The Tsugua Diaries (Diários de Otsoga)

Miguel Gomes and Maureen Fazendeiro

THE TSUGUA DIARIES (Diários de Otsoga)                     B+                                           Portugal  France  (102 mi)  2021  d: Miguel Gomes and Maureen Fazendeiro

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came.  If the village had been beautiful at first it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness.  The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health; and stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched beyond.

—Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist, 1837

Something different from the director of 2013 Top Ten List #4 Tabu (2012), lighter and funnier since the grim, densely constructed 6-hour epic ARABIAN NIGHTS (2015), a confounding and bewildering exploration in three parts of the economic malaise in Portugal following a series of government austerity measures.  Perhaps reflecting the fact he’s gotten married since then, meeting French documentarist Maureen Fazendeiro while making ARABIAN NIGHTS (2015), proposing during the after-party, and together they bring a brighter and sunnier spirit to this film.  Poking fun at the Covid restrictions, when the entire world shut down in quarantine, a time when vaccines were still months away, when making a film is impossible, so instead they discover a mythical place at a large farmhouse in Sintra, tucked in a beautifully forested terrain in the foothills of Portugal’s Sintra Mountains, near the capital of Lisbon.  Living together in a family home owned by one of the producer’s uncle, with a small cast of two men and a woman, along with a skeleton film crew that also includes two very visible cooks (Isabel Cardoso and Adilsa), this is a film where Todd Haynes’ Safe (1995) meets Fassbinder’s BEWARE OF A HOLY WHORE (1971), guided by the Portuguese Film Authority’s meticulously detailed Coronavirus health and safety guidelines, as the Covid lockdown intersects with the behind-the-scenes making of the movie, blurring indoor and outdoor settings, filmed over two months during the summer of 2020, premiering at Director’s Fortnight at Cannes 2021.  Given a day-to-day diary format, a series of small vignettes are told in reverse order, moving backwards in time, ending as the film begins, where only in retrospect does the movie acquire sense, bookended by scenes of dancing to the music of Franki Valli and the Four Seasons singing The Night, DIÁRIOS DE OTSOGA de Maureen Fazendeiro e Miguel Gomes [ excerto ] YouTube (1:34), a song from 1972 during a commercially unsuccessful reunion period, more popular years later in Great Britain as part of a soul music revival, yet offering a celebratory mood, despite the Covid shutdown.  Given a JULES AND JIM (1962) format, with Crista Alfaiate in the Jeanne Moreau role, surrounded by two men, the handsome yet egotistical Carloto Cotta, the matinee idol from TABU (2012), always viewing himself as the center of the universe, not particularly concerned about anyone else, and the younger, more sensitive João Nunes Monteiro, with Carloto catching a glimpse of Crista and João making out in an early scene, quickly growing jealous, yet both men exchange roles for Crista’s affections (her actual boyfriend shows up near the end), though the true main character may actually be the summer sun beaming down on everything we see, bringing warmth and brightness to a tree-lined foliage of palm trees and lush greenery that recalls the tropics, especially the random sounds of birdcalls and cicadas mixed into the everyday routine, where, except for one infamous incident, no one ever strays very far, instead finding themselves languishing in a sun-drenched summer paradise, recalling Éric Rohmer’s A Summer's Tale (Conte d'été) (1996).  But in the opening dance sequences, what immediately catches our eye is the continually changing color scheme that acts as a backdrop to what we see, artificially colored light that stands in stark contrast to the natural sunlight, discovering a place where fiction and reality intermingle.  Written in collaboration with the husband and wife team along with writer and actress Mariana Ricardo, listed in the closing credits as the “Central Committee,” sumptuously shot on 16mm by Mário Castanheira, who also shot the first volume of ARABIAN NIGHTS (2015), what immediately stands out is the sound design by sound editor Miguel Martins and sound recordist Vasco Pimentel (who gets into a ridiculous squabble on camera), with a guitar-infused musical accompaniment from Portuguese guitarist Norberto Lobo that is nothing less than superb, Norberto Lobo - Legionella - YouTube (3:35).  

Set in the countryside, a variety of dogs provide not only companionship to the motley crew, but energy as they frantically run around the premises, dashing this way and that, feeding off the liberating experience of having so much expansive ground to cover, seemingly with no restrictions, providing a contrast to the overtly oppressive restrictions inflicted upon humans, yet these dogs inevitably appear in nearly every shot, basically scene stealers at heart.  Overall there is plenty of spare time, seemingly with little or nothing to do, including a random shot of Crista watering plants inside a greenhouse, yet its shot in extreme close-up, exhibiting the fullness of nature, preferring visual texture to an overall view that reveals she’s actually stuck in a cage.  Then over the course of several days we see them construct a butterfly house, a small yet meticulously constructed project that requires cooperation, as they patiently and often wordlessly work together, where they may argue over the best way to proceed, not wanting sloppy workmanship, but the backwards storyline becomes evident in this building design, with title cards revealing each passing day, where one of the recurring themes is watching a decaying quince slowly return to being ripe again.  The setting, beneath the sumptuous green canopy of trees, offers them a natural habitat, even allowing open access to the sky, so their daily cycle would coincide with each day’s sunrise and nightfall, yet interjected in-between are scenes of the actors have difficulty sleeping, apparently pestered by mosquitos, as the bedroom windows are wide open, where Carloto eventually takes shelter on a bench in the newly constructed butterfly house.  The changing color filters make these bedrooms look like they’re being viewed through infrared illumination of night vision.   Like a film-within-a film, their living quarters are also part of the movie set, where one of the defining features of a movie set is overwhelming tedium and boredom, as you can sit around for hours waiting for the proper conditions to shoot, where we see different actors rehearsing the exact same lines as one scene bleeds into the next, a peculiar, non-natural technique that initially seems confusing, while we also see a silly argument with one of the cooks over breakfast about the proper way to cut an onion, or posing the question whether they should all eat individually or collectively, where viewers are besieged by a consuming air of banality.  There’s a strange and mysterious juxtaposition between solitary moments and collective gatherings, where easily the most joyful moments happen with others, sharing special moments, perhaps a commentary on what we are all missing most during the pandemic.  We find the three actors swimming in a pool, apparently cooling down under the hot sun, but Carloto suggests they get naked, pulling off his trunks and swimming over to the others, which João finds particularly obnoxious, placing unnecessary pressure on them to conform to Carloto’s wishes, which they have no desire to do, eventually driving them out of the pool altogether.  They are also seen cleaning out a contaminated swimming pool filled with the putrid smells of standing water, draining the polluted water, spending a lot of effort bailing out the last bit on the bottom, while a jet-cleaning spray device helps eliminate the remaining bacteria.  It takes quite an effort to make the pool usable, with several others joining in to help, where a spontaneous idea to clean the pool seemingly springs out of nowhere, as this would never have been written in any original script.  The director himself, along with screenwriter Mariana Ricardo, sits with his three actors discussing the film, where the lack of definition is concerning, yet perfectly captures the uncertainty of the times, with the actors questioning what they are supposed to do without specific guidelines of direction, leaving them in creative limbo, as the film may actually suggest they are playing themselves as opposed to playing a character onscreen, The Tsugua Diaries Excerpt | SGIFF 2021 YouTube (2:50).  Since the story is told backwards, where “Tsugua” is a backwards spelling of “August,” there is no place for character development, becoming more about performing routine tasks around the farmhouse, where they have tremendous freedom each day about what they can choose to do, given complete autonomy, discovering the theory and practice of filmmaking have become one and the same.  While Crista is seriously earnest, Carloto stuffs himself with snacks, showing no real interest, while João is apparently suffering from a toothache.   

When João is alone in his room at night, we see him writing a letter that he reads out loud, which is the only reference to this farmhouse setting, suggesting they are stuck over a prolonged period of time, with echoes of loneliness, like being stuck in a cage, but they’re making the best of it.  As the film evolves over time, a wryly clever and mischievous backdrop to the storyline is filled in, becoming more absurdly funny as the film develops.  A delivery man in a mask provides a clue, but the first real sign of Covid is another meeting of the actors with some of the crew where Crista is incensed that Carloto ventured into an unannounced visit to a nearby beach to go surfing, a selfish act blatantly violating the health and safety protocol, as it could have ominous implications for the rest of them, concerns he quickly dismisses (mirroring exactly what is happening around the globe), yet she is particularly upset, as she has a kissing scene with him, wondering if perhaps they can rewrite that scene (which explains the kiss with João instead).  While Covid is never mentioned, those of us familiar with the social distancing recommendations immediately connect, with many finally seen wearing masks.  Maureen happens to be near the end of her pregnancy in this movie, offering the serious news that her doctor recommends she stay off her feet as much as possible, as the birth may be premature, so we hear her voice on a walkie-talkie device at one of those meetings, appearing virtually while watching on a video monitor.  The film is dedicated to their daughter Helena, as her birth is the culmination of this highly unusual film collaboration, where for her this film may play out like a home movie.  Bickering about emails or improvements in the daily breakfast menu, the behind-the-scenes aspect of filmmaking offers insight into the group collective, as everyone’s voice has a chance to be heard, with the director acting as a mediating force as he continually challenges his cast and crew to the tasks at hand, suggesting he’s pleased with the overall result.  Very late in the film there’s a wonderful scene of the director and his wife walking off into the distance, as she describes a book by Italian novelist Cesare Pavese that she’s been re-reading (The Devil in the Hills, 1948, though never mentioned), discovered initially about ten years ago when she was working in France, recalling a storyline of two men and one woman on summer vacation in the countryside of the villages of Piedmont, not really doing much of anything, where much of the story consists of doing nothing.  The leisurely idleness of the opening soon grows into tension and jealousy, giving way to a random mix of chaos and tedium, including a technician complaining Carloto is wearing his socks without permission, where people are continually at odds about how to proceed, basically questioning how to live during times of Covid.  Among the more gorgeous shots are the three of them watching the stars though a telescope, with close-ups of constellations and what appears to be shooting stars, while another is a random discovery of a tractor, with the director wanting to make use of it, not for any specific reason except he happens to love tractors, hoping one of his actors will know how to drive it, an idea his wife immediately discounts as stupid.  When Crista pulls out driving the tractor, it defies the male stereotype of boys being mechanically inclined, knowing how to fix cars and things, setting a new standard of unfilled potential for women, as she seems to be having a blast driving the thing around (with the director ecstatically riding in the back, of course), beautifully expressed in a slow-motion joyride, THE TSUGUA DIARIES clip | BFI London Film Festival 2021 YouTube (1:41), amusingly shot on the sly while his wife was away seeing her doctor, becoming a picturesque journey through the countryside, reminiscent of the pastoral beauty in Bertrand Tavernier’s A SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY (1984).  Yet when we see a man in a hazmat suit and protective face guard reading the riot act in an official proclamation of strict quarantine regulations to the cast and crew, recommending color-coded cloths for cleaning different surfaces, for instance, it resembles a Monty Python comedy skit, as no one really pays him any mind, tuning him out completely, yet the impact of his public decree is a chilling reminder of the message heard round the world.  The whimsical nature of what’s shown in this film provides an unexpected respite during Covid lockdowns, becoming uniquely innovative, delightfully charming and often hilarious, showing a playfulness that can be infectious.      

Miguel Gomes and Maureen Fazendeiro on The Tsugua Diaries | NYFF59  YouTube (24:52)

The Lost Daughter

 

Gyllenhall (center) surrounded by Olivia Colman and Dakota Johnson

Director Maggie Gyllenhaal on the set

Maggie Gyllenhaal (left) with actress Olivia Colman

Gyllenhaal on the set

Gyllenhaal (left) with Olivia Colman and Dakota Johnson

Olivia Colman and Jessie Buckley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE LOST DAUGHTER           B                                                                                                USA  (121 mi)  2021  d:  Maggie Gyllenhaal

An internalized psychological trauma film that borders on horror, with Gyllenhaal, in her first directed feature, adapting an introspective 2006 novel by Elena Ferrante, a pseudonym for an anonymous author, that becomes a memory play of a Mediterranean summer vacation, as a literary professor on vacation in the Greek isles develops an unhealthy obsession with a young American mother, recalling her own difficult experiences, becoming a challenging comment on the difficulties of motherhood, which can be an incredibly hard and thankless task, particularly when it interferes with professional career choices, usually with little support from the fathers who tend to bail in these situations.  For Gyllenhaal (her mother is Oscar-nominated screenwriter Naomi Foner while her father, Stephen Gyllenhaal, had a long directing career, mostly in television), this is not your typical motherhood story and an impressive filmmaking debut, winning the Best Screenplay award at Venice by adapting a first-person novel without the use of voiceovers, instead creating an internalized experience directly through the style of filmmaking, much like Eliza Hittman does with 2020 Top Ten List #5 Never Rarely Sometimes Always, a film that shares the same cinematographer.  Essentially the story of a woman overwhelmed by motherhood, with traumatized memories of disastrous moments when prolonged absences took a toll on her two young daughters, one of whom was particularly affected, demanding more of her than she could give, finding it difficult to make the transition from literary scholar to mother, particularly when they feel emotionally neglected, acting out their anxieties in public, making scenes that embarrass the mother, feeling less than adequate in the role of a stressed out parent, often reduced to tears of exasperation.  While many could easily overlook this film as an atypical motherhood, casting criticism and blame, yet what’s really remarkable is despite the strangeness and uncomfortable nature of the subject matter, it’s an all too common, somewhat secret experience that many women have.  If it was a man, leaving their family for successful career choices would be no big deal, as society would think nothing of letting them off the hook, but when it’s a woman, they are held to a different, and higher standard, as there’s a huge amount of guilt placed on their shoulders simply because they are a woman, subject to moral condemnation, blamed for being selfish and inconsiderate, while inevitably being labeled a bad mother.  This film explores the uncomfortable nature of that aspect of motherhood, causing serious internal doubt over their abilities to balance two things at once, as academic scholarship requires plenty of invested time, but so do young developing families.  The entire film is told as a flashback, as Leda (Olivia Colman) a 48-year old divorced comparative literature professor with a specialty in Italian translations, goes on a working holiday to spend the summer alone with her books on a Greek island, continually lost in thought, becoming something of a voyeur, running into another woman there, Nina (Dakota Johnson), who is part of a much larger Greek-American contingency from Queens who happen to be loud and rowdy, literally taking over the beach, as if it were their own personal property, often interrupting her experiences with ugly behavior that is borderline abusive, yet what happens to catch her eye is how Nina is struggling with a difficult child that is always crying or clinging to her, apparently suffering from parental fatigue, with a husband Toni (Oliver Jackson-Cohen), who appears to be bad news, part of the overly aggressive male group that tends to be drunk and out of control, offering little help with the rambunctious child.  Things take a turn for the worse when the child disappears, leading to a frantic search, discovered by Leda in a nearby woods playing by herself, returning her to her appreciative mother, opening the way for more conversations, discovering they share many qualities, but this event triggers flashbacks of her own difficult experiences as an overwhelmed young mother, taking a beach trip of her own when one of her girls went missing, generating a very curiously developing relationship with Nina, who in many ways reminds her of herself.  The older/younger woman dynamic was previously explored in Ozon’s SWIMMING POOL (2003), a clash of contrasts, where an ambiguous relationship between two women turns into a tense, psychological thriller.  Here, the little girl discovers her doll is missing, throwing uncontrollable tantrums that extend into several days, becoming utterly inconsolable, causing her mother unending misery and distress.  Inexplicably, and perhaps without even realizing it, Leda has stolen the doll after watching the child angrily bite her doll in reaction to her parents having an argument, bringing a disturbingly perverse element to the film, reliving her own tormented experiences through that doll, yet somehow it all remains a bit baffling, as if punishing that little girl for mistreating her doll.    

Shot in Spetses, Greece on the fictional Greek island of Kyopeli by cinematographer Hélène Louvart, who also shot the barely seen Karim Aïnouz Brazilian film 2019 Top Ten List #4 Invisible Life (A Vida Invisível), making extensive use of close-ups, expressing a great deal of intimacy, featuring an exquisite musical track by Dickon Hinchliffe, with a lead blues piano and organ score that pulsates underneath what transpires with the introductory character of Leda, Let Me Tell You All About It | The Lost Daughter (Soundtrack ... YouTube (5:00), renting a beach house while working on translations.  Her character flashes back to her younger days where Leda is a PhD student played by Jessie Buckley, so good in Charlie Kaufman’s I'm Thinking of Ending Things (2020), who’s got her hands full with two young girls, Bianca and Martha, struggling to do her work with an ineffective husband, Joe (Jack Farthing), also an academic, both faced with similar demands of raising children who cry out for their attention, yet he invokes the male privilege, inherently thinking his work deserves precedence over hers, refusing to do his fair shair of parenting, believing her role is to look after the children.  Under those conditions, with neither parent willing to adjust to their children’s needs, she’s unable to balance work with her children’s incessant interruptions, with suggestions that motherhood can be brutal, often losing her temper, yet she’s very proficient in her academic field.  Leda is translating British-American poet W.H. Auden into Italian, impressing other scholars, one of whom is Professor Hardy (Peter Sarsgaard, the director’s husband), who she meets at an academic symposium effusively praising her work, leading to a seduction sequence where he quotes the W.B. Yeats poem Leda and the Swan to her in its entirety and in Italian, as she was named after the mythological character who was seduced/raped by Zeus in the form of a swan, where even in Greek mythology men act with impunity, while women suffer the psychological consequences.  Part of the film’s intent is to recreate the uncomfortable aspects of motherhood, elevated to the extreme, with the rape metaphor suggesting dominating images with traumatic aftereffects (Leda’s offspring led to the Trojan War), as Leda fled the harshness of her family life, leaving her children for a period of three years to pursue her studies and her career, recalling her own childhood as a “black shithole,” so the appearance of the family on the beach is not just a view of aggression and a harsh reminder of maternity, but a specific recollection of the terrors of her own childhood.  The film is basically a distillation of subjective memory, combining the past with the present, while creating a menacing aspect of Greek masculinity, with the men in Nina’s family providing a terrorizing presence, always viewed in a threatening manner, like a Greek chorus of male patriarchy standing in the way of any advancement of women, as evidenced by her attempts to watch a movie in a local theater, but it is constantly interrupted by vulgar remarks and comments that feel more like drunken outbursts from teenage bullies, but much of it is personal, specifically singling her out, at least this is her perception, with the director building sustained tension from her vulnerable predicament of being alone.  This experience is repeated at a local dance, when she appears to let herself go, personally identifying with the Bon Jovi song, Livin’ on a Prayer, The Lost Daughter | Bon Jovi reference YouTube (2:28), perhaps reminding her of better times, but then these men make their appearance, running her away from the event altogether, basically ostracizing her from the community, reviving deep feelings of personal shame, in effect, leaving her feeling overwhelmingly disconnected from herself, excoriated in her own mind, turning her own bitterness against her, teeming with self-hatred, still unwilling to forgive herself, even after all these years,.  While she is undergoing these experiences, she is also developing a mysteriously secret relationship with the doll, which actually borders on horror, as Nina has put up reward signs for the missing doll, with her daughter sick and overly distraught from its disappearance, constantly misbehaving, refusing to play with her mother, avoiding her altogether, as if shunning her, with the viewer continually perplexed by the extreme degree of cruelty that she is inflicting on an innocent child, making it difficult to empathize with her situation, yet she is the centerpiece and focal point of the film.  Curiously, and perhaps thankfully, nothing is ever explained here, things just happen, yet easily one of the most chilling things we hear Leda say is “I’m an unnatural mother.”  Batten down the hatches, as that will raise a few eyebrows.    

Reminiscent of the gloomy interiority inhabited by Jane Campion’s THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY (1996), a rendering of the cavernous realms of a woman’s unhappiness, largely shaped by societal entrapment, while here Leda drifts through often painful reminiscences of times when she put her own needs above her family life, choices she now feels she’s paying the price for in her solitude.  This is a film that would play out differently if seen in a theater, as stylistically it is designed for that uninterrupted experience where the audio and visual interplay is allowed to immerse itself into the subconscious minds of viewers.  Exquisitely moving back and forth in time, the overall strategy remains vague and ambiguous, like a puzzle piece, as this notion of a missing child has a hold on the adult Leda, who is fiercely attached to the stolen doll, as one of her younger daughters once was, developing what can only be described as a fetish attachment, becoming a metaphor for her missing needs and wants, which remain strangely out of reach on this distant island.  She goes through an awkward flirtation stage with the older house caretaker, Lyle (Ed Harris), who befriends her and attempts to develop a romantic aspect of their friendship, with Leda unsure if she wants to play along, yet occasionally gives him signs that she is, having dinner with him one evening, leaving the doll in open sight at one point, where it’s clear he sees it, but says nothing about it to anyone, suggesting he is a man she could trust.  She happily dances with him in an open-air dance, that is until Toni and his male brood appears, making a quick exit out of there afterwards.  She also develops a curious friendship with Nina, who continually asks about her own children, attempting to break through the façade of a foreigner on the beach, with Leda hesitant initially, then becoming fully engaged with her, sharing extremely personal recollections of her own difficulties with her children, often growing irritated and depressed, suggesting it doesn’t get any better.  Describing herself as a selfish person, she acknowledges the only way things got any better for her was that she left her children altogether, totally exhilarated by the freedom, but returned for them years later because she simply missed them too much.  This relationship gets intimate at one point when she buys a hatpin for Nina and delicately pokes it through her hair to keep her sunhat in place, a gesture of good will and friendship, yet this relationship also brings with it the full assault of memories of her own dreadful past, which is accentuated by the aggressive behavior of the surrounding men in Nina’s life who continually haunt Leda with a kind of taunting demeanor, only to find herself in solitude, with a significant weight on her shoulders.  She happens to be reading Dante’s Paradiso, the final section of his Divine Comedy, scribbling notes in the margins, where the idyllic nature of this remote paradise on earth seems to continually elude her, yet much of it is her own doing, her own directness, offering a bracingly candid view of the difficulties of motherhood as a “crushing responsibility.”  Nina seems to be following in her footsteps, having a sexual affair with Will (Paul Mescal), a young student who works as a cabana boy at the beach, with Will awkwardly asking if they could use her beach house, needing somewhere to get away.  Leda feels pressured, believing she has little choice, so when Nina arrives at her door for the keys, she invites her in and casually returns the doll, claiming she was just playing around, which only enrages Nina, going berserk with anger, stabbing her in the stomach with the hatpin and defiantly leaves, sickened and disgusted by her behavior.  While the ending remains ambiguous, what’s perhaps most interesting is just how unlikable the characters are, yet they are walking contradictions, not easy to pin down, filled with moments of tenderness and grace, yet also an impulsive selfishness, leading to a kind of open callousness and disregard for others, a duality embraced by the actors with superb performances, yet the film also delves deeply into the interiority of women, considered in intimate detail, adding murkier complexities that are missing altogether from other female exposé movies, where the darker toll of motherhood is rarely explored.  This boundary breaking film challenges viewers in unexpected ways, as women aren’t always what we expect them to be, offering unspoken truths about the painstaking difficulties of motherhood, widening our appreciation and understanding of how women can be vulnerable and exposed, yet also selfishly determined, with this film artfully exploring the deeply-felt and wide-ranging aspects of the female experience.