Monday, May 18, 2015


Far be it from me to rain on the critical parade that has received Mad Max: Fury Road as the long-awaited salvation of big-budget blockbusters. There is, to be sure, much to be complimented on Australian director George Miller's return to the franchise that made his name - and yes, Fury Road is in fact the blockbuster you despaired Hollywood could still do, marrying technical prowess, a classical sense of action and smart ideas.

     But - and this is important - even though Fury Road is good, it's only because the standard has been lowered that it looks this good. When what you're up against is the cookie-cutter, marketing-led "Marvel universe" and the outlandish tongue-in-cheek video game of Fast & Furious 7, rising above it won't be too hard.

     For sure, Mr. Miller's fourth installment in the Mad Max series, after a 30-year absence, does more than "just" rise above. A brutal, nasty, take-no-prisoners post-apocalyptic thrill ride, the new film literally throws you down the rabbit hole in the first 15 minutes with little regard for niceties or back story. Tag, you're it, put up or shut up, off you go. And there's no time to catch your breath until the film is one hour in.

     To his credit, this impressively shot, no-nonsense actioner does not look at all like the work of a 70-year old Hollywood grandee who's spent the past few years doing kid-friendly stuff like Babe or Happy Feet. Fury Road is Mr. Miller unleashing his very peculiar brand of Australian-vintage nastiness, channeling the genuinely unpredictable tension of Wolf Creek or Wake in Fright into the kamikaze take-it-or-leave-it concept of what is still the series' best film, 1981's Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior. 

     Simultaneously return to the original universe and modern-day reboot, with Tom Hardy taking over Mel Gibson in the lead role, the new film suggests the series could become a post-apocalyptic parent to the adventures of the blind samurai Zatoichi, with individual self-contained adventures set in an overarching universe - and Mr. Miller has already said he has further tales planned in the series. In that sense, it's not that far from a comic-book series, only not at all concerned with hitting specific demographics or aiming for a "four-quadrant" maximum-common-denominator, watered-down attempt. Quite the opposite: Fury Road has no problem with being violent, grotesque, excessive, loud, noisy, foul; it even makes them its raison d'être, better to take the viewer by surprise once the narrative downshifts, one hour in, and reveals its true approach.

     Initially propelled by the steely terseness of Charlize Theron, impeccable as a daredevil driver escaping the clutches of the tyrannical Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne) with a precious cargo of young women, Fury Road eventually reveals itself as a futuristic, gas-guzzling western about pioneers navigating a dangerous new frontier. Max Rockatansky (Mr. Hardy), the nominal hero, is more of a "lonesome stranger", the strong silent type that travels the land purely looking to survive but finding himself drawn into situations where he takes the side of good; the man you want to be on your side when the chips are down. Ms. Theron's Furiosa is the strong-willed pioneer woman leading a convoy of women looking to find an oasis in a dry, parched land, trying to dodge the "indians" that want to recapture them - only here, the indians are a patriarchal power elite controlling access to natural resources, and the women are striking out for their freedom from tyranny.

     By this point, you're acclimatised to the harsh nature of the film's kill-or-be-killed setting and approach. Fury Road unfolds as that rare blockbuster that wants to have its cake and eat it as well, a combination of genre film tropes that never forgets the rooting of genre in reality. Whether due to global warming, over-pollution, technology breakdown or resource scarcity, the post-apocalyptic universe of Mad Max isn't far from, say, Cormac McCarthy's desolate vision in The Road: it's simply used as a setting for a different type of storytelling in the shape of a pro-active actioner about people taking matters in their own hands, about the underdogs fighting back. Which is, at the same time, extremely Antipodean in its can-do attitude as much as it is global in the resonance of the current state of civil society.

     Still, as I said before, that doesn't make Fury Road a masterpiece: the film's loud, non-stop relentlessness (especially when seen in 3D large-format IMAX screens) can become numbing, especially with Tom Holkenborg's tribal-inflected score mixed in with the engine rumbles and constant explosions. The lack of subtlety is clearly by design, but it does become weary over two hours, with the sense that some of the chase sequences, as spectacular as they are, go on simply for too long.

     Also, disappointingly enough, Mr. Hardy, one of the best actors of his generation, is not given enough to do here. His Max is a bit of a sidekick more than a hero, with the film standing squarely on the shoulders of Ms. Theron as the hard-bitten Furiosa (not that I'll complain about that, but after all this is called Mad Max). And for a series that started out as pure, scrappy genre filmmaking to become a franchise on its own, there's a certain bitter-sweet taste of something blown out of all necessary proportions - there's simply too much of Fury Road to be able to digest properly in one sitting.

     Yet, for all of the indigestion, there is indeed something more, something better, at work in Fury Road than in most comparable blockbusters. This isn't just a cynical grab-bag, it's a serious genre movie, even if one that could have used some downsizing to hit the sweet spot.

Australia, USA, 2015
120 minutes
Cast Tom Hardy, Charlize Theron, Nicholas Hoult, Hugh Keays-Byrne, Josh Helman, Nathan Jones, Zoë Kravitz, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley
Director George Miller; screenwriters Mr. Miller, Brendan McCarthy and Nico Lathouris; cinematographer John Seale (colour, widescreen); composer Tom Holkenborg; designer Colin Gibson; costumes Jenny Beavan; editor Margaret Sixel; effects supervisor Andrew Jackson; producers Doug Mitchell, Mr. Miller and P. J. Voeten; production companies Warner Bros. Feature Productions and Kennedy Miller Mitchell Productions in association with Village Roadshow Pictures and Ratpac-Dune Entertainment
Screener May 11th 2015, NOS Colombo Imax, Lisbon (distributor press screening)

Sunday, May 17, 2015


(third of three, continued from Mudar de Vida)

Much of what had changed around Paulo Rocha after his two first films was evidently social and political - the country was no longer in the throes of a totalitarian regime, society was no longer as grey and as stifling as before.

     But film production remained somewhat erratic, a roulette of state financings and risk-taking producers; by effectively becoming his own producer from then on, Mr. Rocha fell between the cracks of that system. Continuing production issues plagued his films, some of which were either barely released or were seen with significant delays, up to this very last completed picture of his: Se Eu Fosse Ladrão, Roubava - copyrighted 2011, but only screened internationally in 2013 at the Locarno festival, and released commercially in Portugal in 2015 (accompanying the restorations of Os Verdes Anos and Mudar de Vida).

     Suffice to say, the initial project of a more autobiographical fictional narrative (to be called Olhos Vermelhos) also changed in due course, both because of practical impossibilities and of illness (Mr. Rocha, already ill during the shoot, would die in December 2012 before the film was effectively publicly screened). What came out was a film à clef, a collagist essay of newly-shot narative material and archival excerpts lifted from his entire oeuvre. It's a bewildering work for those who did not follow his career over time, but fascinating in the peculiar resonances it reveals, the connections between disparate works it highlights, like a critical essay made film.

     Se Eu Fosse Ladrão seems to highlight the echoes and rhyming patterns between Mr. Rocha's films, whether narrative features or documentary, illuminated through the refracted prism of a tale inspired by his own father's life; not so much a narrative as a mosaic of drifting fragments, invoked at leisure. Mr. Rocha's interest in rural life and traditions as a fountain of storytelling seems to return to its primal origins (the scene of his grandfather's death in a shack is a mirror image of Júlia's deathbed in Mudar de Vida, and is also mirrored in other scenes here presented); his simple, almost classical way with framing and camerawork is also made to be a uniting thread throughout.

     The film also shows how the director's strengths always laid in a poetic, unhurried observation, rather than in the far-fetched baroque narratives that crept up in his final fictional features (1998's O Rio do Ouro, 2000's A Raiz do Coração and 2004's Vanitas ou o Outro Mundo). For all that, Se Eu Fosse Ladrão features flashes of the director's style, teems with clues and recurring threads, but its self-referentiality is unlikely to make much sense to anyone who's not been exposed to the post-1960s films.

     Therein, in fact, lies the reason why I'm incapable of adhering more enthusiastically to what is clearly a last will and testament, maybe even a gravestone to be erected: unless you have seen everything that came before, seeing this first will be like getting to know James Joyce through reading only Ulysses. It's a tantalizing but hermetic experience, equal parts frustrating and fascinating; hardly a triumphant conclusion to a career that deserved better, more of a half-baked coda for amateurs only, offering little interest to those not in the know. I would have never "got" Paulo Rocha from seeing Se Eu Fosse Ladrão first; it is only through watching Os Verdes Anos and Mudar de Vida that you understand his promise and his talent.

     That Paulo Rocha rose to the heights of two extraordinary features in a row is to be cherished, and to see them is to recognise a superbly talented filmmaker who never reached such heights again. Start there and you will "get" him.

     Leave Se Eu Fosse Ladrão... Roubava for much later. After you "got" him.

Portugal, 2011
87 minutes
Cast Isabel Ruth, Luís Miguel Cintra, Chandra Malatitsch, Joana Bárcia, Carla Chambel, Raquel Dias, Márcia Breia, João Cardoso, João Pedro Vaz
Director Paulo Rocha; screenwriters João Viana, Regina Guimarães and Mr. Rocha; cinematographer Acácio de Almeida (colour); art director Acácio Carvalho; costumes Manuela Bronze; editor Edgar Feldman; producer Mr. Rocha; production companies Gafanha Filmes in co-production with RTP
Screened May 9th 2015, Lisbon

PAULO ROCHA : 50 ANOS DE CINEMA - TRAILER from Midas Filmes on Vimeo.

Saturday, May 16, 2015


(second of three, continued from Os Verdes Anos)

Fast-forward, to three years later. Paulo Rocha's sophomore feature, Mudar de Vida, was also photographed in black and white, but now by Elso Roque (who had assisted Luc Mirot in Os Verdes Anos), but unlike its brightly defined, high-contrast predecessor, the new film shifts into foggier, smokier, greyer tones.

     We're in the seaside, in the Northern fisherman's village of Furadouro, near Ovar, and the presence of the water's edge, the foam from the ebbing waves, the fog rolling in from the sea, suggests something of the undefined. It's a tale that could be a loose sequel to Os Verdes Anos, about a man returning to his hometown after time spent in the city. But the slow-seething Adelino (Brazilian actor Geraldo d'el Rey, from Glauber Rocha's Black God, White Devil) is not Júlio.

     He's not back from the city, but from the colonial war and from time spent as a fisherman in Africa, with little to show of his own, even less awaiting him, with his fiancée Júlia (Maria Barroso), tired of waiting for him, having ended up marrying his own brother. If the urban settings of Os Verdes Anos suggested both Nouvelle Vague and Antonioni, then Mudar de Vida marries the Italian director's expression of character through space in its dramatic developments with Rossellini's documentary impulse, the fishing sequences shot on location strongly reminiscent of Stromboli

     Reeling from losing both the woman he loved (and still loves) and from the near absence of work for fishermen, with his war wounds barring him from heavier jobs, Adelino is a literally broken down man who has truly nowhere to go until he meets the insouciant, rebel Albertina (Isabel Ruth, recurring from Os Verdes Anos and consolidating her role as Mr. Rocha's muse and égérie, present in nearly all of his films). She is the sister of the local landowner who's hired Adelino as a jack-of-all-trades, and she is known for her independence, all the more defiant for the small-minded mentality of these superstitious rural places.

     Though Albertina does not enter the story until the film is two-thirds of the way through, it's her arrival that introduces into Mudar de Vida the notion of a noir melodrama that was merely hinted at in Os Verdes Anos, while highlighting the possibility that this could be a reverse-Stromboli - a tale of redemption seen from a male point of view. Adelino is, like Júlio or like Karin in Rossellini's film, chafing at the shackles society wants to put on him, and he has seen a better life than what his hometown can offer him. Albertina becomes his mirage, or the light at the end of his tunnel; whereas in his previous work Mr. Rocha paints a picture of a man heading down a claustrophobic spiral with no way out, here he builds towards a tentative hope, a possibility of starting anew and escaping the atavisms of a claustrophobic society.

     Mudar de Vida is a more successfully and conventionally narrative effort, less entropic than Os Verdes Anos, but also a work every bit the equal of that stunning debut. It also brings more clearly to the fore the themes of rural traditions and everyday tragedy that would reappear regularly towards the end of the director's thin, infrequent corpus of features. It also underlines the importance of location for Mr. Rocha's work - but it's safe to say that it also marks the end of one phase of his career: there would be a 15 year break between the release of Mudar de Vida and the Cannes reveal of the follow-up, the ambitious biography of poet Wenceslau de Moraes A Ilha dos Amores, by which time a lot had changed around him in Portugal.

(second of three, to be continued)

Portugal, 1966
94 minutes
Cast Geraldo d'el Rey, Isabel Ruth, Maria Barroso, João Guedes, Nunes Vidal, Mário Santos, Constança Navarro, José Braz
Director Paulo Rocha; screenwriters Mr. Rocha and António Reis; cinematographer Elso Roque (b&w); composer Carlos Paredes; art director Zéni d'Ovar; editors Margareta Mangs, Mr. Rocha and Noémia Delgado; producers Fernando Matos Silva, Manuel Bento and Helena Vasconcelos; production company Produções Cunha Telles
Screened May 6th 2015, Ideal, Lisbon (distributor press screening)

PAULO ROCHA : 50 ANOS DE CINEMA - teaser 2 from Midas Filmes on Vimeo.

Friday, May 15, 2015


The truth must come out. I did not "get" the late Paulo Rocha (1935-2012) at first.

     I couldn't, really; I could have only seen his first films on the occasional TV screening or at the Cinemateca Portuguesa, and I would have seen them "out of time" so to speak, but I was looking elsewhere at the time. So the first of his films I got to see "in time", when I was starting out as a cub reviewer, were his later, more baroque and less impressive works. That is why watching again his one-two punch of an opening gambit with 1963's Os Verdes Anos and 1966's Mudar de Vida packs such a wallop. In a country acclaimed around the world by its auteurs such as the late Manoel de Oliveira and the late João César Monteiro, that Mr. Rocha is not spoken of in the same tones, even if only for his first two features, is a wrong that needs to be righted.

     True: his career did not follow the same path of many of his contemporaries, with only nine, very uneven features spread out over 50 years, and a struggle to get them made that seemed to elude both Messrs. Oliveira and Monteiro once their 1980s/1990s heyday got going. But to watch today Os Verdes Anos and Mudar de Vida, gloriously restored (under the supervision of Pedro Costa) to the way they must have looked like when that first print was struck back in the 1960s, feels like finding long lost treasure. And the word should not be used lightly. Mr. Rocha may have never again found his way as clearly and as magnificently as he did in this first pair of pictures; and his final work, 2011's Se Eu Fosse Ladrão... Roubava, released concurrently with these two restored versions, is more interesting as a sort of film à clef than as a stand-alone picture. (More on that in a later posting.)

     This first flowering of his talent, though, is a magnificent reveal, suggesting an artist who arrives on the scene fully formed, dovetailing with the appearance of the short-lived "Cinema Novo" movement that mirrored the "new waves" sprouting all over the world. The "Cinema Novo" brought a true fresh breeze of modernism into the staid Portuguese milieu of the time, spearheaded by the work of producer António da Cunha Telles, who backed Os Verdes Anos as his first production.

     Os Verdes Anos is a time capsule of early 1960s Portugal under the pretense of a stylized romantic tragedy, a twist on the country-mouse-meets-city-mouse story, the old tale of the small-town rube learning to live in the big city. 19-year-old apprentice shoemaker Júlio (Rui Gomes) comes to Lisbon to earn a living and send money back to the family, under the aegis of his uncle Afonso (Paulo Renato), and becomes infatuated with Ilda (Mr. Rocha's muse and egerie, Isabel Ruth), a feisty live-in maid for a bourgeois couple living nearby.

     But it turns out that the the young man is seething with the sense of missing out on something - a sense that underlay, unspoken, the society of the time. Portugal in the early sixties is representes as a two-tier society - the haves and the have-nots, the masters and the servants, the elders and the youngsters, the elites and the rabble, enforced through a suffocating, greyish pressure. Stuck between his uncle's cynical, every-man-for-himself survivalism and his paramour's can-do pragmatism, Júlio finds himself chafing at the lack of opportunities the world has laid out for him.

     Shot in and around the iconic Avenida de Roma/Avenidas Novas area of Lisbon, then recently urbanised but still surrounded by landfills, plots of green and unzoned backyards, Os Verdes Anos also uses space as a signifier - how, even within the "new town" looking towards the feature, the presence of the countryside still encroaches, suggesting a country stuck in two gears, torn between looking back and moving forward. The architecture is here both promise and trap, just as Mr. Rocha's elegantly simple but never simplistic handling makes the whole thing even more affecting, reminding of Michelangelo Antonioni's studies in landscape and alienation.

     Could all of this have been visible, even understood, at the time? The dour tone of the plot, forcing the hapless Júlio into a desperate, catastrophic downward spiral, certainly had little to do with what was passing as homegrown filmmaking at the time. Yet, 50 years later, Os Verdes Anos remains a wondrous, touching film both of its time and of our time, especially in the beautifully restored black-and-white tones of Luc Mirot's contrasted cinematography.

(first of three, to be continued in Mudar de Vida)

Portugal, 1963
87 minutes
Cast Isabel Ruth, Rui Gomes, Alberto Ghira, Cândida Lacerda, Carlos José Teixeira, Harry Wheeland, Irene Dyne, Júlio Cleto, Manuel de Oliveira, Óscar Acúrcio, Ruy Furtado, Paulo Renato
Director Paulo Rocha; screenwriters Mr. Rocha and Nuno Bragança; cinematographer Luc Mirot (b&w); composer Carlos Paredes; production and costume designers Alda Cruz and Rafael Calado; editor Margareta Mangs; production company Produções Cunha Telles
Screened May 6th 2015, Ideal, Lisbon (distributor press screening) 

PAULO ROCHA : 50 ANOS DE CINEMA - teaser 3 from Midas Filmes on Vimeo.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

Force Majeure

Ruben Östlund is a tricky, shifty fellow. With his fourth feature, Force Majeure (released in Sweden as Turist), he unleashes an emotional avalanche that forces everyone, on-screen and looking at it, to ask hard questions about contemporary society, about all the stuff that is supposed to regulate our social compact with the world we live in.

     Guess what? No one gets out of this unscathed. Especially not Tomas and Ebba (Johannes Bah Kuhnke and Lisa Loven Kongsli), the well-off bourgeois couple whose dream vacation on a French ski resort unravels from a single unexpected moment neither of them thought would ever come to pass. Mr. Östlund's film is not so much scripted or directed as it is exactingly set up, displayed and deployed. It's a laboratorial experiment made feature film, placing seemingly innocuous lab rats inside a carefully controlled environment: in this case a modern bourgeois nuclear family and a perfectly designed resort where nothing is expected to go wrong, shot in long takes that keep the human factor perfectly framed within a series of corridors and glossily alluring surfaces.

     Into this uneasy combination of theme park and Kubrickian hotel (yes, you cannot not think of The Shining), shot with a piercingly attentive camera, Mr. Östlund drops the bomb, like one of the Jurassic Park dinosaurs escaping their enclosure: an avalanche that seems to threaten the lives of the holiday-makers congregating on the outside terrace restaurant. Tomas' reaction is unexpectedly to flee for safety entirely disregarding wife and kids. From the initial unease about the incident - not so much a close call as a false alarm, a big scare that reminds everyone there's no such thing as a risk-averse environment - the observation of the subjects' reaction can begin.

     Mr. Östlund mercilessly leads us through the progressive cracks Tomas' attitude opens in his relationship, while launching a thought experiment-cum-investigation of the central tenets of modern-day social contracts that leaves no stone unturned and no viewer unmoved (whether for bad or for good). That Mr. Östlund's hyper-precise formalism, halfway between glacial Kubrickianism and the sly satire of the modern Austrians (halfway between Haneke and Hausler), and his no-nonsense narration does not fall into dry, distastefulness comes from his commitment to the actors, who energize the entire concept with powerful performances that humanize the characters and create the necessary empathy for Force Majeure to make its insidious way in. So insidious, in fact, that as the film arrives at its pithy, twisty epilogue, you realise the answers to the questions it asks remain pretty much open-ended, and its central issue may never be resolved to everyone's content.

     This isn't a film; it's a slow-release truth serum that keeps working in your mind long after the screening ends.

Sweden, France, Norway, Denmark, 2014
120 minutes
Cast Johannes Bah Kuhnke, Lisa Loven Kongsli, Clara Wettergren, Vincent Wettergren, Kristofer Hivju, Fanni Metelius, Karin Myrenberg Faber, Brady Corbet, Johannes Moustos
Director and screenwriter Ruben Östlund; cinematographer Fredrik Wenzel (colour, widescreen); composer Ola Fløttum; designer Josefin Åsberg; costumes Pia Aleborg; editors Mr. Östlund and Jacob Secher Schulsinger; producers Erik Hemmendorff, Marie Kjellson and Philippe Bober; production companies Plattform Produktion in co-production with Film i Väst, Rhône-Alpes Cinéma, Société Parisienne de Production, Coproduction Office and Motlys
Screened April 26th 2015, Lisbon (distributor DVD screener)

Trailer FORCE MAJEURE from Coproduction Office on Vimeo.

Sunday, May 10, 2015


What makes a documentary a documentary? Why is it so many people still have trouble thinking of it as a genre of filmmaking every bit the equal of narrative fictional cinema? The question must be asked here, because Jorge Pelicano's third feature hovers uneasily between different conceptions of the documentary for different audiences, almost as if it's not sure which path to take.

     In Pára-me de Repente o Pensamento, Mr. Pelicano clearly uses a bag of cinematic tricks to reach the greatest possible audience - artful editing, wide screen visuals, carefully composed pictures, floating layered typography. It may seem somewhat picky or unfair to point this out, and in itself there are no problems with using these elements if they make sense within the stylistic plan of the film. But ultimately they're surplus to requirements in a film whose strengths lie in the empathetic observation of its subjects: the inmates of the Conde Ferreira psychiatric hospital in Oporto.

     The former TV news cameraman manages to meld almost effortlessly with them, allowing them to exist as human beings in their own time and space; here, their difference does not set them apart, it makes them more "like us", painting the hospital as a mirror of a larger society. Had this been all of the film, then Pára-me de Repente o Pensamento would have been a good documentary; the problem is there's more to the story.

     Mr. Pelicano also accompanies actor Miguel Borges, who comes to live inside the hospital for a two-week residency, workshopping with the inmates and researching a character. Within the closed world of the hospital, the director captures a sense of equality and equanimity that the arrival of this "intruder" disrupts: by training his camera on Mr. Borges as an alternate "guide" that will allow us to further understand the inmates, he merely makes them recede, by underlining again their difference.

     Once the actor - a "sane" person researching what "insanity" is - is part of the mix, the film reinstates the difference between "us" and "them", "sane" and "insane". And in so doing, it reasserts its doubt about what kind of documentary wants to be: one that is true to its subjects, or one that wants to also reach a wider audience? Does it want its piece of cake regardless of whether it eats it, or does it want to both have it and eat it? In this particular case, that indecision is fatal to a film that has many good elements and a sympathetic, well-meaning can-do attitude.

Portugal, 2014
100 minutes
Director and cinematographer Jorge Pelicano; film editors Pedro Mouzinho and Mr. Pelicano; producers Renata Amaro and Rosa Teixeira da Silva; production company Até ao Fim do Mundo
Screened October 17th 2014, Lisbon (DocLisboa 2014 advance screener)

Pára-me de repente o pensamento - Trailer oficial from Até ao Fim do Mundo on Vimeo.

Thursday, May 07, 2015


Swedish filmmaker Göran Hugo Olsson delves again into the treasure trove that are the bottomless archives of Swedish television and comes back up with a series of time capsules about the anti-colonial movements of 1960s and 1970s Africa. He then fashions them into a "film-tract", or film à thèse, simultaneously illuminated and subtitled by the writings of the controversial Martinican thinker Frantz Fanon (1925-1961), especially his "magnum opus" The Wretched of the Earth.

     Articulated into "nine scenes of the anti-imperialist self-defense" using footage shot by Swedish television crews in Angola, Rhodesia (modern-day Zimbabwe), Liberia, Tanzania, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau during their "wars of independence", Mr. Olsson creates a thoughtful and though-provoking mosaic of montage that travels along parallel paths of context and revelation. As read by American singer Lauryn Hill, the words of Mr. Fanon supply historical context to the independence movements that aimed at liberating these countries from their exploration by the colonial mentality, while at the same time pulling the camera back to show the larger picture of colonial capitalism.

     The formal playfulness of Concerning Violence appears to loop in on itself: the footage becomes almost an illustration or commentary of the thinker's writings, but at the same time the words turn out to become a diagnostic tool for what ailed Africa and led it to what it is today as shown by the pictures. What Mr. Olsson does, forcefully if not subtly but with great power,  is to point out just how the blithe disregard of the colonialists for the long-term consequences of their actions have played out over the years, how the repercussions of colonial capitalism are still resonating nowadays, not just in Africa but all over the world.

     And while the answer at the time this footage was shot seemed to be violence, the film both asks what came out of choosing it as the only answer, and if it can be the only answer to similar situations - because Mr. Fanon's words about colonial capitalism seem to apply equally strongly to post-colonial, global capitalism and the world we live in. This makes Concerning Violence simultaneously a conceptual piece and a political primer that asks its viewers to engage in what it is talking about while giving back to them in spades something to chew on, agree or disagree.

Sweden, USA, Denmark, Finland, 2014
85 minutes
Director Göran Hugo Olsson; text excerpts from Frantz Fanon's book The Wretched of the Earth read by Lauryn Hill; art director Stefania Malmsten; film editors Michael Aaglund, Dino Jonsåter, Mr. Olsson and Sophie Vukovic; composer Neo Muyanga; producers Annika Rogell and Tobias Janson; production companies Story in co-production with Louverture Films, Final Cut For Real, Helsinki Filmi and Sveriges Television
Screened December 2nd 2014, Lisbon (Porto/Post/Doc screener)