Some films hit you right in the heart without warning. And that’s the case with Juho Kuosmanen‘s uplifting debut, The Happiest Day In The Life Of Olli Maki. Shot entirely in glorious 16mm black and white, and based on the true story of Finland’s 1960s boxing champ, it boasts a delightfully understated performance from Jarkko Lahti as Maki, with Oona Airola matching him as the local lass he inconveniently falls for just as he’s about to compete for the world title. Luckily, theatre actor Lahti (making his own screen debut) was already a fan of the Finnish hero, and trained for four years to make a convincing pugilist. As for Airola, she was just a ticket seller at the theatre until she was discovered, and their chemistry is enchanting. Reminiscent of Irish boxer Barry McGuigan, Maki is the archetypal small town hero, adrift in the big city, Helsinki, with his manager milking him, and everyone wanting a piece of him. Prepare to be enchanted, and keep an eye out for the real Maki and wife towards the very end…
The Giant is a small scale movie with big messages about prejudice, disability, hope… and petanque. First-time Scandinavian writer-director Johannes Nyholm shows us the everyday difficulties and routine bullying that severely deformed, autistic Rikard (Christian Andren, superb) faces. But we also see him with his loyal sidekick friend, and witness how brilliant they are at petanque, as they take on cocky opposition in the Scandinavian Championship. Can they succeed against all odds? Pathos is lightened with humour, as Nyholm cleverly juxtaposes realistic slices of Rikard’s life, glimpses of his mother in her own care situation, plus fantasy sequences shot from Rikard’s point of view – using a fisheye lens – as he towers over the earth as the ‘Giant’ of the title.
Kills On Wheels (right) also deals with disability in unsentimental, often humorous fashion. Our trio of felons, Zoli (Zoltan Fenyvesi), Barba (Adam Fekete), and Rupaszov (Szabolcs Thuroczy) have the ultimate cover for their wrongdoing: they’re in wheelchairs, yet make up a deadly gang nevertheless. Drugs, extortion and even murder become commonplace in this Tarantino-esque Hungarian caper, with ex-firefighter Rupaszov leading the two teen recruits into their life of crime. Brilliantly shot by debut director Attila Till – much of it at wheelchair height to put the viewer in their shoes – the film also outlines the characters’ backstories, and colours in their motivations, while tackling attitudes to disability unflinchingly. Quite an achievement.
Austria’s Ruth Beckermann has dramatised the correspondence between famous, post-war literary lovers Ingeborg Bachmann and Paul Celan, in The Dreamed Ones, and gets young actors Anja Plaschg and Laurence Rupp to read their words. But although the simple device is admirable, and has worked in previous films like 84 Charing Cross Road, and even You’ve Got Mail, this time it feels almost anti-cinematic, and might have been more effective as a radio play.
Always controversial, Catalan director Albert Serra‘s latest work is The Death Of Louis XIV, starring a bewigged Jean-Pierre Léaud as the dying monarch. It’s an elegantly filmed, stately and stifling account of the King’s last days, complete with fawning courtiers and physicians. Yet it feels not quite the sum of its varied parts.
For picaresque fantasy, mixed with military cock-ups, rural romance and lots of farm animals, look no further than the almost-uncategorisable On The Milky Road (right), directed by Emir Kusturica, who also stars alongside Monica Bellucci. Physical comedy involving clock hands, gunfire and a Butch Cassidy-style escape somehow hang together, and disbelief is willingly suspended thanks to the charm of Kusturica and Bellucci, who do their own stunts (just don’t tell the insurance folk!) Lots of fun.
Post-Arab Spring, the Middle East is just about holding its own in film-making, despite ongoing political fallout and internal conflicts. Tunisia brings us Hedi, from Mohamed Ben Attia, which puts a very real dilemma in the hands of Majd Mastoura as the titular character. Hedi is a passive guy whose upcoming marriage is being sorted for him, and he’s happy to go along with everything. until he’s sent away to try to drum up new business as a salesman for Peugeot. Bored and lacking confidence, he’s unexpectedly and passionately drawn to hotel worker, Rim, which puts his upcoming nuptials in doubt. Just like Hedi, the film is quiet and unflashy, but also appealing and unforgettable.
In Kamla Abou Zekri‘s A Day For Women, some Egyptian women are quite literally being pushed around. And when they finally have one place to themselves – the newly-opened swimming pool – for one day each week, there’s a ray of hope. It stars producer Ilham Shaheen as Shamiya, with Nahed El Sebai as upbeat Azza, and Nelly Karim as the widowed Lula, whose father is a drunk, and whose brother is a religious fanatic. All these women’s stories connect at the pool, their camaraderie develops, and though the exterior seems soapy, the issues beneath are real.
Something is stirring in Saudi Arabian film, with Wadjda starting the ball rolling in 2012, and Mahmoud Sabbagh‘s Barakah Meets Barakah is a welcome follow-up. This is a cross between a rom-com, satire, political critique, and lament for times past. The lead duo are both called Barakah, even though he embraces the name and she uses her nickname, Bibi. But as he works as a municipal inspector and she is a selfie-taking Instagram star, it feels like a long shot for our hopeless lovers to have any future. A promising debut.
From Afghan first-time director Shahrbanoo Sadat, Wolf And Sheep stars two engaging children, Sediqa and Qodrat as unlikely friends who are endlessly herding goats and sheep around the brown, dusty hills. They and their peers act out adult roles and curse like troopers, complete with jokes and boasting. Daily life is repetitive, though broken up by a real wolf attack, rivalry between one husband’s wives, and a couple of fantasy sequences. An assured start.
Go to page 4 for more great films from the BFI 60th London Film Festival.