Ali & Ava

Writer/director Clio Barnard

director on the set

ALI & AVA               B+                                                                                                          Great Britain  (95 mi)  2021  ‘Scope  d: Clio Barnard

What would happen if you took melodrama as a genre and applied it to a social-realist version of Bradford that’s based on real people?  It’s an opportunity to think about what it means to be part of a community.  There’s a lot of kindness, generosity and support in Bradford and I wanted to see that writ large on the big screen.                                                                            —Writer/director Clio Barnard

An exquisitely made film that comes at you from unexpected places, becoming a film for our times, an update on the Rainer Werner Fassbinder film ALI:  FEAR EATS THE SOUL (1974), which was itself a reworking of the Douglas Sirk melodrama, All That Heaven Allows (1955), filmed only ten miles from where the writer/director grew up in Bradford, which has been the setting in three of her four feature films to date, like 2011 Top Ten Films of the Year #4 The Arbor (2011) and Barnard’s equally great 2014 Top Ten List #6 The Selfish Giant, while all four of her films have been set in Yorkshire County.  In those films, what Barnard does extremely well is showcase marginalization in the town of Bradford, people living on the fringes of society, poetically expressing how ordinary lives can be extraordinary.  This may be her most accessible work, featuring an unconventional working class interracial romance from two character actors who rarely get the chance to perform in lead roles, British-Pakistani-Kenyan actor Adeel Akhtar, who has mostly been seen on television, and Claire Rushbrook, who got her start working with Mike Leigh in Secrets and Lies (1996,) also playing opposite Samantha Morton in Carine Adler’s vastly underseen UNDER THE SKIN (1997), her one and only feature, where it’s important to say these two actors perfectly embody the unique characters they inhabit.  This is a surprisingly offbeat film that dares to explore cultural differences through an unlikely middle-age romance, yet what really stands out is the abstract, impressionistic style of the director, taking pages from the Lynne Ramsay and Andrea Arnold social realist playbook, yet making it unique to her own aesthetic, creating an emotionally deep portrait of life in Bradford, West Yorkshire, inspired by two people that Barnard met while she was making earlier films, Moey Hassan, a Bradford actor (who appears briefly in the film), landlord, and DJ who worked with her on THE ARBOR, while a few years later she met Rio, a teacher’s assistant at a school in Bradford who walked out of an abusive relationship during the making of THE SELFISH GIANT, with additional support from script consultant and Bradford-based writer Kamal Kaan.

Music is the beating heart of the film, like an unseen character, described by the director as a “social realist musical,” as profoundly memorable as the personalities who embrace it, as it’s something that links these two people together, beautifully integrating their distinctly different internalized worlds.  Ali (Adeel Akhtar) is a likeable Pakistani landlord, a former DJ who is into punk and rap, exuberant music you can dance to, like the Buzzcocks, Sylan Esso, and Lunar C, while Ava (Claire Rushbrook) is a caring and exceedingly sensitive teacher’s assistant, a widowed Irish mother and grandmother who, much to his dismay, is more into country music and traditional folk ballads, like American outlaw country singer Sammi Smith and Irish singer Karan Casey.  Both Ireland and Pakistan are two countries that were part of the former British Empire, each carrying a legacy of violence and racism, yet part of the melting pot of post-industrial Bradford, which once drew migrant workers from around the world, playing an important part in the early history of the Labour Party, but now facing serious economic and social challenges.  Bradford is a culturally diverse city that has an uncomfortable history of racism, especially in the 70’s, which were marked by hateful demonstrations and attacks, also known for the Brontë sisters who were born on the outskirts.  Both coming from troubled situations and different worlds, yet living in the same town, Ali lives with his recently separated wife Runa (Ellora Torchia) in a working class immigrant neighborhood of rowhouses, while Ava lives in the predominately white housing estate of Holme Wood, leaving her door open to an extended family that frequently come to visit.  What brings them together is their mutual affection for an extremely shy 6-year old girl, Sofia (Ariana Bodorová), a child from Slovak tenants living in a building that Ali manages, who also has language difficulties at school, so hangs out on her own at the playground for the most part. 

In contrast to the rampant crime in the North of England depicted in THE RED RIDING TRILOGY (2009), or the working class dramas of Ken Loach, Barnard offers a compassionate perspective on Northern life, its people and their daily lives, as Ali is introduced in a dense fog standing on the roof of his car and violently headbanging to a high-energy rap track to let off steam, I Know (MAROT Remix) YouTube (4:28), while Ava is seen on a bus lost in thought to the quieter lyrics of Sammi Smith, Saunders Ferry Lane~Sammi Smith YouTube (3:16), each from their own different worlds.  As fate would have it, Ali and Ava are brought together outside the school in a driving rainstorm, with Ali offering Ava a ride home after dropping off Sofia, sharing a moment with the Buzzcocks on the car radio, Boredom YouTube (2:54), only to be pelted by rocks from belligerent neighborhood kids at Holme Wood, who simply have nothing better to do, Ali & Ava - Car Stoning YouTube (1:57), with Ali winning them over by upping the volume on his radio to music of local neighborhood rapper MC Innes, like the lure of the Pied Piper, turning into an instantaneous little dance party in his car.  The next time they meet, they jump around on a set of sofas in Ava’s living room and create their own little party, Ali & Ava - Official Clip #1 YouTube (1:51), yet they’re each listening to distinctly different musical tracks on headphones, creating a kind of kaleidoscopic mix of jubilation and confusion.  If you sense this is not your standard kitchen sink British miserablism that we’re used to, you’d be correct, as this is more celebratory and life affirming.  While there are certainly downbeat subjects woven into the storyline, with moments of profound sadness, loss, and grief, they are countered by more jubilant moments that simply recognize a joy in living, and what a comfort it is to be sharing it with someone you love. 

Premiering at Director’s Fortnight at Cannes in 2021, not much was known about this overlooked film, which seems to have fallen through the cracks and been forgotten, but this is a world class director who makes emotional powerhouse films, and this is no exception, reportedly exuding a quiet presence on the set, often deferring to the actors, realizing the importance of not knowing everything and having an openness to not knowing.  The two lead performances are remarkably nuanced, very well paired together, though they are nothing alike, other than the fact both are intrinsically linked to their respective communities, knowing their neighbors while actively helping them out, like the familiarity of Ali rolling down the car window in his neighborhood to ask who died at a passing funeral, where everyone knows everyone else, both showing signs of extreme generosity, where it’s not told in a conventional manner, as moments appear out of time, giving experimental touches that simply expand the depth and complexity of the film.  What’s particularly impressive are the Ozu-like transitional cityscape shots, like fireworks against a darkened sky, a glowing moon hovering overhead, a moody atmospheric glimpse of early morning twilight, or slowed down pauses that feel like still shots, as they accentuate moments of reflection.  Undercliffe Cemetery overlooks Bradford and is a special place for Ali and Ava to meet.  Occasionally, Sofia has a tendency to climb up the monkey bars, but gets stuck, unable to climb back down without assistance, with Ava offering her reassurance and support, but reminds her that if you’re brave enough to climb up, you must be brave enough to climb back down, which may as well be a theme for the film, which continually keeps viewers off balance even through the end credits, as there is a constant stream of surprises that greatly enhances the overall viewing experience.   

One of the most distinctive voices in British cinema, Barnard’s interest in film started at the age of 14 when she watched Mick Jagger in Nicolas Roeg’s Performance (1970), an acid trip of a movie.  It was on TV late at night, and she viewed it on a black-and-white portable in her bedroom with the volume turned down.  What amazed her was its ability to mess with her head.  “Here’s this real rock star pretending to be one, whose sort-of girlfriend is also in the film in this crazy threesome.  There was something about the real and the fictional that was really fascinating.  It blew my tiny mind.”  What’s most astonishing is how this film subverts expectations in a modern interracial romance that counters the fearmongering of toxic politicians, where there's a tenderness within, finding beauty in the most volatile moments through a beautifully shot character study about two lonely misfits who find emotional comfort and support in each other despite their past traumas and having to deal with community expectations, as they are a catalyst for change in each other’s lives.  There are shocking turns of darkness that come out of nowhere, taking us through intensely personalized avenues of racial abuse and domestic violence, as each respective family quickly disassociates themselves from this new love interest, finding fault in their character when it’s really about race, growing perilously ugly and even dangerous when Ava’s grown son Callum (Shaun Thomas, one of the local kids in THE SELFISH GIANT) pulls a samurai sword on Ali, believing his recently deceased father would roll over in his grave, as he was a member of the National Front (UK).  Ava’s Irish Republican father, who was fiercely proud of his heritage, deeply despised the British and disowned her for marrying an Englishman, a man Callum still idolizes, despite his history of abuse, causing plenty of friction.  Similarly, Ali’s sister calls Ava a “gori chav,” which basically means white trash, coming from a more traditional-minded family that has been kept in the dark about his imminent separation that he’s too ashamed to acknowledge, still living together with Runa but in different bedrooms, having shared an unspeakable trauma that they simply never recovered from. 

It’s an unlikely culture-clash romance in a blue collar city, where the social realist style is beautifully mixed with a steady stream of lyrical musical passages that express what they’re feeling underneath, with Barnard adding her own experimental stylistic flourishes that elevate what we’re seeing onscreen, yet what’s apparent is that the joy of music is an act of resistance, exquisitely shot on ‘Scope by Ole Bratt Birkeland, who also shot her first film.  It’s all about the power of healing, where there’s no right or wrong way, but you know it when you feel it, where there’s actually a laying-on-the-hands sequence, ALI & AVA Clip | TIFF 2021 YouTube (37 seconds), as a shared love of music allows them to heal and transform one another through ordinary acts of kindness.  Familiar Bradford locations include the massive Waterstones bookstore, Undercliffe Cemetery, Bradford Cathedral grounds, Cow and Calf rocks on the Ilkley Moor, and the Keighley and Worth Railway, yet it’s the inner journey that stands out, expressed through British rap, Skwolla | Lunar C YouTube (4:41), American electro-pop, Sylvan Esso - Radio (Music Video) YouTube (3:34), a raw and earthy bootleg Bob Dylan recording, Mama, You Been On My Mind (Studio Outtake - 1964) YouTube (2:55), which curiously has a crossover effect on both characters, and British pub music by Ewan MacColl expressed through a drunken mother and son duo, Ali & Ava - Official Clip #2 YouTube (53 seconds).  Yet what’s most remarkable, and may be the most impactive part of the film, is the final credits sequence, a gift that keeps giving, moving from the thumping EDM music, Daniel Avery - Drone Logic (Official Video) YouTube (5:15), to a heart-rending traditional Irish ballad from Karan Casey, Grace (From Ali & Ava) YouTube (5:29), a searing version of a social justice love song that has a similar effect as the cathartic final scene from John Huston’s The Dead (1987), finding that emotional core that leaves audiences utterly transfixed, having been thoroughly transformed by the experience. 

Santosh

 

Writer/director Sandhya Suri

Director with lead cast at Cannes

SANTOSH                 B                                                                                                               India  Germany  France  Great Britain  (120 mi)  2024  ‘Scope  d: Sandhya Suri

There are two types of untouchables in this country.  Those that no one wants to touch.  And those who no one is allowed to touch.                                                                                           —Geeta Sharma (Sunita Rajwar)

More than 1000 Indian movies are filmed every year, most of which are never seen outside the borders.  In artistic terms, India had its great moment with the world renowned Satyajit Ray in the 1950’s, (Satyajit Ray: 5 essential films), maker of the Apu Trilogy (1955 – 1959), but since Ray’s death in 1992, Indian cinema has never shined again with that same artistic fervor, mostly churning out Bollywood musical comedies to great commercial success, though directors such as Mira Nair, Deepa Mehta, and Asif Kapadia have made films set in India but with North American and/or European producers.  Only recently has there been signs of something changing, with a rise of female directors offering their own unique insight, like Leena Yadav’s PARCHED (2015), Rohena Gera’s SIR (2018), or more recently Payal Kapadia’s 2024 Top Ten List #3 All We Imagine as Light (Prabhayay Ninachathellam).  Ten years in the making, Suri’s film started out as a documentary before transitioning to her feature debut, following in those same footsteps, adding a different perspective than what we’re used to seeing.  The death of a murdered teenage Dalit girl after a heinously brutal rape in rural Northern India bears some similarity to the 2012 Delhi gang rape and murder, where a young woman was viciously beaten and gang raped by several men on a bus, which brought tens of thousands of people onto the streets in protest, demanding quicker trials and harsher punishments, but the violence has continued unabated.  Sandhya Suri is a British-Indian writer/director based in London, studying documentary film at The National Film and Television School, where her earlier films were documentaries, so this is her first feature, a searing social critique arising out of the Sundance Screenwriters and Directors Lab, premiering at Un Certain Regard at Cannes in 2024, allegedly inspired by this real-life 2012 incident, stemming from her outrage at what happened, bringing to light uncomfortable issues of police brutality, caste discrimination, misogyny, Islamophobia, and rampant government corruption, where pervasive violence against women is not just seen in an Indian context, but becomes a universal theme that is just hard to turn away from.  In India, around 85 to 90 rapes are reported every day, or putting it bluntly, One woman reports a rape every 15 minutes in India, but keep in mind that these are just the reported cases, as India is a country where it is estimated that 99% of crimes remain unreported, largely due to fear, stigma, and a general lack of trust in the police.  The right wing Bharatiya Janata Party’s Censor Board, largely supported by the upper castes, objected to the movie’s unfiltered depiction of lawlessness, corruption, and racial abuse in India, particularly in the Hindi heartlands, believing it does not reflect well on their voter base, so the film has been banned from screening in India, including digital platforms.  There are very few forensic labs in India, which remains a country run by men, as most of the judges are men, with only a 22% success rate in rape convictions, according to the annual report of the Ministry of Home Affairs, statistics that do not take into account rapes ending in murder and attempted rape, which are counted separately, which means the justice system fails to secure a conviction at trial for roughly 4 out of every 5 victims, so crimes against women are taken less seriously, where the police investigations lack professionalism and sensitivity.   

While that is the backdrop of the film, the story is told in a social realist style starring Santosh Saini (Shahana Goswami) as a newly widowed woman whose police officer husband was killed during a riot when a rock struck his head.  Facing the scorn and financial ruin of her family and bitter in-laws, as she married for love against their will, quickly removing her from an apartment that was provided by the state due to her husband’s police work, yet it’s clear neither family wants to take on the burden of a near-thirty-year old widow, with her mother-in-law actually blaming her for her son’s death, berating her, “You are used dishes.  Who wants you back?”  She attempts to obtain her husband’s meager pension, only having been with the force for two years, instead discovering that she inherits her husband's police position out of financial necessity under an archaic "compassionate appointment" scheme, where she is trained to take his place in an overwhelmingly male police station in rural Northern India, quickly growing used to how normalized it is to accept bribes, while derogatory remarks towards women and indiscreet insults are also part of everyday life, with the police uniform becoming an unlikely tool for liberation and emancipation.  When a low-caste 15-year old girl is found raped, murdered, and dumped in a well, part of India’s “untouchable” community, Santosh grows frustrated at how no one takes the crime seriously, completely ignoring her existence, as her cruelly dismissive superior refuses to allow her to assist the illiterate father’s attempt to file a complaint after his initial missing person’s report was completely ignored, yet the discovery of the body days later ignites protests in her community, so in response to the negative publicity, the charismatic and extremely pragmatic female inspector Sharma (Sunita Rajwar) is chosen to lead the criminal investigation, with Santosh assigned to work under her.  She is immediately fascinated by Sharma’s ability to ingratiate herself into the masculine culture of the station while seemingly remaining a fierce advocate against gendered violence in public.  Sharma, meanwhile, spots Santosh’s keen intelligence and ambition and offers to mentor her, with the filmmaker blending a journalistic attention to procedural detail, slowly and expertly building tension as evidence and characters are revealed in a world of uncertainty, with an empathetic rendering of Santosh’s internal conflicts, as she seeks professional advancement and respect from her peers while clinging to moral ethics in a system that prioritizes suspect confessions and convictions by any means.  This disquieting film exposes an alarming number of femicides, becoming an indictment of all the scars and wounds of society, where innocence is destroyed by widespread violence and corruption.  While the focus is on the intense observation of Santosh, who is something of a blank slate, a sponge absorbing everything that she sees, a reflection of her own idealistic hopes and values contrasted against the much older Sharma, a seasoned veteran who has already had to navigate her way through the male patriarchy, yet it is through those more experienced eyes, conveyed in the smallest inflections, that viewers are able to understand the depth and scope of the compromised system both women struggle against.

What distinguishes this film is the ruminative way that it is filmed, an under-the-surface, psychological study of the world that presents itself to Santosh, a compelling neo-noir morality tale that holds itself up as a mirror to contemporary India, yet what’s immediately recognizable is the ostracization of the underclass, where the economically disadvantaged are always blamed for everything, where the system of justice doesn’t really work for them, while those in the higher caste are untouchable, as police refuse to charge them and hold them accountable, so their crimes go unpunished.  It mirrors the Jeffrey Epstein case in America, a convicted sex trafficker of underage girls who was enabled by rich and powerful figures who have never been charged, or even questioned, about their roles in a sordidly vile operation which couldn’t have happened without their assistance.  As of this date, the other hidden perpetrators also remain untouchable, so this is not unique to India.  Following an alleged Muslim suspect who befriended the girl and comes from the same lower caste, this plays out like a tense whodunit, with authorities moving in to make an arrest, but rather than transfer him to a police station, he is moved to an abandoned house where he is questioned under relentless torture, which includes extensive beatings and waterboarding.  Under pressure, Santosh is handed a paddle and beats him as well, but suffers a panic attack afterwards, plagued by guilt at the thought that he might be innocent.  Acting on her suspicions, she checks his smartphone which reveals he was in another city at the time of the girl’s death, exonerating him from the crime, but authorities report he hung himself during the night, serving as a scapegoat instead of the real murderer.  One of the most chilling scenes is when Santosh interviews the upper class men who casually dismiss any involvement, yet the incident happened on their grounds, in their well, while dead domesticated animals are routinely dumped into the wells of nearby lower-caste villagers to contaminate their water supply and assert caste superiority.  The girl may have just wanted fresh water, paying for it with her life.  Their smugness is despicable, blaming her femininity for even questioning them, suggesting men know better, with one of them even asking what she would do if he were guilty, literally taunting her powerlessness.  This horrid behavior is unforgettable, revealing the true nature of just what kind of men they really are, capable of crossing any line and getting away with it.  Released at the same time as Konstantin Bojanov’s THE SHAMELESS (2024), a Swiss-Bulgarian production that studies two women in the Indian caste prostitution system, with both films having a similar premise, that the true untouchables are the powerful, while it also recalls Taylor Sheridan’s Wind River (2017), which exposes the violent crimes against Native American women in America.  Sharma has her own outlook, believing the publicity this case generated would make anyone think twice about committing this kind of offense again, even if their suspect was innocent.  While that may seem like a sensible go-along and get-along approach, it’s also morally reprehensible, with Santosh literally distancing herself from this fiasco.  Ambiguous to the core, never explaining anything or providing easy answers, allowing viewers to make their own judgments as it’s happening, the film provides an unflinching look at how vulnerable marginalized communities are continually dehumanized by those in power.