That's 'Three Finnish Films'. But strictly speaking, this piece covers two Finnish films and one British film about a Finn. Starting with the latter: Christopher Nupen's two-part portrait of the composer Jean Sibelius at the Barbican in mid-November, titled Jean Sibelius. It seemed strange of Nupen to preface the piece with the recital of a glowing review to bolster his efforts, having just illustrated how Sibelius, now acknowledged as a great composer, was derided by small-minded critics. But still, the film somehow lets you under Sibelius's skin, and is as beautiful a portrait of the Finnish rural landscape as it is of the composer. Perhaps a touch more about the composer's health and financial worries and their role, if any, in his 'great silence' would have been welcome. Performances from the Swedish Radio Orchestra under Vladimir Ashkenazy were gripping, but like the rest of the audio-visual experience, they would doutbless suffer without the surround-sound of a cinema.
To the Ciné Lumière in South Kensington two weeks later for No Man is an Island (Ei kukaan ole saari), Sonja Linden's glimpse into the world of her father Krister. He appears to live alone on an island waiting for death and taking frequent phone calls from his wife - was this a genuine dialogue or an imagined one with a wife long deceased? No matter, the strength of this film is in the subtle magnificence of its subject matter - a man living a primitive, earthbound existence, now enjoying a perhaps reluctant relationship with process, necessity, nature and a cat. A film that throws contemporary existence into a whole world of questioning trouble, and rightly so.
Back to the Ciné Lumière a week after that for The Skiers (Hiiktajat), a short by John Webster focussing on the Veteran soldier-skiers of the 'Winter War', who still meet to compete once a year. (This preceded The Great Communist Bank Robbery that Anthony has reviewed in full on our sister site). Like Nupen's film, the footage of snow-driven Finnish forests is aesthetically and emotionally beautiful, seasoned with equally touching silences (the role of silence in Finnish conversation, music, film and life in general is prominent). And is it possible to make this landscape seem anything but ravishingly attractive? I'll have a look out for some ugly scenes by the Tampere train sheds next week...
seasoned with equally touching silences
...which provide perfect opportunities to lean across and whisper, "has it Finnish-ed yet?"
Posted by: aje | January 04, 2008 at 02:19 PM