'King of Comics' Berlinale (Panorama) review:

The name of documentary 'König des Comics' loses something in translation to the more prosaic English handle 'King of Comics'. The German title is a pun on the name of the film's charismatic subject: comic book artist Ralf König, whose defiantly graphic and frank homosexual comedy books of the 80s and 90s remain a source of reassurance, comfort and great pleasure for many in the gay community throughout Europe.

The film goes through König's life and comics chronologically, providing insight into the gay scene in Germany from the 70s to the present day, as much as giving a "for dummies" course on a (to UK audiences) obscure, but influential, comic book artist and wit. König comes across very well, especially when performing his work to audiences, doing the voices as he goes. He is full of life and his political activism and no-nonsense attitude are infectious.

Ultimately the books themselves aren't my cup of tea, but König and his story are good value regardless even if the doc itself is unpolished and without a clear focus. It lacks any great feeling of narrative climax, meaning that enjoyment of the cartoonist's company, if not the wider world of gay comic books, is paramount to the film's appeal.

'Marina Abramović the Artist is Present' Berlinale (Panorama) review:

It's difficult to review some types of documentary film without tending towards reviewing their subject. This HBO produced look at the life and work of pioneering Yugoslavia-born performance artist Marina Abramović is one such example. The film itself is extremely competent: well paced, with access to interesting people, making compelling use of archive material, and coming across as authoritative in regards to Abramović's experimental, provocative pieces (exploring their context and meaning). Yet enjoyment of it will hinge far more on whether or not you buy into the art and the artist herself than on the documentary's own merits.

For my part I found 'Marina Abramović the Artist is Present' fascinating and strangely moving in some places, though frustrating in others. It certainly raises questions. The film's focus is on the titular MoMA exhibition, "The Artist is Present", which saw Abramović sit still in the middle of a room during the gallery's opening hours for three consecutive months, with members of the public invited to sit opposite and look into her eyes. Around 750,000 visitors took the opportunity over that period, with the film showing how many people were moved to tears by the poignancy of it all. Abramović suggests that in gazing into another's eyes participants are really looking at themselves, laid bear in a mirror.

It's a compelling idea and an interesting exhibition - however much it hinges on a distracting central "stunt" (it's not entirely incongruous for David Blaine to appear as one of the artist's friends). But it's odd that people felt the need to queue for 16 hours (and overnight) in order to experience this mutual stare-fest with the artist. Surely the point that there's inherent power in silently gazing into another person's eyes, as opposed to Abramović's in particular? Indeed the most moving sequences occur when former colleagues and lovers of Abramović take the chair, implying that there is something more profound about the experience of looking deep into the soul of someone you have a connection to. Instead many of the participants here seem like art groupies, engaging with a "must-see" happening or high-brow cultural celebrity. Fodder for dinner party conversation.

The MoMA's director, a former husband of the artist, speaks about how radical the exhibition is because Abramović is treating everybody as though they were the same (though one suspects special guest James Franco didn't have to wait too long). He says some of these members of the public seem to feel "entitled" to that equality, which they of course are. This statement speaks to a thinly-concealed elitism behind this section of the art world. For instance members of the public are hauled away from the viewing area if they (as happens in one case) decide to take their clothes off, even though Abramović's own art has frequently used nudity as a way of exploring vulnerability, sex, gender dynamics and voyeurism.

Why is it alright for an artist to do something that is socially unacceptable for anybody else? Who decides the viewer is not entitled to become part of the art - to dress funny, or pull a face or take their clothes off? What sort of ego does it take to initiate this one-way exchange, inviting hundreds of thousands of people to look at you - and pay for the privilege? The early experimental pieces of Abramović's that we see are so much more daring and conceptually interesting than this. Especially one earlier work (1974's "Rhythm 0") which saw the artist lie naked in a room full of props (guns, knives, a whip, coloured paints etc), with viewers encouraged to use these objects to interact with her creatively.

A study of what people choose to do when given this social permission is very interesting. Who is it that chooses to draw on her breast and what is it they choose to draw? What does that say about the nature of being a spectator? Why might somebody reach for a weapon rather than a hat? And so on. Yet here this interaction is diminished and the artist's place has become rarefied, commodified and controlled. Her former partner in art, Uwe Laysiepen, jokes that the life of a performance artist is poverty, but that Ambramovic has moved profitably into something closer to theatre. Elsewhere her manager talks candidly about the business model that enables her to buy €300,000 designer clothes. The struggling artist indeed.

Yet whether it's down to the inherent power of looking another in the eye, or to a mix of social expectation (or even a natural impulse to justify a day of queueing), it's fascinating to see how "The Artist is Present" really moved people to tears. The film's exploration of Abramović's loveless communist upbringing, body of exceptional 70s work and subsequent growth as an art world business powerhouse is likewise compelling.

'My Way' Berlinale (Panorama) review:

It's bombastic and occasionally very silly - a tonal mess of genres and styles, which switches between slapstick comedy moments and bloody massacres without pause. Yet South Korean WWII movie 'Mai-Wei' (or 'My Way') is not only entirely entertaining but also quite brave and, if you can look beyond the CGI-fuelled excess, even fairly profound. It follows two marathon runners, lifelong rivals and occasional friends - one Japanese and one Korean - as they are enveloped by a war that will take them across the world on an all-star tour of man's darkest hour.

The spoiler-adverse should turn away now, but what's great about Kang Je-kyu's epic is the way it fundamentally rejects the wisdom of nationalism. It begins with our heroes separated by Korea's war against Japanese occupation and then by segregation within the Japanese army, as they fight together against the Soviets. Taken prisoner by the Soviets, the duo are then forced to fight in the Red Army against the Nazis. Then, you guessed it, they are captured and (recognised as Japanese allies) pressed into the German army to fight the Americans on the beaches of Normandy (giving us a rare looking at the D-day landings from the perspective of German soldiers).

That every army we see is forcing their men to fight, shooting those who run away in battle, suggests not only a commonality between those fighting in war, but also that the low-ranking soldier is a pawn in a much bigger game. That it doesn't ultimately matter who they are fighting for and who they are shooting is a challenge to the very idea of nation states. This is a point reinforced by the ending in which the surviving soldier competes in the London Olympics, appearing as the only runner whose shirt does not feature a national flag.

So there's this very important, anti-war, anti-nationalist sentiment which is entirely winning. Then there's also a crack-shot Chinese sniper woman who shoots down fighter planes with a rifle, and a guy who single handedly destroys armies of Russian tanks with nothing more than a sword. There's a romance sub-plot, a survival in the Siberian wilderness bit, an unflinching glimpse at the horrors of a Soviet prisoner of war camp, buckets of gore, and also a game of beach football between loveable Nazi soldiers. It's a pretty sprawling, occasionally mad, film but an honourable and thoroughly enjoyable one.

'Elles' Berlinale (Panorama) review:

With a frank and vanity-free central performance from Juliette Binoche, French drama 'Elles' was one of the festival's early highlights playing in the interesting and diverse Panorama strand. In it a veteran journalist spends a day at home performing thankless chores and preparing dinner for her husband's work colleagues. Whilst doing this cooking and cleaning she is also trying to write a glossy magazine article on French students who support their studies by working as prostitutes. Over the course of the film she thinks back on interviews with two young women and, through backflashes, we are told their stories.

Over the day the journalist goes from feeling smug and superior to showing some signs of kinship with the girls - eventually coming to the realisation that her life may be no better behind a veneer of middle-class respectability. In fact in some respects she seems to be having less fun: sexually repressed and in a loveless marriage, disrespected by her teenage son and pushed to meet tight writing deadlines. Yet the film is also careful not to glamorise prostitution, instead depicting it with rare nuance. Sometimes the girls encounter violence or humiliation, but often they are shown to enjoy a job with flexible working hours and for which they are handsomely paid.

Polish director Malgoska Szumowska shoots everything in a claustrophobic, handheld style which wrings the maximum from Binoche's raw, unguarded performance. I'm loathe to call an actor "brave" simply for appearing naked or allowing themselves to be photographed in unflattering light, but there isn't really another way of describing this performance. The slightly pretentious acting buzzword "honesty" also seems entirely appropriate here.

62nd Berlinale Winners Announced

Golden Bear: Paolo and Vittorio Taviani, Cesare deve morire (Caesar Must Die)
Jury Grand Prize: Bence Fliegauf, Csak A Szél (Just the Wind)
Best Director: Christian Petzold, Barbara
Best Actor: Mikkel Boe Følsgaard, En Kongelig Affære (A Royal Affair)
Best Actress: Rachel Mwanza, Rebelle (War Witch)
Best Outstanding Artistic Contribution: Lutz Reitemeier - cinematographer, Bai Lu Yuan (White Deer Plain)
Best Script: Nikolaj Arcel and Rasmus Heisterberg, En Kongelig Affære (A Royal Affair)
Alfred Bauer Prize for Innovation: Miguel Gomes, Tabu
Special mention: Ursula Meier, L'enfant D'en Haut (Sister)

'Rebelle' Berlinale (Competition) review:

The final competition film screened to press at this year's Berlinale, African child soldier drama 'Rebelle' - being sold internationally as 'War Witch' - is a strong candidate for the Golden Bear, ticking many boxes. It's about a current real world social problem, shot beautifully, and difficult without being unpalatable. It blends social realism with poetic use of fantasy and visual metaphor. It also features a strong central performance from Rachel Mwanza - as the girl abducted by rebel soldiers, forced to shoot her parents, before being put on hallucinogenic drugs and sent out to fight government soldiers.

Writer-director Kim Nguyen's movie is also pretty tightly paced, without the aimless, naval-gazing demeanour which has been typical of so many at this year's festival. It has a definite narrative through-line. In fact I'd say this movie is among the most commercial films on show here, in terms of potential appeal outside of the so often wilfully oblique programme. Its chances of reaching a UK arthouse would be further improved if Mike Leigh's jury awards it Berlin's top film prize - as many journalists here seem to expect, judging by conversation after the screening. Personally I'd prefer to see 'Tabu', 'Just the Wind' or 'A Royal Affair' win the prize, but I wouldn't complain if 'Rebelle' were rewarded.

'A Royal Affair' Berlinale (Competition) review:

An epic tale of romance, ambition and the tragic fallibility of idealism, 'A Royal Affair' (or 'En Kongelig Affære') is a historical drama recounting the story of how provincial German physician and amateur philosopher Johan Struensee (Mads Mikkelsen) became the power behind the Kingdom of Denmark - for a brief time transforming one of Europe's most backwards feudal powers into a progressive model of the enlightenment that pre-dated the French Revolution by several decades.

After being appointed the personal physician to Christian VII (a frequently hilarious, scene-stealing performance from Mikkel Boe Følsgaard) in 1768, Struensee used his close friendship with the mentally unwell monarch to banish the country's conservative ruling council and institute a bold raft of social changes which included ending censorship, vaccinating common people against smallpox and abolishing torture. Pretty soon he was actually signing new laws himself, without need of the king's signature. However the old ruling elites, stripped of much of their power, used the newly free press to make Struensee deeply unpopular with the people - enabling his overthrow and eventual beheading.

The key to undermining his popularity - at least according to director Nikolaj Arcel's splendid film - lay in publicising details of his passionate, doomed affair with Christian's estranged wife, the English-born Queen Caroline Mathilde (rising Swedish actress Alicia Vikander). Though they begin this romance very quietly, the two are soon madly in love and even have a daughter (officially Christian's), with their passion an open secret at the palace. A few lurid details later, and with fabricated talk of Struensee poisoning the king to steal power, the people are baying for blood and aching to restore the old order - founded on religion over reason.

The power of the yellow press to turn a mob against its own interests is just one of many potent themes, as is the battle between progress and traditionalism - and that between the wealthy and the poor. But also visible here is something of how power corrupts, for instance as Stuensee brings back censorship when he is the target of criticism. There is also some truth to the idea that he is taking advantage of this mentally ill king, with his use of the ruler as a puppet in no way dissimilar from that of the previous council. Do his good intentions excuse his behaviour in this regard? I'm not sure.

As he faces the block, the doctor - who has already signed a letter condemning enlightenment ideals in the hope of a pardon - looks out onto the crowd in their thousands who have come to cheer his death, and is stunned about where his determination to improve their lot has landed him. Perhaps he moved too fast or gave "the people" too much credit. In any case even if his optimism about the human condition seems to be placed in doubt, the film is not itself given to pessimism: merely the cruel irony of fate.

Everything about 'A Royal Affair' is stunning. Its ambitious scope in terms of subject matter, its intelligence, its brilliant cast of actors (I'll now happily watch anything with Alicia Vikander in it), and its lavish production values. I cried at the end, with the once vital Caroline separated from her children and living in exile, and I laughed far more and far harder than I have at the last dozen or so comedies. The story of a doctor who gives a king new confidence and inspires him to greater things, it could easily be billed as Denmark's answer to 'The King's Speech'. It's far better than that.