Klara's cinema

The two last days of the Mostra, we took it slow: we skipped Day 9 screenings (honestly, enough of Italian movies!) – apparently, looking at the reviews, we did well; and we gave a 1h chance to yesterday’s Chinese movie “The Sun rises on Us All” (Cai Shangjun). Though it was still more pleasant to watch compared to “Jay Kelly” (to which I give my special “2025 Disaster Award”), it was not worth having a short night. Even more as hospital stays and cancer patients are not really on the top of the list of topics I am very excited about currently – on that front, we deserve a break.

So, what do I take out of this year’s Mostra? I would say it was a pretty good one but missing the “magical discovery”. With one remaining unknown though: until the screening of “The Voice of Hind Rajab”, everyone was talking about a Korean movie, “No Other Choice” that had all the chances of winning this year’s Golden Lion. For some reason, the Mostra organizers thought it best to put some “Out of Competition” movies in our abbonamento programme, rather than to allow us to see this one. I won’t complain though. Our programme was high level enough, with some jewels to spot, such as Sorrentino’s “La Grazia” and Jarmusch’s “Father, Mother, Sister, Brother” (not to forget my crazy Lanthimos’ “Bugonia”).

We were discussing yesterday and reached the agreement that most probably the Golden Lion will eventually go to “The Voice of Hind Rajab” (to be confirmed later tonight). Maybe not for its perfect cinematic quality, but for all the other possible reasons in the world. Allow me a bad word game: unless there is a big surprise, it seems that the Jury has No Other Choice.

It was a special year for us, filled with nostalgia and emotions but also with the huge satisfaction of one very important promise kept. From now on, Venice will not only be my usual yearly cinema rendezvous, but it will also the place where the full spot in my papa’s story has been put. A place where I will return to wave at him and remember.

Ciao Venezia, ciao papa, ci vediamo in 2026 ❤️

This will be short.

Day 2 ended not only with a very bad movie but also with a Venetian shower of the utmost intensity. The entire crowd exiting the Palabiennale got soaked from head to toe (including us). Even umbrellas could not save us, the shower was too strong. A vaporetto full of dripping people with no remains of a hairdo left on their head departed from the Lido back to town. Seen from the outside, it must have been quite a view.

Day 3 however greeted us with the most beautiful sun and blue sky, which was quite a relief, as dispersing papa’s ashes during a Venitian (almost) hurricane did not seem like the most pleasant perspective. Indeed, everyone had warned me: beware of the wind.

I won’t dwell into the details, but we had a beautiful moment surrounded by friends (including the Venetian ones who joined us by surprise) and by the water and the city that we all love(d) so much. Papa is now where he asked to be, I can almost see him floating in the sea with a contented smile on his face singing Matuška’s “plavu si, ani nevim jak, vzdyt nemam prsa, nemam znak, maaaaam jen hlavu plnou ideaaaaalu”. It was a sad but very happy and comforting moment at the same time. 

After this, I knew that unless we attend the screening of a masterpiece, it would be hard for me to focus on the evening movie. Sadly, Guadagnino did not produce such a masterpiece (not that I expected it from him, but I still had a little bit of hope… you really never know). Julia Roberts does not do such a bad job in her role as a Yale university professor. I thought it was actually a quite good job. The problem is more on the screenplay (overfilled with words, not well constructed, slow and ultimately just bluntly boring) and the soundtrack (extremely loud and agressive).

Guadagnino could however not spoil the sense of peace and achievement that accompanied me along the whole day. 

We did it! Papa is back in Venice!

In memory of my papa, Jan (18/08/1947-30/11/2024)

I had a writing break as the last days of my Mostra were a bit more slow paced with less movies and, let’s face it, as well less to write about them.

Although, I would be badly placed to say anything about “Iddu”. To be perfectly honest, I must have seen the 5-10 first minutes of it… and the two last ones. What did I do in between? I slept quite deeply, it seems. I could hear, once in a while, the laughter of my fellow watchers (though, in that specific case, I hardly qualified as a “watcher” myself) and sensed, based on the applauses at the end of the screening, that the movie had earned the public’s fair appreciation. That’s about it in terms of what I can share with you on the “Iddu” topic (… oh yes, maybe as well that it takes places in Sicily and someone dies at the end). 

And, do not get me wrong, the deepness of my sleep had absolutely nothing to do with the quality of the movie. It was mostly linked to my level of relaxation after 9 days spent in the city of water, as well as, let’s be honest with ourselves, the two campari spritz I had drank with our Venitian landlords right before the screening – you live and you never learn.

As for the two other films, “Kjaerlighet (Love)” is a nice, quite simply filmed and sympathetic Norwegian movie about love (as its title suggests) and relationships. It is worth a watch for the good acting – the main female character is one of an interestingly independent woman, who is keen on experimenting freely and is not ashamed of sharing her thoughts and impressions about these experiments with her friends and colleagues. Quite refreshing. 

“Broken Rage” is one of Kitano’s typical yakuza stories but, this time, with a twist: it is only one hour long and offers two versions of the same story – the first one, the standard yakuza version (with the shootings, the bad mafia guys and drugs), the second one, the humorous version of the first one (with clumsy killers missing out on their target and falling off their chairs). 

Because of its length and style, it has hardly any chances to be distributed in cinemas around the world, but judging by the way we, and the entire Palabiennale laughed, it seems to have done the trick. It was actually a really nice and light way to close my 2024 Mostra.

So this is it, one more year is over. The prizes have been attributed and, as very often, the jury’s choices left me quite sceptical. Whilst I was extremely happy to see Almodovar finally winning the top award at a major film festival (he actually never did before, which is quite surprising to me), and some of the films that I found really special adequately appreciated (the Silver Lion to “The Brutalist”, I very much agree with), on the acting side, I really do not understand based on what the jury took a decision. Maybe just on the fact that Nicole Kidman was daring enough to go for naked and dominated? (I would argue that what was acknowledged was more the character than the acting… but oh well). And, that Vincent Lindon is awarded the best actor to the detriment of Adrien Brody? No one will ever explain this to me. The same goes for the Silver Lion to “Vermiglio”, which was indeed a nice movie but definitely not Silver Lion material, according to my understanding of life.

Anyhow, overall it was a very good year that I have enjoyed to the maximum. I am looking forward to see what 2025 will bring to us. Until then, ciao ciao e un grande bacio da Venezia.

When I found out that the next Joker would be screened in Venice, two main thoughts went through my mind. Thought 1: why on earth would you even risk to attempt at a second part of something that was so close to perfection that it is almost impossible to beat? Thought 2: Gosh I cannot wait to see Joaquin Phoenix being the Joker one more time.

As bits and pieces of information progressively came out on what Joker II would look like (a musical? With Lady Gaga? Really?!), thought 1 started winning over thought 2 inside my head.

Yesterday’s red carpet was a good sociological experiment, perfectly reflecting how these two worlds (the darkness of Joker and a musical with lady Gaga) would be hard to reconcile. The arrival of Joaquin Phoenix together with Todd Philipps was followed by a 10mins wait for Lady Gaga’s entry (not in the standard festival car but walking through the crowd of her hysterical fans). To be honest, in 25 years, I have never seen this happening – not the walking part, but the crew not making an entry as one team ready to defend its artistic project.

What surprised me even more was that most of the crowd was there for Lady Gaga. Yes, yes, I know that she has a huge fan base. But in my rational little mind and given his previous unforgettable performance, I was somehow expecting Phoenix to be the star of the evening… Intriguing.

The movie only confirmed my fears. I don’t think that any of the both worlds (Joker vs Gaga) came out of it with a satisfied spirit. Bear in mind that my previous evening and my deep hatred and anger at the Guadagnino movie, might have not made me the most objective audience in the room. I kept on telling to myself “well, at least it’s not as bad as Queer”. 

Considering myself as a defender of the Joker’s darkness, I did not get enough of it. You get bribes of the first movie’s madness – that strange laughter that feels like crying for example – and Phoenix is as stunning as before. I did even very much enjoy his singing of some old American standards – it’s impersonated in such a theatrical way that it feels more like a cry of despair/anger than a song. Quite mesmerizing to me. 

And then Gaga appears as her diva self and the dynamic is lost. To be perfectly fair, I did find her quite convincing in a few scenes at the beginning, but then the movie looses its rythm.

The Gaga side, on the other hand, complains that this movie is such a waste of her talent. That there is not enough of a musical to it (true that there are only a few moments of joint Phoenix/Gaga singing and not much of an original song). As I hate musicals, this was actually quite a relief to me. That her acting talent is not given sufficient space. I would say the same, but more on the Phoenix side.

As a conclusion, I would recommend to rewatch the first one instead. Reconciling these two hardly concilable worlds was too big a challenge for Todd Philipps. Though I have loads of sympathy for his urge to spend a bit more time with such an amazing character as the Joker. This is for sure the end of the Joker story, and Joaquin Phoenix will always remain as the most stunning Joker to me.

After that, the second movie was actually worth a watch. It goes back to the golden age of the Italian porn (remember la Cicciolina?) with loads of humour and madness. Though it is a bit messy going continuously back and forth in time, the entire Palabiennale had a good laugh and appreciated the acting performance. Out of all the Italian movies in competition, this is the one for sure standing out.

For those who remember, two years ago after the screening of “Bones and All”, I had an entire reflection on my love/hate relationship with Luca Guadagnino. Back then, we had a tie between the love (“Io sono l’amore” and “Call me by your name”) and hate (“A bigger splash” and “Suspiria”) sides. “Bones and all” remained in the middle, as it left me totally indifferent. 

This year, the hate side has taken a solid advantage, which might even be a win on KO. On the morning after, I still feel extremely irritated about what was thrown – I would even say vomited – at me the evening before. Now, let’s not forget that we are in Italy and that, in general, Luca Guadagnino has his strong supporters. I have seen articles passing by about a “masterpiece” and Daniel Craig being “heartbreaking” or “mesmeric” with his performance. 

And yes yes, this is art, this is very personal and sensitivities are extremely diverse.

My personal sensitivity (and it seems that most of the Palabiennale screening hall’s sensitivity as well, if you consider the booing after the movie) resulted in absolute dread and blunt irritation. Very similar to my post Suspiria state of mind.

What I have personally seen is a totally feelingless style exercise that some call a “trippy gay odyssey” and I call “visual vomit”. As often with Guadagnino, everything focuses on the visuals, the colours, the effects… the picture basically. Problem is that, even that was too much for me. Just fakeness. 

And yes, Craig is astonishing in his unexpected gay dandy performance. But the director’s choice has gone towards making him overplay it (you can really feel the Guadagnino imprint on the acting style). With a bit more “restraint”, it could have been heartbreaking indeed. Presented as it is, it is just infuriating as lacking any kind of frailty. 

This lead me to rethink a vivid discussion that I had with my friend Pamela years ago. Still influenced by my love for “Io sono l’amore”, I strongly defended Guadagnino, refusing to admit that his aesthetics might be slightly pretentious. Well, Pamela, it is never too late to revise one’s position. I now fully agree with you. Guadagnino IS damn pretentious. 

Obviously, given my state of mind, the second movie stood no chance. As I spent the first 40mins of it cursing at Luca and booing in my head, I decided that it might make more sense to go home and sleep over it. Let me just add one more morning BOOOO to close this chapter for good.

This morning, I woke up quite early as we had a “mountain of plastic waste in the house” issue. The boat collecting waste stops every single morning right in front of our appartement window. Which can be a plus as it allows you to run out still in your pyjamas, hand in your bin bags, and run right back to bed. The bad side of it is that our sidewalk is one permanent conversation as of 08:00 and that, on every second day, when glass is being collected, it is impossible not to notice it unless one uses proper earplugs.

This morning was “plastica” day, hence I had an early pyjamas run in order to free our home from that mountain of empty water bottles (damn, it’s been hot the whole past week). 

Whilst doing so, I had this weird thought that Venice must be the only city in the world in which waste collectors make you feel as if you were worth less than the tiniest little piece of shit in the world. My “buongiorno” with a smile remained unanswered. My “dove metto la plastica?” (where do I put the plastic?) was answered by a silent finger (I’m apparently not even worth a look) pointing at a container. And my “buona giornata” was ignored with the most professional disdain ever.

Strangely, this put me in the greatest mood for the day as half an hour later I was still laughing at this whole situation and making my friend laugh at how Venice is the city where bin collectors became kings/queens and where we are considered as tiny little insignificant parasites. The context behind all this is, of course, not that laughable (let’s face it, mass tourism is slowly killing Venice) but this good morning laugh did us well.

Especially as the previous night screening ended up being way more challenging than expected. The synopsis of Almodovar’s movie was rather concise: something about two old friends (Tilda Swinton and Julianne Moore) meeting again after some years and being brought closer because of a “tragedy” they face together.

Taking into consideration that the unspecified “tragedy” ends up (!!! spoiler alert for those who know me well) being exactly the one through which my family is currently going was not the most pleasant surprise for me. When the screening ended, I first started to mumble that a slightly more specific synopsis would have been appreciated. Then that maybe not, because I would have most probably chosen not to watch the movie. Then that actually that would have been a pitty as the movie was very good. Then I stopped talking and the tears just started pouring by themselves. Not exactly what I expected for myself in my little venitian paradise.

Fortunately the crisis only lasted for 3 minutes as, let’s put things straight, the movie is not overly dramatic and definitely not miserabilistic. It is above all about true friendship, it is (as always with Almodovar) beautifully staged with amazing colours, settings and everything around that you can think of, and it is supported by a fantastic cast of actresses. It is basically one of these little jewels that one is not given to see that often. Local news say that the standing ovation in the Sala Grande was 18mins long. My own prize barometer also sees it as a strong contender for one of the top lions.

The little Italian movie that followed (one of those, such as the previous one we saw, that would have never ended up in the official selection, was it not an Italian production) was pleasant to watch though absolutely not at the level of the masterpiece seen before.

Prior to seeing this one, our line of thinking was a) this is a potentially very interesting topic, b) Adrien Brody is an excellent actor but c) 3h30 is a risky length for a movie and it has to be absolutely perfect from a screenplay perspective to keep us focused for that long.

So high expectations combined with a bit of concern.

Now, prior to actually seeing the movie, a huge discovery was made within our group. Let me give you a bit of context: the first Mostra I ever attended was the 56th (the current one is the 81st). That makes it 25. Though I have not been attending on a yearly basis since then, I would say that since 2007, I have barely missed one. That makes it at least 17 editions in a row. For these 17 years, I have been entering the Sala Grande through its RIGHT side entrance, barely acknowledging the existence of its left side entrance.

Yesterday, a sudden urge for a quick prosecco before sitting and watching the screen for 3h30, made us run inside through the LEFT side entrance. This resulted in a whole new world unraveling for me: it only took me 17 years to discover that there is a perfect viewpoint on the red carpet when entering from that side. The below picture is a material proof of it. Just when you were about to think that you knew it all…

I was still recovering from that shocking and belated discovery when the screening started. And that ended up being at least as exciting as our major 2024 left side revelation.  Not only is the story fascinating (the American dream/nightmare of a Hungarian Jewish architect who survived the camps and attemps at starting a new life in the USA) but, as many already say around town, Adrien Brody might be up for a second Oscar with that one. He is literally close to absolute perfection.

Add to it a screenplay that hooks you to the plot from minute 1 until exactly minute 215 without giving you one second of rest and what you get is my first very strong potential candidate for this year’s golden lion. A must see!

I had to wait for one more day to write this one as there was honestly nothing much to say about day 3. 

“Babygirl” tells the story of a successful and powerful CEO (Nicole Kidman) having a sexual affair with a very young and attractive intern. We have already seen this fifty times and in much more interesting formats. About “Trois amies”, I have even less to say. I would summarize it as someone’s unsuccessful attempt at being the new Eric Rohmer. The problem is that, if you are not as gifted as Rohmer was, all this talking and unnatural dialogues end up being crucifying for the actors (and it proves again that Camille Cottin is a good actress as she is the only one who at least slightly survives this crucifixion). We obviously ran away.

Fortunately, after seeing (yet again – it seems to be my cross to bear) the worst of contemporary French cinema, we saw the best of it yesterday. “Leurs enfants après eux” is based on the 2018 Goncourt winning novel written by Nicolas Mathieu. Though being slightly too long, it is supported by a fantastic cast of renounded actors (Gilles Lellouche, Ludivine Sagner) as well as young and not yet so well known ones, who simply burst the screen with their authenticity. 

For those who have not yet read the book (you should), it takes us back in the 90s and the lives of teenagers in a economically crumbling region of France. It is quite rare that a movie does honour to the book it is based on, this is definitely one of these cases. 

The standing ovation in the Sala Grande was long and enthusiastic in presence of the entire cast. A really nice moment of this year’s Mostra. I’m betting on a price for this one.

We followed in the evening with two pretty decent and very different films (though not award-worthy, according to my personal opinion). 

“Campo di Battaglia” tells the story of first world war doctors confronted with wounded soldiers (some by their own deeds) willing to do anything not to be sent back to the battlefield. Are they traitors to the nation or are they only poor souls who already gave enough to the country and are in need of saving? Add to it the beginning of the Spanish flu epidemics and you end up with a quite dramatic story filmed in a very austere manner but focusing on an important and less and less known moment in our history. Not to mention that my beloved Alessandro Borghi plays in it and is always a delight to watch.

We ended up the day with “The Order”, a beautifully filmed (these Idaho sceneries are stunning) crime story, based on true events involving a white supremacist group preparing for armed revolution against the state institutions (a frighteningly actual topic). Though it has a very standardly structured scenario, it is supported by a good cast (Jude Law – one of his really good performances – Nicholas Hoult, Tye Sheridan) and a storyline that really does the trick. The conclusion is thus: no surprises but a solid movie.

The night walk back home through empty San Marco completed perfectly this day to remember…

I have to say that I was quite doubtful prior to yesterday’s evening screening. Indeed, what we knew before entering the movie hall was that we would see a film about the last days of Maria Callas and that it would be starring Angelina Jollie. 

To start with, the Jollie/Callas combination raised some doubts in me about Larrain’s casting skills – I mean, believe it or not, I don’t think that I have ever seen a movie with Angelina Jollie, but god knows I know who she is and how she looks. Same for Callas. We all know that both her appearance and personality were quite unique.

My doubts were further supported by the fact that I found both previous biopics made by Larrain (“Jackie” and “Spencer”) absolutely insufferable. From what I recall, I painfully suffered “Jackie” until the end but ran away from “Spencer” after an hour (though the escape was as well due to a COVID time outdoor screening during which we were all absolutely freezing outside).

So, heavy feet I had entering the cinema. And, maybe due to the fact that I was prepared for the worse, I came out positively surprised. Do not take me wrong: I did not see Callas on the screen for one second (except for the few archive pictures displayed at the end of the movie). What I saw was Jollie putting on a pretty decent performance impersonating a lonely diva suddenly confronted with the end of her career. 

Additionally, for once in one of Larrain’s biopics, I very much enjoyed the dialogues and found the movie flow pretty normal (which it was definitely not in “Spencer”) and even pleasant. 

This resulted in a very surprised but overall satisfied me at the end of movie 1.

Movie 2 was announced as an Argentinian production about a drug/alcohol addicted jockey who, after a serious accident, discovers his real self. Intriguing.

I have to admit that I only saw the first hour of it. This was not due to my lack of interest in the film but more to the physical state of my movie buddy – having taken a flight at 07:00 in the morning, the movie buddy was physically incapable of keeping her eyes open for more than the first 30mins of the second screening. Once in a while, one has to have mercy for his friends.

So, from what I saw, this seemed to be quite an awkwardly funny and oddly original piece of work. The jockey on his own is a piece of art – never leaving his helmet and his sunglasses as he is too full of drugs and alcohol to look even slightly capable of coping with a race (after his accident, the helmet is replaced with a weird hat made of medical bandages).

Before I read that Ortega had actually cooperated with him, I told my movie buddy that this seemed to me like an Argentinian version of a Kaurismaki movie: many characters with impossible faces (same as Kaurismaki, you wonder where the director found them), many silent looks, loads of very dark humour. 

As a conclusion, I would say that this one is definitely worth a full second watch if it ever comes out in our movie theaters.

A contrasted final evening at the Palabiennale screening venue last night. 

Yet another useless French movie – honestly guys, it’s becoming slightly worrying. I’m all for a stronger financing of culture but dear lord, maybe we should think about redistributing the French funds elsewhere. If “Le Monde” gave this one a 5 star (as it did for “La Bête”) I swear I am ready to write them a letter questioning the need for sending a correspondent to Venice. It does not make sense to pay for a plane ticket to distribute 5 stars for free. 

“Hors saison” does not even deserve me loosing my time summarizing the plot. It’s just too long, too slow, not credible for one minute (my Holly’s super powers are more credible than this relationship) and… just a pain to watch.

I thus suffered the screening just for the sake of the second movie (otherwise I would have escaped after 1 hour). Problem is that this required quite some energy and that by the end of movie 1, I was half asleep. The short 15mins break between the two screenings did not suffice to regain some strengths for Franco’s movie. Therefore I spent the first 45mins of it struggling with my eyes shutting down and my head falling. Thank you Stéphane, really. It was a hard struggle but I was determined to enjoy Jessica Chastain – a pleasure, as usual, and the right way to close my 2023 Mostra.

Franco’s movie questions quite a sensitive topic: the possibility of love and of a relationship when one has dementia (and honestly the second half of the couple is not at its best either). A pretty tricky subject. I would not have dared. There is a thin line not to cross there, between treating the matter with delicacy and restraint and shifting towards the disturbing, if not voyeurism. This is what firstly kept me awake and eventually fully woke me up. Thank you Michel.

To be honest, I spent most of the movie hoping for the best and for it not to shift to something really wrong. Thankfully, it lived up to the expectations. Quite a delicate exercise it was and it was probably a successful one thanks to the quality of the acting – always subtle, never too much (not only Jessica, on both sides of the couple, actually). 

But this should not overshadow the similarly impressive quality of scenario. Where Stéphane Brizé shows you 10mins of a beach under the rain to make you understand that you are… at the beach and off season (I really had NOT noticed), Michel Franco proposes a very smart set of subtle, precise and tender moments about the least probable love story in the world. And the miracle happens when you actually start believing in it.

Whilst it was not the Mostra’s best movie (I am still getting over my conversion to Lanthimos – my personal Golden Lion), it was a very pretty one to finish my festival with. Highly recommended.

So this is it. The sun has set on my 2023 Mostra. A very satisfying selection according to me. Looking forward to hearing what the jury thought of it (closing ceremony tonight). In my heart, Venice remains the most beautiful and relaxing city in the world (if you know how to manoeuvre through it). If all is right, I’ll see you back in Venice and on facebook in September 2024 (hopefully with my full festival team). In the meantime, I’ll disappear back from social media but will keep on updating my blog whenever a movie catches my eye! Ciao a tutti!

So this was my last Sala Grande screening. Meaning the official screening in the film cast’s presence. I like these screenings very much as one gets a good sense of the public’s reaction to the movie (not that I always agree with the public, but still). The Venice crowd is not as radical as the Cannes one. I have rarely (if ever) witnessed strongly negative reactions to a screening. Therefore, in Venice, your barometer is the strength and the length of the applause. From the ones I have seen this year in the Sala Grande, the applause winner is definitely Hamaguchi. But then, in the Sala Grande I was not for Lanthimos’ movie. My little finger tells me this must have been a big celebration.

Our little Belgian production “Holly” still got a quite decent welcome as well yesterday. Fien Troch is already a bit of a Venice chouchou. She received the Best Director Award in the Orizzonti section back in 2016. She has her crowd of followers and they were definitely present yesterday.

As for the movie itself, the first reactions are mixed. Strangely what is criticized is what I appreciated the most about it. 

But let’s start shortly with the plot: a 15 year old schoolgirl calls her school one day to say she won’t come in as she has a feeling that something extremely bad is going to happen. That day a fire breaks out at school and leaves 10 students dead. Holly, who is a bullied outcast in her school with only one friend (another bullied “special” boy, as she describes him) suddenly becomes sort of a messiah, mostly for the grieving adult community. Now, deal with it when you are 15 and people are willing to pay you 50 EUR for a hug that will make them “feel better”.

What I liked about the movie is that nothing in it is set straight: the nature of Holly’s “powers” is unclear. One sometimes wonders if they are real or if it’s yet another manifestation of collective hysteria. Holly’s mixed feelings about the entire situation are very much interiorized as well – one thus regularly questions her understanding of what is happening around her. Is she just her own life’s spectator? I found this very well balanced and interesting.

It seems that precisely this uncertainty disturbs many critics. We apparently live in an era when everything needs to be clearly explained and understood for it to make sense. Let’s just agree to disagree.

Finally, the very qualitative second roles are worth mentioning: the “special” friend (Frederic Heremans) and the school teacher/counselor (Greet Verstraete) put a really good performance in this production. 

Conclusion: a bit of a strange one but definitely worth watching precisely because of its strangeness.

Ca’ Pesaro – the Gemma De Angelis Testa Donation (only until 17/09 but really worth seeing): an absolutely wonderful contemporary art collection donated recently to the Ca’ Pesaro with pieces by Ai Weiwei, Cy Twombly, Anselm Kiefer, an incredible Bill Viola video (and many many others). The crème de la crème, if you are into this kind of art.

Punta della Dogana (Fondation Pinault) – Icônes (until 26/11): as I always say, nothing makes me happier than a colourful square. If that’s your kind of thing, run to the Punta. This year’s exhibition is one of the best ones I’ve seen in this amazing place in years. Already its opening, with Lygia Pape’s magnificently poetic installation is worth going there (let me brag about the fact that I have seen 2 other variations of this one, one at the Venice Biennale a few years ago and one in Inhotim, Brazil, and that they never stop amazing me).

Prada Foundation – everybody talks about the weather (until 26/11): an interesting art parcours through meteorological phenomena and climate change, from Monet through Turner to contemporary pieces (Dan Peterman, Pieter Vermeersch, Vivan Suter etc.). Nice one as well though I would say the two first ones are more like an absolutely must see.

Also worth seeing if you have more days: the architecture Biennale at the Arsenale (I have been told the Giardini are nice as well but have not been there myself) and the Palazzo Grassi with a huge photo collection recently aquired by Pinault (Chonorama – treasures from 20th century photography, until 26/11 as well). I was slightly overwhelmed by the amount of pictures on display but met with my mini-me in there:

Let’s say that “Coup de Chance” was a sympathetic light ending to a light and relaxing day at the beach – quite a perfect fit. It is the lightest we have seen until now and let’s admit it, once in a while, lightness does you good.

“Coup de Chance’s” fully French cast gives us a glimpse of Paris’ wealthy bourgeoisie milieu. Those that go to their country house (aka manor) during the weekend to hunt and who attend almost daily (and gossipy) upper class receptions and dinners. Once the setting is set, a little infidelity comes to spice it up and triggers a pretty inoffensive (and very Allen-esque) intrigue involving detectives, hitmen and an investigating mother/mother in law (the best of Valérie Lemercier I have seen in years). 

Now. It is definitely not Allen’s best movie. It suffers a bit from weaker dialogues and a simplistic plot. But if one takes it as a “farce grotesque” (as I am sure it is intended, knowing the guy) it still does the trick for me. I’d honestly rather watch the Allen-style least discrete detective and most cliché Romanian hitmen than Michael Fassbender in a two hours monotonous monologue as in “The Killer”. At least you get a good laugh out of it.
Hence the conclusion is: perfectly watchable for me.

And yes, the Grand Hotel des Bains is still sadly empty and abandoned – its ghost is watching you on the Lido beach…

After a quite disappointing day 4, I decided to wait for another (promising) screening before I spit my venom towards the outside world. A wise decision it was. My venom is way less poisonous now that I went through my Hamaguchi therapy.

Let’s briefly run through day 4. “The Killer”, just a big disappointment. I was expecting quite a lot from the cooperation between David Fincher (“Seven”, “The Zodiac”) and Michael Fassbender (aka one of the loves of my life since “Hunger” and “Shame”). What I got was a big bulk of nothingness. A styling exercise that seems to have appealed to some of the critics but that, to me, brought absolutely nothing new to the beautiful world of cinema. Had I written this yesterday, I would have just offered you a list of better killers to watch in the movie history instead (if I were you, I would start with Javier Bardem in “No Country for Old Men”). 

As for “La Bête”, even less to say. Just a confirmation that French cinema is not doing so well and obviously not choosing the right projects to finance. And another confirmation that (#verypersonalopinion) Léa Seydoux is still as unbearable as before… and that I will never understand why James Bond died for such an irrelevant actress.

Now that I see that my venom is still pretty agressive, let’s move on fast to day 5 – a magic moment. Again, loads of expectations from this one because of Hamaguchi’s “Drive My Car” (if you have not seen it…. Just do watch it). 

And this time, expectations fully met (pfew).

A pure moment of Japanese delicacy and  poetry. The plot is quite simple: a glamping project comes to disrupt the inhabitants of a small Japanese community of 6000 in the middle of the untouched nature. Where a Western movie would most probably turn into mass hysteria, demonstrations and shouts, Hamaguchi’s movie goes towards a discrete but very deep discussion about the community’s relationship to nature, the history of its inhabitants and their reason for being where they are. The delicate confrontation between modern business goals (absolutely inadapted to the local realities) and people who simply have found their place is a pure delight to watch. I have to say that seeing people listening to each other whilst having quite irreconciliable points of views and objectives has sadly become very rare.

Top it up with a quite mysterious ending for which we have already found two different interpretations, and what you’ll eventually get is a massive (and absolutely deserved) standing ovation in the Sala Grande. I won’t tell you about the end but would be very happy to hear about your understanding of it as it is still a matter for discussion on our little Lido paradise…

This one was a big disappointment and thus will be a short one. Not that I thought that I would be as thrilled as on day 2 (hard to achieve). Based on “A Star is Born”, I expected to see a decent production, nothing very original but something that would probably make me slightly sentimental and bring me to some reasonable tears. Even these moderate (at least according to me) expectations were not met.

I am actually quite surprised to read the (overly, again only according to me) positive reviews this morning.

A decent production it quite was – my praise goes to Bradley Cooper and his very convincing incarnation of Bernstein as an orchestra conductor. These scenes are actually quite fascinating – one is dragged within the orchestra and sees Bernstein’s passionate conducting as if he were right in front of us. That is the big (and only… aaagain according to me) plus of this movie.

Original it was definitely not (except for the above mentioned scenes).

As for the sentimental me and the expected little tears, they were awaited until the end of the movie but never showed up. The movie pretends to be a jump into the intimate life of Bernstein and his wife (and three kids) – taking into account that his attraction towards men, made it slightly complicated to the least. I however felt that it was very difficult to relate to the characters as most of the scenes were made of noisy insignificant party conversations. A hint about what is going on in the background is given here and there through a short exchange between husband and wife or just a sentence. But it remained way too much at the surface for me to feel anything. 

The highlight of the day thus remains our 7 hours boat trip through the venetian laguna – that had a bumpy end to it that I shall share with some of you in private. The islands and the nature around were definitely way much more worth watching than Cooper’s “Maestro”.

I don’t think you could experience a more contrasted day at the Mostra – not in terms of quality but in terms of content and style. We indeed went from the most classical to the most experimental.

There are also some similarities: both movies are slightly too long (I take back my yesterday’s compliments) and both are contenders for the Golden Lion – with a higher probability going towards Lanthimos, because of its originality and creativity.

“Bastarden” is a pure historical drama to be definitely seen on the big screen because of its picturesque quality. It’s one of those that (just like, for example, Jane Campion’s “Power of the Dog), if you watch it on a small screen, you loose half of the experience. 

Cinema is definitely not dead, people.

It’s a story of rivalry between two men from very different social backgrounds (and mentality/psychology) in the roughest of the Danish land. It’s austere, ruthless and beautiful. Mads Mikkelsen is a perfect match with this scenery. And I do have to admit that enjoying his physical presence in the Sala Grande during the screening added to my experience. I’m just a girl, after all 🙂

Now. “Poor Things”. Impossible to summarize the plot. The festival website presents it as follows: “the incredible story of the fantastic transformation of Bella Baxter, a young woman brought back to life by Doctor Goodwin Baxter, a brilliant but unorthodox scientist”. 

Right. But we have to factor in that it’s a Lanthimos movie (remember “The Lobster”, “The favourite”?). So when you enter the movie theatre, you kind of know it’s going to be, let’s say, an experiment.

Well I knew it. Though I had warned my movie buddie, I don’t think she was ready for it.

To give you a little bit of context, my relationship with Lanthimos has been less than ideal until now. I tend to be part of the half of the room that really doesn’t get it and does not laugh. Hence, I was ready to suffer for two and a half hours and get out of there still wondering what people see in it that I do not see. It started as expected. Halfway through the movie (factoring in as well my movie buddy’s face), I was ready to let it go and get out. We (smartly) decided to give it a bit more time.

That’s when the miracle happened. Lanthimos suddenly won me totally over. I don’t know how but I caught myself laughing so hard at the absurdity of the scenes and dialogues combined with such clairvoyance about human nature. It’s so weirdly brilliant, it’s genius (though my movie buddy is still wondering what just happened to her yesterday evening). Emma Stone (who honestly had to work hard to win me over as well) holds the role of her life. If it does not get the best movie, she should definitely get the best actress. Well the cast (Mark Ruffalo, Willem Daffoe), in general, is great. 

So I would tell you to run to the movie theatres. You might end up getting out of there wondering what on earth was that (just like my movie buddy), but I don’t think you will ever regret going through the experience.

With a bit of delay as I had really nothing to say about the opening movies, here comes my first batch of impressions from Venice 2023.

Let’s first say that for once, the opening ceremony was a quite straight to the point but dignified one. It all came down to Charlotte Rampling handing the lifetime achievement Golden Lion over to Liliana Cavani. Both these ladies are born with elegance and things to say. And both said them right. Such as the fact that, in 80 editions and over 90 years of existence, it is the first time that such an award goes to a female movie director at the Venice Mostra – could do better guys.

As for the movies, I am glad to say that my small nostalgia from the early days does not seem to have affected my movie-acceptance levels. I am pretty satisfied with what I have seen until now.

What I very much liked about Michael Mann’s “Ferrari” is that he did not make it an action movie about racing cars. Though the racing scenes in these beautiful old cars are nicely filmed and quite catchy, the focus is more on the man and the family tragedy in the background – a dead son, another one hidden from the “official” family. These are brought to the screen with a certain delicacy and discretion – not that many words, but the ones spoken are usually meaningful. They sound right, not cliché. 

I had a feeling that Adam Driver delivered nicely on this one and made a pretty credible Enzo Ferrari – from the quick reactions I could get from my movie buddies yesterday, I don’t think all agree with this statement. But as usual, all of this is very personal.

Conclusion: although I would not say it is the movie of the year, it is a pretty pleasant and enjoyable watch.

Before I start with movie 2, let me express my immense gratitude to these directors who finally seem to have understood that you don’t need to put everything in a movie and make it a 2:30-3:00 hours long crusade by default. Both yesterday’s screenings lasted less than 2 hours and I really did not feel that an additional hour was stolen from me or could have added anything to my experience. On the contrary. Grazie mille, people.

As for Luc Besson’s “Dogman”, from what I could read this morning, it seems that it is not being very well received by professionals. I would tend to agree that it is a bizarre creation and not necessarily one that I would pay for to watch back home in the movie theatre. Many things don’t make sense in it and one struggles slightly to understand the point of it. I mean. Dogs entering rich peoples’ houses and stealing their pretty diamonds for their own master? Like, really? Really, really, Luc? 

We however stayed (almost) until the end. And my only explanation for this is acting performance – Caleb Landry Jones. He incarnates a fragile but powerful, sensitive but frightening Dogman, that kind of made it worth watching although everything around him was bizarre, bizarre and… bizarre.

So here I am in Venice 4 days before the festival starts – the blog is ready. I need a couple of days of rest, then I’ll be as ready as can be as well.

Though I am really looking forward to this Mostra, this one will be quite a bizarre one for me. This will indeed be the first one (since basically ever) that I attend without any of my initial festival-buddies.

It generates unexpected reactions in me. I cried big tears crossing the laguna with the train this morning. And at noon I caught myself cooking lunch for 3-4 without even thinking about it (no need to cook anymore for the next couple of days).

Though the flat feels like home as always, I keep on thinking that my old ones will arrive soon and I need to make it cosy for them. It’s basically a weird mix of great excitement/expectations and immense grief and nostalgia – let’s see what it does with my movie-acceptance levels. Big unknown.

Don’t take me wrong. I’ll be joined by newer (as well as totally new) festival-buddies. A lonely stay it shall definitely not be. And it’s always quite thrilling to make others (“innocents” as I call them) discover my little Venetian paradise.

But well, before the movie turmoil starts, it just felt right to set things straight: without papa, Michelle and Fe this will never be the same Mostra as it used to be for me. My age of innocence is definitely over.

I’m obviously open to change (I would not have survived beyond 40 otherwise) but I still allow myself to dream a bit and let those 3 dears of mine know that I’ll be waiting for them in 2024!

I am done with my post-Venice movie break (which I had to interrupt once in order not to miss “Triangle of Sadness” – I got post-Venice lazy on the writing for that one, but it does not mean one should not run to the movie theatre to watch it… just run as fast as you can. Now.)

The November weather has finally reached us it is cold, it is wet, it is dark… it is that movie time of the year!

My movie buddy would tend to argue with me that, though it is movie time, maybe it does not mean that I need to take her to watch yet another heart-breaking movie. To her defence, I have to admit that I did get her through many movie hardships in the past year (encompassing senile dementia, drug addiction, tragic deaths, suicides and others). I have been told at the end of the “Close” screening that I owe her 5 comedies and that I am not entitled to pick the next movie that we will go and watch together – if she agrees to go and see any movie with me until the next Mostra.

Even the 2 glasses of bubbles I bought for us to make us nicely happy and relaxed during the screening did not help my case. I got crucified when the lights went on (as I was actively trying to make my totally wet face at least half presentable) with a “I had forgotten what it means to go to the cinema with you”. Ouch.

Meanwhile, on this side of the movie-lovers spectre, I had the time of my life (though I do have to admit that maybe it was not the smartest pick for a Friday). One needs to be mentally prepared for the fact that, as he tends to do, Lukas Dhont will tear your little heart out of your body and cut it into thousand tiny pieces. My tears started running down when the movie was about mid-way. For almost an hour, when the tear on my right cheek was down on my chin, the tear on my left cheek started its trip to the bottom of my face. A constant flow of water experience.

Indeed, I believe that Lukas Dhont is one of the most sensitive living directors I am aware of. What he throws at you is just pure tenderness. My born in the 80s self struggles to understand how a bloke born in 1991 (a kid basically, seen from my perspective) has by now managed to make two films (“Girl” and “Close”) that are as pure, subtle and precise in terms of human feelings as can be. Every time I reflect on it, I think to myself “this guy must be such an amazing person”. I would really pay a lot to see how he works with his actors in order to make them express so much in a look or a silence.

Extraordinary actors by the way. Obviously Emilie Dequenne has nothing to prove by now (but gosh, that guy manages to take even her to another level) but these kids. These kids are just true, real, not acting (and god knows that I am provided with an integrated very powerful anti-acting-kids radar inside of me). They are as close, spontaneous but as well as cruel as kids can be.

Add to this that it is beautifully filmed in terms of lights, aesthetics, colours and you reach the obvious conclusion that it definitely deserved the 2022 Cannes Grand Prix it received.

Though my movie buddy would recommend that you swallow one or two antidepressant pills prior to attending the screening (I would simply opt for the 3 packages of tissues).

So this is it. Another Mostra year is behind us. We enjoyed it without any major hiccup, which is a blessing and a little miracle by itself – 2 weeks ago I did not think this would be possible at all. It seems that Venice loves us as much as we love her. Some energy and tranquility have been regained. We are ready for another battle to make sure that our full Mostra team makes it back again next year.

Our last screenings followed a similar pattern as the previous ones – meaning that they ended up with me being overall satisfied (in some cases, with some things I would not think I would be satisfied with).

This is exactly what happened in the case of the “Blonde” screening.

Indeed, all the conditions were reunited for me not to like it. A close to 3 hours screening, which is by definition almost always too long – with a few exceptions, of course. Yet another biopic, which is a risky excersise – and usually not my favourite one. Marylin AGAIN – I mean, how many times do we need to rewrite the myth? Hasn’t everything already been said on the topic?

And yet, I still found ways to find it more pleasant to watch than expected. Despite the fact that it IS one hour too long, it is way too repetitive and it is pushing the story slightly too far on the provocation side. 

We even went through a tragi-comic experience during the screening. It indeed seems that a person in the audience had a quite serious health problem during the projection. An ambulance had to be called in. The Palabiennale is so big that, as we were in the front and the “situation” happened in the back, we could not really grab fully the seriousness of it. What we DID realize is that the unrest in the back coincided with a quite pretty crude sexual scene between Marylin and JFK. I let you imagine all the fictional scenarios shared among us about who fell unwell and why (starting from the aging Italian nonna to the prude elderly american conservative). Not appropriate, I know. But still our favourite way to deal with such circumstances. 

So, back to the movie itself. Despite all its flaws, it remains an interesting item to watch (maybe not necessarily on the big screen, but as it is a Netflix production, you know where to find it). Mostly because it’s been quite a long time that I did not see an actor/actress incarnate a myth as Marylin in such a convincing way. By convincing, I mean not only copy-pasting gestures and attitudes but making us forget that it is not Marylin whom we are seeing on the screen. A pretty impressive Ana de Armas – in this case, I have to agree with all the rumours preceding the official screening.

And this leads me to the second screening I attended, which comes as well with a best actress potential but for very different  reasons as in the “Blonde” case. 

“Saint Omer” is as austere a production as “Blonde” is flamboyant and over the top. It is as well targeting a quite restricted cinephile public, as much as “Blonde” is aiming at the widest audience possible.

The story of an infanticide and the trial that follows the deed. And there again, the murderous mother (Guslagie Malanga) deserves at least a loud Klara special mention, if not a price (hard for a small French production to compete with a massive Netflix one – but who knows, let’s wait for the jury’s decision tonight). Whilst Malanga holds everything in (and de Armas gets it all out), the subtlety with which she makes us fluctuate between compassion and pure dread is quite genius, I have to say. 

So yes, I did very much enjoy that one as well though the slowness of the movie and the seriousness of the subject (and of how it is treated – guaranteed 100% no lightness) makes it recommendable to a very specific audience only.

With this I say ciao ciao Venezia and see you next year!

Hmmmm. The other option I see is that the past months were so hard on me that I have just gone soft. Indeed, I am slightly worried about my judgement as this year, I seem to like everything I watch. And, believe me, this is quite an unusual situation. I normally tend to be the first one barking. Finding and putting words on the little flaws that prevented the picture from being perfect is, in normal circumstances, one of my favourite hobbies.

This year, I am unable to tell you if it is really that the level is so good that there is nothing much to complain about; or if I am just so happy that I eventually made it here, that there is not much space for criticism in my satisfied little venetian brain.

To be honest, I really don’t know what is the right answer. But I am definitely having a blast! Which, in any case, is nice. I do however apologise in advance if, according to your well-balanced selves, some of the movies I recommend are not as amazing as I seem to think they are. Let’s blame it on life circumstances. 

So, as you have understood by now, I REALLY liked Florian Zeller’s “The Son” as well. Maybe not as much as his previous “The Father” (quite reassuring, there still seems to be some sense in me). But then, not everyone is called Anthony Hopkins. And let’s face it, “The Father’s” scenario was just as brilliant as can get. “The Son” is way more classical in its construction. It is definitely way less surprising as well. You kind of know how it’s going to end from the beginning. So yes yes, I do see why the enthusiasm might not be as great as expected.

But, to its defence, I was pretty much impressed by Hugh Jackman’s performance in a place where one does not necessarily expect him. I mean, between Wolverine or X-Men and a drama about teenage depression, there is quite a gap that not everyone would try to fill in. And I think that we all agree that he does an excellent job at being a father who is above all focused on his professional career and success and who, at the same time, does his best to juggle between his new family (and newborn baby) and his teenage son who seems to be feeling as blue as can get.

Spice it up with a very short (but as always, medically precise) acting performance by Anthony Hopkins – the most dreadful father one can imagine – and what you get is yet another evening ending with a very satisfied Klara. 

OKOKOKOKOK, I admit it. My first day’s complaints seem to have been heard by the gods of cinema. I believe that by day 7, it is safe enough to say that, despite of the limited amount of movies we are seeing this year, our little Mostra team is pretty satisfied with the 2022 festival’s global level. When I think of some past years during which, by day 8, we were still desperate to see at least one decent movie, I have to say it is definitely not a given. Let me thus already express some gratitude for this year’s selection.

Yesterday’s screening was no exception to this trend. Again, a high expectations movie. As for those who do not connect Martin McDonagh’s name with any film, let me remind you that he is the one behind, among others, “In Bruges” and “Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri” (which should have won the Golden Lion in 2017, according to me, in place of Guillermo Del Toro’s “The Shape of Water”) #verypersonalbutdamnconvincedopinion

After his American getaway with Frances McDormand, McDonagh dives deep back into his Irish roots with this one. It will not be a surprise to those who know me well and since long, that my little soft spot for Ireland (and the one I have now developed as well for McDonagh himself) made me very excited about seeing this movie. Since the morning I was in a “this one cannot disappoint me or I shoot” mood. And (good for him) it seems that (additionally to the gods of cinema), Martin heard me loud and clear. If he could as well listen to me right now and aim at living a long and happy life keeping on making such precious movies, at least once in a while, it would be much appreciated.

Set during the Irish civil war but on a remote island (thus withessing the war just through the sounds coming from the “mainland”), the movie takes us to a small rough and poor local community, where life revolves around the local pub, local gossips, local traditional music, local violence, talking and drinking. It is as well a lot about friendship and animals – animals that, besides being key to providing for basic daily income are as well companions against the loneliness that, by definition, comes with living in such a place. “The Banshees…” could be presented best as a tale of a friendship that goes utterly wrong. As wrong and as out of hand as one can go.

But, as always with Martin McDonagh, things can become terribly violent and cruel but tenderness and laughter are never far away. Again as always with McDonagh, the dialogues are pretty brilliant and as sharp as could be. 

Though I fear that a big part of the movie theatre did not get half of those because of the characters’ pretty intense irish accent and of the English subtitles being unfortunately placed quite deep down below the screen (it’s the same issue since years in the Palabiennale and, if I could give my little advice to the Mostra team, I would tell them to look into it – as “international” film festival means not only Italian public).

Finally and again as always with McDonagh, the cast is splendid and absolutely perfectly fitted to the decor – as rough as the Irish countryside. A special mention to Brendan Gleeson in this context, who manages to be as hard as an island rock and as fragile as an island seagull, both at the same time.

Not the first time this year we get out of the screening saying “this one could be worth the golden lion”.

We took it easy on movies in the past couple of days. A bit of rest is needed given the year we just went through. I swear that next year I am back on abonamento and daily screenings. In 2022, this was just not an option.

Whilst taking it movie-easy, (besides being blessed with good friends visiting) we had the opportunity to see a few mind-blowing exhibitions. Anish Kapoor at the Accademia made all the disappointments caused by the Biennale Giardini and Arsenale disappear in less than 10 seconds. I still don’t understand how such “simple” shapes can trigger so much complexity and emotional reaction. A (very) black square is able to make you question how your brain functions and the reality of what you see. Mesmerizing.

We however did not let the Mostra completely down and spent an evening on the Lido, watching two movies that could not be more different from one another. The first one was a “no expectations” one. One of the 5 (if I am not mistaken) Italian movies that are (almost compulsorily, as we are in Italy) part of the official selection. I say “no expectations” because, in 20 years, we have very often seen the worst of Italian cinema in Venice. Sure, sure, not always. But veeeeerrryyyy often, I must say.

The above context made me actually quite appreciate “L’immensita”. Just because it was really not as bad as what we usually see. It did however trigger some debate amongst our little movie team – some finding it more “useless” than others. I, personally, was quite entertained by what I saw on the screen. In a light “relaxed audience” manner – no expectations, no disappointment. 

What we all did agree on is that Peneloppe Cruz could work a little more on proving that she is a good actress. But, is she really? That is the question for which I still give her the benefit of the doubt. But acting (according to my little, not professional, humble self) is not only about being stunningly pretty and always playing the same character (a too beautiful, loving but hysterical mother). Acting is about becoming someone else and making that person exist for a couple of hours. For the moment, Peneloppe is definitely (#superverypersonalopinion) not yet worthy of Klara’s Daniel Day Lewis Special Award. But then, only a very few are.

Film number 2, Darren Aronofsky’s “The Whale” was, on the contrary, a “super-high-expectations-do-no-disappoint-me-this-time” one. I have to say I still did not forgive him his “Mother!” screened some years ago on the Lido. What on earth happened to the guy that time?! Hence, high expectations but with some reserves. 

Verdict: Darren Aronofsky is, bless the gods of cinema, back! As he did with Mickey Rourke in “The Wrestler”, he dug out a “vanishing” actor, Brendan Fraser, and gave him the role of his life (potential best actor lion alert here). 

A lonely but extremely kind man killing himself with food. I believe it is the first movie that I have personally seen about morbid obesity. And for me, it was definitely the right one to start with. Because it is perfectly balanced between the disgust one feels when looking at what Charlie does to his body and the solar person he is inside. Because it is (extremely) tragic and hard but funny and tender at the same time. Because of the excellent cast (Sadie Sink, Hong Chau, Ty Simpkins and Samantha Morton – all of them doing an outstanding job around Fraser’s key character). And because it made me cry. Just exactly when, this year, I was not sure that I still had tears in me.

A must see!

Well, well, well. Where to start? We actually had a really nice day. Venice treated us with a beautiful sunshine, several prosecchi, good food and a quite fun Ai Wei Wei exhibition on San Giorgio. 

Whilst we were relaxing very much on the farniente side of life, thousands of teenagers were busy gathering (apparently from 08:00) in front of the Palazzo del Cinema on the Lido. The reason holds in one name: Timothée  Chalamet. I have to say it was quite an experience from a sociological point of view, which led me somewhere between bewilderment and a light fear for the future of humanity.

So whilst the kids were sitting on the concrete and frying in the sun, we entered the Excelsior hotel (the festival “headquarters”) from its beach side and treated ourselves with a bellini at the bar – being an adult definitely has many pros. We observed the buzzing cinema world (as well as the very much out of focus and slightly too high on god knows what waiter) from our little bar chairs, sipping slowly from our peachy bubbles – forget about the bottled bellini you can get in supermarkets, people! A real Bellini is made out of fresh peach juice. Even when the waiter struggles with pouring it straight into your glass, definitely worth the (quite long) wait.

As the screening time approached, we moved towards the Excelsior entrance. That is indeed where the movie delegations leave from to head towards the Palazzo del Cinema in nice Lexus cars… for a max 100 meters drive. And this is exactly when the outside kids got impressively out of control. A Lexus with tainted windows appeared from a side street. And hundreds, maybe thousands of kids started running after it, mobile phones in their hands, shouting “Timothyyyyyyyyyy, Timothyyyyyyyy, Timothyyyyyyyy”, some shaking uncontrollably, some crying pretty hysterically.

I don’t believe any one knew who actually WAS in that car. According to me, definitely not the Timothyyyyyy, as he appeared way later on the red carpet (and nope, I did not see a millimeter of his person). But the crowd started moving as one. Me don’t likey crowd movements. But we had a festival buddy wanting a picture situation. Hence, solidarity I showed and off we followed the movement. 

Observing this mass hysteria left me quite sceptical. I could not help thinking that yes, the guy is a talented actor and yes, pretty he is. But damn, he is only 25 and only human after all (I suppose; Because seeing these kids’ reaction made me second guess this statement for a moment). And then, I kept wondering why no one follows me and my team to work in the morning. I mean. We are also doing a good job. Maybe we would as well deserve applauses and cheers sometimes, just to help us make it through the day.

But well, Timothée finally made it to the red carpet in his as red little outfit. And the outfit left me with as many questions as the movie I saw in the evening. I’m still unable to say what I exactly thought about it (the movie, I mean… well, the outfit as well, but not as essential an opinion I would say… though the kids would certainly disagree with me).

Guadagnino and I have a love/hate relationship. Love: “Io sono l’Amore” and “Call me by your name”. Hate (very deep, the hate, I must say): “A bigger splash” and “Suspiria”. As we were supposed to watch a cannibal related story, I was betting on the hate side for this one. 

As usual, the Mostra surprises you and decides otherwise. 

So apparently, my relationship with Guadagnino has evolved in a triangular one from now on: love, hate and, in the middle absolutely nothing, neutral, no love, no hate, basically nothing to say.

It was a pleasant watch. One of these standard American (though Italian in this case, if you see what I mean) road movies with nice sceneries and excellent actors indeed. What did the canibal element bring to it? Honestly, I have no clue. I am still searching for the metaphore behind it but struggle to make sense out of it. Blank my head remains – maybe I am just too relaxed… or too old for this.

I was definitely not bored. But definitely not charmed, surprised nor enchanted either. Hence, in this case, I will have to leave it to you to decide if it’s worth a watch and if there is a meaning behind all this that I was unable to grasp – feel free to enlighten me.

I DID feel slightly sorry though for the kids outside who waited for hours to see most probably nothing of Timothée and his red outfit,  when the entire film crew came to say hi to us at the end of the screening. Mission accomplished, a Timothée picture we have.

To be honest, I woke up in the morning in a very unusual mood. I did not have the best night in my life. Loads of unpleasant and agitated dreams. I seemed to still be very much bothered by the opening movie screening. So much violence, so much noise. Train crashes, explosions, car accidents, broken little pieces of human bodies – all this not much counterbalanced by humour or at least some kind of lightness. If you add to this the fact that an acquaintance of ours killed himself and half of his family in a car crash earlier this week, the last thing you actually want to see is broken cars and dead people. Even worse, when all this is making no sense at all.

So to summarize, I woke up angry and fulminating. I spent the first half of the day thinking that, given the current context of inflation and hardship for many, maybe 150 million EUR could have served to a better purpose than to spoil my night. Level of grumpiness 500 reached. 

My evaluation of the situation was shared with my movie buddies as follows : I do not need more agitation and disturbance. What I need right now is enchantment.

It seems that the gods of cinema heard me.

It required a bit of fighting to enter the movie theater. My bad vibes seemed to have an impact on the ticket screening machine. It indeed said that I had already entered the room. An absurd 10 minutes of negotiation with the controller, during which I had to prove that I am I and that, as I was standing beside him, I was obviously not inside the movie theater, followed. Final result: Klara 1 – machine 0. That victory against the machine saved my festival. 

Again, as on day 1, two names could potentially appear like a guarantee of success: Kazuo Ishiguro and Bill Nighy. But I took my lesson and remained cautious this time. For those who do not know him, Kazuo Ishiguro (who wrote the screenplay and produced the film we were about to see) is 2017 Nobel Price of Literature and wrote a masterpiece that everyone should read at least once in his/her life: “The Remains of the Day”. Bill Nighy, I assume I do not need to introduce.

The film was presented out of competition for the simple reason that Kazuo Ishiguro is actually a jury member in the official competition (my professional self was very happy to see that conflict of interest is somehow dealt with at the Mostra).

“Living” was introduced as a remake of Kurosawa’s “Ikiru” which, I have to confess, I did not see (this shall be corrected soon). And “Living” ended up being the beautiful enchantment I was desperately in need of. 

First, because Bill Nighy is once and for all the winner of Klara’s heart award (sadly he won’t get a price this year as, as explained, he is not competing). Second, because the entire film ends up being as delicate, discrete and subtle as Bill Nighy is. Something that only Brits know how to do. We laughed (thanks as well to a great performance by Aimee Lou Wood, who is as adorable as in “Sex Education”) and we cried spontaneously over the destiny of this condemned man trying, in his own way, to trigger a last little spark of life around him.

Beautiful visuals (guaranteed 100% car crash free), subtle dialogues and complex and sensitive characters seal the deal.

A must see. I am happy to announce that I am officially reconciled with the 2022 Mostra.

So here we finally are. Another year has passed and let’s face it, it’s been a rough one. When I arrived, I could not assess if, according to my understanding, this year had been very long or extremely short. It indeed felt like not so long ago, we were here watching movies in this exact same spot. It as well felt like it was in another life. So many beloved ones have left. So many friends vanished. Sadly, a friend in need is not necessarily a friend indeed. It almost feels like a miracle that me and my festival buddies are still standing. A bit damaged, not as straight as a year ago, but standing.

But here we are with our little 79 festival bags ready to be used. Though these ones will only start their career next year – as you need to show that you are part of the regular crowd, you dig out your 78 bag (see pic ^) and promenade proudly around the Lido with it. 

COVID has left the Mostra. No more wall in front of the red carpet, the crowds are back, allowed to gather and fight for a picture or an autograph. Weirdly masks are still compulsory in public transports but not in the massive Palabiennale movie hall (it hardly makes sense but it is a relief to all of us).

The opening ceremony is quite the standard one although this year’s Mostra actively claims its support to the Ukrainian people. We are thus addressed by Vladimir Zelensky, reminding us that what is happening in Ukraine will not end in 2 hours as the screening we are going to see (a bit of an easy one, according to me, but criticism does not have its place in this context). We are as well confronted on the screen with a black on white list of the names of all the children who have lost their lives since the beginning of the conflict. I’ve hardly seen the Palabiennale as silent as this. The list seems to be never-ending.

It takes a few minutes to accept the shift to the usual screening routine after this. This year’s opening movie holds all the promises in two names: Noah Baumbach and Adam Driver. As a reminder, a few years ago Noah Baumbach directed « Marriage Story » staring Adam Driver together with Scarlett Johansson as the main cast. 

By now, after 20 years of Mostra, I should have learned my lesson and known that two names should never be considered as a guarantee. But my opening-day-excited-self was rather sure that this combination could only lead to success. 

The published synopsis DID seem strange, if not worrying, to me (apparently the movie is based on a book that I did and – now I know – will not read).

Let me share it with you as this was basically the only thing I knew about what we were about to see: « At once hilarious and horrifying, lyrical and absurd, ordinary and apocalyptic, White Noise dramatises a contemporary American family’s attempts to deal with the mundane conflicts of everyday life while grappling with the universal mysteries of love, death and the possibility of happiness in an uncertain world ».

Right, right, right. Let me now rephrase it for you AFTER having seen the movie: « At once not so hilarious and very much horrifying (in many ways), absolutely not lyrical and slightly too absurd, I still don’t know where the ordinary fits in here but apocalyptic it is a bit though eventually not so much but then I am not sure because I did not fully understand, White Noise is about nothing much ». As always #verypersonnalopinionalert.

It definitely gave me a headache that not even the, as usual excellent, Adam Driver could prevent from happening. Too much noise, too many visuals, too many directions. Basically too much of everything and eventually not enough of anything. 

The only thought that constantly came to my mind during the 2 hours of screening was: Good lord, how much could that whole production have cost? I got my answer digging into the daily venetian rumours: it seems that the initial foreseen budget was 80 million EUR. It apparently ended up closer to something between 100 and 150 million EUR.

And that’s when you somehow can’t help thinking that Netflix productions can lead to the best and the worst – some people obviously deal better than others with being granted all the means they could wish for to express their creativity. This was a waste of money according to me. 

But as always with cinema, I am sure it will find its public who will have the exact opposite opinion to mine – people who saw something that I did not see. That’s the beauty of cinema and art in general, after all.     

On my way to Venice as of tomorrow! I’ll be posting here my reviews from this year’s Mostra – starting next Wednesday, 31/08/2022!

It has been a while. And this time it will not be about cinema.

Words are usually spinning in my head with a pressing urge to go down on paper. In the past three months I have however been struck only by silence. I call it the “contemplating the disaster” phase. This one has required quite some contemplation.

Only now that I am stuck at home with COVID do I hear a little voice inside of me telling me “this needs to get out”. So people, get ready for astronomic levels of grief and anger… but as well for an outburst of unlimited love.

I still cannot believe that I am writing this but it seems that during the past three months, I have lost my two besties. My cat and my Godma. My wild, independent, loving and freethinking ladies have left the building… and have left me totally speechless.

Ironically, the cat started letting me down when I was on my last visit to see Godma in Frankfurt. Whilst I was contemplating the disaster of Godma’s senile dementia, I was getting phone calls from the vet telling me how things were not taking a good turn with my kitty.

Ironically as well, we got (and shared) very good news about my papa’s at least “stabilized” health on the day I had to put my cat to sleep. Hence, whilst I was drinking schnapps with colleagues at work in order to get ready to say adieu to my feline bestie, I was getting dozens of e-mails saying “great news!”, “so glad to hear!”, and “so happy for you!” (Accompanied by many cheerful smilies)…

So yeah. My kitty left for good on 24 March 2022. Pancreatic cancer (which is another of my life’s ironies that I will not dwell upon in here).

I do not expect people who are not animal lovers to understand. However, the emptiness that she left had the impact of a huge swallowing black hole on me. Even more so, that it came unexpected. She was there, stealing as usual food from my table on the evening before I left to Frankfurt. Five days later, she did not exist anymore.

For those who are cat lovers, I will just tell you how this one was a very special one to me.

She was an extremely talkative cat (she shouted at me on a regular basis, especially when she disagreed with my injunctions). She was the most sociable cat I ever had. She came to say hi to all invitees that came to visit (with a noticeable preference for men). She was a bighter and a scratcher. The bights were however mostly (slightly too expressive) loving ones. Same for the scratches actually. Let’s say that she was “passionate”. She made my flat a very tidy one. She indeed had a tendency to smash to the floor anything that would resemble a cup, a bottle or a glass. She was famous at work for her Zoom appearances as a special guest. She loved to use me as a ladder to reach out to the summits. The sky was the limit to her. She would first jump. Then think. She had for sure more than nine lives. She lost at least fifteen of them right in front of my eyes. Eventually, she was just the most beautiful loving and cuddling presence in my house. She made my flat a home.

I was just getting the top of my head out of my kitty-triggered black hole, when Godma decided it was time to go for her as well. This, on the contrary, came well expected and almost as a relief. The follow-up however, was a big punch into the middle of my face.

There is so much to say about Godma. It is definitely not an exaggeration to start with the fact that she was the most extraordinary person in my life. She was there for me literally from day one and she greatly contributed to who I am today.

It is impossible to summarize Godma in one page but I will at least try to give you a hint of what this lady meant to me.

Godma was a stubborn perfectionist. Everything she made had to be perfect. The cakes, the knitting, the Christmas cookies. She ironed and piled up the towels in her shelves in the most symmetrical way I have ever seen. Which as well means that whatever was not perfect, went directly to the bin (including deliciously looking cakes that did not look delicious enough to her). Which also means that, though she learned French for almost forty years, she never pronounced more than five words of French in front of anyone (these words being “oui”, “non”, “bonjour”, “au revoir” and “merci”). Indeed, by the time the perfect sentence that she was preparing in her head was ready to be pronounced, the conversation had already moved to a totally different subject. She was very shy but not with me. She was the funniest person I knew. I had to kick her out of my hospital room when I was 9 years old. I had just gotten my appendicitis removed. She made me laugh so much that the stitches were too painful to bear. 30 years later, she still made me laugh in the same way. She made me feel like the queen of the universe. Starting with the gingerbread house that she would bake every Christmas for me. Which resulted in me being the most popular kid at school at least one day per year. Let’s face it, she was as well very sensitive and stubborn. Which lead to some relationship crises. Including that day when she decided to run back to Germany (on her feet) from a tiny Flemish village close to Leuven. The reason being that “I did not love her”. My parents and I had to chase her by car. Because by the time (approximately 5mins) that I needed to alert my parents about the crisis, she had almost reached the next village.

She was there when I was ill. She was there when I was sad. She was there when my parents divorced. She was there when Nicole died. She was there when my grandparents died. She was there when I defended my PhD. She was there at every single exam session of mine.

The one thing she never quite understood were my cats. She was actually quite jealous of them.  

I believe that to her I was perfect. She was perfect to me. I believe I was the love of her life. She was definitely the love of mine.  

I was fully ready for her to go. She was about to turn 98 years old and she was miserable in her care home – not understanding where she was and why she was there. Until the end, she was a free spirit. Though she could not walk anymore, the nurses told us how she would discretely roll on her wheelchair towards the lift and await for the possibility to escape. The last present she made me was to recognize me when I came to visit her back in March.

What I was not ready for, was for the German authorities to spoil her departure for everyone.

I did not mention earlier that, although Godma held my mom as a baby, took care of her for years, and did the same for me, Godma was not officially a family member. I obviously considered her as my closest family. Papers did not.

As, since a few months her senile dementia had taken over, she had an administrator in charge of taking all the decisions for her. We were in touch with this “lady” on a regular basis to get as much updates as possible.

Godma passed away on Sunday on 05 June 2022 at 12:20. This is apparently as much information as we will ever get. We do not know if she was alone, if she was awake or sleeping. I received the information about Godma’s passing away on Wednesday 08 June 2022 at 18:00. Because no one thought it necessary to inform us before that. A day off in Germany on the Monday prevented the “lady” from knowing/informing us. Speechless level 1 reached.

We tried to reach out to the care home in Offenbach through our local contacts, in order to get basic information about the funeral. Answer: no family, no info to be shared. Speechless level 2 reached.

We then called the “lady” to make her understand how important it was to us to know and to be there, if possible. The “lady” answered that it was not “in her hands” anymore, that it was “the responsibility of the city of Offenbach”. Speechless level 3 reached.

Following our expression of dissatisfaction (mom sounded almost scary when angry in German), the “lady” agreed to try to get some information on the topic for us.

On the following Monday, we got informed that Godma had been anonymously cremated (not to mention the fact that we had mentioned to the “lady” several times that Godma did not wish to be cremated). Black anger level 1 reached.

In an ultimate effort to obtain some information on what happened to Godma and her remains, mom got hold of the funeral home’s number. A nice chap in there told her that she was at the wrong place as, as it says in “crema”tion, the “crema”torium would be the right place to contact. Sensing that my mom was by then at the edge of a nervous breakdown (I was already deep into it), he agreed to call his colleagues at the crematorium and find out if we could get hold of the ashes for us at least.

I reached black anger level 1000 when I received the copy of the following e-mail (attached to it, a price offer):

Allow me to summarize: the chap claims that he managed to stop the cremation right on time (a lucky chap he is). He follows up with a price offer for an anonymous grave with only grass on it, no gravestone and no flowers (I suppose that based on his best guess, this is what he thought we would go for).

That is exactly the moment we (mom and I) decided to let Godma go without putting on another fight. She would not have wanted us to throw out thousands into the pockets of such miserable persons. As a good catholic, she would have surely told me to pity them.

I do not believe in god. However, pity is exactly what I feel for the “lady” and all the “chaps” who “took care” of Godma after her death.

To all of them I would like to say that should they have had the chance to meet the real person Godma was when she was still with us, they would have become better persons. For that, I feel sorry for them.

To the chap who sent us the anonymous grave price offer I would like to say that he should have gone for the highest price offer in his catalogue. The gold, the diamonds, the marble statues, I would have paid for all of them had it been my Godma’s wish and had he treated us with at least a bit of humanity and decency.  

What Godma would have wanted would have been a discrete (but well organized and well maintained) little flower patch, maybe under a tree (but not one that would make her little flower patch too untidy) so that birds would come close to her. She loved birds, though she was a terrible whistler. Perhaps a wooden cross with her name written on it as discretely as possible would have been OK with her as well.

She will get none of this. However, people at least deserve to know that there was once an extraordinary person named Karla Kasparkova, born on 09 June 1924 in Czechoslovakia, who was a very dedicated and well appreciated nurse in the Offenbach am Main hospital and who was like a mom to my mom and like a grandma to me. She was my best friend.

She did not really like cats. And the end of the story says that most probably she is now stuck somewhere with a hysterical red-haired kitty climbing on her back. I can almost see them both arguing and looking after me together at the same time.