‘I don’t hold a grudge’
If you want to watch this week’s less popular streaming pass, scroll down toNew Directions: 20 Years of Young German Cinema” is a free online series organized by the Goethe-Institut.
Among the gems of the lineup is No Hard Feelings, a bittersweet queer romance by Iranian-German filmmaker Faraz Shariat. Purvis (Benjamin Rajaipur), a young gay man and son of an Iranian exile in Germany, lives a proud and carefree life. When we first met him playing Vogue at a nightclub, his bleached blonde hair and white mesh top were strobing his lights. Later, when a man he met on a dating app makes racist remarks, the unruly Purvis puts him in his shoes, says, “I’m not into schoolboy Clout,” and walks away.
But Purvis’ confident sense of belonging is destabilized when he is assigned community service at a refugee detention center, and two newly arrived asylum seekers from Iran, Amon (Aidin Jalali), and his sister Bana (Banahshe Holmazdi). With Purvis and Amon beginning to fall in love and Bana on the brink of deportation, Purvis takes into account all the similarities and differences he has with her new companion.
Heartbreaking and heartwarming, “No Hard Feelings” offers profound insight with a breezy pop sensibility. Shariat’s characters may struggle with instability and prejudice, but the director doesn’t deny they have queer pleasures, with bright pastel colors, sun-soaked sensual scenes, Captured in a music video style montage.
This Malayalam mafia epic begins with a brave long take. The camera winds its way through the rooms and corridors of the crowded house, plunging us in and out of lost, intriguing conversations before entering Sulaiman’s (Fahad Faasir) office. A grizzled gang determined to make their way and embark on a pilgrimage to Mecca. This shot sets the scene for Mahesh Narayanan’s dense and breathtaking thriller. A repentant Sulaiman is arrested when he tries to board a plane, and the police enlist his 17-year-old nephew, Freddy (Sanal Aman), to kill him secretly in prison. As the young man ponders this dreadful task, various relatives tell him the bloody tale of Sulaiman’s rise from being the son of a poor teacher to becoming the righteous protector of a poor Muslim and Christian coastal village. I will visit
A mob movie mixed with Greek tragedy, Malik gives viewers a moral test. With each new puzzle piece of Suleiman’s expansive backstory revealed, the film explores whether his noble purpose—uplifting an oppressed community—justifies his vengeful means. But “Malik” also invites us to broaden our lens beyond individual actions to indict the system as a whole. Set against the backdrop of wider historical events in India, including the religious riots of 2002 and his 2004 tsunami, the film makes a bold statement against an opportunistic politician who stirs up internal hostility for his own selfish ends. developed as a critique.
An unsettling Gothic tale about a black maid and her white employer, Jenna Kate Bass’s “Good Madame,” exposes how South Africa’s apartheid past continues to haunt today. . Aging Mavis (Nosifo Mtebe) has spent most of her life as a live-in housekeeper for a woman named Diane, but Mavis’ daughter Tzidi (Chumitha Khosa) lives in poverty and lives in her home. I was raised by my grandmother. As the film begins, Tiddy arrives at Diane’s house with her young daughter, evicted from her family home after the death of her grandmother.
An eerie air permeates the house from the start. There’s a dead dog that seems to come to life, and malice oozes from colonial relics on the walls. Then there’s Mavis’ overly demeaning behavior towards bedridden Diane, an unseen entity hiding behind a closed door. Is Mavis’ enslavement, which Tsidi finds ridiculously obsolete, the result of some kind of evil spell, or the result of decades of racist indoctrination? “Good Madam,” reimagined as the magic of , squeezes plenty of chills out of this central mystery, turning Mavis’ scrubbing and cleaning sounds into a terrifying refrain.
A coming-of-age drama about a tough kid in a rundown neighborhood, “Beast City” lacks both the sensationalism and sentimentalism that usually plague the “Slumdog” genre. Instead, a rare kindness flows through Henry E. Rincon’s feature centered around Tato (Brian Cordova), a 17-year-old delinquent living in Medellin, Colombia.
When Tato’s mother died, Tato was forced to fend for himself in the city’s rugged streets. Struggling to rake in money while avoiding the wrath of the local gang, our hero leaves town to take refuge with a grandfather he’s never met. Octavio (Oscar Ateholtua), an old flower farmer in the countryside, takes care of Tato. Together they till the earth, staring at the horizon, and at the end of the day, Octavio gives Tato a large sum of cash and a valuable life lesson. “Work is sacred.”
Even when Tato returns to Medellín, this moving portrait of intergenerational male affection grounds the film, and the plot takes several tragic turns. Never lose sight of your thirst for
A multi-layered drama about a Korean theater troupe rehearsing a play in Greece, Park Ogi’s debut could be described as the sinister cousin of “Drive My Car.” Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s Oscar-winning drama turned the theatrical production process into a fertile ground for personal and philosophical rumination, but “Clytaemnestra” offers a more raunchy and cynical behind-the-scenes narrative, directing and acting emerge as despotic power plays.
An acclaimed (and obscure) director brings five actresses from Seoul to his Greek home for a production workshop on Aeschylus’ Agamemnon. The women are friendly, but the director’s method of bullying involves raucous yelling and detailed questions about the actress’s private trauma. Contending for the role of Clytemnestra, the queen who murders Cassandra.
As expected, the line between performance and reality begins to blur, but “Clytaemnestra” achieves something much sharper than simple allegory. Park choreographs austere, understated rehearsal sequences against a dramatic history-filled backdrop (one scene takes place at the Theater of Dionysus), ironically shattering the director’s assumption of grandeur. While the characters berate actors for not getting their originals right, Park argues that the impulses that underlie even classic tragedies are far more crude and mundane than we might imagine. It shows what it is.