Now that the 2016 Berlin Film Festival has officially come to a close, and I’ve had a full day to get my bearings (get it?), it’s time I ran down the Top 5 films I’ve seen at the festival. Now, it would’ve been more than 5 had I not felt too disappointed (Midnight Special) or indifferent (Soy Nero) towards many of the films I saw (some of which were so horrendous and inconsequential, they didn’t even call for coverage)—but these are things you cannot predict when it comes to festivals. Especially one like the Berlinale, which has such a wide range of selections for its competition titles.

Read below for my 5 favorite films from the 66th edition of the Berlinale. They’re all quite different from each other, but every one is highly recommend for when you’re in a specific kind of mood for a specific kind of movie night. Unfortunately, many things went against me in Berlin and prevented me from watching the eventual big winners like Fire At Sea (Golden Bear), Death In Sarajevo (Jury Prize) and United States of Love (Silver Bear for Screenplay), but that doesn’t mean the films below are any less deserving of recognition and praise.

Favorite 5 Films of the 2016 Berlin Film Festival

#5. War On Everyone

Sandwiched between philosophical quips that give the film its few injections of thoughtfulness, John Michael McDonagh’s War On Everyone is mainly filtered through a scandalous, satirical and borderline psychedelic vision of American police work. Skarsgard and Pena make the unlikely central duo in this bad-cop-worse-cop buddy comedy work with such a generous dose of hilarity and raunchiness that you’ll easily forgive the film its naive moments and predictability. It’s so unabashedly anti-PC that it’s definitely not recommended for the sensitive souls out there. But that’s part of the appeal. [Review]

#4. Being 17

Andre Techine’s spirited film about two teenage boys in a French mountain countryside town is brimming with raw, untethered emotion and naturalistic performances. So much so that you’ll end up understanding Damien (Kacey Mottet Klein) and Tom (Corentin Fila) through so many scenes where a darting glance speaks the loudest. Flowing like an evergreen waterfall, Being 17 captures teenagehood on the precipice – and only falters near the end, but by then your heart won’t care that much. [Review]

#3. Zero Days

It’s a bit funny that I caught the two films above and Alex Gibney’s Zero Days on my very last day of movies in Berlin. It’s like the festival took pity on me for drudging through the pain of watching Creepy or almost being struck by angina pectoris while watching Lav Diaz’ 8-hour mega-epic (more on that at the end). In any case, Gibney’s Zero Days is a must-watch documentary by everyone interested in understanding just how far our world has advanced. Michael Mann’s Blackhat was pummeled by critics, but it’s getting a bit of a boost with a recent director’s cut – and will surely be looked at more closely once Zero Days hits public theatres. Cyber warfare is now, and countries need to start talking about it. [Review]

#2. A Quiet Passion

Terence Davies’ soft, luscious, and impossibly refined biopic of Emily Dickinson should appease lovers of exquisite shot composition and immaculate sense of character depth. Davies’ camera glides through the Dickinson household, while Cynthia Nixon, Jennifer Ehle, and the rest of the dazzling ensemble dive into Davies’ treasure chest of a screenplay in search of gold. They keep finding it in almost every scene, and thanks to Florian Hoffmeister’s blindingly beautiful cinematography, the audience feels the glow right on their skin. Aside from a couple of slips, A Quiet Passion enthralled me and I was a bit shell-shocked from how closely I felt to this woman, this American introverted poet from the 1800s felt more real to me than most of the characters I’ve seen on the screen in Berlin. [Review]

#1. Things To Come

All due respect to Davies, but nothing, and no one, felt more real than Mia Hansen-Love’s Things To Come and Isabelle Huppert’s Nathalie. It’s hard to fathom how a young director like Hansen-Love can show so much maturity, poise, control, and life experience while still in her early 30s; inspiring what will very likely be one of the most tender and memorable roles for the iconic French actress. Watching Nathalie go through the motions of losing touch with modern school system, letting go of her husband and kids who have moved on, trying to connect with today’s youth, and hopelessly falling in love with a cat ended up being the very best cinematic experience I’ve had at the festival, and indeed, the year so far. What makes it all the more special is that it was the very first film I saw at the Berlinale. [Review]

The Albert Bauer Honorable Mention

Lav Diaz’ new film goes against the conventional grain so much, you can almost feel the granulation forming on your skin as you sit there watching it. With a colossal running time of 485 minutes (nothing Lav Diaz fans will be too surprised about), A Lullaby To The Sorrowful Mystery is made of static shots of various characters lamenting, musing, longing, confessing, discussing, sharing, divulging, singing, listening, and crying over the intolerable cruelty suffered by the Filippino people under an oppressive Spanish rule. It’s absolutely stunning, with the greatest production design and cinematography (well, Crosscurrent might slightly have the edge in cinematography, but they’re milliseconds away from each other) I’ve seen at the festival, but the indulgence is, at too many moments, insufferable.

This weekend, the 2016 Berlin Film Festival came to a close with the festival’s international jury awarding eight films that played in the main competition. Berlin, which used to be looked at as a tier below Cannes and Venice, has slowly shed that perception over the years thanks to premiering titles like The Grand Budapest Hotel and 45 Years (the declining stature of Venice might also be a factor too, but that’s a story for another day). Jury president Meryl Streep announced the winners with her fellow jury members, which included Clive Owen, past Berlin winner Małgorzata Szumowska and Italian actress Alba Rohrwacher.

The winners (listed at the bottom of the page) also help tell us a few things about Berlin and the state of world cinema right now. Here are a few things we learned:

Berlin isn’t afraid to take risks

Lav Diaz has been making films for nearly two decades, but his uncompromising approach to filmmaking and duration has acted as a sort of barrier to competing at a major film festival (when he does screen, he’s usually pushed to sidebars or out of competition slots). So it came as a shock when the Berlinale announced his latest film, the 8-hour A Lullaby to the Sorrowful Mystery, would actually premiere in the main competition. Berlin is the first of the three major festivals to give Diaz a spot on the main stage, and that alone helps establish the festival as a sort of risky alternative to Cannes (which caused a minor stir last year when it refused to consider Miguel Gomes’ epic Arabian Nights for the main competition) and Venice. Berlin still has a way to go with establishing an identity for itself—some of their competition selections still seem random—but if it continues to make moves like this one, it might start carving a place out for itself on the festival circuit where even the boldest and most unconventional works can coexist in competition with more friendly and prestigious festival fare.

The Alfred Bauer prize needs to go

First off, I want to be clear: I don’t think the Alfred Bauer prize is a bad idea. The prize, which some might consider third place, is an award “for a feature film that opens new perspectives.” It sounds like a nice way to honour a bold or daring title in competition but, in reality, it’s just a way for the jury to look like they’re not excluding “difficult” cinema. This year, the winner didn’t come as a surprise at all: Lav Diaz’s A Lullaby to the Sorrowful Mystery pretty much had this one locked up from the start. So while having Diaz in competition is great, the presence of the Alfred Bauer prize feels like Diaz’s film never had a fair shot at the Golden Bear to begin with. Unfortunately, even if the prize went away or changed its purpose of avoiding the exclusion of certain types of films, the association will probably still be there (much like how Best Director at Cannes has turned into “let’s give it to the most stylish and/or difficult one”), and until it’s gone the prize is going to look less like an award and more like an excuse.

Are you listening, Cannes?

Cannes shouldn’t have to worry about losing its status as the most prestigious film festival in the world (even if festival head Thierry Fremaux seems hellbent on turning Cannes into a laughing stock), but with every passing year, it looks more like a festival that needs to get with the times. And for a festival that loves to make egregious decisions, perhaps its most egregious one is the continued exclusion of documentaries from its main competition. The last time a documentary competed for the Palme was in 2004 when Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 walked away with the main prize, a decision that still irks some to this day. Perhaps that’s why Cannes hasn’t put a documentary in competition since, but Berlin doesn’t seem to have any biases when it comes to format. This year had two nonfiction films in the main competition, with Gianfranco Rosi’s immigration documentary Fire at Sea taking home the Golden Bear. Berlin isn’t the only major festival to show some love for documentaries either; Rosi’s previous film Sacro GRA won the Golden Lion at Venice, yet if either of them tried to compete in Cannes they would probably get denied. Perhaps Rosi’s two wins can be a sign to Fremaux and Cannes that, as documentaries continue to expand and evolve, the borders between fiction and nonfiction will continue looking arbitrary and archaic.

The unstoppable Mia Hansen-Løve

It’s only been less than a decade, but Mia Hansen-Løve has gradually climbed her way into the top tier of European directors working today, and with Things to Come she seems to have finally cemented her place. It wasn’t until 2009, with her second feature Father of my Children, that Hansen-Løve started making a name for herself (partially helped by her film earning a prize at Cannes), and with her next feature Goodbye First Love the fan base grew even more. 2014 turned out to be her biggest year, with her EDM tale Eden earning rave reviews and distribution deals around the world. Things to Come has Hansen-Løve going in an opposite direction from Eden (or, to put it properly, she’s just continuing to go in her own direction), this time crafting a story around a middle-aged philosophy professor (Isabelle Huppert) instead of a young DJ, and from the sounds of it the film is her strongest work to date. It received near-unanimous praise from critics (including high marks from Nik when he saw it), walked away with a Silver Bear for Best Director, and (perhaps most surprising) scored a slew of distribution deals, including a US deal with IFC Films. Not bad for a film with no major appeal beyond the presence of Huppert.

2016 Berlin Film Festival Winners

Golden Bear for Best Film – Fire at Sea, directed by Gianfranco Rosi

Silver Bear Grand Jury Prize – Death in Sarajevo, directed by Danis Tanović

Silver Bear Alfred Bauer Prize (for a feature film that opens new perspectives) – A Lullaby to the Sorrowful Mystery, directed by Lav Diaz

Silver Bear for Best Director – Mia Hansen-Løve for Things to Come

Silver Bear for Best Actress – Trine Dyrholm for The Commune, directed by Thomas Vinterberg

Silver Bear for Best Actor – Majd Mastoura for Hedi, directed by Mohamed Ben Attia

Silver Bear for Best Script – Tomasz Wasilewski for United States of Love, directed by Tomasz Wasilewski

Silver Bear for Outstanding Artistic Contribution (in the categories camera, editing, music score, costume or set design – Mark Lee Ping-Bing for the camera in Crosscurrent, directed by Yang Chao

Alex Gibney’s excellent new documentary, Zero Days, is infused with a sense of urgency, relevance, and terrifying propinquity. You’ll never look at your cell phone the same way again.

The way countries fight wars has evolved away from the sea (19^th century) and the sky (20^th century) to what it is today: a bunch of 0’s and 1’s in mind-bogglingly complex computer codes with the enormous potential to shut down a country’s entire nervous system, rendering them vulnerable to danger and destruction. It’s the 21^st century, and the name of the game is cyber warfare. Nations have already caught on whether they can talk about it or not, something viewers will either accept or be infuriated by. The documentary tells the story of Stuxnet, a kinetic cyber weapon of potential mass destruction, which was behind various reactor failures in Iran’s Natanz nuclear facility during President Obama’s first year in office.

Interviewing a range of professionals and people in-the-know, from Symantec coders to government insiders, nuclear physicists, and one anonymous NSA source that becomes the mother load of insider intel, Gibney and producing partner Marc Shmuger approach the subject of Zero Days as a techno-thriller choking on red tape, brimming with confidential state secrecy and mysterious agendas. As the source of Stuxnet unravels to something that ultimately makes it “look like a back-alley operation,” Zero Days will grip the viewer in ways that something like All The President’s Men must have been gripping when it opened people’s eyes to the Watergate scandal.

In the post-Snowden era of leaked information, it’s often humorous to see how much Gibney still runs into dead-ends and walls. Frustratingly, at a certain stage, there is a bit too much focus on finger pointing, which will give conspiracy theorists who have deluded anti-government stances more rope than they deserve. But Gibney pulls back on the politics just in time to conclude the frightening findings on a note of openness and discussion. If cyber warfare is the new normal, which technological advancement has turned into a foregone conclusion, nations need to start talking about it honestly and openly. Engaging from start to finish, Zero Days reminds us that Gibney is at his very best when documenting universal subjects as opposed to the Going Clear and Man In The Machine docs of last year, which, though compelling in their own right, are limited by the very nature of their own subjects.

Rating:
8/10

The French have a special knack for telling naturalistic, intimate stories. The nation’s treasured André Téchiné has been due for a strong film, since his post-2000 output (with the exception of Witness) has been leaving too much to be desired. To fill this void and remind everyone why some hail him as the greatest post-New Wave director, Téchiné focuses on the youthful crossroads of desire in Being 17 in order to capture the complexity of a relationship between two boys. From mutual animosity to forced friendship to the awakening of something neither expect, Damien (Kacey Mottet Klein) and Tom (Corentin Fila) evolve through an expertly paced 2 hours on screen in ways that should leave audiences celebrating the spirited farrago of youth.

The lively beautiful rush of the opening credits create a comforting ease that’s usually attributed to someone who’s got a world of experience to work with. “Here is a director who knows what he’s doing, put your trust in him and enjoy this emotional ride,” they seem to say as the scenic country setting whizzes by over glorious music. The vibrancy of the opening foreshadows the tone that will go on to pervade over the entire film and the tense push-and-pull dynamic between Damien and Tom. They’re schoolmates, a couple of high-school loners who get picked last for basketball practice, and who—for no discernible reason—become enemies.

Tom lives in the mountains with his adoptive mother Christine (Mama Prassinos) and father Jacques (Jean Fornerod), and is in a constant state of detached ambivalence with the world around him, feeling assuaged only when swimming naked in the lake or tending to the farm animals. Damien lives with his mother, Marianne (Sandrine Kiberlain), the country doctor with a heart of gold, while his father Nathan (Alexis Loret) is on active tour duty as a helicopter pilot. Damien practices defensive techniques with neighbor Paulo (Jean Corso), an old-school vet and friend of his dad’s, and loves to cook meals for his mom. When Marianne gets called in to see a sick Christine, she takes a liking to the quiet and polite Tom, who pays her with a chicken in the film’s first organic laugh-out-loud moment.

When it’s discovered that Christine is pregnant with another child, a surprise considering the many miscarriages she had to endure before adopting Tom, Marianne suggests that Tom stay with her and Damien after school, in order to get his grades back up and not lose three hours commuting from the farm. Reluctantly the two boys agree to this arrangement, but tensions escalate until they decide to fight it out once and for all on a mountaintop. When the rain interrupts them mid-fight, however, they seek refuge in a cave and share a sneaky joint in silence. That’s when something shifts in the atmosphere.

Téchiné, and co-writer Celine Sciamma (the writer/director of the excellent Girlhood) have a gracefully raw cinéma vérité approach to their subject, creating a sense of effortless familiarity and attachment with the two leads. It reminded me of Blue Is The Warmest Color in many ways, but most of all in its agenda-free approach to the theme of homosexuality; without putting it in your face (in contrast to, for example, how it’s done on the small screen in American shows like Sense8). There’s no preaching and no politics here; just organic evolution of confused teenage feelings, and super strong character-building, blossoming into something fundamentally universal. Klein is the more experienced of the two young actors in the lead, and while he is undoubtedly strong, the revelation is Fila, who makes his screen debut with subtle ferociousness and irresistible charismatic presence. Of the adults, Kiberlain gets to the do most and she is wonderful as the lonely, warm-hearted, motherly Marianne.

The story’s build-up and progression in the first two thirds of Being 17, laced with intelligent and spontaneous humor, is rock-solid. It’s when we get into the third trimester that faith gets lost, thanks to some see-through conventional plot engineering and a roundabout focus on Marianne. The closing moments as well break the naturalistic spell with an overloaded dose of sugary optimism, in stark contrast to the rest of the film’s prudence. But even with its noticeable rough edges, Téchiné’s film breathes with a poetic temperance; a beautifully structured, finely acted ballad on teenage angst and passion.

Considering how perceptibly poignant his first two features are, it was hard to picture a John Michael McDonagh movie quite like the unapologetic and misanthropic War On Everyone. But hey, you know what they say: everything is bigger in America. With War, McDonagh turns away from the finesse we witnessed in The Guard and Cavalry, perhaps as a way to satirize the version of the US everyone else sees. It’s tonally erratic, loud, and rude, and a hundred times funnier than his previous works. Unhinged, like a rabid dog running around that you still have the urge to pet, this anti-hero buddy cop movie has cult status written all over it, giving us a good hard look at the funny side of Alexander Skarsgard and reminding us that Michael Pena is a comedic national treasure.

Terry (Skarsgard) and Bob (Pena) are close friends and partners on the force, a job they use as a springboard and get-out-of-jail free card to do shady, corrupt business. Never starting their sentences with “You have the right to remain silent,” Terry and Bob abuse lowlifes to score drugs and money while trying to keep their private lives in some kind of order (but not really giving a shit about it). Bob is married to Delores (Stephanie Sigman), with whom he has two overweight sons; Terry is the loner alcoholic with the vibe of private eye in the 1940s from a parallel universe with a country twist, one that plays Glenn Campbell 24/7 on the jukebox. When a major deal goes bad, a British criminal (Theo James) gets on Terry and Bob’s radar, and the shitstorm starts brewing.

If you start looking at War On Everyone as anything other than a hilarious journey with entertainment as the only destination, you’ll be left with a pretty shallow outer shell. It’s all about setting up scenes, throwing punchlines, working off of McDonagh’s zing-tastic screenplay, and the unlikely dynamic that builds between Skarsgard and Pena (oh, and Caleb Landry Jones looking he stepped out of a post-modern stage play of A Clockwork Orange is not to be missed). Underneath the garish surface, there’s philosophy a-brewing; but too many swerves to random dead-end scenes stopped me from wanting to explore further. Luckily, it keeps getting back on the main road with a mean streak of anti-PC humor that’s ballsy, vibrant and refreshing.

Rating:
7/10

As I mentioned in our Top 10 Anticipation feature for this year’s Berlinale, the last film Dogme 95 alumnus Thomas Vinterberg directed was the hushed-up epic Far From The Madding Crowd. With his latest, re-teaming with old-school buddy and fellow Dane Tobias Lindholm on the typewriter (err, computer), Vinterberg narrows his focus on a tight-knit self-made commune in 1970s Copenhagen, creating a film that’s all the better for being so intimate in scope. Acting thesps Ulrich Thomsen and Trine Dryholm join Vinterberg and Lindholm for the project, and the fact that all four crossed professional paths at one point or another gives The Commune a sense of instant familiarity; something that keeps the film glued together even when it threatens to fall apart in the third act.

Local news anchor Anna (Dryholm) is happily married to a professor of architecture Erik (Thomsen). Together with their 14-year-old daughter Freja (Martha Sofie Wallstrøm Hansen), they move into Erik’s old childhood home after his father passes away. In order to spice up their lives and fill the house with more excitement, Anna has the idea to create a commune and invite all the fantastic people they know to live with them. It’s the 1970s, and co-op lifestyles are all the rage. A group of colorful characters round up the household, and everything is rosy up until Erik meets and falls hard for 24-year-old mini-Brigitte Bardot Emma (Helene Reingaard Neumann). Instead of pulling a fit, kicking him out, filing for divorce, or anything else we might expect a woman living in the 21^st century to do, Anna suggests something much more radical: invite Emma into the commune and see if they can all make it work.

While Anna’s blasé attitude towards Erik’s infidelity takes a bit of getting used to, Dryholm—with the support of Lindholm’s crackling screenplay—does an outstanding job of making us understand why she wants to give the unusual scenario a go. Besides, the foundation of a commune during the 1970s is built on open-mindedness and acceptance. The realizations that Anna goes through, while predictable, keep The Commune interesting throughout. It’s not long before we realize that the crux of the matter lies in the struggle between personal issues in an open-space environment. The central performances are fantastic, Lindholm packs in enough boisterous humor to keep entertainment levels high throughout, and Vinterberg’s direction is airtight; but there is a disingenuous imbalance in the characterization of all other members beside the original family unit, including much too much focus on an overtly engineered character that transforms from young boy to old ploy at the drop of a hat.

Rating:
7/10

The Night Manager packs so much promise with its cast, crew, and material that it would’ve definitely made our Top 10 Anticipated were it not designed for the small screen. And while we’re mostly all about movies here on Way Too Indie, this BBC/AMC co-produced miniseries gets special coverage for a number of reasons. It’s the latest John Le Carré material adapted for the screen, it packs a wallop of an ensemble cast in Tom Hiddleston, Hugh Laurie, Olivia Colman, Tom Hollander and Elizabeth Debicki, and it’s directed by Oscar-winner Susanne Bier. So there was very little standing in the way of me catching the first two episodes at the Berlinale, and I’m happy to report that the pieces are aligned just right to make this one of the most talked-about TV events of the year.

Hiddleston plays Jonathan Pine, a hotel night manager with a mysterious past who becomes privy to a massive state secret involving aspiring British Lord and all-around millionaire entrepreneur Richard Roper (Laurie). Together with British intelligence handler Angela Burr (Colman), who’s got something of an obsession with catching the crooked Roper, Pine will infiltrate Roper’s inner circle in an attempt to build enough surefire evidence to bring him down once and for all.

That’s the gist of it, and the first two episodes lay the foundation in tantalizing fashion. Beginning with a sleek, sexy, opening credit sequence that sees fighter jets morphing into champagne bubbles and a chandelier crashing in a mushroom-cloud puff, the world of The Night Manager is one of elite danger. The golden color tones, postcard locales (especially breathtaking once the story moves to the alpine top of Zermatt, Switzerland), and lavish lifestyles that festoon the series create an impossible-to-decline invitation. This being a John Le Carré story, the air is full of suspense and intrigue from frame one, when we meet our hero during the eve of the Arab Spring in Cairo.

As one might expect, the actors fire on all cylinders. Hiddleston gets to show why he’d make a perfectly cool (if perhaps still a little too dainty) James Bond, Colman steals every scene she’s in, Laurie is absolutely scrumptious as the sleazy, serpentine Roper, and Hollander makes a fantastic early impression as Roper’s Iago-esque right-hand man Corcoran. If there’s a weakness to be detected, it’s in the series’ iffy structure involving time-jumps and a weak groundwork in establishing a key relationship between Pine and one Sophie Alekan (Aure Atika). Regardless, the first two hours of this miniseries flew by thanks to the story’s reliable espionage elements and tangible charisma seeping through every element. The cliffhanger that ends the second episode had me digging my nails into the seat, so April 19^th—which is when the series is to premiere stateside on AMC—can’t come soon enough.

Rating:
8/10

Even though Emily Dickinson would become one of America’s most celebrated female poets, she led a hard life in the 1800s. She didn’t share her family’s ecclesiastical leanings, her passion was firmly rooted in poetry (not homemaking), she judged those around her too harshly, and, of course, she was a she. Beside her innate urge to express herself through poetry, which she would write in the quiet of night while the rest of the world slept, Emily’s other passion was her bottomless love for her close-knit family. Through exquisitely framed medium shots, supple camera movements, and a screenplay full of wealth and wit, legendary British filmmaker Terence Davies creates a lush biopic that does justice to a unique artist, slightly meandering on a few tangents along the way.

It feels like Cynthia Nixon is in the middle of her own Nixonassance, especially when you consider her searing portrayal of last year’s indie hit James White in addition to the powerhouse portrayal she conjures up here in A Quiet Passion. She so wholly embodies the poetess, you’d think she found a time machine to travel back to the 1800s and trace every inch of gesticulation and countenance befitting the introverted and rebellious woman. Emma Bell does a fine job as Young Emily in the first part of the film, when we get introduced to the Dickinson household and get a taste of conservative life in Massachusetts. But once Nixon enters the stage, you hear pins drop till the final curtain.

Scenes flow into one another like liquid being poured by The Queen’s butler, tracing the ebbs and flows of Emily’s emotional and mental state as she comes to terms with her own personality, the love she feels for her family, and her growing bitterness towards high society values. Her sister Vinnie (Jennifer Ehle, continuing to prove how unforgivably underused she is), her brother Austin (a slightly spotty Duncan Duff), her father (a brilliantly stoic Keith Carradine), her sweet mother (an outstanding Joanna Bacon), and Austin’s wife Susan (a revelatory Jodhi May)—all play vital roles in shaping Emily. Outside her immediate family, no one makes a bigger impact than Miss Buffam (a sensational Catherine Bailey); with a wit and banter second to none, she outplays every man in the room and always leaves room for more. It’s little wonder that Emily becomes instantly infatuated with her spirit. A Quiet Passion exposes a singular personality through the relationships and conversations she has with those closest to her. And for much of the running time, it’s consuming to the point of forgetting everything else in the world.

Davies’ bountiful screenplay takes the cake in terms of how rhythmic and effortless the viewing experience feels. It’s so vibrant with its verbiage, 1800s colloquialism, and sharp comebacks that there are scenes where it almost trips over itself, creating the “too much of a good thing” excess feeling. The first half of the film also overflows with a wonderful sense of humor. Then there’s, of course, the director’s signature painterly camera movements, pivoting around interiors to create an astonishing sense of intimacy and closeness. He would stay on characters during their most fragile moments (especially during the heart-wrenching scenes featuring Bacon) and gradually grind the viewer’s emotions into sawdust. The way he transitions from the early to the later years during a photo shoot sequence is breathtaking. All this is helped by Florian Hoffmeister’s brilliant work with lights and shadows; whether by candle or by sun, the glow that overwhelms A Quiet Passion is palpable.

Moving beyond the formal aesthetics and award-worthy performances, it’s Emily Dickinson’s character that keeps the film’s heart beating. Her flaws, her virtues, her desires, her idiosyncrasies, her painstaking love and love-wound pain—all are ironed gently to create a truly complex and mesmerizing personality. Affronted by obviousness in every aspect of life and art, so sharp in demeaning the overt piety and patriarchal Puritanism she was faced with on a daily basis, the Emily Dickinson that emerges is one fiercely intelligent, determined, funny, empathetic, and infinitely interesting woman. This, above all else, makes A Quiet Passion the magisterial film that it is, and confirms Terence Davies as director who knows how to tackle femininity from all angles.

While all this stands, the picture does tend to lose the plot on a few occasions, especially towards the end during what looks like a fever dream sequence involving Emily and an anonymous man. It’s a jarring moment that broke the magic spell for a few brief minutes, and though I understand its intention, I find myself wishing that it were executed in a more refined way. A blasphemous thought to have considering this is Terence Davies, but there it is. The in-and-out narration of Emily’s select poems will also ignite frustration in a lot of viewers I imagine.

Thanks to these quibbles, the film is a step below the enchantment of Sunset Song and The Deep Blue Sea. But no matter how well versed you are with Emily Dickinson’s poems, A Quiet Passion still manages to envelop the senses in warm, gentle waves of cinematic opulence for most of its running time.

If there was one movie that I wanted to watch at the Berlinale and say, “now here’s a movie Donald Trump needs to see,” it would be Rafi Pitts’ Soy Nero. The reality is much harsher: it’s hard to think of anyone really needing to see this movie, regardless of their politics, prejudices, or nationality. The story of a young Mexican-American who becomes a Green Card soldier in order to secure his US citizenship and not be deported back to Mexico is ultimately too bare-boned and thinly spread to resonate beyond any given scene. And in most scenes, it’s the kind of resonance that spins its wheels to produce a deafening sound only to signify nothing much at all.

Nero (Johnny Ortiz) is caught by the US authorities trying to cross the border back to the States. He says he grew up in California, and is attending university, but he’s got no ID to back him up so, naturally, they don’t believe a word. He witnesses a burial of a Green Card soldier, a Mexican national who joined the US army to become a citizen only to end up dying in action. Nero absorbs his feelings and continues on his path back home to the States. He eventually reaches Beverly Hills to stay with his cousin Jesus (Ian Casselberry). From there, the story is divided between Nero’s short stay in L.A. and his wartime experience in the Middle East.

Pitts creates a dislodged atmosphere of ambivalent uncertainty throughout, which is just about the only thing that kept my attention with Soy Nero. The most entertaining sequence involves Orange Is The New Black‘s Michael Harney, who plays a random American Joe with such unpredictable verve, he keeps the tension tight and manages to make a conversation about windmills totally engrossing. But he’s in it for a moment, and from there on, the story rolls on with the intensity of a tumbleweed. And it tumbled on. It’s a cascading series of mini-disappointments as Nero goes through all the familiar motions, rarely expressing himself other than literally vocalizing his thoughts. Most of the action in Soy Nero is inert and primarily revolves around Nero slowly discovering something that’s fairly obvious from the start.

As for the second part in the war zone, it’s too staged to feel real. A nameless desert with only a couple of people posted at guard is meant to instil a sense of barren existentialism, but ends up feeling stretched out and headed towards pointlessness. Even a sort-of-funny conversation about West vs. East coast rappers feels stagnant because we’ve heard it all before. But it’s when Nero has to verbalize the absurdity of fighting this war just for a Green Card when I completely checked out, realizing that Pitts is attempting to reveal something new by recycling the old.

Rating:
6/10

The subject of white male platonic bonding is as far from today’s film trends as you can possibly get. Even with its shortcomings, then, the heart of the matter in Michael Grandage’s star-studded Genius goes refreshingly against the grain. Add to that the look in the life of American author Thomas Wolfe (whom many, I suspect, readily forget in lieu of the William Faulkner’s and Ernest Hemingway’s of his time), and a shiny spotlight on the behind-closed-doors role of the editor, and there’s plenty to bite into here. Of course, with a cast featuring Colin Firth, Jude Law, Nicole Kidman, Laura Linney, and Guy Pearce, you walk in confident that if all else fails, at least the performances will keep you glued. And they do, but even beyond the curious choice of a dreary gray monochrome as the film’s primary palette, there’re a number of things that bog Genius down. The source is, as ever, the screenplay; in this case, John Logan’s adaption of A. Scott Berg’s biography Max Perkins: Editor of Genius. That said, Grandage takes the lion’s share of the blame for leaving the autopilot on his director’s chair and not trying something a little more enticing in way of presentation.

As it bizarrely shifts from black-and-white into colour, Genius opens with the famous editor of Charles Scribner’s Sons, Maxwell Perkins (Firth), receiving the bulbous first draft of what will eventually become “Look Homeward, Angel.” “Is it any good?” he asks, to which the deliveryman responds, “Good? No. But it’s unique.” That hooks him in. Of course, it turns out to be more than just good or unique, as we follow Max’ endearing routine of reading the manuscript until he reaches the end and gets that look—the title of Genius appearing to make sure there’s no confusion on our part either. During this routine, we get a passing glance at Max’s household, his wife Louise (Linney) and five daughters. Being surrounded by women all his life ends up playing a big part in the strong connection he develops with the erratic, enigmatic, and entirely insufferable Thomas Wolfe (Law).

Genius packs most of its meat into scenes featuring Wolfe and Perkins, as they bulldoze through Wolfe’s protracted manuscripts, first ‘Angel,’ and then—in a period of over 2 years!—Of Time and The River. Debating over how to cut down the chapter where his character falls in love with a blue-eyed girl is the film’s pinnacle; infinitely charming and richly insightful in the dynamic between ambitious author and economic editor. Threatening to steal the show from the two men, though, is Nicole Kidman, who pulls off a fiery and embittered turn as Aline Bernstein—a woman who left her husband and two children to be Wolfe’s full-time lover. Her whole life, it seems, revolves around this man who is too busy wrestling with his mountainous ego to return the love, and if the role weren’t so utterly thankless, Kidman surely would have soared even higher.

The two men’s flippant attitudes towards their respective other halves is never fully addressed (and, ironically enough, Max seems to care more about how much Mrs. Bernstein is suffering while completely ignoring his patronizing attitude toward his own wife). Among other issues that arise out of Logan’s screenplay are the peppered stings of obviousness throughout. The most articulate example comes when F. Scott Fitzgerald (Pearce) talks of “genius friendship,” and the double meaning of the title is neatly spoon-fed. There’s also Law’s exuberant performance as Wolfe. Showy, and something that must have been a lot of fun for the actor, but with just a bit too much pep in his step. This ultimately works against the film’s final moments.

It’s the prickly characterization of Thomas Wolfe that undoes Genius in the end. Whether by weighing the importance of the female characters (especially Kidman’s Aline, as Linney’s Louise is, sadly, much too minor to even mention) a bit more significantly, keeping Law’s performance in firmer check, or fine-tuning the screenplay so that the author’s moments of clarity have bigger impact; I feel Logan and Grandage could have handled it better. The fact that he’s not the main star leaves the film all the better for it. Firth’s mighty sensitive performance as the heart of the film keeps the strength of friendship resonating throughout, and is more than enough reason for a solid recommendation.

Poetry is in the art of subtle suggestion, the lyrical rhythm of words, and the invisible reveal of universal emotion. The more you talk about how poetic something is, the less poetic it becomes. Yang Chao’s Crosscurrent practices the opposite philosophy; literally writing out its poetry on the screen, drowning in a self-referential sea of airy profundities, and so deeply steeped in Chinese tradition that most of us unfamiliar are left one step behind with every turn.

Gao Chun (Qin Hao) travels up the Yangtze River, taking with him mysterious cargo for a shady businessman. His father recently passed, and tradition dictates that he must capture a black fish and let it die of natural causes onboard the ship in order for his father’s soul to be set free. But Gao Chun seems more interested in An Lu (Xin Zhilei), a mysterious woman he keeps seeing at every stop he makes. When he finds an anonymous book of poems on his ship, poems named after the ports along the Yangtze river, Gao Chun embarks on a (mostly inward) journey of discovery. On this so-called journey, he comes to terms with his feelings toward his father. He also remains determined to find out who this mythic woman really is and understand the spirit of the Yangtze river through the poems. Or something.

The end result kept me at bay with its molasses-like pace, overly pontificating screenplay, and awkwardly staged scenes (I’m thinking here mostly of those featuring the two central lovers). Thanks to majestic cinematography from master DP Ping Bing Lee (who is responsible for shooting the most beautiful film of last year, The Assassin) and a deeply emotive score by An Wei, it’s beautiful to look at and listen to. But I’d be surprised if the storytelling doesn’t leave many losing patience and scratching their heads.

Rating:
6/10

Psychopaths and unresolved mysteries in a grim detective tale should be surefire material for someone like the prolific Kiyoshi Kurosawa to successfully tackle, right? Especially when you consider it’s adapted from a celebrated, award-winning novel. The Japanese director’s latest film was one of ten films we’re most excited about for Berlinale. Needless to say, I was very eager to watch Creepy. Alas, the film is an unfulfilling experience; incredulously dull, unwittingly absurd and comical, and featuring the most plank-like lead performance I’ve seen in quite some time.

After a psychotic incident almost kills him, detective Takakura (Hidetoshi Nishijima) quits the force to teach criminal behavior and settle into his new home with doting wife Yasuko (Yuko Takeuchi). He randomly discovers an old unsolved case involving three missing people while Yasuko tries (and doesn’t stop trying…) to befriend their strange new neighbor, Nishino (Teruyuki Kagawa). The parallel narratives converge, obviously. Nishijima plays detective Takakura with all human dimensions scraped off, leaving a vacuous non-person with the instincts of a blind wombat to handle a complex case and keep missing every red flag possible. It’s in Kagawa (reteaming with Kurosawa after Tokyo Sonata) where Creepy, appropriately, lives and breathes. His volatile, eccentric performance is the greatest joy in an otherwise detached, lethargic, and predictable picture.

It really shouldn’t be this easy to trivialize a Kiyoshi Kurosawa film. Even his misses (Journey To The Shore, Real…) usually have something exciting to latch onto. Perhaps he’s been working a little too much? Or his efforts were mostly concentrated on his upcoming Mathieu Amalric film The Woman in the Silver Plate? Either way, apart from a couple of neat camera movements where action is allowed to speak louder than words, Creepy is so disposable it hardly feels directed at all.

Rating:
5/10

There’s no away around it, and it pains me to believe it considering how big a fan I am of his previous films, but Jeff Nichols‘ much-anticipated Midnight Special is a disappointment. How a film that packs so much promise with its director, cast, and synopsis can leave such a flat impression is something that I’ll be mulling over during Berlinale and beyond. A story of a close-knit family with a boy who’s got special powers, on the run from a religious cult and the government, pulsates with potential. But not even the commanding Michael Shannon can save this film from being Nichols’ first major misfire.

As most disappointments often do, things start off so well. With zero exposition, we’re thrust into the action of Ray (Shannon) and Lucas (Joel Edgerton, at his understated best here) on-the-run with 8-year-old Alton (Jaeden Lieberher) and before the brilliant title sequence even comes up, we’ve already got a hundred questions. Why is the young lad wearing goggles? Who are these men? Why is the government, who is making this national news, after them? The mystery is instantly gripping, and even more so once the Ranch—a cult that believes Alton’s words are gospel—gets involved. They want him because they believe he’s their savior, the FBI and the NSA are after him because they think he’s a weapon, and all Roy wants to do is bring him back to his mother (Kirsten Dunst) and make sure he’s where he’s got to be on Friday, March 6th, a.k.a. Judgement Day. Oh, and the boy speaks in tongues, has telepathic connections with radio signals, and shoots blue light from his eyes.

Basically, you’d have to check your pulse if you weren’t totally sucked in by the halfway mark. But as the mystery begins to unravel further, delusions of grandeur set in. The big mystery, all those gripping question marks, amount to one big “OK, that’s it?” shrug by the end. Adam Stone’s cinematography is excellent, the performances are predictably stellar, Nichols expertly directs a couple of stand-out sequences, but the story gets lost in a vague haze of questionable decisions and a final climax utterly deflated of the emotional oomph it’s supposed to have. It has its grand familial Spielbergian flourishes, but Midnight Special ends up being disappointingly ordinary and surprisingly forgettable.

Rating:
6.5/10

In just a matter of days, the first major European festival will be opening its doors for the 66th time. That’s right (or, stimmt); it’s Berlinale time again and I’m flustered, delighted, honored, and absolutely beside myself to be covering the festival on the ground for Way Too Indie. It’ll be my first time around The Grey City, a first in discovering all the venues and screening rooms that look like they’re located all over the map (i.e., Berlin’s public transportation system shall be discovered as well) and my very first Berlinale! Together with my WTI cohort C.J. (who will be helping me out remotely with some reviews), I’ve gone through the extensive selections and hand-picked 10 films that, to me, sound like the hottest tickets in town during the 10 days of the fest.

Of the major-event films that I’m 100% missing, Joel and Ethan Coen’s Hail, Caesar! is the glaring standout. It’s all good, though, since Bernard has already reviewed it for you guys (and it sounds bloody fantastic). Other than that, I’ll be bouncing around press and public screenings, spilling coffee all over my notebook(s), and writing a mix of capsuled and full-length reviews. If I can squeeze in an interview or two, I most certainly will.

For those interested to see how I go about covering film festivals, jolt your memory with my Cannes 2014 coverage. Other than that, I will let the films do the talking as far as this year’s handsome-looking slate for Berlinale is concerned. Oh, I will just mention one last thing that makes this year’s Berlinale extra special: the venerable Meryl Streep will be handling Jury President duties for the first time in her legendary career. That’s pretty wunderbar no? OK, while I try to restrain myself from fitting German phrases and words into every sentence from now until February 20th, get set to start predicting who takes home the esteemed Golden Bear!

Berlin 2016: 10 Most Anticipated Films

Being 17

France has always played a prominent role in world cinema as a country with one of the richest cinematic histories out there. Now, at Berlinale, seasoned and beloved post-New Wave French auteur André Téchiné will unveil his latest and, hopefully, give us all another future French classic. His elegiac cinema hit a major peak in 1994 with the fantastic Wild Reeds, but he’s been quite prolific in the 21st century as well, working with acting heavyweights (Catherine Deneuve on more than one occasion) and directing the compelling multi-narrative AIDS drama The Witnesses in 2007. Being 17, a story about teenage tension between two boys forced to live together, is more than just a little promising as it feels like Téchiné is just about ready to peak again.

The Commune

The Carrey Mulligan film adaptation of Far From the Maddening Crowd was supposed to be Thomas Vinterberg’s big break into international directorial superstardom. At least, that’s what many of us within the film commune figured. The end result was shaky, to say the least, which is why I’ve recharged my anticipation batteries for the Dane’s next project set to compete for the Golden Bear. The Commune brings Vinterberg back to Denmark, zeroing in on a tight-knit self-appointed community where dark secrets no doubt bubble up to the surface (the kind that made the director’s previous stand-out efforts The Hunt and Festen inherently captivating). Featuring what look like riveting turns by a couple of Festen alumni in Ulrich Thomsen and Trine Dyrholm, The Commune has all the makings of the Vinterberg we know and love.

Creepy

When a director makes one of your favourite films of all-time, you can allow them some leeway. That’s been the case with me and Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s films ever since I watched Kairo, his apocalyptic horror film that scared the ever living hell out of me. Since then, the quality of his output has taken a slow downward trajectory, with 2008’s Tokyo Sonata marking the last time he made a truly great film. Yet after getting let down once again in 2015 with the interminable Journey to the Shore, I will do my self-imposed duty and watch Creepy whenever it comes my way. Why? The fact that Creepy sees Kurosawa returning to more genre-based fare helps a lot, considering his thrillers tend to hit more than they miss (see the aforementioned Kairo along with Cure and Retribution). From what I know, Creepy is an adaptation from a novel centering around a detective investigating the disappearance of a family while dealing with his potentially dangerous new neighbours. Could this be a return to form for Kurosawa? Potentially. But going by his last several films, all signs point to this one being a dud. I’ll still anticipate and watch, of course; loyalty is the price auteurists have to pay. [C.J.]

Elixir

“A magical or medicinal potion,” is the first dictionary-definition of elixir that pops up, which is—interestingly enough—a spot-on description of how I feel about Russian cinema as of late. With recent gems from Andrey Zvyagintsev (Leviathan), Yuriy Bykov (The Fool), and a posthumous masterwork from Aleksey German (Hard to be a God), Russia is on a bit of tear. All this translates to me not needing much to get riled up when I see that a brand-new Russian philosophic mind-boggler will have its premiere in Berlin. Daniil Zinchenko’s Elixir promises to be a narrative-bending parable with striking visuals (a forest is featured prominently, and the film camera has had an age-long love affair with forests) about a group of people, seemingly suspended from any time or physical space, searching for the elixir of immortality. Expect biblical metaphors, contemporary parallels, and at least one metric ton of deeply cerebral food-for-thought. Mmm.

A Lullaby to the Sorrowful Mystery

Lav Diaz’s films tend to avoid making their way into major festival competitions, usually getting relegated to sidebars or competing in fests more willing to showcase his lengthy, slow-moving works (looking at you, Locarno). So it came as a shock, and further proof of Berlin’s status as one of the top film festivals in the world, when they announced Diaz’s eight-hour A Lullaby to the Sorrowful Mystery would play in the festival’s main competition. A brief synopsis of the film explains that it’s about the search for the body of Andres Bonifacio—described as “the Father of the Philippine Revolution”—but if this is anything like Diaz’s other films (which, based on everything we’ve seen and read so far, it is), Lullaby will have much more going on within it than what its plot suggests. A project that’s taken Diaz years to make, Lullaby looks like yet another immersive, political and contemplative work from the Filipino master. [C.J.]

Midnight Special

Speculations over when exactly Jeff Nichols’ first real big-budget studio film would premiere have been growing over the past few years. Many of us pegged 2015 as the year we’d see Midnight Special, a film that puts a father-son relationship at its epicentre, and gives it a nice (supernatural?) twist when the dad discovers his son has special gifts and they go on the run. Thankfully, the wait is over! The 66th Berlinale gets the honours of world premiering what is, for many, the most anticipated title of the festival. Watching Nichols grow out of his indie roots (Shotgun Stories, Take Shelter) and tackle an all-too common motif with his lyrical script and silky-smooth direction has us pumped and giddy. Helping Nichols tell his story is de-facto awesome Michael Shannon (may these two never stop working together), Kirsten Dunst, Joel Edgerton and the red-hot Adam Driver.

A Quiet Passion

Feels like it was only yesterday when Terence Davies’ gorgeous Sunset Song premiered at TIFF. A skip and a hop and we’re in for another brand-new Davies treat at the Berlinale (not competing though, curiously, but rather as the clear-stand out of the Special Gala). A Quiet Passion features Cynthia Nixon (who, if all goes well, will be consolidating a career boost after her searing turn in last year’s James White) in the role of beloved American poet Emily Dickinson. She was an introverted, philosophical, and wholly unconventional woman and artist, something that Davies reportedly uses to tie into the nature and movements of her poems. Even half as majestic as it sounds and it’s already special. To top off the excitement, the virtuoso director is re-teaming with his Deep Blue Sea DP Florian Hoffmeister, and working with the criminally underrated Jennifer Ehle (she plays Emily’s sister and confidante, Vinnie). Excited is an understatement.

Soy Nero

The subject of immigration and refugee hopes is going to be looming like an ominous, topical, cloud over the 66th Berlinale (get up from under that rock if you don’t know why). While many films will be tackling this hot-button subject, I’m betting all of my chips on Iranian-born, British-bred, Parisian-based Rafi Pitts to broach the subject in the most profound way. A regular at the Berlin festival, Pitts is back this year with his latest displacement drama, Soy Nero. It’s about a young Mexican man dreaming of becoming a US citizen and unusually finding himself in a Middle Eastern warzone fighting for his green card (and a clean conscience, presumably). As a regular who’s never won the coveted Bear, early rumblings suggest that it could be Pitts’ time. A multi-cultural examination of national identity handled by the kind of pedigree that Pitts boasts would’ve had me planted in my seat, regardless.

Things to Come

Mia-Hansen Løve follows up her excellent Eden by teaming up with French acting legend Isabelle Huppert to tell a story about a liberated woman who attempts to put her philosophies into practice. How do you read that and not get excited? Jumping a few decades from the youths of the Parisian clubbing scene circa 1991, the gifted director will be applying her mature sensibilities to mature characters for the first time in a while, which is going to be fascinating to watch even if Huppert wasn’t in the lead. Luckily, having someone with the screen dominance of France’s greatest actress (yeah, I said it) in the mix is the mouth-watering cherry on top. Full of promise to be one of the highlights of the year, let alone the festival, L’ Avenir (a.k.a. Things To Come) is a certified must-see.

War On Everyone

If you’ve seen either of John Michael McDonagh’s two Brendan Gleeson-starring films, Cavalry (2014) and The Guard (2011), then you know why I’m licking my chops at the idea of his next one. War On Everyone sees McDonagh expanding in more ways that one; his cast is younger (led by Alexander Skarsgård and Michael Peña, featuring up-and-comers Caleb Landry Jones and Theo James) and the setting is some miles away from his familiar Ireland. New Mexico to be exact, where we’ll follow two corrupt cops and their corrupt run-ins with local crime lords. All that laced with McDonogh’s caustic humor, sensitive direction, and pensive moral afterthoughts? Yes please.

But that’s not all!

Film festivals are an organizer’s worst nightmare; they are full of unexpected chaotic and frustrating variables. In other words, I’ll do everything possible to catch the above 10 films, but there’s always a chance that I’ll miss one or two.

But the finicky nature of the schedule leaves room for a number of other surprises. Like Eldorado XXI by Salomé Lamas, which promises breathtaking panoramic visuals and an hour-long static shot (who doesn’t love those?) of mine workers going through their day-to-days, and Boris Sans Beatrice from one of the more interesting LGBT art house directors out there, Denis Côte. This one sees the Canadian director veering toward psychological thriller territory and competing for Gold. Joining him in competition is the star-studded Alone in Berlin, featuring a pair of thesps in Emma Thomson and Brendan Gleeson circa 1940s Germany. And while we’re on star-power, I’ve certainly got my eye on Genius, with Colin Firth, Jude Law, Laura Linney (she’s back!) and Guy Pearce, set around an editorial house in 1920s New York.

We’re not going to be losing our indie focus too much, though. Eugene Greene’s The Son of Joseph, Danis Tanovic’s Death in Sarajevo, Ivo M. Ferreira’s Letters From War and Petr Kazda and Tomas Weinreb’s I, Olga Hepnarova are blinking on my radar and brimming with potential. I’ll be making every effort to catch them.

On a final note, I have to mention Susanne Bier’s The Night Manager. It’s a miniseries, co-produced by heavyweights AMC and BBC, featuring Tom Hiddleston and Olivia always-brilliant Colman, and based on a John Le Carré novel. Excuse me while I roll up my tongue off the floor. The first two episodes are set to premiere in the Special section of the festival, it’s scheduled at a tricky time, but I’ll do everything in my power to get in. Might need crutches by then, but that’s never stopped me before.

Watch this space for Way Too Indie’s coverage of what looks to be another fabulous edition of Berlinale! See you in a few days. Till then, Auf Wiedersehen!

In the midst of Birdman‘s onslaught of awards season, a new one-take wonder has emerged out of the Berlin Film Festival. Victoria is the new 134-minute movie from writer/director Sebastian Schipper that unlike its Iñárritu-directed counterpart, strings together scenes filmed in 22 different locations with a long shot unaided by any digital patching. The Berlin Film Festival entry is one of 19 films in competition at the festival, winning the Silver Bear prize for outstanding artistic contribution for cinematography. Victoria‘s earliest audiences were impressed by the boldness of its ambition, as well as the exhilarating story Victoria holds.

The movie stars Laia Costa as Victoria, a Spanish nightclubber who joins three men as they travel through Berlin partying, only to ultimately join Germans in a bank robbery. The dialog for the single-shot heist film was almost entirely improvised according to the film’s director. Victoria sold to Adopt Films in the U.S., with a plan to release the movie in late summer/early fall 2015.

Check out the Victoria trailer below:

The 65th Berlin Film Festival began earlier today with an Opening Ceremony for the film Nobody Wants the Night, one of 19 films vying for the top prize in Berlin. Starring Juliette Binoche against an Arctic backdrop, the 1908-set Nobody Wants the Night is based on the true story of Josephine Perry, wife of one of the first Americans to launch an expedition for the North Pole. This frigid tale received a lukewarm reaction from its initial screening despite the talent attached to the film. The Isabel Coixet-directed movie also stars Gabriel Byrne and Rinko Kikuchi.

Movie fans all over the globe are awaiting reactions to several widely discussed titles, including the WayTooIndie-anticipated title Knight of Cups, Werner Herzog’s Nicole Kidman-led Gertrude Bell biopic Queen of the Desert, and the Dennis Stock biopic Life with Robert Pattinson as Stock and Dane DeHaan as James Dean.

More broadly known upcoming movies will be making their debut in Berlin as well, including Disney’s live-action Cinderella and the steamy, soon-to-become guilty pleasure 50 Shades of Grey. Neither of these featured movies will be competing for the coveted Golden Bear prize, which will be awarded in a ceremony on February 14th. Diao Yinan’s thriller Black Coal, Thin Ice took home the top award at last year’s Berlin Film Festival.