The Cakemaker

THE CAKEMAKER             B+                  

Israel  Germany  (113 mi)  2017  ‘Scope  d:  Ophir Raul Graizer

Any German-Israeli joint business venture can only be viewed as promising, suggesting that if these two countries can put aside their past differences and mutually agree to common interests, then anything’s possible.  Imagine how these two nations must have viewed each other just a half a century ago.  It boggles the mind.  Reminiscent of François Ozon’s Frantz (2016), which is an historical period piece set after the end of the First World War when a visiting French soldier pays tribute to his fallen gay lover in Germany, arousing hostile emotions, becoming a subject of derision and contempt by an angered nation still smarting from defeat, yet the family of the deceased comes to embrace him for his wealth of good intentions.  The origins of this film began eight years ago when the openly gay Graizer graduated from the Israeli Film School in Sapir College, Sdero and joined a student exchange, with German students coming to Israel while he ended up in Berlin, residing there for the past seven years, married to a Berlin florist while also training to be a cook (teaching cooking classes on the side), publishing a Middle-Eastern cookbook at the same time his first feature film has an international release.  Traveling between Berlin and Jerusalem, the film is a portrait of two cities, following the exploits of Israeli businessman Oren (Roy Miller), fluent in multiple languages, as he visits his favorite Berlin bakery, Café Kredenz, developing an easy rapport with the pastry chef Thomas (Tim Kalkhof), who creates these luscious concoctions that help keep business booming.  Without so much as a word of explanation, Oren is soon living with Thomas on his near monthly visits, though he has a devoted wife and 6-year old son back home.   This arrangement feels quite natural, though the absences are obviously difficult on the ones left behind.  It is only when Oren fails to answer his cellphone or call Thomas back that any real drama begins, as Thomas is pushed into desperate actions, visiting Jerusalem in an attempt to find him, sadly discovering from his employer that he died tragically in a car accident several months earlier, leaving Thomas alone, languishing in a foreign city, which has its own unique character and established rhythms, with cries of Shabbat being announced all throughout the city, which becomes a kind of bond that helps unite the brethren.   

Winner of the Ecumenical prize at the Karlovy Vary Film Festival (where it received a ten-minute standing ovation afterwards), suggesting spiritual bonds can develop while mourning the loss of someone, and made for less than $200,000, the film doesn’t feel sparse or neglected, but spends an inordinate amount of time indoors in small settings, where the weight of the film is what Thomas carries on his shoulders, visiting the small café run by Oren’s widow, Anat, played by the always brilliant Sarah Adler who sprung onto the scene in Godard’s NOTRE MUSIQUE (2004) and the remarkable Jellyfish (Meduzot) (2007), where she adds such depth to any character.  Asking if she needs any help, she initially declines his offer, but later hires him for dishwashing or chopping vegetables, where his willingness to do anything asked gets her attention, though a German working in a Kosher kitchen arouses the suspicion of Oren’s brother Moti (Zohar Strauss), who goes ballistic when he bakes some surprise cookies in the oven for her son Itai’s birthday, instructing him to destroy them all, as she’ll lose her Kosher license if people find out.  Despite his sensitivity on the issue, Anat is not so judgmental, as she’s not a fervent believer, but happens to live and work in a Kosher neighborhood surrounded by devout customers where these things matter.  Nonetheless, this gesture is appreciated by Anat, who starts selling the cookies, much to the delight of her customers.  It’s this kind of unspoken recognition that happens throughout the entire picture, where underneath is a queasy feeling that Thomas is a stalker, yet his eerie motives remain secretive throughout, though the audience is well aware of the connection, yet Anat has no idea.  Is this a beautiful or a terrifying thing?  From the outset, what’s immediately pronounced is the impassioned piano music of Dominique Charpentier, adding a quietly surreal and contemplative element, like a melancholic voice for the ghosts of the missing, adding a mysterious invisible force that seems especially connected to moments alone, such as when Thomas is seen baking in his apartment late at night, adding an intricate layer of complexity to the passing of time, with Thomas especially absorbed in his own thoughts (which are never revealed).  As time goes on, Thomas’s creations become the bulk of the business, as he draws customers with his delightful baking skills, though ironically most are inherently German recipes, like a divine Black Forest cake that she serves.

Even Moti grows to appreciate just how invaluable Thomas is at the café, finding him a nearby apartment (where, of course, the residents are under strict Kosher rules), and eventually inviting him to a family Shabbat dinner.  One of the undisclosed marvels of the films is Moti’s mother Hannah (Sandra Sade), playing a woman much older in years, yet instilling a near telepathic quality, as she may be the only one that actually senses his relationship to her son, exquisitely expressed when she shows him her son’s room, which is filled with pathos and a genuine sadness, with his grief filling the room, setting the stage for what follows.  This connection to the final haunting scene from Brokeback Mountain (2005) couldn’t be more subtle, but it’s impossible to miss, as it’s one of the more remarkable moments of the film.  Anat also grows more curious about her husband’s past, rummaging through a box of his belongings, finding plenty of receipts from Café Kredenz, even asking Thomas about them, but he claims having no knowledge about the place.  The suppressed nature of what remains hidden under the surface only grows more pronounced, culminating in a kitchen scene at the café where Anat takes matters into her own hands, growing sensuously attracted to her blossoming baker, throwing caution to the wind, showing her true feelings, which has a volcanic effect, but also feels a bit taboo, as he’s enticing her under surreptitious circumstances.  Despite opening the floodgates, seemingly overcoming all odds, their happiness is brief, as her curiosity gets the better of her, finally listening to her husband’s final recorded phone messages, where it’s Thomas calling with an increasing sense of urgency.  Stung by this apparent betrayal, she’s hurt beyond belief, summoning Moti to throw the malicious bastard out of the country, where an explosion of confusion takes center stage.  While there is a strange hazardous foreboding underlying Thomas’s every move, the cruelty with which he is dispatched is overly hurtful, leaving him irreparably damaged.  Buoyed by powerful performances and directorial restraint, part of the beauty of the film is the subtle editing by Michal Oppenheim, where a story is told without revealing any of the hidden clues, where most of what happens takes place wordlessly under the surface, eloquently expressed by the haunting piano themes, reaching a sublime finale that couldn’t be more poetically optimistic and utterly enthralling, adding an elegiac quality.  Word is a follow-up film may be in the works.   

Jellyfish (Meduzot)

  

JELLYFISH (Meduzot)                        A                    

Israel  France  (78 mi)  2007  d:  Shira Geffen and Etgar Keret              

Etgar Keret’s official site

A ship inside a bottle cannot sink,
or collect dust.
It's nice to look at
and floats on glass.
No one is small enough to board it.
It doesn't know where it's heading.
The wind outside won't blow its sails.
It has no sails,
only a slip, a dress.
And beneath them, jellyfish.

Her mouth is dry, though she's surrounded by water.
She drinks it through the openings in her eyes
which never close.
When she dies, it won't be noticeable.
She won't crash on rocks.
She will remain tall and proud.

Acclaimed husband and wife team of Israeli author Etgar Keret, who has also written plays, short stories, and children’s books, and poet and playwright Shira Geffen who wrote this script, collaborate in this well-constructed, interwoven trio of tales about lonely and disconnected souls in Tel Aviv.  An outstanding feature, an exquisite caricature of modern misunderstanding that is alarmingly precise in its miniaturization, beautifully written, well acted and edited, genuinely poignant and funny, this is a strikingly original take on the human condition.  Humor in this film feels grounded in frustration, the kind Buster Keaton might fancy, not poking fun at anyone in particular, but using pointedly sharp satire that is still tender and warm-heartedly hilarious.   The lead characters are memorable, closely observed and real, verging on the edge of sanity at times but nonetheless people we can identify with.  The premise of the film is people in turmoil, all set to a rousing version of Edith Piaf’s La Vie En Rose in Hebrew. 

Shot in a seaside location in Tel Aviv, beautifully shot by cinematographer Antoine Héberlé, a guy leaves a girl in the opening scene, Sarah Adler as Batia, from Godard’s NOTRE MUSIQUE (2004), which all happens a bit too quickly for her to comprehend the situation, as by the time the words finally form in her mouth, he disappears from her life.  Another couple gets married in a big wedding scene, Michael and Keren (Gera Sandler and Noa Knoller), but the bride gets stuck in the bathroom stall, breaking her leg attempting to escape, all but ruining their Caribbean honeymoon plans as instead they’re stuck inside a seaside hotel with no view of the sea, while a third sequence introduces a Philippino care giver (Ma-nenita De Latorre), a woman named Joy whose job is caring for miserable people—irony in the best sense of the word.  These characters remain aloof from each other and the world around them, but might feel right at home in the slow, hypnotic pace of a Tsai Ming-liang movie where everyone is similarly lost or out of place. 

Batia appears to be the worst waitress on the planet, whose home is infested with a ceiling leak that is over-running the bucket capturing the drops, who receives daily messages left on her answering machine from her celebrity mom, whose visage is seen on giant billboards all over town and on television programs, but otherwise completely ignores her daughter, as does her father who has found himself yet another young bulimic girlfriend about his daughter’s age who consumes every minute of his time.  In due time, Batia is fired from her job along with a pitiful wedding photographer Tamar (Tsipor Aizen) who shoots everything except the bride and groom, both of whom work for an overbearing employer who turns out to be the film director.  (Note – the ice cream man is the director’s father, and the beach location is where they grew up.)  Batia and Tamar become fast friends, though for no apparent reason, yet Batia becomes enamored with Tamir’s childhood home movies, claiming she loves the fact there is no story development. 

Meanwhile the love birds in the hotel are having anything but marital bliss, as in a game of musical chairs they keep moving to a different hotel room, as the bride continues to find fault with the one they’re in.  As the elevator doesn’t work, he finds himself lugging her up the stairs on a continual basis.  In perhaps the most hilarious sequence in the film, the husband reminds her of their first date when they went to see a movie, but were continually beset by obstacles that prevented them from seeing or enjoying the movie, but they discovered, instead, each other.  Their time together is interrupted by long walks the husband takes to get away or have a smoke on the stairwell, occasionally meeting a mysterious woman in the building (Bruria Albeck) who introduces herself with the come-on line:  “How do you spell ‘eternally in disgrace,’ one ‘l’ or two?” before she disappears into the elevator. 

Joy, on the other hand, is visibly distressed by not having her young son back home with her, where phone calls leave her feeling so helpless, as he doesn’t understand why she’s so far away.  Ironic again that she cares for elderly or infirmed patients whose families are too busy to take care of them, yet she as well needs someone to care for her own son.  After one disastrous job assignment, Joy meets Galia (Ilanet Ben-Yaakov) in a bustling coffee shop, a woman who’s too worried about the upcoming production of Hamlet where she plays Ophelia to care for her elderly mother, who she describes:  “My mother. She’s a tough person, she can be rude.”  Malka (Zaharira Harifai) is like a grown up version of Keren, an embittered, somewhat racist old woman who has spent her lifetime handing out insults and complaints.  When neither speaks the other’s language they get along splendidly. 

Thrown into this mix is Nikol Leidman, a young 6-year old girl that doesn’t speak, but whose hair remains wet throughout the rest of the picture, who appears out of the sea wearing only panties and an inner tube around her waist and finds Batia alone in a gloomy seaside mood.  She follows Batia around, like a lost dog, having no other apparent reason to exist.  Batia brings her to a police station, but there are no resources for missing persons where neither parent is making a complaint.  Seeming to understand one another intrinsically, they leave together, live together, and seemingly belong together before the girl mysteriously disappears as strangely as she appeared.  Here a theme is linked that appears hatched from Antonioni’s dream sequence in the middle of RED DESERT (1964).  Joy keeps seeing a toy ship in a shop window, thinking this would make her son happy, while Keren discovers a hauntingly beautiful poem about a ship inside a bottle that is floating on the sea, drifting, suggesting this idea that we appear and disappear so randomly in each other’s lives, seemingly adrift ourselves, yet we each have a strange and lasting impact in ways we never intended or could have ever comprehended. 

This strange choreography of missed intentions is the rhythm of the film, perhaps best represented by Joy’s missing boat sequence that moves from agonizing tears to ecstatic joy simply by changing the entire subtext of the moment, or that absurdly bizarre stage presentation of Hamlet, perhaps the most hilarious Hamlet on record, where words are not spoken but shouted endlessly in repeated chants by Hamlet in a space suit with Ophelia lying dead on the floor throughout half the play, making eye contact with her joyous mother in the audience who is so proud of her despite hating the ridiculous avant garde antics expressed onstage.  By the next day, when her mother’s faint praises are discounted altogether as not enough interest, Galia refuses to ever see her mother again.  In a clever movie like this understanding can feel overwhelmingly lost in the ambiguity of real life, where people’s lives are continually absorbed with having to deal with obstacles or unexpected circumstances that continually appear and then disappear from their lives, much like the jellyfish motif, swept by forces beyond one’s control.   For a mere 78 minutes, there’s a lifetime packed into this film, which won best screenplay and the Camera d'Or at Cannes 2007 for best first feature.