Have A Nice Day

In opening with a quote from Tolstoy's "Resurrection", Have A Nice Day sets the stage for social inquiry. Before the first frame of animation appears, a target is placed on men who have wrought havoc on the planet by "... paving the ground with stones so that nothing could grow, weeding out every blade of vegetation, filling the air with the fumes of coal and gas...", and so on. For familiar readers (or especially keen scholars of Google), a following portion of the quote that is not displayed proves even more enlightening: "... what they considered sacred and important were their own devices for wielding power over each other." A heavy start for a cartoon.

Early images don't provide an outlook any less bleak. Decrepit cityscapes are rendered in rich detail, grey and drab and lit only by the few bulbs that can still manage to flicker. In the background nothing moves but the rain, a distinctive stylistic choice that is mixed with more simplistic but still mostly static foreground pieces. It's here, in this film noir comic book by way of not-quite-stop-motion, that a crime narrative sprouts that is both convoluted yet incredibly simple. Uncle Liu is a gangster who is waiting on a delivery of one million yuan. Xiao Zhang steals it. Then, it's stolen again. And again. And then... well, it's best just to buckle up and watch. As new side characters enter, each more absurd than the last — with names like Skinny and Yellow Eye, and dressed in trenchcoats and cross-trainers, or outfitted with x-ray glasses — their interactions and irregularities call to mind Guy Ritchie in his prime. For good measure, there's also a patented Tarantino "trunk shot".

The characters of Have A Nice Day are weird, wide-ranging, and wickedly fun.

So, what of the Tolstoy quote, then? Slower moments of dialogue between scenes of action reveal some motive. With hardly an exception, the characters are driven by status. Bill Gates. Steve Jobs. Mark Zuckerberg. These are the names on their minds as they complain about their lowly stations as security guards and construction workers. Donald Trump's victory speech plays on the radio and a discussion about freedom equates it to where you get to do your spending (the gold standard? Online Shopping). For these small-time criminals, status is a shortcut to happiness, money is a shortcut to status, and crime is a shortcut to money.

A dark law-breaking comedy with a heavy focus on economic anxiety doesn't sound revolutionary or even that original; that's where context matters. Despite being the first feature-length Chinese animation to ever screen at the Berlinale, the film is facing distribution difficulties at the hands of the Chinese government. To an institution perpetually haunted by the spectre of artistic censorship and suppression, a story that portrays modern-day China as a wasteland of profit-chasing outcasts appears to be too incendiary. That's a shame, because it's a ripping fun ride and a unique entry in a national cinema that keeps uncovering more to offer.

Part of our AIFF 2017 Review Roundup.

The Divine Order

Good news, everyone: sexism is over! It ended in a small town in Switzerland during the early months of 1971. While women in Canada have been enjoying a life free of prejudice and misogyny since suffrage was fully granted 1918, the rest of the world wasn't necessarily so quick to catch up. At least, that's the history constructed in Swiss Oscar submission The Divine Order, a film that should have been an easy home run in 2017 on premise alone. Unfortunately, hokey choices in scripting and direction make the film feel like something coughed out by the Hollywood Inspiration Machine™.

It starts out fine enough, with Marie Leuenberger's Nora leading a cast of unassuming housewives through a montage of mundane but meaningful chores. In warm 1970s tones, the snowy idyll they call home is introduced with period details that make it feel slightly out of time. This is an important choice: the modern meaning of feminism that viewers bring to the film is going to be mostly irrelevant to the social context of a town so quaint and stuck in the past. The winds of change are in the air, heralded by an opening credit sequence that references the "Summer of Love" as a marker of social progress. The men of the town are resistant to the idea of women voting, a stance that Nora and her companions must overcome before an impending country-wide referendum that could grant them that right. They plan a strike, holing up in a makeshift clubhouse above an Italian restaurant to harness their collective power and thwart their husbands.

The women of The Divine Order march for equality in Zurich

This might be a good place to pause and examine what the film does well. The strike scenes have a joyful, laid-back vibe of female camaraderie, like if Richard Linklater learned how to use women well and remade Everybody Wants Some!! (which, honestly, sounds pretty great). Needle drops on the soundtrack, such as Lesley Gore's 1963 anthem "You Don't Own Me", are noticeably on-the-nose but lend a rebellious spirit that is desperately needed. There are traces of a progressive edge when the women attend a "Yoni Power" workshop where they learn about labial diversity — animalized as tigers and silver foxes, and with needs that are just as natural — or when Nora finally, triumphantly, introduces her husband to oral sex. Nervous audience laughter, especially during those last scenes, highlights that a little more discomfort could go a long way... which brings us to the bad.

Nearly everything in The Divine Order seems constructed to deliver a complex message in the simplest of templates. It passes up difficult for familiar; sad or frustrating events are only valued insofar as they can progress the narrative. Some of these developments verge on cruel, needlessly incorporating jail, domestic abuse, and even death. A treacly, uplifting score indicates clear points where "feels" should be felt, which completely misses an obvious point that still bears repeating today: marginalized people don't fight to be inspirational. The film is actually quite astute about civil courage and the domino effect of finding one's voice, but this message is completely at odds with the portrayal of social movement as something so tidy. Seen from the present day, when men at large corporations are writing manifestos on male superiority and getting kicked off CNN for puerile commentary and the US President is who he is, it seems patently silly — like gender equality was just another mess on the floor waiting for the right woman to sweep it up.

Part of our AIFF 2017 Review Roundup.

Room For Rent

If the kid from Blank Check grew up to make a sequel to Step Brothers, the result might look something like Room For Rent. Canadian comedy riser Mark Little stars as Mitch, a live-at-home bum who won $3.5 million as a teenager and squandered it all on ludicrous patents and inventions. The added financial strain he puts on his parents is going to force them to sell their house. Rather than find a job and contribute, Mitch decides to rent out the spare bedroom that used to house all his unsold merchandise. Enter Carl (Brett Gelman), a well-timed traveler and another would-be entrepreneur. Mitch's parents are resistant at first, but Carl quickly wins them over with his manners, his helpful attitude, and, most of all, his huge wad of cash.

Brett Gelman (left) and Mark Little (right) buoy slacker comedy Room For Rent with well-honed comedic performances

Writer-director Matthew Atkinson sets up enough ridiculous scenarios to get the gears of laughter turning, but — aside from a great shot that hilariously holds for a few seconds too long on a sloshing waterbed — the filmmaking is mostly a non-presence. The two leads generate most of the humour through personas they have established throughout previous roles. Carl is somewhat of a dandy, a personality made delightfully ominous when filtered through Gelman's trademark brand of approachable mischief and his twisted smile. To Mitch, Little brings a honed mix of cluelessness and incredulity, as if he thinks he's the smartest guy in the room but is still surprised that anyone could be dumber that him. Diehard comedy fans will also appreciate the presence of MADtv's Stephnie Weir and Kids in the Hall's Mark McKinney as Mitch's parents. With so much talent versed in a shorter format, it's not that surprising that Room For Rent feels like a 90-minute sketch, but it's a pretty funny one.

Part of our AIFF 2017 Review Roundup.

The Stairs

To anyone who has spent even a moderate amount of time watching documentaries, the idea of a "social issues" film probably conjures up a familiar but slightly off-putting image. The form is inundated with dry voiceover and drier images. Talking heads fancy themselves pundits and directors fancy themselves stars, and the final products are long on wind but short on style. Luckily for The Stairs, a new documentary about harm reduction and addiction recovery, director Hugh Gibson appears to have skipped class on Michael Moore Day in film school.

Set among the streets of Toronto, The Stairs follows Marty, Greg, and Roxanne on their recovery journeys. All three come from a past of drug addiction and now work in community support as a means of navigating their own path forward while also helping others who still struggle in similar situations. If it's starting to sound "inspirational" in that eye-rolling, air-quoting way, put that thought out of your mind immediately. There is no swelling score or happy reunions or tearful breakthroughs. There are no "where are they now" title cards or fraught pleas for society to do more. There are only three individuals, engaging and flawed and honest and perfectly human. Having made it through such adversity, they now share the goal of breaking down stigmas and stereotypes of addiction and street life, and they approach it with a refreshing mix of positivity and frank realism.

Marty and his cat in The Stairs

Where a lesser director might try to manipulate the audience by piling on doom and gloom, Gibson rather revels in the trust and access he has been granted by his collaborators (to call them subjects would be a disservice to the life they infuse into the film). Shooting in locations that are meaningful to them facilitates this openness by establishing a sense of safety. It also solidifies a strong theme of shelter and belonging that is echoed in the title of the film — it's an oddly affectionate nickname for one particular stairwell where many people we meet have spent a cold and lonely night when they had nowhere else to go. Though the film never preaches, it delivers a clear message about the "housing first" style of social policy and the immeasurable mental and psychological benefits of having a space to root one's recovery. One only need watch Marty parade his collection of Bob Marley t-shirts and Bonanza DVDs to see that the value he has attached to them is a function of pride in his own progress.

Despite being a primarily forward-looking film, the backwards direction is not off limits. Relapse, as Roxanne puts it, is a part of every recovery ("I just don't want it to be part of mine"). This adds a challenging layer: the people we've come to sympathize with are still using drugs, still prone to anger and violence, and the onus is placed on the audience to accept them for who they are. To watch the film demands near-immediate understanding and forgiveness; viewers who can't find that in themselves will be left behind, and good riddance. It's a breathtakingly effective way of truly humanizing what we see, and making us do the work ensures that everything in the film will have a life beyond the screen. The Stairs is the kind of experience that you take home with you. When you get there, you'll be a little more aware of what that word actually means.

Part of our AIFF 2017 Review Roundup.

The Girls of St. Mary's

Set on one of Canada's few urban reserves, Christine McLean's The Girls of St. Mary's is a portrait of an indigenous community striving to combat the impact of colonialism. By following six months in the lives of three of the Maliseet girls who live in the St. Mary's First Nations community (Michaela Brooks-Brown, Abby Brooks, and Stevie Hall-Polchies) a small frame of reference is used to bring broader issues to the surface onscreen.

Despite the community's relative success, colonialist racism is alive and well. The girls recount stories of being bullied in school, and rejected from friends' households by parents, leading them to self-harm and eating disorders. Parental relationships, especially with fathers, are also a source of pain. Some of the girls' fathers were absent for most of their lives, and one is dealing with the divorce of her mom from her step-dad. The issue is trickier than typical family drama, though, with one mother blaming indigenous men for not being responsible, and requesting her daughter only date non-natives. It's a thorny subject to tackle, especially as a brief moment in a documentary under 60 minutes. Fortunately, a brief response by a couple of indigenous men is included. The narration by Elder Maggie Paul also contextualizes the problem as largely a result of the colonial violence, which has forcibly broken up indigenous families through means like residential schools.

The St. Mary's First Nation community hosted 4000 people at their vibrant summer pow wow.

In the face of these hardships, the girls find shelter in their tight-knit families and community, led by strong women. Subjects in the film remark upon the unusual bonds between the girls and their mothers. The gendered aspect is not only personal, but also political; the community is proud to boast that their councils have maintained gender parity since long before Justin Trudeau's similar efforts. As a result, St. Mary's is one of the most economically successful reserves, and also one of the proudest. The documentary concludes with a summer pow wow, at which 4000 people participate, including two of the film's young subjects as dancers, happy to be able to carry on their community's tradition.

With its small budget and run-time, it would be impossible for The Girls of St. Mary's to capture the full complexity of this community, and its maker seems aware. After the film, when asked if she would like to return to the subject, director Christine McLean said she would like to return as a sort of producer and mentor, allowing one of the young women to make her own film. Let's hope this works out; cinema is in desperate need of indigenous voices.

Part of our AIFF 2017 Review Roundup.

Beach Rats

To direct a film is to choose what gets shown, and Eliza Hittman stares this choice in the face with her new film, Beach Rats. Frankie is a taciturn young man moping away a humid summer in Brooklyn. He spends his life between two beaches: one on the boardwalk where he and his friends play ball and prowl for girls, the other a screensaver on the computer he uses to chat with older (often nuder) men on a webcam dating site. He's quick to admit, when pressed, that he doesn't really know what he likes, even after one fling offers to tell him whether or not he's "really gay". This isn't a true dichotomy, of course — external pressures drive him away from the idea of bisexuality — but the act of trying to choose a side becomes one of self-construction rather than self-discovery.

Harris Dickinson and Madeline Weinstein party a summer away in Beach Rats

Hittman underscores this by framing male bodies like building blocks, segmented and utilitarian, but the focus is as much on what these parts can do as how they look doing it. It's an unfamiliar but especially welcome way of seeing men presented on screen and the camera doesn't shy away from a single detail. Frankie slides in and out of light and shadow, playing at machismo in the sun for his friends but coyly lurking in the dark of a basement or beneath the brim of a hat in front of male suitors. All of this is at the behest of actor Harris Dickinson, whose name you should note now, better to follow his surely rising stock. There is a distinct sense that he is in complete control of every thought and uncertainty that strikes Frankie and it takes great talent to bring direction to such a purposefully directionless character.

Thanks in large part to the imagery, the film remains thematically strong when the script flags a bit with dramatic clichés. For example, Frankie has recently lost his father to cancer, leading to the sloppy (and very likely unintended) implication that his dalliances with older men may simply be a search for that type of presence. The funeral is treated with an impeccably light hand, but that work is undone when we watch his mother call their answering machine over and over to hear her late husband's voice. For an impossibly contemporary film, one of dirty mirror selfies and vape tricks and sexual fluidity, these notes feel far out of place. Still, as an experience in people-watching it soars. And, anyway, nobody goes to the beach for the stories.

Part of our AIFF 2017 Review Roundup.

Permanent

Coming 18 years after her first feature, 1999's Coming Soon, Colette Burson's second feature length film, Permanent, was clouded with mystery due to very little promotion. Ironically this feels to be in the film's best interest as it's a quiet indie that provides a few laughs and an enjoyable hour and thirty-four minutes, but fails to present you anything of actual substance. 

It's 1982 and Aurelie Dixon, played by impressive newcomer Kira McLean, is starting fresh in a new town after her dad Jim (Rainn Wilson), leaves his job as an Air Force One Steward to study medicine. In the opening sequence we watch Jim proudly hang up signed pictures of Nixon, Carter, Reagan, and himself hard at work on the aircraft. We learn later in the film that he didn't leave because he wanted to, rather because the President wanted a medium rare steak and the only meat on board was a pork chop. "It was my job to check" the disgraced Steward sadly breathes. 

After much pleading Aurelie convinces her mom Jeanne (Patricia Arquette) to allow her to get a permanent for her first day at her new middle school, which leads the recently down on their luck family to the local beauty school for a permanent they could afford. The result: the most tragic perm that you've ever seen. This sets her up for a series of awkward formative moments including a first kiss scene that feels very reminiscent of Ang Lee's family drama The Ice Storm, in which one character wears a disturbingly realistic mask of a president's face.

The performances are what draw you to this film, as they were perfect for the type of narrative and the script. Rainn Wilson's overtly confident but fairly pathetic character has such great chemistry with Patricia Arquette's loveably quirky, desperately lonely, dolphin loving Jeanne. Wilson's performance also prompts the question "is Rainn Wilson Dwight Schrute or is Dwight Schrute Rainn Wilson?" 

Part of our AIFF 2017 Review Roundup.

Manufactured Landscapes

(Dir. Jennifer Baichwal, 2006)

“It's gloomy,” the company gatekeepers tell Edward Burtynsky. The photographer is attempting to debate his way into another Chinese industrial waste zone. The uniformed personnel insist the landscape is no good for photos. Theirs is an expected perspective, one the viewer might usually share. This assumption sets up one of the strengths of Burtynsky's work and Jennifer Baichwal's film. Armed with Super 16 mm and field camera, Burtynsky's well-honed eye picks out the appealing geometry and epic human efforts in the world of industrial impact. Baichwal and Burtynsky capture grand panoramas and crowds with a detached distance before zooming intimately into the quiet, personal space of daily activities.

Outside a factory compound in China

It's an unseen world to many of us who don't live in it, but it's one that is intimately connected to our own. Burtynsky makes a point to not overtly politicize his exhibitions and Baichwal's coverage attempts the same. This is a tactful effort to avoid alienating audiences who might not show up for the environmental message. While many curious viewers are simply there for the photographic merit and stunning views, the vast landscapes of waste and resource extraction illustrate a cause-and-effect message that may be impossible to avoid. Baichwal tempers this visual impact with sparse dialogue and an elegant, minimalist score by Dan Driscoll. The landscapes transform from the material results of unparalleled expansion into the impact of our attempts to curb its environmental effects, further complicating any slapdash conclusions. Piles of recycled computer parts lie on family porches, their metals burned off in toxic fires, yet scenes like this are juxtaposed with evidence of the improved quality of life for many in Shanghai. Manufactured Landscapes offers no easy answers, but much exposure.

If you ever get the chance to see Manufactured Landscapes on the big screen, this is the way to see it. The immensity of the locations are stunning on theatrical scale. The film was brought back for screening as part of AIFF's Telefilm Canada 50 program, a celebration of Telefilm's 50th anniversary. Canadian director Jennifer Baichwal's Long Time Running was AIFF's opening gala film.

Part of our AIFF 2017 Review Roundup