'Everybody in Our Family' Berlinale (Forum) review:

Romanian filmmaker Radu Jude's sardonically titled 'The Happiest Girl in the World' was one of my favourite film's of 2010. A bitter little portrait of inter-generational discord as parents bickered with their wilful and moody daughter about the proper way to deal with a car she'd won in a soda promotion. They, knowing the value of money and the difficult reality of life, want to sell it and invest in property. The girl, understandably enough, wants to drive her mates around in it and have a fun, care-free summer. All of this is in the backdrop as the girl records a TV advert for the soda company in which she is forced to declare, with escalating levels of irony, that she is the "happiest, luckiest girl in the world".

With 'Happiest Girl' I loved not only Jude's patient, documentary like shooting style and the naturalistic performances of his actors, but also the fact that each character could madden or thrill you in equal measure. Each player in his film could be infuriatingly stubborn or entirely justified depending on your own viewpoint, with no sense of good guys or bad guys. Personally, I thought the girl was being selfish, but you could easily say the same of the parents. All of this is equally true of Jude's second feature 'Toata lumea din familia noastra' ('Everybody in Our Family') - which is every bit as brilliant, complex and darkly comic a family drama as his debut - but with added tension.

The film follows Marius (Serban Pavlu), a father who is visiting his ex-wife's house in order to take his daughter Sofia (Sofia Nicolaescu) on a pre-arranged day out to the beach. However when he arrives his ex-wife, Otilia (Mihaela Sirbu), is out and her new partner Aurel (Gabriel Spahiu) stops him from leaving with the child. The two men have a pathetic little fight which leaves Aurel injured and Sofia crying - and then Otilia gets home. She tells Marius his visit is over and threatens to curtail his visiting rights further in court. This sends Marius crazy and what happens next should have you on the edge of your seat, wondering if this well-meaning if idiotic chap is going to seriously hurt somebody.

From the opening shots of 30-something Marius in bed, surrounded by empty beer cans, with film posters on the wall and shelves full of DVDs, it's clear that he's an adult but not necessarily a grown-up. The same could be said for Aurel and Otilia, who never compromise even when it's in everyone's interests to do so. In fact arguably Sofia is better behaved - more moral, empathetic and understanding - than any of the adults in her life. At the beginning we see a short, highly confrontational scene between Marius and his parents which adds an interesting dimension - suggesting that we perhaps never grow up. Here we see the routes of his own temper and confrontational tendencies, but also observe, through their unhappiness at his short, infrequent visits, how a parents desire to be close to their child is a universal constant, even when they (paradoxically) can't stand each other.

'Everybody in Our Family' could obviously be seen as a call for increased father's rights (a hot contemporary issue), with the heartbreaking reality that Otilia could stop Marius from seeing his daughter at the forefront of the drama. Yet it's equally the story about how otherwise quite gentle people might suddenly snap if pushed too far. The fact that Marius' actions, born of increased distress, are only adding to the likelihood that he'll never see his daughter again creates a sense of deep, inevitable tragedy.

'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.