Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Belgian cinema in May and June

The Belgian film drought continues. Stretching a point you could say that four local films had a theatrical release during May and June, with nothing more scheduled until September. There are some promising films waiting in the wings, but for the moment the industry appears to be on its uppers.



The best of the four new releases is A Pelada, a low-budget, sweet-natured sex comedy made in Brazil by Belgian director Damien Chemin. It tells the story of Caio, a poolman who spins dizzying tales of sexual conquest to his friends but is basically too lazy or too timid to do anything of the sort. When Sandra, his wife of three years, suggests their flagging relationship needs spicing up, he nearly dies of shock. But she is serious, partly because she loves Caio, partly because a fleeting kiss from another woman has aroused her curiosity. And so begins a series of misunderstandings and misadventures as Caio and Sandra try to get their act together, as we know they must.




While it's not unusual for Belgian directors to shoot far from home, this tends to be at the art-house end of the market or because there is some diaspora connection. Think Peter Brosens and Jessica Woodworth, Gust Van den Berghe and latterly Chantal Akerman in the first category, Diego Martinez-Vignatti and Kadir Balci in the second. Marion H nsel is a notable exception, a globe-trotter working in the mainstream.



Damien Chemin trained as a cinematographer in Brussels, going on to make a series of fiction shorts and documentaries. But then he fell in love with Brazil and found work there making adverts and documentaries for public television. A Pelada was conceived as a modest TV movie for a regional broadcaster, intended to give the people of Aracaju in the north-east a chance to see their own city in fiction. But Chemin was also able to interest his old producer Tarantula Belgique in the project, which in turn brought in funds from Belgium's French community, a Belgian broadcaster and the tax shelter. Financially, this is a majority Belgian co-production.



Even so, the budget is low and it shows, with both sound and image experiencing some dodgy moments. But it is well written and the two leads -- Bruno P go and Kika Farias -- are beautifully cast. It's a joy to watch them wrestling with their contrasting emotions, their discomfort focused on worries so slight that it prompts sympathy rather than the teeth grinding inherent in most comedies of embarrassment.



A Pelada can also be considered an addition to the slight corpus of Belgian LGBT cinema, thanks to its bi-curious storyline and a range of gay and lesbian characters that goes beyond the usual stereotypes. While not exactly a queer film, it is pleasingly open-minded.



The gender roles are much more traditional in Je suis supporter de Standard, a football-themed rom-com that marks the directing debut of minor actor Riton Liebman. He plays Milou, a fanatical supporter of Standard Li ge football club who has to hide his obsession when he falls for Martine (L a Drucker), a radio producer who detests the beautiful game. At first he succeeds, but when she finds out that he is seeing eleven men behind her back, he has to kick his addiction.



This would appear to be fertile ground for something in the Judd Apatow line: a first act of gross bad behaviour morphs into a second of tension between the sexes, before resolving into a romantic conclusion. The problem is that Milou is not a loveable Apatow man-child, but a selfish, superior and sometimes vicious creep. It's hard to like him, hard to believe that Martine likes him, and impossible to care what happens to him.



A further problem with the film is that it also wants to be a Jewish comedy, pitting Milou against his successful brother, long-suffering mother and an uncle who is trying to tempt him back into the faith. This theme is not developed very far, but it is tempting to imagine how the film might have turned out as a full-on Brussels Jewish comedy with some romance and football thrown in, rather than a low-rent Walloon Fever Pitch. It is also tempting to think how Philippe Blasband or Micha Wald might have shot it, but now we're straying too far into fantasy football.



Sous le figuier might be squeezed into the Belgian family by virtue of director Anne-Marietienne, who was born here but has made her career in France with film such as T t ou tard (1999) and Si c' tait lui (2007). And while this is a majority French co-production, mainly shot in Luxembourg, there are Belgian connections in the plot and the cast.



It begins in Brussels, where Nathalie, Christophe and Jo lle (Anne Consigny, Jonathan Zacca , and Marie Kremer) are experiencing crises at work and in their relationships. While all have children, none of them really has a family. Then there is Nathalie's friend Selma (Gis le Casadesus), who is 95 years old and living alone, earning pin money by telling fortunes. Various connections and coincidences bring them together at a large house in the country, where they plan to spend the summer along with Christophe's three small daughters. It is also where Selma plans to die, gently and happily. As she approaches the end, the others start to see clearly what they need in their own lives.



Superficially light and heart-warming, this sentimental drama draws on some deep, dark anxieties about contemporary life, from the erosion of family relationships to the fear of dying alone. Just as escaping to the country gives the characters distance, so it allows the viewer to think about these things without getting too depressed. This is also the film's main weakness, since it produces a fantasy of family life and beautiful death that seems very distant from reality.



Finally, what could be more Belgian than Piet Piraat en het Zeemonster, the fourth in a live action franchise from children's entertainment factory Studio 100. Helped along by TV programmes, theme parks and a whole heap of merchandising, the films routinely figure in the lists of the best attended local films of the year.



text (c) Ian Mundell 2013
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