Review: Edinburgh International Film Festival

A first glance at the brochure for this year’s EIFF gave the impression that there's a lot of bleak filmmaking going on at the moment. There have been several mentions at more than one Festival that material conceived during the pandemic lockdown is now coming to light, just as we recently (allegedly) saw the effects on results of school exams for students who started their GCSE journeys during COVID. Perhaps it's the nature of Arthouse film festivals to examine the darker side of humanity. It could be said that those who contrast shadows with light make better films. So, let's see. 

Best Boy 

Whatever you think of warnings, Best Boy had so much content that, if you’re looking for traumatic reaction, triggers are guaranteed. A film that unearths childhood traumas then racks them up after the father has died is then made worse when these less-than-funny games are carried out on the premise that “This is what Dad would want” – a concept as fucked up as the original abuse the father apparently meted out on his ‘boys.’ Given one of the siblings is actually female (dad only wanted boys) there may be a hint of satire in this, as Emma Boa (Festival Producer) suggests in the brochure. But there wasn’t much laughter at the press screening. A tough watch, and not the only film in the festival to feature a major conflagration.

(That said, here’s our preview of Harvest that was recently shown in Filmhouse…) 

Hysteria

A film that started and ended with fire, Hysteria delved into meta-territory given the first inferno was contrived as part of a film set. When the ‘extras’ were brought on to react to this scene, a burnt Qur’an creates a reaction that reverberates through both films. A young intern working alongside the director of the film within finds herself trying to navigate her way through the passage between sensitivity and hysteria. But a series of mysterious occurrences leave a plot as twisty as a Michael Haneke script, giving the lead character more questions than her experience or knowledge is able to answer.

As it says as the start of Haneke’s great film The White Ribbon: “I don't know if the story I want to tell you is entirely true … a lot of it is still obscure, and many questions remain unanswered” – Hysteria also leaves us with questions, not answers – except to assure us (in the credits) that no Qur’an was burnt during the making of the film. Which is hardy the point and seems as bland a disclaimer as those which state no animals were harmed, or that everything is fictional.

Wasn't it Picasso who said Art is a lie that helps us understand the truth?

On The Sea. 

Another film that created lots of questions was about a muscle farmer ‘Jack’ who appears to be happily married, while his teenage son is busy discovering the opposite sex – euphemistically ‘studying’ with local girl, Lois. The hard-working father finds himself mysteriously drawn towards his own gender when a casual worker comes to help with the harvest.

Early on in the film we learn that Jack has been on remission for three years, although we never learn from what, nor are we told what the strange ‘bite-mark’ scar is on his abdomen. When he forms a bond with fisherman Daniel, and they go out on an unplanned trip, the boat’s name is ASK ME. And so, we are left with many questions. The nature of this illicit affair, based on minimal relationship, maximum sex appeal, soon leaks into the backwater town.

Questions remain as he pays another visit to his G.P. Furthermore, how can his wife suspect anything unless Jack has a past? She asks “Were there others” – he says no. Were there other clues? It seems they were buried early on in the marriage. Was Jack simply curious? Or was he closeted in a closed community? Daniel tells him, “Everyone has a choice. You either live a lie, or you don’t.” Sadly, things are not so simple, and he is ostracised and cast out. Thankfully, the son’s girlfriend, Lois, offers the only olive branch: this young woman giving at least a little optimism. Then the doctor calls… 

Little Trouble Girls

Less generous towards youthful behaviour was Little Trouble Girls, a coming-of-age tale where a choir outing for a bunch of teenage girls goes awry. The description had a strong hint of Alan Warner’s The Sopranos about it, which begs the same question we posed last year: should you read the book before seeing the film? In the case of this reviewer, the book was too good to bother with the film version Our Ladies but there must have been similar elements.

After all, there’s only so much you can do with the concept of a choral retreat with an odd but enthusiastic choirmaster, a gaggle of sex-obsessed sixteen-year-olds, in a convent of nuns dutifully resisting temptation while employing a posse of construction workers who disturb rehearsals in more ways than one. Add to this a puritanical mother of the ingenue who just joined the choir and finds herself among some pretty precocious girls, it sets the ball rolling (or the bottle spinning) for some tricky truths, and a surreal dare.

While young Lucia is less enlightened than her mentor, Ana-Maria, she nevertheless sees more than the more experienced girls. We’re not talking about vocal prowess, although there was some good, gutsy Slovenian singing of mainly a-capella folk-based music. A little too good given Lucia only recently joined the choir, but when the choirmaster turns on her (for no good reason, given he’d offered her a listening ear beyond his musical duties) she inevitably falters.

At this point the strong themes of the film diminuendo, and the metaphors of blending (socially) harmony (happiness) ensemble (peer relations) and dynamics (power struggle) fall apart. There’s no need to spoil any plot, since there is little. With hints of everything from Céline Sciamma’s Water Lilies to Cruel Intentions, the drama concludes in some strange Pasolini-like baptism scene while the film ends with a tacky pop song, a cop-out far from the raunchy singing from earlier. 

It’s a beautifully shot film, with moments of subtle tension, but nothing can match Warner’s dynamic novel about choirgirls behaving badly.

A film review that recommends a novel instead? Well, this is the Literary Salon. 

The Wind That Shakes the Barley

Let’s take a break from reviews and ask a pub-quiz question: who wrote the book on which Ken Loach based his 1976 film Kes? While you scribble your answers on a postcard, we’ll look at one highlight of this year’s EIFF: a trio of film legends, Ken Loach, Paul Laverty, and Rebecca O’Brien.

In a wide-ranging discussion between Director, Writer, and Producer this interview naturally tackled the politics behind the filmmaking that has spanned Loach’s long career. While he noted, with reference to his walking stick, that old age has finally caught up with him, he hasn’t lost any of the passion and anger that has driven him to make such provocative films. However, he points out that the most important thing about making films is not the how but why.

While the starting point of a film is in the writer’s mind, before that there is the shared eagerness to touch on the core and contradictions of how society is organised. Many may view his work as didactic, yet the point of a good film is to simply tell the truth: “If you tell the story there’s no need to make a speech.”

The discussion included film clips such as the heart-rending food bank scene from I, Daniel Blake, a film that went beyond the cinema and into the public domain, as distributors made community screenings possible. People who wouldn’t normally go to the pictures got to see this important work and, according to Loach, the discussions afterwards were electric.

We also saw a clip from The Angel’s Share which demonstrated that, beside the dark subject matter in many of these films there is a vital contrast with humour. Nevertheless, the film chosen to represent Loach’s oeuvre was a screening of The Wind That Shakes the Barley – charting the inception of the Irish troubles, possibly one of his bleakest films. And yet, quoting singer Paul Robeson, Ken Loach reminded us that “Artists are the guardians of truth, the conscience of civilisation.”

A tall responsibility this great filmmaker has never shirked from, and remains true to, despite his apparent retirement from cinema.

Dragonfly

With two more films that demonstrate the difference between shadows and light, Dragonfly first was firmly from the camp of gritty British drama. As well as the dark themes that emerged during COVID, this film was written with lockdown restrictions in mind: two main characters forming a bubble – or, more accurately, an unnatural bond. It was a stroke of luck, given the film was only made last year, that Brenda Blethyn had finished her TV role of Vera and was keen to play the part of aged Elsie who is befriended by a seemingly wayward neighbour, Colleen, played by Andrea Riseborough.

After the screening, Director Paul Andrew Williams said how he based the characters on his nan and on others he observed, and then “improvised on the page” (a great tactic for writers) while Brenda Blethyn noted how she and Andrea had been in Mike Leigh films and had “done their homework.” These lonely, isolated women (and accompanying ‘difficult’ dog) then play to the audience’s prejudices. Despite some moments of lightness, the tension is palpable.

The shocking ending (no spoilers here) is entirely character-led, with Elsie’s mainly absent son setting a tragic course of actions purely because he wants the best for his mum. Paul Ridd (Festival Director) mentioned how this low-budget film ticks the boxes of a classic British drama and yet speaks to the present. Yet again, films that are neither didactic nor answer all questions are the ones that tell the best stories, and this is very much a tale of our times. 

Misper

In the case of Misper, the gap in the story was the vehicle for some absurd and very British humour. The film’s title is an expression used by police to describe a ‘missing person’ case. While this scenario – a young woman who works in an empty, backwater hotel in a fictional coastal resort is abducted and killed – is horrific, it’s the darkly humorous reactions of the hotel staff that make the tragedy so realistic.

The current obsession with true crime podcasts is wholly passed over, with little explanation of the abduction story; instead, the drama is straight from the Mike Leigh school of awkward silences. Actors improvising reactions and scenes lead to lines as deadpan as “thank you for the biscuits,” encapsulating the mundanity of existence amidst the horrors of life.

This was a great ensemble piece, even though all the characters were so alone. The balance of comic tone, without taking the piss, was a perfect depiction of how people don’t know how to cope with tragedy on a personal level, while prurience leads people to ogle and rubberneck at others’ misfortunes.

The Golden Squacco Heron, The Golden Spurtle, The Golden Hours

We end with three golden delights, and two films that – unusually in the EIFF brochure – required no content warnings. As part of The Thelma Schoonmaker Prize screening was a short film where two former childhood friends search for the fabled Golden Squacco Heron. This whimsical piece directed by Edward Smyth was a delightful feast of fun and games, although the Prize went to an equally surreal short film titled Mother Goose, in which fattening a goose for Christmas had its consequences.

Finally, The Golden Spurtle  was a feel-good film that had solid (well, not too solid) Scottish connections and ticked a major box for us. Tracy Griffen, fitness guru, good friend of the Salon, writes for The Leither and, unbeknown to us, had participated several times in the World Porridge Making Championship. Directed by her fellow Australian, Constantine Costi, it also featured chef Toby Wilson who was from Tracy’s hometown, proving there are fewer degrees of separation between anyone from Edinburgh and the rest of the world.

A porridge-making documentary may seem niche, but there was a cinema full of smiling faces even when the audience wasn’t laughing out loud. The warm glow of this oaty dish served as a metaphor of the effect of this bizarre story where people from far and wide descend on the village of Carrbridge every October to make the perfect porridge (the criteria being taste, colour, texture) and win the coveted golden spurtle trophy.

Everyone who was interviewed – including Tracy and her now even more famous fitness pug, Coco, who made it onto the poster – was a ‘character’ in both senses, and the mixture of hilariously mundane and outrageously eccentric ensured the audience were laughing with, not at, everyone in the film, from the semi-serious judges to the occasionally frivolous contestants.

Shot in 4:3 ratio, this was like an old school TV documentary in which quirky depictions of the train station, village hall, church, and other quaint locations contrasted with shots of the locale, suburban Australia, and even Pilrig Park (with Tracy, plus the front of her fitness studio on Dalmeny Street) all of which gave the piece a unique and heartfelt aesthetic. Added to which Simon Bruckard's music got the tone just right.

As the director told us, there was so much material with such wonderful people, it wasn’t even important to know who won the competition. Luckily, it was one of the featured characters. Spoiling the plot would hardly be a crime either, although sadly our Tracy didn’t make it to the final round this year. That said, she has in previous years, so maybe the Golden Spurtle will find its way to Leith. However, as with all the films, a question remained since the Chief organiser, Charlie Miller, was hanging up his wooden stirrer for the final time…

Tracy Griffen, with Director, Constantine Conti and Producer, Rebecca Lamond

The Golden Spurtle is on general release from 12 September. This year’s competition takes place on 4 October and will be livestreamed from Carrbridge to Griffen Fitness, 3 Balfour Street, Leith, EH6 5BY

We hope you have enjoyed reading about these films. This is a golden opportunity for you to help fund Edinburgh Literary Salon by purchasing one (or both) of our new writing anthologies, including The Golden Hours. Or buy us a coffee that doesn't need stirred with a spurtle – golden or otherwise!