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Fragments of Antonin Gabriel Bomin

This is a surprising debut. Films about war is a separate genre. Whether Platoon, Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now, etc., is always in the thick of the action that the director tries to convey the absurdity of these large collective butchers. Apprehension direct, immediate and front actions on the battlefield gives these films an epic dimension, and makes almost photogenic event characterized by its unbearable horror. The reef who watched the film of Gabriel Bomin was different, because his starting point was different from that of the classical genre of war films. It's in the consciousness of the character that the author search, trying to pick up the scattered fragments of the traumatic memories that shake his character and dehumanize, making a wreck unable to watch the other side, and shunning any event of reality in the footsteps of the past overwhelming horror. When taking the first contact with Antonin, it is in the hospital where the care of a psychiatrist who dedicated his life to fully understand the trauma psychological warfare and out patients in this paralyzing grip of the past. Antonin is totally absent. His universe is reduced to 5 names spoken tirelessly and compulsive gestures, each referring to a specific recollection of the war-backs Flachs filmed by the filmmaker.
The challenge was very difficult, unlike literature, which can realize a dramatic dive in the consciousness of a character, by transmitting the character at times delusional and fragmentary in an immediate manner, the film interposed between this consciousness and his description of objective reality, visual, its images. A gap may arise between the tortured face of the character, haunted by the traumatic images, and updating of these same images, which seems to indicate too clearly the intervention of the director. This difficulty seems to be coupled with substantial difficulty stylistic: the uncontrollable shaking of Antoninus in this deal seems a very great mastery in the staging of the past. The filmmaker himself between her character and her memories, making more palpable the presence of the omniscient view, overlooking and dominating the camera.
But if the film succeeds in spite of this side too neat and lyrical staging of the past, we share this experience of human suffering, and we make the character of Antoninus so close is that the director establishes a bridge between the traumatic past and this dislocated through multiple sensory sensations and very concrete: the sound of the camera that turns evokes in his mind that machine guns, the sound of a metal object raises memories of metal collars (all soldiers wear the medallions with a number to be identified in case of death or injury) that hard to soldiers dying and thrown into a container bloodied, the touch of a pigeon (in his hands by the doctor) which raises the images of pigeons he stood to deliver operational information to the Staff the French army, etc..
But what makes this film so poignant, it is especially the attention paid by the director for inclusion of mental and psychological suffering in the body of her character and expressive gestures. Antonin is like a disjointed puppet, his body obeys him and seems more driven by the reproduction of compulsive actions of the past. His tremors are continuing as the actualization of all these terrible moments of fear and trembling before the fear of death. His hand caresses also reproduced on the face of a beloved hand, the Madeleine, the nurse of the Red Cross. Wide-eyed seem to face a world of death and horror, the director films in a very fair, without pathos. The idea of the most beautiful film is this: to convey through this disjointed body, trembling, and these gestures horribly reduced by the breviary of suffering the density of images and experiences of a man immersed in the heart of the great human folly, institutionalized and delusional, that the war be put across the character's physical and mental trauma experienced. Between the poignant and painful pantomime of Antoninus and the soldier who has been dead to face the miles and miles absurdities of war, the filmmaker builds bridges, returning gradually to control character's past, and So his body. It grows mercy on his way back to his beloved, Madeleine, who, recaressant his face, finally managed to escape the spell of the past.
But it's also a film on consciousness, not only that, exploded and fragmentary character, but also that of the viewer, which can only remain puzzled by the slow and inexorable emergence of the memory of the war and beyond, all the wars that have crippled humanity. The images are generic images of documentaries, which draw on those who are shot in a psychiatric hospital in the 20s, and show the faces and bodies of some soldiers twisted psychological distress. These images from the past haunt our memory as the images of the war the character's consciousness. The filmmaker and forces us to confront our own memory, and we examine the mechanisms of forgetting and repression of the consequences of war. The film also seems to emanate from an ethical question as one of the secondary characters of the film and form: what shall we do with our minds once the war is over.
We will long remember these so the eyes open to the horror of that body trembling, these repetitive and sterile as a metaphor for deep and dense of these wars that grind man. Sometimes the beauty of a film down to its ability to embody abstract ideas. His face contorted with pain Harriet Andersson in Cries and Whispers, to represent the death of Alex hallucinatory expression and his eyes opened by the pincers in A Clockwork Orange to say the violence of the modern world, we must now add the body trembling and eyes inordinately wide open to Antonin, to embody the horror of war, which fragmented consciousness.

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La Graine et le Mulet , of Abdellatif Kechiche

After Dodge, film of rare accuracy and freshness of youth the Suburbs French and its relationship to love and language, Abdellatif Kechiche filmed his third feature in the middle of North African immigrants in the south of France.
The screenplay is simple: an old shipyard worker Maghreb Sète, said unprofitable, decided to open a restaurant dedicated to fish couscous, a specialty of his ex-wife, with the help of his daughter new girlfriend (Hafsia Herzi, absolutely gorgeous).

The beauty of the film lies in the humanity and generosity with which the director films his characters and scenes from everyday life, those moments that might seem very trivial but which turn out dense and sometimes bitter. The mobility of the camera, the lively dialogues, cut very tight, make a film of uncommon strength. Poetry emerges from these moments filmed as blocks of this, the camera explores the filmmaker, introducing us in a different space-time, making us so close to the characters and their stories. The scene of the family meal or that the confrontation between his mother and Rym are moments of pure presence, where dialogue becomes the cement of capturing a tireless presence world and a future.

The relationship with language is one of the centers of the film. Kechiche filming scenes where characters speak the French language so special, transformed by the slang became rougher and more jerky, fertilized and interspersed with Arabic expressions earthy, with accents of both towed and tonics. But language is not only the place of finding of a sociological transformation, it carries very far in exploring these characters and their settlement in life, in this in the sensuality of reality. Something torrential totally dynamic and almost uncontrollable emerges from these scenes, which seem never to end and for this reason become both familiar and strange. It seems that the word causes the characters, it transcends them while anchoring them in a very strong sociological reality. Like the scene where Rym tries to convince his mother to attend the party organized by Slimane on the boat. While Rym can not stop talking to her mother, getting all possible arguments, urging her not to succumb to selfishness, the director films the girl's face passionate and generous, his every beat of cilia, his eyes blazing and sad tears. The scene lasts forever without the tension is released or boredom sets in, because there is just such a dialectic between dialogue and face, such a burst of meaning of those words and simple truths uttered by the girl who is himself carried away by the relentless torrent of words. Each character moves and in a language of its own, which becomes part of his character, his way of being in the world, and beyond, which carries a whole social context.

The beauty of the film is Kechiche also he managed to turn a traditional North African dish the issue of a drama of human existence. The scenes relating to the preparation of couscous could well be mere demonstrations of cultural diversity and culinary habits of a North African immigrant families. They might fall into the worst figure in the folk or exotic appeal. Yet it is not because the final scenes transform the disappearance of the meal that was to be served to guests in a tragic moment. When the son of Slimane leaves, taking with him the couscous in the trunk of the car, the film turns into another dimension, infinitely more poignant. While Slimane continues his desperate race through the streets of Sète behind children who stole his bike, Rym is unleashed in a steamy belly dance to save the situation dramatically and make the guests wait. The parallel connection between the race to the death of this old man out of breath and dancing in the life of sensual girl is absolutely breathtaking. Since both are fighting for their common dream, each in its own way. The couscous is then not only the traditional dish around which are family gatherings or pretext to open a restaurant, it the gimmick that sets the characters in a fight to thank you for life, wandering in a desperate survival. Like the bicycle's "Bicycle Thief" or the book "Where is the house of my friend," the couscous into the anthology of these things flying or subtraction reveals the tragedy of poverty when an object key to survival is lacking. We will long imbued in us images of the chase on the night of the man rolled by life in the deserted streets around the port where it finds no other help than his old man legs and shortness of breath, just as we keep itself Images This girl who offers her body as food to the eyes suddenly captivated, a dance born of a desperate situation but the sensuality of the artist and the filmmaker transfigure into a Dionysian celebration of the movement.