Friday, 29 May 2026

Sixty Years of Art Cinema 1960-2020 : Bruce Hodsdon continues his series - 6(55) - Cuba

Cuba                                                                                                                                               

Tomás Gutiérrez Alea  b.28    Manuel Octavio Gómez b.34   Humberto Solas b.41   Sara Gomez* b.42  

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Cuba was the first country in Latin America where it became possible to envisage a new culture, both popular and critical, of the kind imagined on a national scale by Fernando Birri, the recognised pioneer of what came to be known as the New Latin American Cinema movement. The successful overthrow of the Cuban government by left-wing guerrillas led by Fidel Castro in 1959 was followed by an escalating  series of events - expropriation of US businesses by the new government, a failed CIA-backed invasion, and the missile crisis culminating in the neutralising of any direct military threat that a Soviet-armed Cuba might have posed to the US without removing the ideological one. “During the 1960s, Cuba, as a self-styled ‘free territory of the Americas’, remained a beacon of hope for liberation movements throughout Central and South America and a source of inspiration for artists and intellectuals of many persuasions, especially in the cinema” (Nowell -Smith 47).  

 Although cinema was the most popular entertainment medium in Cuba after music, any attempt to establish a film industry had been abandoned three decades earlier with the coming of sound. Film production, distribution and exhibition became the province of American and Mexican companies. As Julianne Burton puts it, “Cuba's major cinematic role was to furnish exotic sets, sultry sex queens, and a tropical beat for Hollywood and Mexican productions.” It offered an audience as well: “in proportion to its population the Cuban movie market was the most lucrative in Latin America […] even though a large section of the rural population had never seen a film.” The foreign controlled movie industry in the 1950s employed 8,000 mainly in the production of advertising shorts and newsreels for theatres and televison”. Burton adds that “Cuba had more than its share of enterprising pornographers.”

The only serious film activity on the island had been centred in film societies. Julio Garcia Espinosa and Tomás Gutiérrez Alea were members of one of the major societies, Nuestro Tiempo (Our Times), both having studied cinema at the Centro Sperimentale in Rome.

The Cuban Film Institute (ICAIC)

Based on the most reliable estimates
 the foreign controlled Cuban film industry produced no more than 150 features in six decades of pre-revolutionary history. Apart from newsreels, documentaries were virtually unknown in pre-revolutionary Cuba. In the 17 years, 1959-77, the Cuban Film Institute (ICAIC) produced 74 feature length and 12 medium length films, some 600 documentary shorts - educational, scientific, and technical as well as animated and fictional - and more than 800 weekly newsreels. Economics (the extra cost factor in fictional filmmaking), and ideology (a preference for direct confrontation with material reality) combined to ensure that ICAIC gave early priority to documentary over fictional filmmaking.

 Julianne Burton’s research identifies two periods in the evolution of ICAIC in the 60s. The first years 1959-60 were “characterised by explosive optimism and a great sense of release, the influx of foreign talent, and the debut of many untried nationals.” The first film efforts “were generally celebratory.” In the second period 1960-69 “ideological maturation and intensified class conflict” resulted in a series of debates and polemics about revolutionary art. “The pervasive influence of Italian neorealism and fascination with the French New Wave gradually gave way to broad-based stylistic experimentation in the late 60s.”

 

Humberto Solas

After being involved in the urban guerrilla resistance to the Batista dictatorship, Humberto Solas (1941-2008), in his mid-teens self-financed a short fiction film which led to an invitation to join the Institute (ICAIC) soon after its founding in 1959. Serving an apprenticeship in documentary shorts and newsreels he directed a medium length feature Manuela (1967) drawing on his own experiences of guerrilla warfare which impressed sufficiently for him to be entrusted at the age of 26 with the three part experimental feature Lucía (1969). It shares with Tomás Gutiérrez Alea’s Memories of Underdevelopment (1968) the role of breakthrough film in the post-revolutionary birth of Cuban cinema. Lucía demonstrated a flair for epic storytelling in an experimental narrative structure that featured three distinct cinematic styles. Solas described the basis of his stylistic conception as “one of song, one of catharsis, and the other that reflects the obsessions of my life at the time […]  memories of writings that haunted me, by the impact of the Italian neo-realist filmmakers, the French nouvelle vague, and the cinéma vérité and English free cinema movements.” (Martin & Paddington interview). 

Lucia

Solas acknowledged that “the Cuban Left like in any country, has many different orientations and wings. The revolution may appear as a monolithic event, unique and uniform, but it has always been as much cultural as it is economic, reflecting multiple and opposing polemics. On the cultural level, the progressive revolutionaries co-existed with those that had more conservative tendencies […] I belong to [a group] that is based in ICAIC but affiliated with Casa de las Américas, an institution that has struggled for over 35 years to establish a progressive culture in Cuba. I believe in progressive experimental art when you want to arrive at a relative truth based on circumstance without heavy didacticism (ibid).”

Solas was able to maintain a steady output of 24 films including 8 features in this mode  (increasingly co-productions) without ever matching the international success of Lucia.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

Tomás Gutiérrez Alea

Tomás Gutierrez Alea (1928-96) directed 13 features and a number of shorts and documentaries 1947-95. He is best known internationally for four features : La muerta de un burócrata/The Death of a Bureaucrat (1966), Memorias del Subdesarrollo/ Memories of Underdevelopment (1968), La úlcima cena/The Last Supper (1976) and Fresa y Chocolate/Like Water for Chocolate (1995) which he co-directed with Carlos Tabio.  Alea was raised in an affluent, progressive family. He completed a law degree and then studied cinema at the Centro Sperimentale in Rome.  Along with other young Latin American film-makers, Alea was inspired by Italian neo-realism as the aesthetic best fitted to the conditions in their own countries.  Back in Cuba in the mid-50s Alea with Julio Garcia Espinosa whom he had met at the Sperimentale, and members of a left-wing club, made a clandestine documentary, El mégano/The Charcoal Worker (1955)  about the exploitation of charcoal workers in a swamp south of Havana. The film-makers were arrested by Batista’s secret police and the film banned which established its place as a forerunner to Cuban revolutionary cinema. All who collaborated in its making went on to become leading figures in the Institute of Cinematographic Art and Industry (ICAIC), founded by decree after the overthrow of Batista as the first cultural act of the revolutionary government.

 Alea was one of the filmmakers who together founded the ICAIC in 1959. His first four features alternated between neo-realist influenced drama and comedy. The Death of a Bureaucrat is a mix of absurdist and black comedy that satirises a Cuban problem in the sixties - the persistence of bureaucratic ways inherited from the structures of the Batista regime, a bureaucracy encouraged by the establishment of branch offices of US companies and an associated network of small companies serving them. The nationalisation of foreign companies after the revolution did not put an end to the bureaucratic class seen as a brake on revolutionary action (Kernan). Alea attacks this problem with a broad anthology of parody dedicated to, among others, Bunuel, Buster Keaton, Laurel and Hardy, Harold Lloyd and Jean Vigo.

 Translated by Alea and Edmundo Desnoes from his novel, 'Inconsolable Memories', the story of Memories of Underdevelopment is in the form of a diary by Sergio, a prosperous bourgeois who chooses to stay in Havana when his wife and mother leave for the US in 1961 after the failed CIA operated invasion by 1000 Cuban exiles at the Bay of Pigs the story bookended a year later with the Missile Crisis. The political trauma in America associated with these events meant that the commercial release of Memories was delayed in the US for nearly five years opening in 1973 in New York to critical acclaim.

Memories of Underdevelopment

While Sergio rejects many of the bourgeois ideals of his upbringing, he is unable to shake off either sexual neuroses or his European-based intellectual paralysis, continuing to live uncertainly as a rent-drawing  property owner. The ‘under development' of the title is a complex pun describing both individual and national problems of the revolution in its infancy.  Alea is anything but literary in his attack. He proceeds with highly accomplished technique, towards a perceptive and witty analysis. Many critics at the time were surprised by the strain of self-criticism running through a film produced by what is virtually a government ministry in a Marxist country  (Rod McShane, Time Out 2009)

 Certain parallels have been drawn between early Soviet cinema and the films made during the decade following the Cuban revolution. Eisenstein assumed that his aesthetic experimentation, based on montage, could be harmonised with the propaganda demands of the state. However under Stalin the rules of  socialist realism supplanted and repudiated montage-based experiments. In Cuba scope for  experimentation with a number of hybrid styles was directed at replacing Hollywood with Cuban films for local audiences unengaged by social realist imports from the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe.  

 In contrast to the situation with the imposition of social realism in a closed culture in the Soviet Union, the early success of Cuban films at home and abroad strengthened the position of filmmakers like Alea in ICAIC, ensuring the progressive orientation of cultural politics in a socialist economy with film as an open instrument for social awareness both within Cuba and in creating a new, more complex picture of Cuba abroad. (Kernan). By the late 60s the experimental ethos of Santiago Alvarez’s animations had spread to fiction and produced an astonishing series of films which boldly transgressed the division between genres” (Chanan). Julio Garcia Espinosa’s Los aventuras de Juan Quin Quin (1967) brought a new dimension to anarchic comedy while Holás reinvented historical epic.

 Memories of Underdevelopment was a breakthrough film.  From this point in his career “every one of Alea's films combined either an experimental attitude towards film language, or else a spirit of improvisation in technique with an independent critical attitude towards reality” (Chanan) . Mark Cousins also identifies Memories internationally as is one of the best examples of an emerging art film genre in what he describes as 60s film collage (313-4). The driving force was not cause and effect narrative but “the search for meaning.”  Nowell-Smith in Making Waves (184), endorses the film's strengths as an intellectually accomplished use of film-within-a-film as a way of looking at the formation of revolutionary consciousness or rather through the failure of its formation. However he considers the enthusiastic identification of audiences in Europe and later in US art houses, in the complexities of Sergio, was “rather more than the filmmakers intended.” 

 ICAIC director Alfredo Guevara (not related to Che) pointed out that the films made there -112 features and more than 900 documentaries in 24 years - were aimed not only at Cuban audiences but were produced for all of Latin America. “We do not direct ourselves only to a society that is building socialism but also to a continent that fights for liberation as well as socialism. That has always seemed very important for us to keep in mind.” (ibid 743) And it is important also to keep in mind when considering the political functioning of Sergio in Memories of Underdevelopment.

 The ICAIC enjoyed a good deal of autonomy. Due in no small measure to lack of resources accentuated by the US trade embargo, focus on aesthetics was in service of a cinema created as a  tool for political and social change. The main goal was to create films in which the viewer becomes an active, self-aware participant in the filmic discourse. The intention was that viewers presented with a current problem with no clear solution leave the cinema willing to become an actor in social change.

 Julia Levin notes that ICAIC switched the focus to safer historical subjects when the political atmosphere took on more oppressive overtones such as when the Soviet Union invaded Czechoslovakia in 1968 which the Castro government supported, and the philosophy department at Havana University was closed down for ideological reasons.  As Levin further notes, the vibrant 60s for Cuban art was followed by a period when vitality was gradually lost leading to what are known  'the grey years’ of the 1980s.  Alea turned to history in two dramas the experimental A Cuban Struggle Against the Demons (1971) and  La última cena/The Last Supper (1976) a satire of Afro-Cubanism including Cuba's ambivalent attitude to slavery in earlier times.

Manuel Octavio Gomez

Writer-director 
Manuel Octavio Gomez (1934-88) was one of the first generation of Cuban filmmakers  who began in documentary in the ICAIC after its founding. By the mid-sixties he had moved into making feature films with a merging of issues in popular culture juxtaposed with history in an innovative blend of staged and documentary modes rejecting the idea of the conventional documentary historical film per se. His interest was in reinterpreting popular forms. To make contemporary a century of anti-imperialist struggles that placed contemporary Cuba in an historical continuity, he made La primera cargo al machete/The First Charge of the Machete (1969) portraying the war against the Spanish in 1868 by formally contrasting archaic (high contrast film images) and modern film styles (tv style reportage with handheld cameras) in portraying the machete as both an historical tool of war and a weapon in contemporary economic struggles. He continued to make feature films through the 70s.

Sara Gómez

Sara Gómez
 (1943-74) began working at the ICAIC in 1961 as an assistant director to Alea, Jorge Fraga and to Agnès Varda on her short documentary Salute to Cuba (1963). She wrote about the importance of didactic documentary form in the revolutionary process. Previously in the early-mid 60s two films dealing with socially black, marginalised groups had been censored by the local authorities as showcasing an “unwanted’ version of Havana” (Alonso Aguilar). From 1962-73 Gomez had fulfilled her apprenticeship, directing 10 documentaries presenting vivid snapshots of Cuba’s racialised history before co-scripting and directing a feature De Cierta Manera/One Way or Another (1974), filmed on 16mm with a very low budget. Not long after completing editing she died  as the result of an acute asthma attack. Trained as a musician and ethnographer, she came from the neighbourhood of Guanabacoa traditionally viewed as one of the centres of Afro-Cuban culture, a marginal sector with many issues such as race and gender inequality

One Way or Another

Gómez filmed a mix of real and fictitious subjects in an historically black town beginning the film like a didactic documentary with voice-overs presenting the revolution’s prescription for social integration over images of daily life. It soon becomes apparent that these images are being labelled as representing antisocial and regressive traditions existing on the margins of the revolution but backed by heartfelt renditions of popular black music. The central relationship between a black labourer and a teacher becomes a proxy for the tension between the old and the new Cuba, the representation of the former making the film “an outlier in the Cuban cinema” (ibid). Gomez continues the trend of her short films in framing historical processes with personal stories “through individuality and affectation.”  Gender and racial tension between a black freewheeling workman (a ‘lumpen’ in Marxist terms) and an intellectually stiff, mixed race, upper-class woman, re-contextualises the romantic couple “to bring to life the changing environment around them.”

 Aquilar brings attention to Cinema Novo’s filmmaking polemicist, Julio Garcia Espinosa’s seminal 1969 essay “Towards an Imperfect Cinema,” in which he positions Gomez’s film as a “truly subversive work,” one that rebels against both institutional ways of representing cinema and also in the presentation of their subjects [in which] “the directness of Cuban militant documentary tradition coexists alongside the stylised jump cuts of the French New Wave.” Transitions are rarely seamless, melodramatic outbursts of emotion are filmed by a freely flowing camera while sociological observation gives way to heartfelt musical performance.

Gómez presents a critical sociological analysis of life in marginal communities on the outskirts of Havana and the effects of marginality on the psychological, moral and cultural behaviour of the inhabitants. Her early training with Alea, along with her work on documentaries, is evident in the way documentary and fictional forms combine inextricably in her only feature. As a previous assistant to Alea, Gómez appears to follow his style in Memories of Underdevelopment in One Way or Another, a style Mexican scholar John Mraz calls “dialectical resonance.” Mraz finds a crucial difference between the two films that might be said to distinguish the generation of directors who came of age, like Alea, before the revolution with those like Gómez who grew up within the revolution. “In spite of its ultimate commitment to the revolutionary process,” suggests Mraz, “in some ways the perspective in Memories is of an 'outsider' in what might be called “critical bourgeois realism” relating to Nowell-Smith's identification of ‘a European art film perspective’ in referring to Memories. Gómez's is a vision Mraz sees as “wholly from within the revolution despite the fact that every position in the film is subject to criticism - including that of institutionalised revolution, which is presented in […] a pompous omniscient narration.” Mraz calls this perspective “critical social realism.” She makes use of distancing devices “in a rigorously analytic way.” As Aquilar concludes, “Gómez’s cinema feels liberated.”

 Public screening of the Gómez’s film was delayed by censorship and print restoration issues until 1977 - it has since been streamed internationally by Mubi. The Film Institute screened a special program dedicated to Sara’s life and work subsequently the subject of a documentary, Sara Gomez: An Afro-Cuban Filmmaker (2004), by Swiss filmmaker Alessandra Muller.

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The first entry for Cuba in the 'International Film Guide' appeared in the 1971 issue, in celebratory mood announcing that “seldom has a flourishing film industry emerged out of virtually nothing in such a short space as that of Cuba after the revolution of 1959.” The first cultural decree of the Castro regime was on film, proclaiming in the first sentence, “cinema is an art.” Through the 70s and 80s driven by the  ICIAC, Cuban film established an international presence in film festivals and an annual Festival of New Latin American cinema in 1979 in Cuba, while the domestic audience was kept successfully “entertained and informed” (comedies were popular). An ongoing US embargo not only severely denied the Cuban industry access to the lucrative American market but also kept most western films out. Production was maintained through the 80s but the IFG reports noted a growing need for revitalisation. Financial problems were compounded by the collapse of the Soviet empire. The Castro regime  destroyed the economy. Life in Cuba has been made much harder by the regime's centralised misallocation of resources. “Cuban film was facing the biggest crisis of its history [....] an exhaustion of the early themes of revolutionary cinema; a reluctance to probe contemporary Cuban life with the same frankness of the earlier days.” By 1994 “the days of Cuban cinema seem to get darker all the time. The combination of harsh political repression combined with financial problems had virtually caused Cuban cinema to ground to a halt.” In five successive years, 1995-99, there were no reports from Cuba in the IFG.

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A tendency to deal with sordid aspects of Cuban society has characterised a number of film releases over the last year. One of them, Juan Carlos Cremata's, Chamaco, is a tough story of gay juvenile prostitution, as well as personal corruption. Reportedly filmed with a budget of only US$100, it has an underground quality which is in stark contrast to its theatrical mise-en-scene. Night time in Havana has never been so tragic and oppressive. -  Jorge Yglesias, Cuba reportIFG 2012

Memories of Overdevelopment / Memorias del desarrolio (2010) is a US$50,000 film made over 5 years in the US and Cuba by guerilla filmmaker Miguel Coyola, a unique companion to Tomas Guittiérrez Alea's Memories of Underdevelopment, a classic of Cuban cinema (q.v.). “Sergio, an ideological relative of Alea's main character 40 years later, is now an exile in the United States, weighed down by memories and remorse for past actions. A product of the digital generation, the film ranks as one of the best this country has produced. In contrast to the political and formal correctness of the film industry, the emergence of fresh talent working independently or supported by institutions such athe Higher Institute of Arts (ISA) or the International School of Cinema and TV (EICTV) continues to offer strong signs of revitalisation. ISA veers towards the style of music videos whilst those of the EICTV are more grounded in art house or experimental cinema” - Cuba report  IFG 2011.

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Julianne Burton  “Revolutionary Cuban Cinema: Introduction”  Jump Cut 19  December 1979  pp 17-20                       

Michael Chanan  “ New Cinemas in Latin America”  The History of World Cinema  ed. G.Nowell-Smith                           

Michael T. Martin & Bruce Paddington an interview with Humberto Solas Film Quarterly Spring  2001                              

Marta Alvear  Every Point of arrival is a point of departure: interview with Solas Jump Cut 19 1978                                                                                                                                                  

Peter Biskind  “Lucía: Struggles with History”  Jump Cut 2  July-August 1974                                                                       

Tomás Gutiérrez Alea  “Memories of Underdevelopment : The Viewer's Dialectic” Jump Cut 32 1986                                                                                                                                                                  

Alonso Aquilar  “Reimagining the Revolution”  Notebook/ Mubi  One Way or Another presentation.                                                   

John Mraz  Entries on Sara Gomez  and Octavio Gomez in Directors vol. Dictionary ed. C. Lyon                                                                                                                                                                

Julia Lesage “One Way or Another: dialectical, revolutionary, feminist”  Jump Cut 20  May 1978                                    

Geoffrey Nowell-Smith  Making Waves New Cinemas in the 1960s  2008                                                                                  

Julia Levin “Great Directors: Tomas Gutiérrez Alea”  Senses of Cinema October 2005

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NOTE - An Apology - Renumbering of the series is due to take place


Previous entries in this series can be found if you click the following links. 

 

Sixty Years of International Art Cinema: 1960-2020 - Tables and Directors Lists to Accompany Bruce Hodsdon's Series

 

Notes on canons, methods, national cinemas and more

 

Part One - Introduction

Part Two - Defining Art Cinema

Part Three - From Classicism to Modernism

Part Four - Authorship and Narrative

Part Five - International Film Guide Directors of the Year, The Sight and Sound World Poll, Art-Horror

Part Six (1) - The Sixties, the United States and Orson Welles

Part Six (2) - Hitchcock, Romero and Art Horror

Part Six (3) - New York Film-makers - Elia Kazan & Shirley Clarke  

Part Six (4) - New York Film-makers - Stanley Kubrick Creator of Forms

Part Six (5) ‘New Hollywood’ (1) - Arthur Penn, Warren Beatty, Pauline Kael and BONNIE AND CLYDE

Part Six (6) Francis Ford Coppola: Standing at the crossroads of art and industry

Part 6(7) Altman

6(8) Great Britain - Joseph Losey, Lindsay Anderson, Karel Reisz, Richard Lester, Peter Watkins, Barney Platts-Mills

6(9) France - Part One The New Wave and The Cahiers du Cinema Group

6(10) France - Part Two - The Left Bank/Rive Gauche Group and an Independent

6(11) France - Part Three - Young Godard

6(12) France - Part Four - Godard:Visionary and Rebel

6 (13) France Part 5 Godard with Gorin, Miéville : Searching for an activist voice

6(14) France Part 6 - Creator of Forms - Bresson 

6 (15) France Part 6 - Creator of Forms - Jacques Tati

6 (16) - Part 6 - Creator of Forms - Carl Th Dreyer

6 (17) - Italy and Luchino Visconti

6(18 - Italy and Roberto Rossellini - Part One

6(19) - Rossellini, INDIA and the new Historical realism

6(20) - Rossellini in Australia

6 (21) - Italy - Michelangelo Antonioni

6 (22) - Italy - Federico Fellini, Ermanno Olmi

6 (23) - Italy - Pasolini, Rosi

6 (24) - Interregnum - Director/Auteur/Autoren

6 (25) West Germany

6 (26) - Alexander Kluge Part One

6 (27) - Alexander Kluge Part Two

6 (28) - The Young German Cinema: Reitz, Schlondorff, von Trotta

6(29 ) West German Cinema - Fassbinder

6 (30) West German Cinema - Straub & Huillet

6(31) - New Spanish Cinema

6 (32) - Bunuel in the 60s

6 (32) (ii) - André Delvaux's Magic Realism

6 (33) Nordic Cinemas - Bergman and Widerberg

6 (34) - Scandinavia - Sjoman, Zetterling, Troell

6 (35) - East Germany - Konrad Wolf, Frank Beyer

6 (36) - East Central Europe - Poland

6(37) - East Central Europe - Hungary Part One

6 (38) East Central Europe - Miklos Jancso

6 (39) East Central Europe - Czechoslovakia

6 (40) East Central Europe - Yugoslavia

6 (41) - The Soviet Union

6 (42) - Asia - Japan - Part One

6 (43) - Japan - Part Two

6 (44) - Japan - Part Three - Shohei Imamura

6 (45) Asia - India Pt 1 - Satyajit Ray

6 (46) Asia - India Pt 2- Ghatak, Dutt, Sen, Parallel Cinema

6 (47) Asia - China - Part 1: Mapping Chinese Cinema 

6(47) Asia- China - Part 2: The Shanghai Revival (1947-1949)

6 (48) - Brazil Pt 1- Cinema Novo, dos Santos, Rocha

6 (49) Brazil Pt 2 - de Andrade, Diegues, Guerra

6(50) - Latin America - Argentina

6 (51) - Chile - Allende and Popular Unity

6 (52) - Latin America - Bolivia, Jorge Sanjine

6 (55) - Cuba

Thursday, 28 May 2026

At the German Film Festival - Janice Tong reviews SOUND OF FALLING (Mascha Schilinski, 2025)

An Impression: That Quiet Fever of Girlhood

 

        The white noise in my ear tells me I’m alive. In noticing this, I also notice my                 stoic fear of impending death, when the sound of falling stills. We are fragile as         flowers.

 

        The harvester is blind to all that lies in the hay, there is no pathway in or out. The         doe sleeps the sleep of the just. The advancing future, this noise that is blinding.

 

        The white noise in my ear rings out in the night, amplified ten times in a string of         white nights. Nights without rest…this baffling call to whiteness.

 

        We are conditioned to fall, gravity (a weak force) keeps our feet to the ground,             pulling us downwards. The elevator of life – a mesmerising slow descent.  

 

In Mascha Schilinski’s film, Sound of Falling, the German title In die Sonne schauen literally means ‘gazing at the sun’, – we feel the after effects: to be blinded by its whiteness, momentarily, involuntarily. – The film is a poetic tapestry of memory fragments across multiple points of view, of four intergenerational families in the same rural farmhouse in Saxony-Anhalt in northeastern Germany, across four time periods, 1910s, 1940s, 1980s, and 2020s.


Alma (Hanna Heckt)

Alma (a prize-worthy performance from the young Hanna Heckt) is the seven year old narrator from 1910. She lives with her sisters Lia, Hedda, and Gerti, and brother Fritz. They live in this big farmhouse with cooks and maid servants, farm hands too. The scene where Alma plays at being her ‘dead self’, after seeing a photo of her doppelganger on the mantelpiece: that girl also had the same name, who appeared uncannily to be wearing the same black dress that their mother, Emma, had carefully picked out for the narrator Alma for a special feast day – the Day of the Dead, is nothing short of ingenious. 

 

Seventeen year old Erika (Lea Drinda) from 1940 is the niece of Fritz. She wanders around the largely empty house on crutches with her own good left leg strapped up, a fetishistic fantasy of her amputee bed-ridden uncle, showing an unfettered glimpse of female desire, a dare one sets oneself. She steals into his room, dips her finger into the pool of sweat from his bellybutton and tastes it. 

 

Irm (Claudia Geisler-Bading), Erika’s sister, is Angelika’s mother, an awkward woman in her late 50s; who ‘does not know when to laugh’. Angelika is the voice from the 1980s. She, at sixteen, has an allure and carefreeness that reminded me of Christina Ricci’s character in Buffalo 66 (1998). Lena Urzendowsky’s portrayal is remarkable (in fact, all the child actors in this film are brilliant and affecting) – she has discovered the power of her body, a body that can hold the gaze of another, especially that of men, regardless whether they are her cousin (Florian Geißelmann) or uncle (Konstantin Lindhorst). 

 

Unlike Angelika, Laeni Geiseler’s Lenka, a twelve year old from the 2020s, also experiences the male gaze, but an unwanted one, from her father’s friend on a summer’s day under the water sprinkler. Her sister Nelly (Zoë Baier) at five years of age, often feels left out, and readily imagines her own end. Their mother, Christa (Luise Heyer) on the other hand, is a modern woman, one who knocks down the hundred year old chimney stove with a sledgehammer. Is this her way to start their own story afresh? Yet Lenka’s navigation of her own life changes when she meets an angst-filled teenage neighbour, Kaya (Ninel Geiger) who bears a remarkable resemblance to Angelika, who has just lost her own mother. 

 

Lenka (Laeni Geiseler)

Throughout the characters' voice overs, we learn a lot about their feelings, their interior world, whether they are just describing a scene, or explaining how they are trying to make sense of what they have seen or heard – there is an underscore of violence, of threat, across all of their accounts. 

 

Their story is sprung in a temporal labyrinthine maze, the structure of which, unlike a physical labyrinth, weaves you in and out of time. Remembering that a maze is constructed with side paths and dead ends too: there are no easy answers to the life that we lead. We just struggle on the best we can, turn back from the dead ends, cheat and climb over the hedgerows if we dare. But the red thread that binds these epochs nonetheless gets loosened once it’s been pulled. 

 

The idea of letting go. The seen and unseen. The blind bind. 

 

This film masterfully builds narrative as in a dream. A catalogue of moments in time: what a family chooses to speak about, the surface of it, dressing it up for ‘outsiders’, and what gets hidden and buried, the rituals, or those unexplainable private thoughts. Schilinski, working with husband cinematographer Fabian Gamper, has created a chimeric daydream. 

 

We slip into that quiet fever of girlhood. 

 

Phantom pains from a limb that is no longer there. ‘Pretty strange that something can still hurt, even when it’s not there anymore.’ Alma says of Fritz’s cries after he had his leg amputated.

 

The sullen, moody years I also lived as a girl discovering the world, and the allure of a continent that is not yours – but another’s body, another’s mind. And the sad realisation, of the impossibility to bridge the two worlds.

 

To look there, back into those memories, those blinded moments, to feel the actual weight of the emotion as you did then: a momentary revulsion, or the first blush recognition of the male gaze, the power of your own body, an embarrassment, or an unnameable desire. 

 

Erika (Lea Drinda)

Nothing about the world is certain, but only that the world is damaged and beautiful at the same time. These traces are the only evidence of our existence. 

 

Even when we ‘see’ our own ghosts – the dead Alma on the velvet settee; Lia’s sewn-opened eyes on a similarly upholstered chair; Alma’s about face turn to look into camera; the fly that crawls into the mouth of their deceased younger brother up on the hayloft; to Angelika’s ghostly disappearance captured in mid-flight at the edge of the Polaroid, a floating blur peeling away from the rest of her family; the story of eels and drowning; Erika’s disappearance and dead mothers; a river that divides the east and the west; what remains hidden, or seen through peepholes and glimpsed in the cracks between the timber: incest, girls being sold by their families as maids, then sterilised just to be ‘visited by men lining up outside her door at night’, the ‘work accident’ of Fritz – speak of suicides, and the pull of death. What it means to live in a patriarchal world, and its socially accepted mistreatment of girls. The camera cannot help but loop back round to all the haunted places, the kitchen, bedroom, hayloft, field, and riverbank. 

 

Could the sound of Alma’s hand falling repeatedly on her lap as she ‘plays at being dead’ be the beat that precedes an ultimate action? That dull thud, like the ache of a beating heart. The down beat before take off. Before that hammer blow. The first measure of a life to be lived.