BEESWAX (USA/2009/ANDREW BUJALSKI)

Jeannie is a wheelchair user who runs a colourful boutique. At the beginning of Beeswax, we see Jeannie meeting with a potential employee, presenting herself as an organised, authoritative figure as if to spite her public image as a ‘disabled’ person. Jeannie has a happy-go-lucky twin sister named Lauren who struggles with the concept of commitment and doesn’t seem to have much structure in her life. Her biggest plan in the pipeline is a mission to Kenya to teach English to children, a scheme which she sees as incompatible with her current relationship. The sisters live their lives separately, but constantly consult one another about work, money and love.

Director Andrew Bujalski is known as one of the bastions of the mumblecore movement, which generally sees as its enemy the artifice of cinema. Beeswax’s most impressive feat is its realism, and all of the actors embrace their roles to the point of living them, but that doesn’t amount to a great deal when the slice of life under the microscope is not particularly notable. It is thus hard to understand exactly what Bujalski wants to tell us about life beyond his fantasy that everyone dabbles in the same hopelessly charming idiolect, and a lot of the dialogue borders on preciousness. Bujalski’s previous feature, the vastly superior Mutual Appreciation, succeeded for the warmth and innocence of its protagonist, and this is perhaps what Beeswax lacks the most. Bujalski is a very promising filmmaker, and one hopes that Beeswax is an anomaly.

HARPOON: REYKJAVÍK WHALE WATCHING MASSACRE (ICELAND/2009/JÚLÍUS KEMP)

As if economic collapse and the untimely eruption of Eyjafallajökull weren’t enough, Iceland is now receiving mixed attention for their first contribution to the torture porn genre. Featuring something of an alternative ‘all-star’ cast – Gunnar Hansen of Leatherface fame, Nae from Inland Empire, an extra from The Bill – Harpoon: Reykjavík Whale Watching Massacre takes place aboard a whaling ship, where a dozen international tourists are hoping to see the giant creatures in their natural habitat. But when the ship’s captain mysteriously dies, it is up to a spooky lank-haired individual to come to the rescue. At his suggestion, the passengers relocate to his family’s rickety old ship, little knowing that this is to put them in further danger.

From the film’s subtitle alone, it is clear that director Júlíus Kemp was planning to take more than just Gunnar Hansen from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Despite some superb photography of the Icelandic landscape, Harpoon is no different from any other slasher flick. Its top priority appears to be reminding its audience that the film is Icelandic – we hear references to Sigur Rós, a passenger singing Björk over the intercom, an older woman translating insults into Icelandic. Additionally, the film’s light-hearted attempt to show a cross-section of international holiday-makers actually ends up insultingly simplistic, as seen in Hostel. But in all fairness, Kemp was never going for the Oscar, and all things considered, the film is quite a fun little jaunt with enough blood and guts to keep your average gore-whore entertained.

THE HUMAN CENTIPEDE (FIRST SEQUENCE) (NETHERLANDS/2009/TOM SIX)

An exhausted trucker, defecating on the roadside after a long haul, is shot soundlessly by a trench-coated man in sunglasses. So begins Tom Six’s notorious horror film, modelled in the manner of Hostel or Saw but ending up much more like Videodrome. Our main characters arrive in the form of American tourists Lindsay and Jenny, two naïve gal-pals trying to navigate their way across Western Europe. Broken down on a Landesstraße in Germany, the girls are taken in by the enigmatic Dr. Heiter who spikes them with Rohypnol. The addition of Japanese tourist Katsuro allows Heiter to begin his experiment and fulfil his twisted dream – to make a human sewage line.

It is hard to know how to react to The Human Centipede (First Sequence). Clearly, the main goal of the film is to repulse, which it manages in abundance thanks to lingering shots of the centipede in ‘motion’. What makes the experience incredibly uncomfortable is the inherent comedy in Heiter’s mission – it’s hard not to laugh at Katsuro’s confused anger. While it is never explained, one can assume that Heiter’s goal has an erotic outcome, but the campy acting makes it hard to take seriously. But while to many it may just be a juvenile gross-out movie, The Human Centipede is at least an interesting exercise in suspense, and the next logical step in torture porn. A sequel of sorts is on its way, leading one to ponder what other dastardly schemes Heiter has in mind (a digestive ouroboros?).

I AM FROM TITOV VELES (MACEDONIA/2007/TEONA STRUGAR MITEVSKA)

Afrodita, a short-haired mute girl, lives with her two sisters in the Macedonian city of Veles. Lost in her own world, Afrodita dances her way through life in a haze of childlike merriment, unhindered by the city’s toxic landscape. What does hold her back however is her perceived inferiority amongst her siblings, specifically her comparative asexuality. While sisters Slavica and Sapho are able to employ their feminine wiles to get the men they desire, Afrodita remains a virgin at the age of twenty-seven. Perhaps this is due in no small part to her naïveté regarding the mechanics of sex – after all, she daydreams about giving birth to countless babies from her mouth. In desperation, she propositions Aco, a man pursuing Sapho, but the experience proves to be a stark difference from her romantic idyll.

Unapologetically quirky, I Am From Titov Veles proposes a believable story against an interesting backdrop, but ultimately it leaves a lot to be desired. The sisters are rather half-baked as characters (besides fulfilling the ‘virgin, mother, whore’ dynamic of feminist film theory), and Afrodita in particular is a grating presence. Her unexplained muteness seems like little more than a whim of the director, whose painterly sensibilities get cloying very quickly. Additionally, the audience is presented with mixed messages about female sexuality and it’s hard to understand what one should take away from it. The film does have its virtues, however – the cinematography is gently hypnotic, using flourishes of colour and texture to bring scenes to life.

CREEPY HIDE AND SEEK (JAPAN/2009/MASAFUMI YAMADA)

Belatedly riffing on the Japanese horror craze for technology, Creepy Hide and Seek follows curious teenager Ryoko as she saunters down the rabbit-hole of a new craze – online hide and seek. The rules of the game are revealed to us at the beginning through a girl named Mai-Mai. Slavishly obeying a set of instructions on a chatroom, Mai-Mai performs a voodoo ritual with a doll, then finds a hiding place in her own house. A string of messages persuades her that she is winning the game, before a mysterious hand strangles her from behind. Ryoko, as it is revealed, was a close friend of Mai-Mai’s, and is not satisfied with the popular explanation that she simply ‘disappeared’. Determined to unravel the mystery herself, Ryoko plays the game herself, not realising she is soon to face the intangible terror that has claimed so many victims before.

As the title suggests, it’s not a particularly cerebral piece of work, nor is it in any way original. Whatever this film might have wanted to say about the internet and Japanese folklore in modern culture has most likely been articulated better in another horror film – Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse comes to mind, as does Noroi: The Curse. Even more disappointing is that the film’s central concept is half-baked, and the lure of this hide and seek game is pretty unclear. But as simple as the film appears, it is still worth watching, if only for the accomplished sound design which almost creates music from fear.

CUSTODY OF THE CHILD (FRANCE/1909/LOUIS FEUILLADE)

We begin this early Louis Feuillade drama at the end of a custodial hearing. Members of the jury leave the courthouse as the child in question sits outside being comforted by the mother who has lost legal guardianship of him. As he is literally torn from his mother’s arms, it becomes clear how strong a relationship the two share. Now privileged in his new home, he sits alone, bored by every possible distraction. As a treat, his father takes him to see his grandmother, but the timing couldn’t be more inopportune as the boy’s mother just happens to be visiting at the same time. Mother takes advantage of the situation, sneaking her son back to her house where she works full-time as a seamstress. Meanwhile, father reports the case to the police, but the officious language of the authorities seems to be no match for the heartfelt pleas of a young child.

From the title alone (the French title uses the word ‘possession’ for custody), it is clear that Feuillade wants us to accept the incredulity of the son’s status as a mere legal entity. The child is bounced from parent to parent as if no-one is concerned for the child’s emotional needs. On the minus side, the film often becomes farcical under its technical constraints. When the police come knocking on the mother’s door, her solution is to hide her son under a small table already in frame. On the whole, a touching story, but not a memorable film.

LOLA (FRANCE/1961/JACQUES DEMY)

Roland, a young waster from Nantes, spends his time falling in and out of casual employment, always wishing for something better. While leaving his favourite café, Roland accidentally bumps into Lola, a girl he had known as a teenager. The two exchange pleasantries and arrange to meet that evening at a ‘theatre’, where Roland discovers his childhood friend is now a cabaret dancer and chanteuse. In his lonely, disheartened state, Roland falls badly for Lola, hanging on her every word and arranging further rendezvous. Meanwhile, Lola is engaged in a somewhat lacklustre affair with American sailor Frankie, a poor substitute for Michel, her former lover and father to her son. The unspoken love triangle completely collapses when Michel returns out of the blue, determined to prove himself a decent father.

Director Jacques Demy had originally planned for Lola to be a Technicolor musical (he later found an outlet in The Umbrellas of Cherbourg), but his budget was purportedly so low that he couldn’t even afford a proper sound crew, let alone a roster of flashy musical numbers. The film suffers terribly as a result – by simply removing most of the music to suit his restrictions, Demy accidentally creates a microcosm of disinterest. Save for adolescent gamine Cécile, the characters are unconvincing and one-dimensional without musical exposition. Lola in particular is far less intriguing than she ought to be, her self-indulgent manipulation of men more reprehensible than defensible. Notable in the context of French cinematic history, but of little interest otherwise.

ONE MORE EFFORT, CHINAMEN, IF YOU WANT TO BE REVOLUTIONARIES! (FRANCE/1977/RENÉ VIÉNET, FRANCIS DERON)

Collaging archive footage from assorted sources, infamous Situationist director René Viénet portrays a darkly humorous vision of China as a political minefield. The film seeks to expose a long-running counter-Maoist tradition by ironical veneration of the icons of Marxist China. Introducing the main players – Mao Zedong, Liu Shaoqi, Deng Xiaoping – as if they were glamorous actors, the film is mostly free of narration, an eclectic soundtrack coaxing diverse film clips together. For example, a montage of Chinese women is accompanied by an instrumental version of Je T’Aime... Moi Non Plus. The sequence is repeated immediately after, this time with a commentary that describes the case of a schoolteacher who had raped six of his female students, painting him as a bourgeois challenge to the Chinese Communist Revolution in the forties. Later descriptions of real-life struggles are attached to equally discordant images, such as kung fu movies and colourful Chinese musicals.

Viénet, well-known for his studies on China and intentionally humorous use of détournement (the art of using pre-existing cultural items as a basis for new works that subvert them), lived in China briefly in the sixties, and was actually exiled for his anti-Maoist beliefs. His two earlier films, Can Dialectics Break Bricks? and The Girls of Kamare, dubbed existing Chinese and Japanese films with new dialogues recognising the potent violence of language. Here, the process is marginally less farcical, and Viénet’s controversial juxtapositions create meaning rather than destroying it, but generally the product is too haughty for its own good.