LOS OLVIDADOS (MEXICO/1950/LUIS BUÑUEL)

Set in the unforgiving landscape of an impoverished barrio in Mexico City, Luis Buñuel’s Los Olvidados places focus on the lives of children forgotten by society, and the interpersonal relationships they form in order to survive. Jaibo, a teenager well respected by many of the younger local kids, escapes from a correctional facility and enlists the assistance of his friend Pedro to get revenge on those who wronged him. Feeling that his involvement has sent him in the wrong direction, he elects to repair his relationship with his mother, but his connection to Jaibo threatens to draw him permanently into the life of a downtrodden street urchin.

Though an uncharacteristic film for Buñuel, Los Olvidados manages to balance a serious portrayal of real life with warming moments of surrealism, manifest in a dream that Pedro has of the boy that he and Jaibo kill. In setting the scene, Buñuel strongly gets across the idea that these children have had to band together out of circumstance, and Pedro’s active desire to leave this life behind make him seem more mature than even the oldest of the street urchins. Buñuel’s psychological investment in his characters allows the film to serve as an ethnological document as well as a gripping twist on the crime genre without trivialising the subject matter. With its focus on the precocious development of children, Los Olvidados is a remarkably timeless feature (the relevance of which will scarcely diminish), and would make a brilliant double feature with Forbidden Games.

VIOLETTE NOZIÈRE (FRANCE/1978/CLAUDE CHABROL)

Fourteen-year-old Violette is the rebellious daughter of a 1930s bourgeois family, already competent at manipulating adults despite her immaturity. Dressed in head-to-toe fur, she sneaks out of the house to bars where she works as a prostitute, using her earnings to fund her partner’s spending habits. When the family doctor reveals that she has syphilis, Violette manages to turn the situation to her advantage by claiming her parents gave her the disease genetically. In a cold-hearted decision, Violette dupes her father into drinking poison so that she can falsely accuse him of molesting her. As her situation worsens, she learns the hard way that every action has its consequence.

A precursor to the early works of Michael Haneke, Violette Nozière is an unusually disturbing social drama, its characters too gullible to defend themselves. Isabelle Huppert is astonishing as the titular character, a believable enfant terrible considering her age at the time (twenty-five), and a stunning cinematic presence as ever. Director Claude Chabrol is subtler than his contemporaries in his treatment of the bourgeoisie, but his target is still clear, particularly in the reaction of Violette’s parents to her syphilis. Chabrol equates precocious sexuality with criminal behaviour, but simultaneously identifies the issues with chastity in modern society. Perhaps the biggest flaw with the film is its rhythm – Violette’s contempt for her parents isn’t sufficiently substantiated – but the Freudian overtones keep the action convincing even at its strangest moments. An underrated oddity, Violette Nozière is a film not to be taken lightly.

MEE POK MAN (SINGAPORE/1995/ERIC KHOO)

Mee pok is a variety of noodle served in coffee shops and street stalls alike, often accompanied by fish balls. The unnamed hero of Eric Khoo’s debut feature, the titular ‘mee pok man’, deals exclusively in the foodstuff, and the all-night licence on his restaurant means that he meets some interesting characters. With a constant stream of customers from all walks of life, the mee pok man finds it difficult to keep his mind on one thing, except for long-suffering prostitute Bunny who frequents the restaurant with her gal pals. The mee pok man is intimidated by the men in Bunny’s life, but when her pimp beats her up and abandons her, he seizes the opportunity to become her knight in shining armour. The two grow close, but how far can this relationship go in such a day-to-day existence?

Through patient development of each character, Khoo plays the story out at a decent pace and gives particular consideration to the audience’s experience. We see Bunny before we learn about the mee pok man’s longing for her – the film challenges the viewer to see the warmth and vulnerability in Bunny in the same way that he does. Bunny herself has the potential to be a fascinating character, caught between the prospect of cosmpolitan living with her English photographer boyfriend and her drab career in the underworld, but there is little convincing emotion brought to the role. Though marvellously lensed, Mee Pok Man is a middling experience that will leave one wanting.

THE SUN'S BURIAL (JAPAN/1960/NAGISA ÔSHIMA)

In the poorer quarters of Osaka exists a network of young criminals, seemingly rejected by society and forced into a life of unsavoury exploits. Shin and Ohama are leaders of warring gangs whose main concern is protecting their respective territories. Ohama’s gang appear to have the upper hand, as much of the film follows Shin balancing menace with fear. Caught up in the fracas is the naïve Takeshi, a do-gooder who finds himself in too deep after trying to sample to gangster lifestyle. Shin sees a little of himself in Takeshi and takes advantage of his innocence. Rivalling Shin’s propensity for manipulative behaviour is Hanako, a duplicitous prostitute who runs an illegal blood transfusion scheme. The two engage in a passionate affair, but Hanako’s opportunism soon pulls Takeshi into a dangerous situation.

Many of Nagisa Ôshima’s detractors have pointed out that he wallows in misery and destruction without offering a solution, but it is exactly this attitude that makes his early works so vital. Admittedly The Sun’s Burial lacks subtlety in its attempts to sketch a metaphor for Japan – the title in particular spells it out – but there is heart in Ôshima’s mission. The character of ‘the Agitator’, an embittered war veteran who observes the turf war dismissively, is the ghost of Japan past, and a brief glimpse of an optimistic banner ushers in a new Japan, one to exist in the future after the film. Gorgeously shot and scored, The Sun’s Burial is a historically important, deceptively nihilistic thriller.

CRUEL STORY OF YOUTH (JAPAN/1960/NAGISA ÔSHIMA)

Makoto is a coquettish student who believes that her feminine wiles are enough to get her through life. When she is threatened sexually by a driver with whom she had hitchhiked, another student named Kiyoshi comes to her rescue, throwing the man off and warning him that he could destroy his reputation. Makoto is convinced that she has finally found her prince charming and the pair spend time together, but as Kiyoshi starts to blow hot and cold, it becomes clear that he is as questionable a character as her attacker. A hard-up student, Kiyoshi makes scraps of cash by sleeping with older women and leasing his room to couples, and when Makoto’s attacker offers a bribe to prevent them heading to the police station, his money-grabbing instinct takes over.

As in a few of Nagisa Ôshima’s films, the issue at the heart of Cruel Story Of Youth is the commodification of human beings. Makoto is an incredibly naïve and vulnerable character, and because of this, it is painful to witness her story arc, but she is difficult to sympathise with given that she has essentially created her circumstances. Ôshima does a superb job of narrating the woes of adolescence, even as the story gets decidedly adult. A sequence wherein Kiyoshi refuses to save Makoto from drowning unless she does everything he says is particularly memorable and sums the film up succinctly. Raw, sexual and dangerous, Cruel Story Of Youth is a still relevant evocation of the rebellious teenage spirit.

A (JAPAN/1998/TATSUYA MORI)

The Aum Shinrikyo group, now known as Aleph, are a cult religion in Japan whose central tenets combine elements of Christianity and Buddhism. In 1995, the group was reviled for a sarin attack they carried out on a Tokyo underground train, which killed at least twelve people. The attack was supposedly arranged by the cult’s leader Shoko Asahara in response to rumours that the police had planned to raid his headquarters. In his documentary A, investigative filmmaker Tatsuya Mori managed to integrate himself into the cult’s headquarters shortly after the attack, spending time with members to understand them as people. Spokesperson Hiroshi Araki cuts a bashful image, and one wonders how, if at all, he was selected as a representative given his relative ignorance to the origin of the attacks.

The film plays out as a sort of press pack, arranging interviews and news items chronologically to measure the repercussions of the attack. Rather than sensationalising events unnecessarily, Mori remains as neutral as possible, an approach which allows the subjects to loosen up and contently discuss their beliefs. For the first half of the film, it is hard to conceive of the dangers of a cult represented in the media by someone like Araki, but as Mori probes deeper, he unexpectedly uncovers a stash of chemicals in a storeroom, instantly changing the audience’s perception of the film. At 133 minutes, it may be a little longer than necessary, but A is otherwise a respectably unobtrusive profile of a terrifying sect.

LAW AND ORDER (USA/1969/FREDERICK WISEMAN)

Frederick Wiseman’s Law and Order opens with a slideshow of presumed criminals expressing a range of emotions, setting the precedent for the rest of the documentary. Taking place in Kansas City, Missouri, the film catches little snippets of arrests, interrogations and prosecutions performed by the local police force on various charges, as well as testimonials from victims. We see a man assuring a policeman that he could quite happily “take care of” the child molester he wanted to prosecute, and an uncooperative drunkard is dragged to the ground for insolence. A particularly startling scene shows a landlady complaining about a couple living in one of her apartments. As the argument between the three grows steadily, it is revealed that a knife had been brought into the dispute, but the policemen doggedly refuse to get involved because “ma’am, this is between them”.

Although not as shocking as Wiseman’s own Titicut Follies, Law and Order is still a powerful work, a distillation of sixties attitudes to the authorities. Policemen are greeted with disobedience, apathy and threatening behaviour, and given the violent approach taken by some officers, it’s easy to see why. Attitudes to race are also placed under the microscope, as Kansas City was fresh from the MLK riots at the time. Although the film features plenty of antagonism between white law enforcers and black criminals, Wiseman is careful not to perpetuate stereotypes on either end, best summarised by the touching sequence where a white policeman comforts a lost young black girl.

ABOUT CHILDREN (SPAIN/2003/JOAQUIM JORDÀ)

In this introspective documentary about the judicial system in Spain, five people accused of molesting children are put on trial in Barcelona. The scandal, named the Raval case after the neighbourhood in which it took place, rightfully shook the nation to its core. Xavier Tamarit, a soft-spoken schoolteacher who stands accused of prostituting several children under his care, appears disturbingly unaffected by the charges launched against him, explaining himself without emotion. Director Joaquim Jordà compiles news reports, interviews and even performance art related to the case to illustrate the impact of the case on the media.

By subject matter, this sits alongside Capturing The Friedmans and Paradise Lost, but in opposition to these films, About Children presents the facts without breaking the fourth wall, as if not wishing to sensationalise the case any further. In some ways however, Jordà’s work trivialises aspects of the case – the film is as much about the Spanish judiciary as it is about paedophilia, and while the theatre pieces and acoustic soundtrack may help to form filmic interludes, they are discordant with the serious nature of the trial and appear insensitive. This is not to say that the film doesn’t take its subject seriously. The cameraman seem to be everywhere in the courtroom, absorbing natural reactions from attorneys and jury members, as well as profiling the accused without interfering with procedure. Shocking, challenging and thought-provoking, About Children is a hard-hitting analysis of an abhorrent crime, an incisive study into the darkest side of human nature.

GODS OF THE PLAGUE (GERMANY/1970/RAINER WERNER FASSBINDER)

Shot in the hilariously dispassionate, nouvelle vague-inspired manner common to his earliest films, Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s Gods Of The Plague follows small-time crook Franz as he attempts to reassimilate himself into society. His first priority is to meet with his loved ones again, although the word ‘loved’ here is purely functional. Girlfriend Johanna, a sultry chanteuse, shares an unexpressed joy to be reunited with him again. Her relief is short-lived however, as Franz suddenly falls for an enigmatic woman named Margarethe. The new couple’s dalliances reveal why Franz had grown tired of Johanna, as Margarethe’s apparent moral indifference allows him to return to his life of crime. When he and friend Gorilla are implicated in the murder of his brother, the police turn to Johanna, who has the power to choose how much information to give away about her unfaithful lover.

Gods Of The Plague is an interesting point in Fassbinder’s career, demonstrating a balance between sarcastic parody and hysterical melodrama. The opening credits, putting every cast and crew member in one long scrolling marquee at the bottom of the screen, presages the deliberate listlessness of this would-be gangster flick. A trilingual poker scene featuring a group of effeminate players, including Fassbinder himself, predicts the director’s overt flamboyance in later films. It might not be a particularly great film by any standards beyond its adventurous photography, but Gods Of The Plague has a naïve campness to be treasured, and as such stands out as one of Fassbinder’s more endearing features.

SUZHOU RIVER (CHINA/2000/LOU YE)

An unnamed narrator, a videographer whose first-hand gaze we adopt throughout much of the film, recalls his love for Meimei, a temperamental model who performs as a mermaid in a bar. He then relays another story about a petty criminal named Mardar who has fallen for Moudan, the daughter of a businessman who has paid him to keep her away while he entertains his mistress. But despite the narrator’s assertions that the couple’s love is pure, Mardar is revealed to be involved in a ransom scam for which Moudan is to be the hostage. Upset by her puny value in the deal, Moudan jumps into the Suzhou River, vowing to return as a mermaid. A few years later, the videographer is hired by Mardar to tell his story, and the two men’s lives and loves appear to intertwine.

Though at its heart a simple romantic thriller, Suzhou River is on many counts an important film. Uncomfortably categorised as a bastion of the Sixth Generation of Chinese cinema, it better merits being spoken in international terms, a successor to the works of Wong Kar-Wai and Alfred Hitchcock. Acclaimed actress Zhou Xun does a supreme job playing both Meimei and Moudan, fulfilling each character’s subtleties as well as their similarities. The film’s first-person perspective never once feels like a gimmick – by conflating the fourth wall with the viewpoint of a significant character, director Lou Ye keeps the audience very close to the film’s surface, always at risk of plunging to its depths.

BADOU BOY (SENEGAL/1970/DJIBRIL DIOP MAMBÉTY)

Taking inspiration from the likes of Charlie Chaplin, legendary director Djibril Diop Mambéty’s debut film follows the exploits of a street urchin with the sobriquet Badou Boy. Constantly in trouble with the authorities, he spends a lot of his time on the run from them, ducking and diving through the narrow streets of the Dakar shanty towns as they struggle to keep up. Though his offences are mostly petty, it is his devil-may-care attitude which the cops appear to take umbrage with, and when the portlier of the two finally catches up with his playful archenemy, he relishes the moment, his hand clenched on the back of the boy’s trousers like a hawk’s talons on its prey. This, of course, is not the end of the mischief, as Badou Boy makes an effortless escape during a Marx Brothers-style imbroglio.

With few words, Mambéty creates a powerful character in Badou Boy, a quirky, rakish anti-hero whose problems are readily discernible, and his assertion that the film is somewhat autobiographical comes as no surprise. Shots last minutes without the protagonist uttering a single word, his mannerisms becoming the dialogue, while a soulful guitar-led soundtrack fills the silences with a sense of wistful nostalgia. Upon reflection, this could almost be an early blaxploitation movie, sharing elements of its style but not its hubris. Fans of this short feature should make sure to see Mambéty’s next film Touki Bouki, an ingenious, outlandish West African pastiche of Bonnie and Clyde and the French New Wave.

POLICE, ADJECTIVE (ROMANIA/2009/CORNELIU PORUMBOIU)

Flying the flag for an exciting new trend in Romanian cinema, Police, Adjective takes its cue from the likes of The Death of Mr. Lazarescu and California Dreamin’, dealing with another aspect of Romanian society with the darkest of humour. Cristi is a young policeman who has been dispatched to deal with a schoolboy who is dealing hash to classmates. Once in pursuit of the boy, Cristi’s undercover mechanisms give way to sympathy, and as he learns about the boy’s zest for life and relative naïveté to the whole situation, he quickly loses grip on his conviction as a law enforcer. The more he is given instruction and advice from senior officers, the more Cristi begins to feel in touch with his inner child, and when the issue of the boy’s arrest arises, he finds the responsibility something of a personal struggle.

Director Corneliu Porumboiu employs long, voyeuristic takes suggestive of stagnation, and to the passive viewer, it would appear that the film never hits a crescendo. Upon closer inspection, Porumboiu’s sophomore feature reveals itself to be a shrewd twist on the comedy of errors. The humour flows effortlessly from Cristi’s dispassionate exchanges with his employers and girlfriend, painting him as a man exhausted by everyone else’s proactivity. Of particular note is the naturalistic acting – much kudos should go to Dragos Bucur in the lead role, as well as Vlad Ivanov, the soulless abortionist from 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days who is almost unrecognisable as Cristi’s stubborn superior.

THE SECRET OF HER EYES (ARGENTINA/2009/JUAN JOSÉ CAMPANELLA)

Told through a series of flashbacks, The Secret Of Her Eyes follows the investigation of a brutal murder case in which a woman was raped and killed in her own home. Detective Benjamín Espósito shares responsibility for the case with knowledgeable lawyer Irene and bumbling assistant Pablo, but soon finds himself taking particular interest. Having found a set of dubious photos of a suspect named Isidoro, Benjamín determines to prove him guilty, even illegally breaking into the man’s home in an attempt to unearth evidence. The search eventually puts Isidoro to justice, but a year later he is released, becoming an assassin for the Partido Justicialista, a far-right political party. When Pablo is murdered, Benjamín assumes that the bullet was meant for him and moves to the countryside in self-imposed exile. But rather than finding peace or escape, Benjamín’s conscience is constantly blemished by the unfinished case, and one final attempt to solve it brings out shocking results.

Winner of the 2009 Best Foreign Film Oscar, The Secret Of Her Eyes is an engaging murder mystery romp, placing as much focus on the lives of the investigators as the case itself. Seasoned actor Ricardo Darín puts in an excellently stoical performance as Benjamín. But without placing too much emphasis on visual attractiveness, one can’t help but feel that The White Ribbon was robbed of the Oscar – asides from an incredible handheld sequence in which Benjamín and Pablo chase Isidoro during a football match, the film’s shooting style is peculiarly unremarkable.

THE LIMITS OF CONTROL (USA/2009/JIM JARMUSCH)

An unnamed man (Isaach de Bankolé) meets two men at an airport who provide him with a list of cryptic instructions in various languages. Apparently obeying them, the man then takes a plane to Madrid and endures a series of mysterious meetings with people. The people do not appear to know the protagonist, or even each other, but they share in common a philosophical manner which renders further instructions difficult to interpret. Each of these encounters follows the pattern of a bizarre ritual involving two cups of espressos, the question “You don’t speak Spanish, right?” and a written code which the man reads and then eats. Throughout his unorthodox journey, the man registers almost no emotion, even as he is repeatedly accosted by a flirtatious nude woman. Towards the end of the film, the man’s role becomes clear when he makes his way into a guarded compound in the desert.

It is hard to sum up The Limits Of Control after just one viewing. By deliberately eschewing familiar narrative traits, director Jim Jarmusch demands special attention to detail from the audience, but the film’s slow pacing and the repetitive nature of the meetings often drive away interest. In essence, it is a mystery reluctant to be solved, Christopher Doyle’s stellar cinematography burnishing the more incomprehensible moments to a pretty shine. But even at his most obscure, Jarmusch’s boyish sense of humour remains, with lines such as “sometimes I like it in films when people just sit there, not saying anything”.

LA CHIENNE (FRANCE/1931/JEAN RENOIR)

Opening with a puppet show prologue, Jean Renoir’s La Chienne concerns Maurice, a dowdy forty-something cashier trapped in a loveless marriage. At a meal with his work colleagues, he expresses his unhappiness but finds little sympathy. On his way back home, he encounters Lulu, a gamine prostitute tending to her drunken pimp, and is instantly smitten. After escorting her safely to her place, Maurice mistakes Lulu’s affectionate manner for love, and attempts to see her again. Meanwhile, Lulu’s pimp Dédé is angered at the sight of the paintings Maurice has given her but, with true pimp flair, he comes up with a plan to extort money from Maurice by emotional blackmail. Lulu, having never defied Dédé before, complies for a while, but a surprising revelation changes the fortunes of all three.

Renoir’s second sound film (after the pleasantly-named Baby’s Laxative), La Chienne is a daring, contentious work which unapologetically raises questions about morality and love. Though unevenly paced, particularly towards the end, Renoir handles the drama well, fairly depicting the double lives of both Lulu and Maurice. What is interesting about the film is that none of its three characters are particularly endearing – even Lulu makes a weak protagonist, given her impressionability – but it is still a compelling story. Michel Simon, the dutiful Jules in Jean Vigo’s L’Atalante, is brilliant here as Maurice, competently portraying the romantic desperations of a middle-aged man. The photography is also wonderful but subtle – look out for the dinner party scene shot from a dumbwaiter.