Showing posts with label disability. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disability. Show all posts

Monday, March 9, 2026

Luisa


 














Director Julia Roesler


director on the set



















LUISA            B-                                                                                                               Germany  (94 mi)  2025  d: Julia Roesler           

The goal was to explore Luisa’s story and her struggle with the boundary violations she experiences with as much sensitivity and respect as possible.  At the same time, we wanted to reveal the often hidden world of people with disabilities within the powerful institution that is meant to protect them, yet simultaneously threatens their physical integrity and self-determination.  Because if it is the structures of residential care that enable abuse to this extent—institutions that promise protection for precisely the most vulnerable people in society and cannot deliver—how can we depict this scenically and visually?  And how can we, as a society, change this?  For the shoot, it was crucial to have an inclusive cast with whom all these questions could be discussed, in order to reproduce as few stereotypes about people with disabilities as possible and, of course, to give voice to the perspectives of people with disabilities.  The experience of working with the actors of the ensemble MEINE DAMEN UND HERREN was characterized by openness and great mutual trust, with Celina Scharff clearly shining as Luisa in her first major role.                                                                                          —Director Julia Roesler

I find it very difficult to think rationally on the subject.                                                                   —caregiver Lea (Trixi Strobel)

A fairly clinical examination of life in an adult disability residential care center, where tucked out of sight in a presumably safe environment we discover that women with disabilities are two or three times more likely to be sexually abused.  This stark realization is at the heart of the film, where it’s shocking to discover there aren’t more institutional safeguards in place to prevent this from happening.  Studying cultural studies and aesthetic practice at the University of Hildesheim, with guest studies in Freiburg and Argentina, German director Julia Roesler has regularly taught at the Braunschweig University of Art and Design, while she’s also a founding member of the independent theater group werkgruppe2 (werkgruppe2 - weinen) and has directed all of its productions.  In her first feature film, a script was developed in collaboration with the inclusive theater ensemble Meine Damen und Herren (My Ladies and Gentleman) from Hamburg, a permanent group of performers with and without disabilities, creating a storyline that offers viewers a balanced perspective between the caregivers and the patients, without resorting to stereotypes, something we rarely see in cinema today.  We’ve seen the first film featuring predominantly deaf actors in pivotal roles win an Academy Award for Best Picture with Siân Heder’s CODA (2021), but we’ve also seen a film featuring Dustin Hoffman as a character with autism win both the Best Actor and Best Picture award with Barry Levinson’s RAIN MAN (1988), while Daniel Day-Lewis won a Best Actor Award for his portrayal of a man born with cerebral palsy in Jim Sheridan’s MY LEFT FOOT (1989), though one of the most memorable interpretations of a still vital middle-aged woman ravaged by Alzheimer’s Disease is Julie Christie in Sarah Polley’s Away from Her (2006).  These films mostly identify with a single character, dramatically accentuating the power of their performances, while this assisted living institutional setting is broadened and more encompassing, like a small community unto itself, offering multiple points of view, asking questions about how reality is portrayed, continually altering the viewer’s perspective in order to allow them to make up their own minds about what they’re seeing.   

The film’s title refers to a nationwide campaign and safety initiative in Germany, “Is Luisa here,” or in German “Ist Luisa hier?,” designed to help women and girls experiencing sexual harassment or violence in bars, clubs, and restaurants.  By asking this codeword question, individuals can discreetly alert staff to provide a safe space or assistance, a concept that is originally from Great Britain’s Ask for Angela initiative.  While this connection may be well-intended, attempting to draw attention to those finding themselves in a precarious position, the overly detached style and overwrought seriousness of the subject matter may actually deter viewers from seeing this film, as it’s not likely to actually find an audience in theaters or on streaming platforms, as those most likely to see it are already leaning towards embracing the rights of people with disabilities.  Given a quasi-documentary look, inspired by real-life cases, while drawn from extensive journalistic research, incuding interviews with survivors, caregivers, and family members, the narratively dense film was written by Roesler, Tina Kaiser, and Silke Merzhäuser, with an atmospheric soundrack by Insa Rudolph, as we are introduced to 22-year old Luisa (Celina Scharff), who works in a laundry, one of many residents living in a group care facility for those with disabilities, as she is not physically but intellectually challenged.  There seem to be as many staffers as there are residents, as we follow them in their daily activities and routines, always under an observant eye of caregivers, yet they’re able to live independently, negotiating their own friends and social groups.  In something of a surprise, another resident with Downs Syndrome visits Luisa in bed at night, her best friend Anton (Dennis Seidel), something you’d think would be frowned upon, but that is the first sign that things are not as they seem, as staff appear to be too trusting of their right to independence, allowing them to live like anyone else, unencumbered by overly repressive rules and regulations.  This openness provides freedom of space and self-reliance, which is most likely a good thing, but it’s also a troubling sign, with the film questioning the boundaries between closeness, trust, and abuse. 

The point of view shifts between Julia, other residents, and the caregiving staff, who are the polar opposite of Nurse Ratched in the classic Miloš Forman film ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST (1975), who exercises near absolute power in a state psychiatric hospital in the 60’s and 70’s, maintaining complete control through fear.  Clearly times have changed, with a new focus on understanding and empathizing with the residents, perhaps best personified by one of the caregivers Lea (Trixi Strobel), where her role is more like a social worker who supports their own choices, continually engaging them in informational conversations, yet allowing them the self-determination to pursue their own interests.  But things take a serious turn with the discovery that safe boundaries have been violated, as Luisa becomes increasingly quiet and withdrawn, where it becomes clear that something traumatic must have happened, yet she remains silent, without anyone to confide in, with a subsequent examination revealing that she is unexpectedly pregnant.  Anton cannot be the father, as medical records indicate he is infertile, so the facility is turned upside down to find out how this could happen.  Police are called to investigate a potential crime, becoming something of a suspenseful whodunit, with a strong suspicion of sexual abuse.  Given the near-documentary, social realist style of the film, slowly familiarizing viewers with each of the residents and staff, everyone becomes a suspect, causing Harald (Peter Lohmeyer), the head of the residential group, to re-evaluate their policies, becoming an examination of what constitutes the best interests of the residents, exploring the many sides of that argument, shining a light on how difficult it is to care for those afflicted with disabilies and on the institutions that are designed to protect them.  It’s not even clear Luisa understands what’s happened to her, putting a strain on her relationship to Anton, so staff spend plenty of time trying to help clear up misconceptions while explaining her options, contacting her parents who live nearby, who are equally flabbergasted.  It’s a painfully subjective experience, but also one that opens our eyes to all the ramifications, where there may be no “good” choices about how to handle the situation, but nonetheless a choice has to be made about the baby, with Luisa ultimately having the final say.  While Luisa is the clear protagonist, the institutional setting is also a central character, both falling equally under intense scrutiny, as the filmmaker reveals all the complexities involved, remaining somewhat open-ended, where the casting of ten actors with disabilities and ten actors without disabilities is unprecedented in a German feature.

Sexual Abuse - Disability Justice

Sexual Abuse

People with disabilities are sexually assaulted at nearly three times the rate of people without disabilities. A 2005 survey of people with disabilities indicated that 60 percent of respondents had been subjected to some form of unwanted sexual activity. Unfortunately, almost half never reported the assault. In general, people with disabilities experience domestic and sexual violence at higher rates than people who do not have a form of disability. Consider the following:

  • 83% of women with disabilities will be sexually assaulted in their lives.
  • Just 3% of sexual abuses involving people with developmental disabilities are ever reported.
  • 50% of girls who are deaf have been sexually abused compared to 25% of girls who are hearing; 54% of boys who are deaf have been sexually abused in comparison to 10% of boys who are hearing.
  • Women with a disability are far more likely to have a history of undesired sex with an intimate partner – 19.7% vs. 8.2%.
  • Approximately 80% of women and 30% of men with developmental disabilities have been sexually assaulted – half of these women have been assaulted more than 10 times.

Monday, August 16, 2021

Oasis





 


























Writer/director Lee Chang-dong
















 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OASIS (Oasiseu)                    A-                                                                                               South Korea  (132 mi)  2002  d:  Lee Chang-dong

This is a wild adventure, bold and brutally raw, yet also unusually innovative and psychologically intriguing, a wretchedly close-up look at societal prejudice through one of the most improbable and disturbing love affairs ever captured on film, which is also heartbreaking, as there are small, intimate moments that will simply take your breath away.  Assuredly directed, evenly paced, using a whole arsenal of camera techniques, the film features two outstanding lead performances that couldn’t be more difficult for the audience to watch, each exposed through different opening segments.  Hong Jong-du, in a simply dazzling performance by Sol Kyung-qu, makes the impossible become possible, as his completely unlikable manner later becomes endearing to the audience.  He roams the streets in a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt while everyone else is wearing winter clothes, smiling, affable, completely at ease with himself, though his body is a neverending series of nervous energy where he can’t stop himself from constantly wiping his nose throughout the film.  Others find him so repulsive that they think of calling the cops the moment they see him.  In American films, the seedy character of Ratso Rizzo from MIDNIGHT COWBOY (1969) comes to mind, but this character hasn’t half his brains.  The man defies convention, lurching into action the moment anything comes to mind, operating completely by instinct, his body a constant stream of twitching motion, never sitting still, so out of control on the edge of society that there’s no one else out there with him.  Recently released from prison, perhaps mildly retarded, certainly behaviorally challenged, his family has moved and changed phone numbers, perhaps hoping they never see him again, leaving him hanging in the wind trying to survive on nothing.  But when the police arrest him for failing to pay for meals, his family resumes the position of bailing him out of trouble, seemingly a neverending task.  

Out of the blue and apparently without any thought to what would happen, Jong-du decides to pay his respects by bringing a fruit basket to the family whose father he was convicted of killing in the hit and run accident that led to his incarceration.  Outraged at the thought of seeing him again, they find his presence disgusting, but no more disgusting than what we soon discover they are planning to do, which is leave their seriously disabled daughter with an advanced stage of cerebral palsy, Han Gong-ju (Moon So-ri), alone to fend for herself in a rathole of an apartment while the rest of the family moves into a brand new spacious residence that was built to accommodate the needs of the disabled.  Gong-ju in a wheelchair is a sorry sight from the moment we see her, as her physical contortions are profoundly disturbing and awkwardly off-putting, her eyes moving around her unsteady head which itself has no muscle control, with stunted growth on her hands and feet, unable to walk and barely able on occasion to blurt out a few nearly unrecognizable words.  Adding to the wretchedness of this situation, Jong-du returns later to find Gong-ju alone and sexually assaults her to her hysterical cries and shrieks, only deterred when she faints, where he then actually takes the time to make sure she recovers.  With this brief moment of concern, our revulsion turns to amazement as an oddball friendship ensues. 

In what could only be described as remarkable, the audience is immediately intrigued by Gong-ju’s use of a hand mirror, continually glaring it in Jong-du’s face, where the light reflections break up into surrealistic images of little butterflies.  Earlier, to the sounds of her singing a soft melody, we saw light rays in her room turn into a slow motion rendering of a white dove fluttering around her apartment.  These visions are sparingly used, but quite effective, as on occasion Gong-ju actually becomes the woman she envisions, completely healthy without any physical deformities, but still glaringly in tune with her partner.  When they meet, Jong-du tells her that her name in Korean means “princess,” which he affectionately calls her after that, claiming he was named after a famous general, the nickname she uses for him, but only after pointing out that the famous general he was referring to was actually a notorious traitor.  Meanwhile, Jong-du becomes her only friend, seemingly the only one who talks to her, even calling her on the phone, sharing noodles together, doing her laundry, washing her hair, and is certainly the only one whoever takes her outdoors from her imprisoned environment.  In the real world, however, no one sees her as a person, instead she is simply a deformed creature that people have learned to stay away from.  When Jong-du brings her to his mother’s family birthday party at an upscale local restaurant, the family is immediately repulsed at the sight of her and no one except Jong-du ever offers to help her.  After both being roundly rejected at the restaurant, Jong-du doesn’t want to go home but wants to make a special night of it, taking her to a karaoke lounge where he holds nothing back, screeching at the top of his lungs while singing her a beautiful love song. 

From the long opening shot which focuses on an Indian tapestry hanging on the wall, like an exotic magic carpet showing a beautiful princess along with a young servant and an elephant at a water hole next to a giant palm tree, this film does an excellent job creating the fragile interior world of the lead characters, using music and eloquent fantasy sequences as brilliant contrasts from the blunt trauma of an uncaring exterior world that is a near documentary depiction of lower class deprivation.  As the film progresses, we learn how the families have turned their backs on both of these individuals in such a morally reprehensible manner that it’s as if society is tilted upside down, where the outside world is nothing but arrogance and self-serving class interests that blames or pushes aside anyone that stands in their way, making both of these hapless individuals easy family scapegoats.  Without ever mentioning it, both understand the degree of their social ostracization where there has never been anyone else who actually took the time for either one of them.  Over time, as the views of society prevail, this couple is but a faint glitch on a radar screen, thoroughly bulldozed by the larger societal interests and savagely misunderstood, where the realist world continues to have their own way of seeing things.  One can’t help but be utterly flabbergasted at what is achieved by the end of the film, where despite their wrenchingly sad predicament, there is something profoundly upbeat and emotionally cathartic about what we’ve experienced here, using vibrant exit music that has a Latin jazz tinge of what we might hear from Wong Kar-wai, leading to a tremendous climax that only dissolves afterwards over the end credits.  The exquisite music is attributed to Lee Jae-jin.  Moon So-ri’s painstaking detail in expressing her physical deformity is nothing less than phenomenal, apparently realized by living in a house of cerebral palsy residents for several months prior to the shoot, which certainly adds a spectacular layer of realism to the sheer look of this film, never for a moment overshadowing the equally stunning physical mannerisms of Sol Kyung-qu.