CIFF 2024: Vermiglio, Sparrow in the Chimney, Super Happiness Forever | Festivals and awards

While lighter fare is always appreciated, I expect most of the films I see at festivals to be dark and heavy. It is sobering and inspiring to see creative people trying to understand the cruelty of the world, from family dysfunction to the loss of loved ones (to name just a few of the recurring hardships). Films like these seem all the more appropriate at CIFF since the end of the festival also marks a transition as the coziness of fall begins to morph into the harsher chill of winter. The films in this newsletter capture this disarming metamorphosis from intense excitement and beauty to a deeper darkness lurking beneath the surface.

Directed by Maura Delpero “Vermiglio” which won The festival’s top prize, the Golden Hugo, has won praise for the way it makes cold temperatures at high altitudes intimate and inviting. The earliest moments Delpero documents are the daily rhythms and activities of the family: milking the cow, cooking and doing the laundry. There is affection and confidence in these movements; these activities support the community and bring joy. Knowing how to move forward when these activities are interrupted will be a key test for the family and highlights one of the film’s main themes that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

The film takes place during the final moments of World War II. The main characters of the film are three sisters: Lucia (Martina Scrinzi), Ada (Rahel Potrich and Flavia (Anna Thaler). When Pietro (Giuseppe De Domenico), a Sicilian soldier who fled the war, comes to the city, he and Lucia begin an affair. This the change in rhythm allows for freedom to be broken out and a new reality presented to everyone to varying degrees, while the sisters’ father (Tommaso Ragno) struggles to maintain a stern and iron grip on his family.

As “Vermiglio” concludes, he makes the case for many of his ideas: from how religious indoctrination can limit people’s ability to dream, to how those whose countries are at war can never completely escape its influence. no matter how isolated they may be, through frequent returns to display the family routine. This prevents the film from getting lost in the weeds of everything it’s trying to convey; Delpero’s film is silent on change, but he relishes the gradual changes that can change and destroy the status quo of power. This is particularly evident in the way she presents this community as people who are both strengthened by the beauty around them and self-possessed. When we see Lucia, Ada and Flavia working the land, we see how small they are compared to the vastness of nature around them. Contentment is rooted in family comfort, but they also want to break free.

It’s less a portrait of family dysfunction and more a message from the front lines of a family at war with itself, Ramon Zürcher. “Sparrow in the Chimney” it’s a film drenched in venom, often funny and deeply unsettling as it depicts families who don’t feel the need to hide their vitriol behind pleasantries. Taking place over the weekend, two sisters Karen (Maren Eggert) and Jewel (Brita Hammelstein) get together to celebrate the birthday of Karen’s husband, Markus (Andreas Döhler). Between various dinners, dance parties and visits to the pool, the tumultuous relationship between Karen and her three children, eldest Christina (Paula Schindler), high school student Joanna (Lea Zoe Voss) and youngest Leon (Ilya Bultmann), threatens to destroy the fragile peace. Though to varying degrees, Christina, Joanna and Leon can’t hide their contempt for their mother, and Zürcher picks up the audience from the broken pieces of their broken relationship, pushing the limits of how many scenes of cringing behavior and social awkwardness we can take.

Karen is not at all blameless, as she often bosses her children around, humiliates them, and treats them more like servants than her own children. Early in the film, her children, especially the hot-tempered Joanna, quarrel with their mother and verbal barbs are sneaked in between pleasantries so as not to complicate the lives of Jewel, her husband Jurek (Milian Zerzawi) and their daughter Edda (Luana). Greco), their fights quickly become more intense. Meanwhile, Jewel and Karen are unhappy with each other, while Marcus unsuccessfully tries to hide his affair with the family dog ​​owner Liv (Louise Heyer). As we witness all these fears and secrets collide first in hushed whispers and then in verbal and physical altercations, Döhler crafts an unsparing tale of what happens when vices dance with abandon.

Much of the dark humor comes from how matter-of-fact (and cruel) the dialogue is, especially between parents and their children. “Don’t think I love you just because you’re my mother,” Joanna says to Karen one day; it’s probably the calmest interaction between them, and it hits much deeper when it’s said casually than if it’s shouted out. Zürcher also creates a palpable sense of claustrophobia in the beautiful home where the family is gathered, shattering that illusion of safety and privacy. There are many moments where characters privately reveal to each other their emotions or feelings towards another family member, only to reveal the person they are talking about standing and watching them off-screen.

While roughly the first half of the film revels in watching family members hurt each other (or the animals and neighbors who dare cross them), the second half moves into a more fantastical and lucid exploration of fear, a choice that further highlights how how the rage and frustration of family members induce each other is both metaphysical and embodied; the feelings evoked are almost otherworldly. It is in these sequences, where characters indulge in their hallucinations, visions and desires, that Zürcher creates some of his most disturbing images (sorry, “Dogma” And “Evil Dead: Rise“, but there is a cheese grater sequence that is much more violent and finger-twisting than the ones in those movies).

Then there is “Super Happy Forever” perhaps the lightest of the three, except one, whose radiance emanates from a painful center. Director Kohei Igarashi divides his narrative into two time frames: 2023 and 2018, and the film moves fluidly between them. In the present day, Sano (Hiroki Sano) travels with his friend Miyata (Yoshinori Miyata) to the Japanese coastal city of Izu, where in 2018 Sano met and fell in love with his late wife Nagi (Nairu Yamamoto). Over the years, the pandemic has damaged the hotel, which was of great importance to both Sano and Nagi, and Sano decides to check into the hotel for old times’ sake, hoping that this act will bring back memories and renew feelings. purpose even as he struggles with his grief. In between flashbacks, Sano Igarashi tells the story of how Sano and Nagi fell in love, their meet-cute and relationship development always tinged with an aura of tragedy given that the audience knows the destination of their romantic journey.

Igarashi’s structure emphasizes and imbues moments with a complex set of emotions that go beyond what lies on the surface. He favors shots in which the characters seem small and insignificant compared to the vast beauty around them; as Sano walks back and forth along the same shoreline, the footage evokes a sense of determination and agony; he is alone in his grief, and yet there is much beauty around him that he subsequently misses if he continues to be defined solely by his tragedy.

“Super Happy Forever” whimsically shows how memories reside in our bodies as much as they do in our minds, and how revisiting certain places acts as a portal to deeper understanding than thinking about things in our heads. He encourages us not to be afraid of losing our experience over time. Our memories are like waves crashing on the shore: for a moment they are gone, but then here, in the next.