Wendy (Fern Sutherland) does the same. Add in the emotionless-by-design Peachy (Sukena Shah) and this quartet races to the mountain to ensure the kids are okay … and to forgive themselves for allowing the circumstances in which they left in the first place. Hugh is easily swayed (thanks to Mallory sending a courtesy text). Tux and Wendy need a bit more.
It’s a cute little Kiwi tale about friendship and understanding. Each of the characters are dealing with loneliness and loss of some kind with no real outlet in which to find healing. Sam wasn’t necessarily searching for companionship (she “doesn’t do friends”), but her ducking out of the hospital ultimately brings them all together in a desperate time of need. Don’t assume that means House and Furniss are working towards some bow-tied happily ever after, though. Cute does not equal easy. Because despite this being a comedy with enjoyable characters and humorous flights of fancy, the narrative through line is still cancer. That specter of death doesn’t disappear just because a film knows how to have fun.
The strongest part of THE MOUNTAIN is that it treats its family friendly audience with the respect they deserve. It never talks down to them by sugar-coating what these kids are going through. It never falls prey to artificial sentiment either like so many adult stories with the same subject matter do as a result of our collective desire for avoidance. That’s not to say Mallory and Bronco aren’t aware of Sam’s condition and prognosis. They simply don’t let it guide how they interact with her. If she says she’s good to go, there’s no reason to assume otherwise. It’s only when it’s obvious that she’s struggling that they intervene with honest concern devoid of the pity Sam cannot stand.
And I love how House deals with the personification of Taranaki via the clouds covering their peak. What at first just looks like an aesthetic choice that Sam can pretend is a sign (once they disappear, she’ll know the mountain is inviting her in) soon becomes a supernatural barrier meant to force her (and everyone else) into confronting the truth. Even though death looms large above the whole, the real message is one of acceptance. Accepting one’s present (Bronco). Accepting one’s past (Mallory). And accepting one’s future (Sam). The same goes with their parents too as far as acknowledging their kids are stronger than they think. They must accept that overprotection isn’t for the child’s benefit. It’s for them.
While there’s depth to these concepts, the plot itself is somewhat slight. The stakes don’t pretend to be high and the jokes are mostly straightforward gags that excel on the backs of Atkinson, Francis, and Daniel’s performances. At one point I looked at my watch to see there were only twenty-five minutes left and scratched my head because nothing really happened yet. But that’s intentional, right? These kids aren’t supposed to get too far ahead of the adults because the lesson is meant to be learned together. So, the script must stretch itself thin to provide ample time for its themes to resonate. I’ll take that result over the opposite every day of the week.
- 7/10
THE QUIET ONES
[De Lydløse]
(World Premiere - September 6th - Denmark - Danish, et al.)
“I give August's script a ton of credit because a lot needs to be made known during preparations for what occurs to make sense. The fact none of it feels forced is no small feat. It helps that Hviid shoots the heist with urgency.”
– Full thoughts at The Film Stage.
TODAY’S SCHEDULE:
No TIFF films on the docket as I catch-up on a couple theatrical releases.