After making films about social recluses (Curling), ex-convicts (Vic + Flo Saw a Bear) and venturing into documentaries on animals (Bestiaire) and factory workers (Joy of Man’s Desiring), French-Canadian filmmaker Denis Côté sets his sights on the upper class in Boris Without Béatrice. Its story, about a successful businessman confronting his own privilege after a surreal encounter, will undoubtedly rub people the wrong way given its sympathetic view towards an unsympathetic protagonist, but fans of Côté’s precise, arresting style will find plenty to enjoy, even if it’s in strictly formal terms.

James Hyndman plays Boris Malinovsky, a middle-aged man as arrogant as he is successful. Early scenes establish Boris’ rich lifestyle and hubris, like when he gets furious at the cashier of a high-class clothing store for asking him too many questions or crashes a town hall to lambast the mayor for not prioritizing an unpaved road near his house. But Boris’ obnoxious sense of pride and short temper might be influenced by added stress at home; his wife Béatrice (Simone-Élise Girard), a minister for the Canadian government, has come down with a severe depression that’s left her mute and bedridden. Boris, unable to deal with his wife’s ailment, hires Klara (Isolda Dychauk) to take care of her while he continues an affair with co-worker Helga (Dounia Sichov). It’s a typical case of someone using their wealth to fill the holes in their life with something else, rather than putting the work in to try and gain back what’s lost.

For a character so stuck in his own self-inflated world, it will take a lot to shake Boris from his foundation. Enter Denis Lavant as an unknown stranger, who leaves a message in Boris’ mailbox urging him to meet late at night in a nearby quarry. Their meeting, which feels like Côté’s version of the Cowboy scene in Mulholland Drive, has Lavant (who electrifies the film just by showing up in a kurta) explaining to Boris that he’s the cause for Béatrice’s condition, and in order to cure her, he needs to change his life. The encounter throws Boris into a crisis that makes him re-evaluate his life while diving further into his selfish comforts when he starts an affair with Klara.

While Boris Without Béatrice may be Côté’s first time dealing with affluent characters, he’s far from the first filmmaker to explore the problems people can afford to have, and the thematic familiarity can make certain stretches feel a bit stale. But one of Côté’s strengths has always been his ability to build an enclosed yet well-realized universe within each of his films, so it comes as no surprise that his style fits nicely when operating within the bubble of someone’s privileged existence.

Teaming up with cinematographer Jessica Lee Gagné, Côté extends the functional qualities of the narrative to the film’s visuals. Just as every action in the film leads to a direct reaction involving some other aspect of the story— Béatrice’s health improves or worsens depending on how Boris acts—Côté uses environments to make a direct commentary on each character’s current state, whether it’s obscuring Béatrice behind reflective surfaces or using the vertical lines throughout Boris’ sleek estate to make him appear separated from others within the same scene. Côté’s efficiency when it comes to establishing information through visuals is most effective when using flashbacks to show Boris reflecting on happier times with his wife. Shooting these (brief) moments in warm tones on what looks like 8mm film, the organic and textured look of the footage establishes that, despite his bad behavior, Boris’ love for Béatrice is real.

For any shortcomings Boris Without Béatrice might have storywise, Côté’s direction and his ensemble pick up the slack. It may lack the same unpredictability that made Vic + Flo Saw a Bear so strong, but Côté has firmly established himself as one of Canada’s strongest and most consistent directors working today.

With almost 200 documentaries playing at Hot Docs, the amount of variety on display is quite staggering. Social issues, personal stories, biographies, abstract docs and true crime stories are some examples of the plethora of topics regularly seen at the festival every year. This group of four films highlight the vast differences and fundamental similarities between the many films presented to audiences over the next two weeks. These four docs (a meditation on labour, a writer touring across America, a tragic story of injustice, a group of outcasts  uniting together to entertain) look different on the surface, but all of them focus on human stories.

The Hot Docs Film Festival runs from April 24 to May 4 in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. To find out more information about what’s playing or buy tickets, go to www.hotdocs.ca

Joy of Man’s Desiring

Denis Côté’s latest film opens with a close-up of a woman speaking to someone off camera. “Be polite, respectful, honest. Or I’ll destroy you if I want to,” she says calmly. What follows is 70 minutes of mostly wordless footage of industrial workers at their jobs, with the exception of some fictional conversations between workers (actually actors) toward the end.

Côté addresses plenty of big, rich ideas throughout Joy of Man’s Desiring. The relationship between man and machine, the kind of non-stop, repetitive tasks that come with working, and how humans try to find accomplishment or happiness through their mundane work are some of the more interesting topics brought up in the film. Côté doesn’t do much with his film’s themes though, seemingly content with just bringing them up rather than exploring them.

While Côté’s substance lacks depth, his style seriously impresses. His precise framing, combined with Nicholas Roy’s editing along with terrific sound design by Frédéric Cloutier & Clovis Gouaillie, makes Joy of Man’s Desiring an aesthetically pleasing experience. It’s an  interesting docu/fiction hybrid, but a minor work nonethless.

Harmontown

Dan Harmon, the creator of Community, is also the host of a podcast that Harmontown gets its title from. Harmon is known for being completely honest with people, and when he got a little too honest about behind the scenes drama on Community NBC fired him. Harmon used his unemployment as an opportunity to take his podcast on a live tour across America, taking co-host Jeff Davis, “Dungeon Master” Spencer and girlfriend Erin McGathy along. Director Neil Berkeley has made a funny, raw and enjoyable documentary that can appeal to fans of Harmon as well as people unfamiliar with his work.

The point Berkeley makes throughout his film is how Harmon’s openness about his problems (at one point he brings an audience member on stage to mediate a serious argument between him and his girlfriend; another time he dedicates his show to discussing depression with audience members), along with his ability to bring humour into these serious topics, has a therapeutic effect on people. Different people tell Harmon how Community helped get them through personal traumas or finally gave them confidence to do things they wouldn’t normally do (one woman says she would have been “too chickenshit” to meet Harmon if it wasn’t for his show). This message is best exemplified through Spencer, an introverted Dungeons and Dragons fan who went from an audience member at a taping to a fan favourite on the podcast.

Before Harmontown slips into praising its subject too highly, Berkeley steps back a bit to show how self-destructive and self-hating Harmon can be. At first he’s taken aback by the generosity of his fans, amazed that they’re happy to just watch him be himself, but eventually he starts to hate being seen as a hero. Most of Harmontown‘s last act goes into much darker territory than one would anticipate, and that decision is what elevates this beyond a boring road trip doc. Harmontown may not be a very memorable documentary, but it’s funny and entertaining enough to earn a recommendation for Harmon fans (not that they need one).

No Lullaby

No Lullaby is a powerful documentary, but an incredibly tough one to sit through. Director Helen Simon films Tina Reuther, a woman now in her late 50s dealing with the suicide of her daughter Floh. Tina was sexually abused by her father as a child, and for years she repressed those memories while trying to make her own family. It wasn’t until Floh was in her early 20s that she admitted Tina’s father also sexually abused her since the age of 5, and Floh’s decision to take her grandfather to court leads to devastating consequences.

Interviews with Tina and one of Floh’s friends are intercut with a narrator monotonously reading transcripts of the trial. The sterile quality of the narration, combined with Simon’s stark footage accompanying it, make Floh and Tina’s graphic testimonies hit like a gut punch. The tactic is extremely effective, and by the time the jury reaches its verdict it’s hard not to feel numb from how much injustice is on display.

Viewers willing to handle the tough material should watch No Lullaby, as its impact is undeniably strong. Through her simple and artistic approach, Simon handles Tina’s story respectfully, putting the emphasis on how much society failed Tina and Floh. The implication that Tina stayed alive because of her silence might be the most disturbing aspect of No Lullaby; stories like hers are necessary reminders of how much the systems meant to help victims can end up hurting them even more.

Stay tuned to our Hot Docs 2014 coverage for an interview with No Lullaby director Helen Simon.

Before The Last Curtain Falls

“Gardenia” was a stage show made up of transsexuals and drag queens in their 60s and 70s performing pieces based on their lives. The show became a surprise hit, and its performers spent two years travelling the world doing shows. Before The Last Curtain Falls starts as the “Gardenia” cast come back to their hometown of Ghent, Belgium, to put on their final show.

Thomas Wallner combines performances from “Gardenia” with profiles of several cast members, getting a sense of their lives as they get ready to end their two-year journey. The cast make for an expectedly eclectic bunch: Danilo works full-time as a janitor at a brothel; Richard is a nurse who left his job to follow his passion of performing in the show; Gerrit used to be known as Sylvia, but in his older years has gone back to living as a man in order to work.

A portrait begins to emerge of this group of people as constant fighters, and amazingly their strength doesn’t appear to have weakened one bit. They’ve all led difficult lives, but even in “the autumn of their lives” (as the opening titles state) they’re still looking for love and happiness. There’s a level of defiance and individuality to “Gardenia’s” cast that’s admirable all on its own.

And when Wallner does film everyone together on stage the results are excellent. The cinematography is gorgeous, and some moments in “Gardenia” are moving when combined with the terrific camerawork. The repetitive, meandering final act feels like the film is desperately looking for an ending before giving up, but it’s “Gardenia” and its cast that makes Before The Last Curtain Falls worth seeking out.

If Vic + Flo Saw A Bear could be summed up in one word, it would be “peculiar”. The film opens with a young boy and his friend playing the trumpet poorly, a fact that Victoria (Pierrette Robitaille) immediately makes them aware of. “You can’t expect people to give you money if you don’t know how to play,” she tells them. One of them responds with “You could still give us money just to encourage us”, leading to an immediate cut to Victoria walking away. The fast-paced, percussive soundtrack doesn’t fit what’s on screen, and the abridged credits (first names are initial only, meaning Robitaille is credited as “P. Robitaille”) just add on to the bizarre mood established from the outset.

Victoria is recently out on parole, and she comes to her uncle’s house only to discover he’s paralyzed. A teenage boy from the area is taking care of him, but Vic sends him off once she arrives. Besides periodic visits from her parole officer (Marc-André Grondin), it’s a mostly quiet existence. That is until Florence (Romane Bohringer), Victoria’s prison girlfriend (she just finished serving her time), shows up and the two rekindle their romance. Director Denis Côté introduces Flo by not introducing her at all; a shot of Victoria looking bored cuts to the two women fooling around with each other under some blankets. Flo’s entrance speaks to the way Côté creates a film that’s completely unpredictable. Florence seemingly comes into existence the moment she appears on screen, and this feeling of things happening exactly as they occur extends to the rest of the film.

Côté’s skills at establishing his film’s universe provides much of Vic + Flo Saw A Bear’s enjoyment. The way Côté frames his characters, usually in very deliberate poses that imply a boxing in of some sort, communicates Vic and Flo’s mental state. Both women, despite being surrounded by wilderness, are still trapped. Victoria’s past crimes (we never know why either woman went to jail, but it doesn’t matter anyway) make her unable to move forward, while Florence’s desire to live in the city makes her new location feel like another prison. Côté’s compositions do all the work communicating his characters’ feelings. Early on we see Victoria crying outside her new home, but the camera only observes her through the home’s small doorway (first from behind, then head-on). She may be in the wilderness, but to Victoria her entire world is between those two narrow walls.

Once a mysterious figure from Flo’s past shows up, things begin to make sense. The shift from offbeat drama to dark revenge tale makes certain aspects like the fast-paced score and precise framing click into place. It’s as if the film starts out as a thriller, but has to wait for its characters to catch up with the proceedings. It may sound like Côté doesn’t have a handle on things, but it’s evident from frame one that he’s in complete control. The switch to more genre-based material doesn’t work as well as the other tonal shifts throughout Vic + Flo Saw A Bear, but it’s only a slight step down in terms of enjoyment.

Côté’s power as a filmmaker is evident in the film’s brief coda, a fantasy sequence that doesn’t exactly fit in with the film (for all its strangeness, everything still operates within reality) yet flows perfectly with everything that came before it. Vic + Flo Saw A Bear is a very strange film, one that’s fully realized yet feels like it can veer off into any direction at a moment’s notice. Watching the film feels like being on unstable ground, but that feeling of uncertainty makes for a thrilling experience.