A Clockwork Orange

A CLOCKWORK ORANGE       A         
Great Britain  USA  (136 mi)  1971  d:  Stanley Kubrick

A bold and daring film coming on the heels of two other ultra violent films, Ken Russell’s THE DEVILS (1971) and Sam Peckinpah’s STRAW DOGS (1971), where knowledge of the disturbing aspects of the film literally preceded its release, this is a highly stylized, subversive adaptation of the Anthony Burgess novel, which was originally written as a response to the horrific rape of the author’s wife, actually inventing a slang vocabulary to reflect its own youth subculture.  Kubrick changes the tone, perhaps coming closest to DR. STRANGELOVE (1964), as the biting sarcasm is matched by extreme aggression and exaggeration, where there’s nothing subtle about this film which for all practical purposes is one continual kick in the balls, an adrenaline rush of satiric overkill, and a powerful condemnation of British culture in the 60’s and 70’s.  Forever remembered as the Kubrick film to come *after* 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), the film is known for its graphic depiction of youth violence, where some initially felt it was an incitement to commit violence, copying some of the graphic scenes in real life, such as a “Singin’ in the Rain” rape, where Kubrick himself received death threats, so the movie was quietly pulled from distribution only in Great Britain shortly after its release, never to play again for the next 30 years until after Kubrick’s death.  This was done by Kubrick himself due to the lacerating criticism the film received in Britain attributing the rise in street crime to the violent subject matter shown on movie screens.  Apparently film critics never attended a British soccer match, where you’d think soccer itself was responsible for hooliganism, where often drunken fans resort to profane shouts and fisticuffs afterwards, but also full-blown riots breaking storefront windows using bottles and baseball bats.  Nonetheless, the game of soccer continues.  Juvenile delinquency is not something learned in movie theaters, or political apathy, or a wretched disrespect for others.  These are more commonly found in homes where the economic futures are grim, leading to a lashing out by disillusioned youth who refuse to accept the hopeless conditions of continually being at the bottom, taking the future by any means possible, literally grabbing and stealing it, perhaps the only way they see they can alter the course of their otherwise meaningless lives which are all but invisible in the eyes of the government. 

While 2001: A Space Odyssey combines the elegance of classical music with an equally mind-blowing visual scheme, enhancing the boundaries of what is already a thought-provoking story, A CLOCKWORK ORANGE is a terrifying morality play, a futuristic horror film that contrasts the *ultra violence* inflicted by roving gangs of amoral and disaffected youth with the unspeakable acts inflicted by government, the supposed moral voice of authority, upon those responsible, where the scientific treatment literally neutering them of their aggression is more vile and horrific than the crime.  It’s a portrait of an out of control, overcontrolling government that treats behavior disorders as a mental condition, leading to a highly experimental brainwashing technique, reminiscent of lobotomy treatments designed to cut out of the brain what was thought to be causing anti-social or self-destructive behavior, leading to a programmed, dehumanized individual where weakness prevails and the concept of choice and free will are all but eliminated, described as a soulless creature by the prison chaplain.  Using an outrageously futuristic production design throughout matched by the most exaggerated use of sarcasm that literally drips off every narrated word from the despicable lead character, Alex DeLarge (Alexander the Large in the novel), one of the groundbreaking bad boy roles of the remarkable Malcolm McDowell, who had just completed Lindsay Anderson’s movie IF….(1968), playing the charming leader of a group of goons and thugs that he calls his droogs, listed by the American Film Institute as the 12th greatest film villain, who just for the thrill and excitement of it rob and beat the crap out of people with a sadistic relish, cherishing every moment of it while Alex, with a cane and bowler hat, pulverizes his victims to the lighthearted song and dance of “Singin’ in the Rain.” A Clockwork Orange - Singin' in the Rain - YouTube (3:04).  The joy and excitement they get inflicting insurmountable pain and cruelty makes little sense, much like Michael Haneke’s subsequent depiction in Funny Games (1997), yet nihilistic rebellion seems to be the one thing they’re capable of, as otherwise they’re uneducated dropouts and complete misfits, all except Alex, that is, who is the smartest one in the room, who loves disseminating random violence and listening to the music of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, familiarly calling him Ludwig Van, as if he’s an old friend.  Painfully, reflecting a breakdown of law and order, we watch Alex and his droogs cruelly beat up drunks and old men, take on rival gangs, or break into people’s homes, making what they call “surprise visits,” expressed through a kind of abstract visual choreography, where they brutally attack the men and viciously rape women in their own homes, displaying a kind of amoral mob mentality with a boyish schoolyard enthusiasm.

Radical and extreme, Alex’s anarchistic contempt for society reflects a reaction to his own working class background, where strikes and wage cuts express a poverty of spirit that rules the day, where his utter disdain of others is interestingly a conditioned response to his own social environment.  But Alex gets too big for his britches, as they say, and after taking enough humiliating bullying, his own droogs turn on him, leaving him immobilized as the police arrive, where he’s made an example of by the harsh law and order government, his face plastered all over the newspapers, his notorious deeds published for all to see, making him something of a super criminal.  Once in prison, however, he’s just another piece of meat like everybody else.  But when the Minister of Interior arrives inside the prison looking for a candidate to convince the public that science can completely eliminate violent tendencies once and for all, offering a get out of jail free incentive, Alex is the perfect candidate, where his example could bring unprecedented popularity to the government, showing they are serious about getting tough on crime.  Anyone who’s seen Nicolas Roeg’s The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976) or Brian De Palma’s The Fury (1978) has some idea how science is depicted in the 70’s, a disaster in the making much like the way the Atom bomb was depicted in the 60’s, but it is Kubrick’s futuristic depiction of such a deplorable, corrective deprogramming therapy that sets the tone, where human beings are guinea pigs who fall under the malicious totalitarian control of the state, performing some of the most detestable and grotesque tests imaginable, showing little regard for the patient’s well being, all in the name of science, and of course, good government.  While there is a tendency of several characters, usually authority figures, to sadistically over act, much like Peter Sellers in DR. STRANGELOVE, making them seem more heinous than they really are, the magical elixir cure is relatively quick, taking only two weeks, using a horrific Pavlovian conditioning treatment in reverse, where he grows ill at the thought of sex or violence, and, ironically, Beethoven’s 9th which is playing in the background of one of his deprogramming films, leaving him helpless and defenseless to even the slightest physical altercation, pathetically groveling on his knees in submission to anyone who might threaten him.

Alex’s nonchalant ascent to his signature smug arrogance as a top dog crime thug is memorable, but his pathetic descent into a cured but weak-kneed, ordinary citizen is even more mind-bogglingly surreal, especially considering his picture appears in all the newspapers as a *success* story, but the man is a portrait of utter humiliation, forced to endure a Hellish existence of internal anguish and despair.  The path Alex takes is his alone, where he perhaps outdoes the sight of Charles Foster Kane in finally getting his comeuppance, as Alex’s comes while he’s still young and in the prime of his life.  After his treatment, however, everyone he knows still sees him as the “old Alex,” continuing to harbor grudges against the evil acts of his past deeds, where they’re inclined to believe this so-called cure is all a hoax and that Alex is just pretending.  Loath to give him any thought of mercy or forgiveness, payback is a bitch, as everyone is quick to heap onto him their long suppressed anger and hatred in revengefully getting back at him, taking some form of sadistic delight in piling onto his endless misery.  The acute nature of his fall from grace actually foreshadows Kubrick’s next film, BARRY LYNDON (1975), a film in two acts, meticulously detailing the rise and fall of a nobleman, where the 2nd act is entitled Containing an Account of the Misfortunes and Disasters Which Befell Barry Lyndon.  Kubrick’s apocalyptic endings have become renowned, as are his mathematically precise opening title sequences, where this one has no listed credits, but is set to a slowed down synthesizer version of Henry Purcell’s “Music for the Funeral of Queen Mary”  A Clockwork Orange - Intro [HD] - YouTube (2:17).  Kubrick was another lover of irony, where the sneering tone of the narration leads to production design overkill with futuristic phallic art, near surreal sex and violence, not to mention heavily stylized imagery replacing actual violence.  But it’s Kubrick’s daring visual design, his iconic imagery matched by his equally stellar choices of music that make this film what it is, as the mocking tone adds much needed levity throughout, as evidenced by a touch of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony A Clockwork Orange - 'Dance' - YouTube (1:32), or this choice sequence set to Rossini’s “The Thieving Magpie”  A Clockwork Orange: Alex puts his Droogs in place ... YouTube (1:40), where the way it’s filmed, often using a wide-angled lens, actually distorts reality, while also creating a slow motion, almost dream-like state which adds a more detached, outsiderist view, which alongside the music keeps the viewer at a distance, as if we’re outside looking in, which minimizes the impact of much of the violence.  While the original release was rated “X” for the graphic depiction of sex and violence, it has since been re-rated to an “R” film.  Of note, in the book Alex grows up, and through his own free will makes the choice in the end to give up his adolescent views of violence, an aspect Kubrick intentionally leaves out of the film, something Burgess never forgave him for, as that was the point of writing the book.  Kubrick, however, enlarges the canvas, painting a scathing satire implicating government in the corruption and moral hypocrisy of the era.   

Zero for Conduct (Zéro de conduite: Jeunes diables au college)

ZERO FOR CONDUCT (Zéro de conduite: Jeunes diables au college)      A 
France  (44 mi)  1933  d:  Jean Vigo  

Freedom comes at a high price, and it's very rare. There are maybe ten free men in the world. Jean Vigo was a free man and, as such, he set an example. 

—Jean Painlevé, colleague and friend of Jean Vigo

Often viewed as the patron saint of French cinema, Jean Vigo, who died penniless and alone, has been resurrected as a man who boldly stood for lost causes, a man of vision and social conscience who may as well be the radical voice of change often overlooked in the nation’s spotty history, the Vichy government capitulating to the Nazi’s in World War II, bitterly losing their last colonial interests in the 50’s and 60’s to independence, second only to the British in what was once a thriving French colonial empire, where, as so brilliantly expressed in Jean Renoir’s RULES OF THE GAME (1939), the French aristocracy continues to maintain a mindset resting on the laurels of its past.  As suggested in his earlier short À PROPOS DE NICE (1930), contrasting the vastly different worlds between the rich and the poor, Vigo saw the wealthy class as entrenched in hedonistic pleasures, squandering their wealth on a life of leisure while the working class performed all the necessary functions of making a city run smoothly.  Vigo saw no way to break through this systematic class barrier without revolutionary change, where in the early 30’s the Great Depression made anti-capitalist ideologies attractive to millions, making the 30’s the golden era of socialism.  But Vigo was not an avowed socialist, but an anarchist, a largely anti-fascist organization remaining active in the Spanish Civil War in the mid 30’s while joining the French Resistance during the German occupation in World War II.  For Vigo, anarchism and acts of civil resistance would lead to a desired social revolution.  And therein lies Vigo’s legacy, as he’s continually seen as a subversive visionary, where his radical political views are matched by the radical influence he’s had on cinema since its infancy, using remarkably original ideas, as expressed in this one-of-a-kind film, viewed as a vaudevillesque mockery of the existing social order, delightfully breaking down barriers at every turn, becoming the generational darling of civil disobedience.  Banned by the government upon release as being anti-French and a potential incite to riot, the film collected mothballs until rediscovered after the war in 1946, becoming a defining centerpiece of the Cahiers du Cinéma group and the subsequent French New Wave, embracing the unbridled spontaneity in the infamous rebellion of four young boys in a stiflingly restrictive boarding school, which Truffaut paid loving homage to in The 400 Blows (Les quatre cents coups) (1959), while becoming the daring model of open resistance in Lindsay Anderson’s IF….(1968). 

Zéro de Conduite is based on Jean Vigo’s own personal childhood experiences, becoming something of an anarchist anthem on adolescence, filmed at the same Millau junior high boarding school he attended, using a non-professional cast, often people he saw walking down the street, basing the story on real people he knew in his youth, including the character Tabard who is based on Vigo himself.  The director’s poor health declined during the making of the film and he was unable to complete the editing himself.  The story centers on authoritarian rule leading to a school revolt by a group of four boys returning to boarding school after vacation, illustrating the polarizing forces of freedom and authority.  The narrative is loosely knit together with memorable shots and sequences, a constant jostling of images in what feels like a raw and recklessly liberating free-for-all, a surrealist extravaganza on display that boggles the mind with the unrestrained spirit of joy that surrounds every shot.  The playfulness is not to be discounted, as this is, after all, an examination of suppressed childhood, where what should be the carefree days of youth are misspent stuck in a wretchedly suffocating boys school where beans are served every day, the teachers are tyrants and grossly inept, while the overzealous headmaster is a dwarf with a giant beard, like something conjured up by Buñuel, though a new instructor Huguet, Jean Dasté, future star of L'Atalante (1934), dazzles the students with his Charlie Chaplin little Tramp’s walk, not to mention performing a handstand on his classroom desk.  Not altogether rational or lucid, often goofy, the entire film plays out like a chaotic vision in a child’s mind, told with unhesitatingly crude slapstick moving at breakneck speed, where perhaps only Guy Maddin’s legendary short THE HEART OF THE WORLD (2000) The Heart Of The World - Guy Maddin - YouTube (6:08) can compare in producing the same electrifying jolt of energy.  Odd, completely unorthodox and strangely beautiful, the film’s reputation lies in exuding a passionate stylistic spontaneity that is nothing less than mind-blowing.  Uniquely original, more mayhem is crammed into these breathless 44 minutes than anything else ever imagined.    

The boys hatch up a plot to take over the school on Alumni day, where invited dignitaries will be present in an overly ordered display of pompous military pageantry, with the idea of creating something an unforgettable spectacle.  The entire film title offers a clue, calling them “little devils at college,” where if truth be told, the schoolchildren themselves never listen, constantly misbehave, are continually plotting mischief of some kind and are hardly innocents (hard not to think of the Harry Potter trio), but the film makes it clear these acts of defiance are a natural response to abusive power.  Way ahead of its time, a satiric film so compressed that every single shot matters, each one remarkably unique, Vigo blends experimental techniques into the narrative, especially evident in a dream-like pillow fight that erupts after ripping their beds to shreds, throwing white feathers everywhere as if snow had suddenly fallen inside the otherwise dreary, prison-like dormitory walls, like those little glass figurines that you shake and turn upside down to produce the same effect, poetically changing speeds to slow motion in a dizzying display of pent-up emotions, a striking parady of the military state and a beautiful expression of the anarchist spirit of youth, the result of long festering rebellious impulses that have been simmering under the surface throughout.  But there’s more, as this fearsome foursome climbs to the roof on the day of the Alumni day ceremony, tilting the camera to show the students triumphantly reaching the top, where they immediately begin pelting all the guests with garbage and debris, insurrectionists raising hell and disrupting the proceedings, turning the tables on who’s in charge, creating utter chaos and pandemonium.  Vigo’s rooftop shots show the gallivanting kids taking charge of their own separate universe, always framed with the endless sky as a backdrop, leap-frogging across the rooftops to their escape, where freedom is expressed through seemingly unlimited horizons.  The film is a timeless ode to freedom and the spirit of youth, where throwing off the shackles of authority is the first step in accepting what amounts to the reigns of maturity and your own adulthood, redefining the world at large, filled with a revolutionary vision of endless possibilities, something of a punk rock anthem years ahead of its time, where in the entire history of cinema there is nothing else like it.       

2012 Top Ten Films of the Year: #9 King of Devil's Island (Kongen av Bastøy)

 

KING OF DEVIL’S ISLAND (Kongen av Bastøy)           A-             

Norway  Sweden  Poland  France  (120 mi)  2010  ‘Scope  d:  Marius Holst

A different side of Scandinavian films that we rarely see, one that is as brutally harsh as the bleak wintry landscape, where fortitude is built by learning how to survive in the worst circumstances, where in this part of the world surviving the elements is a continual test of character.  Based on a true story in 1915, set on the island of Bastøy on the North Sea inlet south of Oslo, they run an Alcatraz style prison for delinquent boys, where some may be orphans, some have mental health issues, others may have been caught for petty crimes, or may just be poor, but boys from 8 to 18 languish on this penal colony for years paying a kind of eternal penitence, where getting lost in the system is an understatement, as their release depends upon the discretion of the sadistic Governor in charge, Stellan Skarsgård, who firmly believes hard work and a firm stick will somehow transform these unruly boys into model citizens.  His job is to mold them into compliant citizens that obey rules and follow orders.  The truthful severity of the brutal acts against children make this kind of film off limits to American filmmakers, as this honestly exposes a kind of monstrous inhumanity within Norway’s own history that’s missing in American films.  Some of the best remembered prison films are A MAN ESCAPED (1956), THE GREAT ESCAPE (1963), COOL HAND LUKE (1967), IF… (1968), ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST (1975), SHAWHANK REDEMPTION (1994), where each one raises the question of prisoner escape, seen by the other inmates as an act of heroics, yet not so the warden who must make an example to deter similar actions, resorting to ruthless measures if caught, making one think twice about ever doing it again.  Each of these movies suggests men can only endure so much torture and relentless oppression, resorting to wit and bravery to conjure up improbable acts of escape, but not so here, as someone instead irrationally refuses to escape when the door is left wide open, where this may have you on the edge of your seat.

Unraveling as a story within a story, where a young harpooner aboard a Moby Dick style whaling ship marvels at the endurance of a whale that has been shot 3 times, yet still manages to elude them throughout most of the day, a theme turned back upon the humans, as it is their own beastly behavior that takes centerstage in this film.  With the arrival of two new inmates, a burly young sailor Erling (Benjamin Helstad) immediately disrupts the balance of power by challenging the status quo, threatening escape almost immediately, which places the other boys in jeopardy, especially Olav (Trond Nilssen), who is given responsibility over his dormitory as he’s expecting his release soon, considered a model prisoner.  What’s especially interesting is the interplay between these two, as they are polar opposites with uniquely compelling viewpoints.  They immediately test one another with a kind of LORD OF THE FLIES (1963) psychological battle of wits, while at the same time the Governor is testing the rebellious nature of Erling, continually adding harsher work details which makes his workmates miserable, but he continually takes the brunt of it, routinely given added punishments where he’s mindlessly ordered to move a pile of rocks ten feet away into another pile, only to be instructed afterwards to move them all back again.  The viewer soon discovers the island is a child labor camp, where they perform farming and forestry work details, with society getting a special bonus out of their cheap labor.  Except for the leads, most of the kids are non-professionals, where with little dialogue the director subtly weaves into the fabric a sense of community from the boys point of view, as they’re all victims of the same inhumane living conditions, where what’s missing is the capacity to look out for one another.       

What’s especially effective is the gorgeous ‘Scope camerawork from John Andreas Andersen whose sweeping panoramas and wintry landscapes look brutally cold, where winter never looked harsher and more ominous, where these are boys, after all, continually punished and brutalized in the name of some utterly fictitious social good, the Governor’s goal of making them “honorable, humble, and useful Christian boys,” as if he could beat them into submission.  While the tense build up of the inevitable rebellion may be held back too long, as there’s little doubt the floodgates at some point will open, when they do it comes with a flurry, all precipitated by extreme abuse to the weakest among them, a boy violated by the housemaster, Kristoffer Joner, in a role reminiscent of Donald Sutherland’s sick portrayal of a fascist baby killer in Bertolucci’s 1900, especially when the peasants turn on him.  So it’s not heroics but abuse of power, a cowardly cover up, where contemptible lies are met with anger and disgust, which has an initial liberating effect, but a bit like Haneke’s FUNNY GAMES (1997), the initial wave of hope is crushed with even harsher and more barbaric methods, making things seem hopeless before a sea change of communal emotion comes swiftly crashing through the gates like a raging flood, an apocalyptic response to the torrent of sins heaped upon them.  The chaos that follows is just that, a sprawling, sweeping flow of events that comes to resemble the image of that wounded whale ferociously fighting for its last gasp of freedom.  Holst is at his best in the extremely personal finale, pitch perfect and beautifully staged, thrilling to watch, where he judiciously takes his time allowing events to play out, becoming a poetic reverie of innocence lost.  Shot mostly in Estonia, the music by Johan Soderqvist is especially captivating, offering a somber lament at exactly the right moment, adding a layer of quiet intimacy to a beautifully accomplished film.

King of Devil's Island (Kongen av Bastøy)

KING OF DEVIL’S ISLAND (Kongen av Bastøy)           A-             

Norway  Sweden  Poland  France  (120 mi)  2010  ‘Scope  d:  Marius Holst

A different side of Scandinavian films that we rarely see, one that is as brutally harsh as the bleak wintry landscape, where fortitude is built by learning how to survive in the worst circumstances, where in this part of the world surviving the elements is a continual test of character.  Based on a true story in 1915, set on the island of Bastøy on the North Sea inlet south of Oslo, they run an Alcatraz style prison for delinquent boys, where some may be orphans, some have mental health issues, others may have been caught for petty crimes, or may just be poor, but boys from 8 to 18 languish on this penal colony for years paying a kind of eternal penitence, where getting lost in the system is an understatement, as their release depends upon the discretion of the sadistic Governor in charge, Stellan Skarsgård, who firmly believes hard work and a firm stick will somehow transform these unruly boys into model citizens.  His job is to mold them into compliant citizens that obey rules and follow orders.  The truthful severity of the brutal acts against children make this kind of film off limits to American filmmakers, as this honestly exposes a kind of monstrous inhumanity within Norway’s own history that’s missing in American films.  Some of the best remembered prison films are A MAN ESCAPED (1956), THE GREAT ESCAPE (1963), COOL HAND LUKE (1967), IF… (1968), ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST (1975), SHAWHANK REDEMPTION (1994), where each one raises the question of prisoner escape, seen by the other inmates as an act of heroics, yet not so the warden who must make an example to deter similar actions, resorting to ruthless measures if caught, making one think twice about ever doing it again.  Each of these movies suggests men can only endure so much torture and relentless oppression, resorting to wit and bravery to conjure up improbable acts of escape, but not so here, as someone instead irrationally refuses to escape when the door is left wide open, where this may have you on the edge of your seat.

Unraveling as a story within a story, where a young harpooner aboard a Moby Dick style whaling ship marvels at the endurance of a whale that has been shot 3 times, yet still manages to elude them throughout most of the day, a theme turned back upon the humans, as it is their own beastly behavior that takes centerstage in this film.  With the arrival of two new inmates, a burly young sailor Erling (Benjamin Helstad) immediately disrupts the balance of power by challenging the status quo, threatening escape almost immediately, which places the other boys in jeopardy, especially Olav (Trond Nilssen), who is given responsibility over his dormitory as he’s expecting his release soon, considered a model prisoner.  What’s especially interesting is the interplay between these two, as they are polar opposites with uniquely compelling viewpoints.  They immediately test one another with a kind of LORD OF THE FLIES (1963) psychological battle of wits, while at the same time the Governor is testing the rebellious nature of Erling, continually adding harsher work details which makes his workmates miserable, but he continually takes the brunt of it, routinely given added punishments where he’s mindlessly ordered to move a pile of rocks ten feet away into another pile, only to be instructed afterwards to move them all back again.  The viewer soon discovers the island is a child labor camp, where they perform farming and forestry work details, with society getting a special bonus out of their cheap labor.  Except for the leads, most of the kids are non-professionals, where with little dialogue the director subtly weaves into the fabric a sense of community from the boys point of view, as they’re all victims of the same inhumane living conditions, where what’s missing is the capacity to look out for one another.       

What’s especially effective is the gorgeous ‘Scope camerawork from John Andreas Andersen whose sweeping panoramas and wintry landscapes look brutally cold, where winter never looked harsher and more ominous, where these are boys, after all, continually punished and brutalized in the name of some utterly fictitious social good, the Governor’s goal of making them “honorable, humble, and useful Christian boys,” as if he could beat them into submission.  While the tense build up of the inevitable rebellion may be held back too long, as there’s little doubt the floodgates at some point will open, when they do it comes with a flurry, all precipitated by extreme abuse to the weakest among them, a boy violated by the housemaster, Kristoffer Joner, in a role reminiscent of Donald Sutherland’s sick portrayal of a fascist baby killer in Bertolucci’s 1900, especially when the peasants turn on him.  So it’s not heroics but abuse of power, a cowardly cover up, where contemptible lies are met with anger and disgust, which has an initial liberating effect, but a bit like Haneke’s FUNNY GAMES (1997), the initial wave of hope is crushed with even harsher and more barbaric methods, making things seem hopeless before a sea change of communal emotion comes swiftly crashing through the gates like a raging flood, an apocalyptic response to the torrent of sins heaped upon them.  The chaos that follows is just that, a sprawling, sweeping flow of events that comes to resemble the image of that wounded whale ferociously fighting for its last gasp of freedom.  Holst is at his best in the extremely personal finale, pitch perfect and beautifully staged, thrilling to watch, where he judiciously takes his time allowing events to play out, becoming a poetic reverie of innocence lost.  Shot mostly in Estonia, the music by Johan Soderqvist is especially captivating, offering a somber lament at exactly the right moment, adding a layer of quiet intimacy to a beautifully accomplished film.