As with every edition of the TIFF, Cannes winners screening at the festival are often the talk of the town. This year, there will likely be mounting discourse over Fjord (Palme d’Or) and Everytime (Un Certain Regard), as both films are divisive in their own ways.
Fjord
There’s something foreboding about the mountain-esque backdrop and looming threat of a vicious avalanche in Fjord, even if the film itself doesn’t quite cash in on this dreadful ambiance. This is clearly not Cristian Mungiu at his finest, and the film has more of a tendency to infuriate, rather than illuminate, which was perhaps his intention.
After moving with their 5 children to a small Norwegian town, Mihai (Sebastian Stan) and Lisbet Gheorghiu (Renate Reinsve), an overly zealous couple, are scrutinized over their parenting habits. When accusations of abuse are brought forward, their children are taken away from them, sparking a legal dispute targeting their conservative values.
While the premise of the film suggests a polarizing indictment on prominent societal issues, not unexpectedly, Cristian Mungiu had other plans. This is an overly calculated, slow-burn of a film, that never fully ignites. There’s always tension brewing between and within the emotional core of both Mihai and Lisbet, but any clarity on the temperature of said emotions is absent. Fjord really swims in the grey, never fully veering to one particular side of the aisle. And although this does help to create a sense of balance and nuance to the story, it also feels incomplete.
As expected, both Stan and Reinsve are excellent, offering muted performances that gels neatly with the film’s overall restrained mannerisms. Even in the more heated court room scenes, tensions are never lifted beyond a certain level, and both performers stay cautiously within their own lanes. This degree of restraint bleeds into the film’s commentary on the world itself, which serves as both the crown jewel and crux of what makes Fjord such a unique experience. Mungiu purposely dances around making any concrete statements, even when the story is clearly calling for an answer. Much like its central characters, the film seems to say so much, while also really not saying anything at all. This is perhaps a reflection of the times we’re currently in, wherein any discourse on a topic of contention seems riddled with misdirection. As a thought exercise, it’s definitely intriguing, but as a film, it’s somewhat unsatisfying. The film’s emotional bandwidth just feels stunted, giving audiences a bird’s eye view, lingering from afar, rather than inching closer in an intimate way.
Cristian Mungiu’s latest Palme d’Or winner (after 2007’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days) seems frustratingly restrained on the surface, but is actually a rousing thought-provoking narrative that seers in one’s subconscious. Not a perfect swing by any means, but like any Mungiu film, offers ample food for thought. In this instance, however, whether there’s enough on the table to truly satisfy one’s appetite is questionable.
Everytime
Sandra Wollner did not set out to make a straightforward film, but Everytime can be alienating to a fault. Despite some truly arresting scenes, the emotional aptitude of the film struggles to connect in a cohesive way.
Following the tragic death of her first born, Jessie (Carla Hüttermann), Ella (Birgit Minichmayr) grapples with grieving the lost of a child, while still raising her younger daughter, Melli (Lotte Shirin Keiling). They are visited by Jessie’s boyfriend at the time, Lux (Tristan López), who is still struggling with guilt over his actions on the night of Jessie’s accident. The trio end up going on a spontaneous vacation together, mirroring a trip that Ella had originally planned for her daughters before the tragic incident.
As a filmmaker, Wollner should be lauded for her ability to convey heartbreaking catastrophe with such subtle intensity. The manner in which she frames the film’s inciting tragic event is silently monstrous, and serves as a haunting reminder of how fragile life can be. This sentiment does linger throughout Everytime, but takes more of a backseat as the story begins jugging its other thematic interests. Mainly, the film delves into a meditation on how memories are not only created and preserved, but also how people might experience those memories in the future.
Wollner also plays around with the evolving conception of technology, and how reality can be easily blurred, particularly in the context of grief. Blending together footage from recorded videos and video games, society’s perception of reality is questioned, even if the film does skirt around what those questions (and answers) ultimately are. In the film’s final act, the story pivots to a rather surprising angle that never really pays off. Everytime does end on notes of tenderness that works well thematically, but as a narrative, seems misguided. As a whole, this is a bit of a head scratcher, and fails to connect all the dots it so carefully sets into place.
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