'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close' Berlinale (Out of Competition) review:

Who knew 9/11 could throw up so much potential for whimsy? Adapted from Jonathan Safran Foer's best-selling novel, 'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close' is the story of how the tragic events of that day cure a boy's autism. That's really pretty much what happens, as nine year-old protagonist Oskar Schell (Thomas Horn) goes on a life-affirming quest to find out why terrorists blew up his super-swell father (Tom Hanks).

Of course this being an Eric Roth ('Forest Gump', 'Benjamin Button') screenplay, Oskar's disarming sincerity and can-do attitude ensure that he heals the gaping emotional wounds in everyone he meets - and he meets everyone with the surname "Black" in the New York City phone book, incidentally fixing marriages and mending souls as he goes. Black is the only word on an envelope in which Oskar finds a mysterious key belonging to his late father - a key he hopes will unlock some powerful nuggets of truth, but which'll most likely be for a back door or bleeding a radiator, or something.

He is buoyed in his quest early on by a friendly old man at a key cutting shop who - in a line recalling Gump's famed box o' chocolates - says that he likes keys because they all unlock something. Yes, I'm afraid that is the acidic taste of sick in your mouth. He is also helped by his walkie talkie wielding Germanic grandmother (Zoe Caldwell) and her mute house guest, with "yes" and "no" tattoos on the palms of his hands - I told you this was whimsical. He's also apparently aided in a clandestine fashion by his mostly absent mother (Sandra Bullock), the reveal for which is so far-fetched it makes the rest of the film seem grounded. Bear in mind that "the rest of the film" in this case includes the making of a 9/11 pop-up book.

I haven't even mentioned Tom Hanks' wacky antics in the frequent backflash scenes, because I don't want to relive them. As "the renter", Max von Sydow (who has received an Oscar nomination) is the film's clear (for "clear" read "only") highlight. It's not without emotionally distressing moments, but those stem more from being reminded of the horror of 9/11 than anything the movie is doing. In fact it's own attempts to wring tears from the tragedy feel crass and exploitative. The only noteworthy thing about 'Extremely Loud' is that Stephen Daldry has made perhaps the worst film in recent memory to be nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards.

'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close' is released in the UK tomorrow, rated '12A' by the BBFC.

'Just the Wind' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Reminiscent of last year's equally bleak and gritty Albania-set 'The Forgiveness of Blood', Hungarian film 'Just the Wind' - or 'Csak a Szél' - is similarly about a rural family living under the threat of violence. But whereas that other film was focussed on the entirely regionally specific problem of inter-familial blood feuds, Bence Fliegauf's film concerns the murder of Romani families - with gypsies being massacred in the night by shotgun wielding thugs out of centuries old prejudice. An opening paragraph tells us that the events of this film, though fictionalised, are based on actual recent anti-gypsy attacks in Hungary. Again like 'Forgiveness' this is a very carefully researched and authentic feeling piece.

It's set over a single day in which we follow a middle-aged mother Mari (Katalin Toldi) and her two children - teenage Anna (Gyongyi Lendvai) and younger brother Rio (Lajos Sarkany) - as they go about their regular business under the shadow of recent violence and suspicion within their own community. Rio seems lazy as he sleeps in to avoid school, but he's really just too worried to be on the streets - spending his day hiding in the nearby trees and stealing supplies for an emergency hideout. Anna sees school as an escape and a means to learn English, the dream being to join her father in Canada. Mari, the breadwinner, is far too busy to worry about anything in between working two cleaning jobs and tending to her ailing father.

All three encounter prejudice and kindness from outsiders. Anna is neglected by her teacher, who encourages other students to pay attention but seems oblivious to her lying face-down on the desk. Yet she also knows people who admire her drawings, trading make-up for her tattoo designs. Mari is given a bag of new clothes for her children by one sympathetic boss, though another disrespects her and implies that she smells. Rio, whilst in hiding, bears witness to the most astounding prejudice of all as he hears one police officer tell another that recent gypsy attacks have been - to some extent - justified.

This rural cop startles his colleague from the city, bemoaning the fact that gypsy children grow up and he doesn't come far short of endorsing future killings of families, suggesting he could show gangs where the worst families live. As with the other examples, this scene is balanced by the other cop who is horrified to encounter such a mentality within the police. It's these moments that prevent the film from suggesting Hungarian society is completely prejudiced. The thugs clearly represent a vocal minority and are acting on many of the lazy stereotypes we hear cited throughout the movie. Ironically, these murderers want to kill gypsies whose dream is to leave the country anyway.

In terms of examining the Romani people's status in this community, the richest scene involves Anna being present in a school locker room as another girl - a pale-skinned western European - is sexually assaulted (possibly raped). The victim of the attack never calls to her, the attackers clearly don't see her as a witness to their crime or as another potential victim, and Anna does nothing - this is not a society in which she feels like, or is treated as, an equal participant. A nuanced and well-paced film that leads to an incredibly tense finale, 'Just the Wind' is one of the best of this year's Berlinale.

'Postcards From the Zoo' Berlinale (Competition) review:

The quirky Indonesian feature 'Kebun Binatang' - or 'Postcards From the Zoo' - is a disarming and beautifully shot competition oddity from a mono-monikered director known as Edwin. In it a young girl named Lana, played with great charm by Ladya Cheryl, spends her formative years living alongside the animals in the confines of Jakarta zoo, where she obsesses over the solitary giraffe. She doesn't work there but lives with a band of misfits on the premises until one day she is asked to leave by the zoo authorities.

She then joins up with a magical (possibly imaginary) cowboy (Nicholas Saputra) who teaches this naïve and entirely passive spirit about magic. She becomes her assistant until, one day, he disappears from her life just as suddenly as he entered it and Lana (nonplussed as ever) embarks on a new phase of her life as a prostitute in a gentleman's sauna. Wearing the number "33" and viewed from behind one-way glass by the establishment's clientele, Lana is evidently now living out her life in much the same way as the giraffe she recites facts about endlessly.

Though there are undoubtedly many ways to interpret this elliptical, metaphorical journey - on a personal and societal level - for me the most compelling reading (at least that I've thought of) frames it as a tale about the nature of viewer complicity. The magician ceases to exist after she first enters the seedy world of the sauna-brothel: has the innocence (and audience engagement) that requires magic to work left her at this point? Likewise aren't we all complicit in the morally questionable practise of keeping of exotic animals in captivity, subsidising this industry whenever we visit a zoo? I know I'm guilty of this.

But most profoundly I felt this theme resonate strongly through a scene in which a customer asks Lana to change clothes (into a skin-tight leopard suit, no less). Here she tells the man not to look at her, but he does anyway as soon as her back is turned. But as we judge him for his voyeurism it dawns on us that we are also watching her undress, perpetuating this violent cycle of endless leering.

'Tabu' Berlinale (Competition) review:

After a week of films that have only occasionally dipped their toes in the shallow end of decent, Portuguese colonial love story 'Tabu' is the first in this year's competition that I would describe as unequivocally brilliant. Director Miguel Gomes divides his highly stylised tale into two parts presented in reverse chronological order, with the first ("a paradise lost") showing the lonely, paranoid final years of a bitter old woman living in Lisbon, frittering away her savings through compulsive gambling.

Aurora (Laura Soveral) is losing her marbles, convinced that her African maid, Santa (Isabel Cardoso), is out to get her and trusting only her nurturing, perennially concerned Polish neighbour Pilar (Teresa Madruga). This chapter of the movie is told from the introverted Pilar's perspective, with Aurora a sad and desperate figure, separated from a distant daughter who seems to pay her no attention. It ends with the old lady dying and Pilar coming into contact with her former lover, Ventura (Henrique Espirito Santo) who, over coffee, narrates the second chapter ("paradise"), shedding light on their doomed love affair as care-free youngsters living a decadent existence in a then-thriving African colony.

It's here that the film really springs into life as we begin to understand more about the sad story behind the difficult and slightly unlikable lady of the earlier scenes. In this sunnier part of the film Aurora - heiress to a colonial fortune and world famous big game hunter - is played by the dazzlingly pretty Ana Moreira and Ventura - a well travelled lothario and successful rock and roll drummer - is portrayed by the charismatic Carloto Cotta. The whole thing is narrated, without any dialogue between characters, as old Ventura recounts how he fell in love with Aurora even as she was pregnant by her husband. They try to do the "decent" thing and go their separate ways, yet it's far too painful and they come back together with disastrous results.

Despite the fact the entire film is black and white, framed in a 4:3 aspect ratio, a lot of it reminded me of the hyper-colourful films of Wes Anderson: with Portuguese language cover versions of 60s popular songs, childlike romanticism of the colonial spirit of adventure, characters with obscure quasi-celebrity status, and a highly precise sense of composition. Funny, bizarre, imaginative, unique, and emotional in that way that hits the hairs on the back of your neck - I'll be surprised if this festival goes on to present a better film than 'Tabu'.

'Home for the Weekend' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Another warmly received German competition entrant, 'Was Bleibt' - which translates literally as "what remains", but given the far sappier English title 'Home for the Weekend' - is a quietly effective examination of how one family falls apart during a routine get together. However much they lie to one another and retreat behind false jollity, each person has significant problems - be they financial, medical or of the heart.

Berlin-based writer Marko (Lars Eidinger) is struggling to spend time with his son Zowie (Egon Merten) after separating from his wife - though he makes excuses for her absence, keeping his family in the dark. Jakob (Sebastian Zimmler) puts on a superior attitude, as the responsible, attentive son, yet his dental practice - paid for by his father Gunter (Ernst Stotzner) - is on the verge of bankruptcy. A fact he doesn't even tell his wife Ella (Picco von Groote), who in turn feels disrespected and kept at a distance.

Over the weekend all of these traumas come to the fore after Marko and Jakob's manic depressive mother
Gitte (Corinna Harfouch) discloses that she has not been taking her medication for some time and has no plans to do so. The family is divided over how to proceed, fearing violent mood swings if they talk openly in front of Gitte. This exacerbates her own feelings of isolation and threatens her will to live. When she goes for an early morning drive alone and does not return the family begin to fear the worst, intensifying their internal feud and hastening the airing of grievances.

Director Hans-Christian Schmid handles this potentially sombre story a deceptive lightness of touch, the film being peppered with smile-raising moments which enliven the kitchen sink drama. As it stands it's one of the most purely watchable films of the competition here.

'Sister' Berlinale (Competition) review:

Set in the Swiss alps, 'E'enfant D'en Haut' - which carries the English title 'Sister' - is about a young boy called Simon (Kacey Mottet Klein) who escapes his grim life in a tower block by spending his days in the affluent mountain ski resort above, where he steals expensive ski equipment to sell on to local kids. Director Ursula Meier's film has a strong undercurrent of grim socio-economic reality behind it, however it's also lyrical and occasionally whimsical - as Simon strikes the pose of a flush, big-time hustler to great comic effect.

Going by the name Julian in the world above, he wears sunglasses whilst dining on fries in the restaurant, mingling casually with upper class patrons - who include serial stilted Brit impersonator Gillian Anderson. In the world below he uses money earnt from selling on stolen goods in order to support his frequently absent older sister - as played with great sensitivity by the coma-inducingly beautiful Lea Séydoux.

Beautifully filmed by Claire Denis' regular DP Agnès Godard, 'Sister' is tragic in its depiction of a situation in which a desperate child is ultimately forced to barter with his only relative for even the slightest expression of affection. Simon is a likeable kid whose one means of escape is not only criminal but destined to be short-lived: the ski season does not last forever and nor can his mischievous hijinks.

'Captive' Berlinale (Competition) review:

If this was made ten years ago 'Captive' would have felt like a shrill, pernicious little piece of reactionary Islamophobia. Coming a decade after the events of 9/11, as tempers cool, it seems all the more unnecessary and unwelcome. In it a group of middle class French tourists - headed up French star Isabelle Huppert - are abducted from their luxury Philippine resort by a group of muslim fundamentalists who seek to use them as leverage to make political demands from the government. They are ruthless to a man, bumping off any who are not worth much in ransom, beheading them and then laughing about it, firing their rifles into the air and shouting "praise be to Allah". They are cartoon villains and lack even genuine spiritual conviction.

They preach at their captives constantly, telling them about the laws of the Qur'an even as they make a mockery of them: for instance, it cuts to one man stealing a hostage's watch as the prisoners are told not to take things that don't belong to them. They also force female captives to marry them in order to have sex with virgins without offending religious tradition. The events of the film are set during 2001, so we are even shown them celebrating 9/11 to the horror of the westerners, who instantly understand the event's significance based on few details. In reality the enormity of those events needed time to sink in, even with access to the shocking images on live television.

Kidnappings such as these - as happen frequently in South America, Africa and Asia - are an interesting and frightening prospect, certainly worthy of an interesting and insightful film. Though this feels like white post-colonial panic. You could say these terrorists happen to be muslim because in the Philippines that is the reality, and that the things they do are similarly routed in a horrific truth that doesn't obey the laws of so-called "political correctness". Yet it's not that the film includes (or even highlights) the Islamic specificity of this kidnap that's offensive: it's that it dominates the movie totally, with many of the abductors' rants sounding like deliberate attempts to put Islam on trial, whilst Christian characters are shown to be charitable, respectful and unwavering the face of adversity.