Landscape In The Mist (1988)

"In the beginning, was the darkness….and then there was light!"

For Voula (Tania Palaiologou), a girl approaching her teens and her little brother Alexandros (Michalis Zeke), about half her age, this profound snippet from the Genesis that she calls a bed-time story, serves as the ultimate mantra of hope and optimism, as the siblings embark on their rather unreasonable and perilous cross-country journey to reach their father! All they know from their mother (who we never seen on screen) is that he resides somewhere in Germany.

The naive children give little thought to it and decide to catch a train to Germany, never once suspecting that their mother, embarrassed from their constant questioning might just have fabricated the whole father story to withhold their illegitimacy from them. However, they believe that eventually there will be light, and the prospect of finding their father becomes a reason to carry out the journey, a reason to go on; a reason to break out of their comfort zone and step out into a world unknown.

Greek master Theodoros Angelopoulos' "Landscape In The Mist" (1988) may be described on some sites as a road movie centering around two children, but it would be a sin to reduce something so phenomenal, to something so concise and limited. Angelopoulos' film is a cinematic masterpiece that is beyond classification.

Even though it primarily chronicles the journey, as seen through the eyes of these children, "Landscape in the Mist" transcends from the literal to the lyrical in showcasing a journey that is not only physical but also spiritual. For the kids, it is an odyssey that, apart from covering physical distances,also traverses emotional heights, serving as an extraordinary rite of passage, a coming of age.

While the rather risky expedition the kids undertake provides the narrative edge to keep the viewer hooked, Angelopoulos packs in a lot of thematic material to ponder on along the way. "Landscape in the Mist" talks of a quest that is universal to all of mankind; a long, unpredictable voyage into the unknown, or a seemingly never-ending existential struggle to attain a far-reaching, unattainable goal. Fate, destiny, and a sense of purpose to life are predominant themes of the film.

As they travel from place to place, board trains, get evicted for lack of tickets, we hear Voula's voice-over narrating unwritten letters to her father, which sometimes spell hope and enthusiasm and at other times, express fatigue and the desire to give up their quest. And yet, something keeps them going, despite the apathy shown by an uncle and his disheartening comments about their father's existence.

The kids run into a kind soul, a young Orestes (Stratos Tzortzoglou) who works with the Travelling Players (a reference to Angelopoulos' 1975 film). They are a theater troupe, now reduced to wandering about, in search of audiences and a theater to perform their beloved play, "Golfo, the Shepherdess". For these artists, performing the play is their sense of purpose in life, but sadly their prospects are dwindling. They are steadfast however, and keep on, for they believe that theater is their only destiny.

Orestes himself struggles with an uncertain future and his unproductive journey thus far. "I'm a snail slithering away into nothingness", he says, for the time would soon come to end his association with the troupe and the kids in order to go into an inevitable Military service. He dreads this future in the army and fears being left to perish. And yet, his purpose in the story inadvertently becomes that of a protector for the kids, a guardian angel of sorts. Then could Military service actually be his vocation, his calling, a destiny chosen for him, for he is the one who protects?

A gifted filmmaker that Angelopoulos is, he manages to strike an unusual balance between the cold, distant and calculated and the melancholic and emotionally sublime. Slow, long takes dominate with accompanying silences, allowing the viewer to rest with every fantastic, mist-laden frame that lingers on screen generously, making a powerful impact. Sometimes the silence is broken to give way to a cathartic breakdown, courtesy the extremely moving score by Eleni Karaindrou.

The oft-mentioned dying horse/wedding scene is only one instance of the powerful imagery that contains the film's universe within it. One can't overlook that almost prophetic mad rambling of the senile old woman in the police station who keeps repeating "He tied the rope…"! It cannot be a coincidence that soon after, we see a dying horse tied to a rope being dragged on the street.

The snowfall and its transfixed audience staring at the sky and the first sighting of the traveling players emerging from a corner, to eventually vanish in an eerily empty town street, replete with an abandoned, scattered vegetable cart, are sequences of unmatched brilliance. They render a surreal, mystical quality to the film's universe, thereby allowing the viewer to identify with Angelopoulos' world, compelling us to not rule out the possibility of anything unreal happening in it!

There are curiously placed, significant scenes of symbolic importance strewn across the film, accurately driving home the themes of the film. An unsuspecting chicken walks into an unknown territory as onlookers quietly watch it. It treads its steps with equal confidence and caution, and yet it is unaware of the danger that lies ahead. Within moments, a man grabs it and takes it away, presumably to make a meal out it. This situation directly mirrors those of the kids, especially Voula who is unaware of the risk she has taken, venturing out alone into the big bad world, solely responsible for the safety of herself and her brother. She walks into the trap of the wolf, the pedophilic truck driver, leading to a very unfortunate means to a sexual awakening.

It's only a matter of time before this pubescent girl, on the brink of adulthood, develops quiet feelings for the handsome Orestes, her sudden and tragic loss of innocence notwithstanding. Orestes notices this in her eyes when he asks her for that dance, and seems to back away. Theirs is an impossible love. It doesn't have a future. The spiral staircase leading to nowhere that stands next to them in this very scene, speaks volumes of the inner conflicts of Orestes and Voula regarding their future, as well as a relationship that isn't meant to be.

The three young souls make up the foundation of the film, and the film is about their journey, their destiny. A giant hand rises from the waters in one of the greatest scenes ever in the history of cinema, and soars above them, suspended from a helicopter, as some ubiquitous cyclists in yellow raincoats (who also appear in Angelopoulos' "Eternity and a Day" (1998), ten years later!) look on. Is it the hand of fate, or the hand of God? Are the yellow raincoats actually angels, overlooking their activity?

If the hypnotic moments leading to the jaw-dropping conclusion of "Landscape in the Mist", capable of making one skip a beat with their sheer leap-out magnificence and a realization of a prophetic revelation, are anything to go by, then it wouldn't be a stretch at all.

Score: 10/10

Alps (2011)

A talented gymnast, her older coach, a nurse and a paramedic form a secret group offering services to fill in the shoes of the recently deceased. In return for a sum of money, these individuals engage in impersonating and play-acting the characteristic traits and daily routines of the dead, in the company of their relatives, parents, spouses, friends or colleagues over multiple sessions. The purported goal is to alleviate the relatives' grieving process by filling in the void created by the loss of their loved ones.

Absurd? Well, don't knock this one 'til you try it. "Alps" (2011) has a bizarre premise at its center that somehow works in Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos' minimalist, deadpan universe. The talented filmmaker knows exactly what he wishes to convey here, and with a rare panache, narrates this story by establishing a steady control on the aesthetics and tone, thereby making one appreciate the inexplicable material presented, which otherwise could've been in a grave danger of misfiring or being misunderstood.

From the very first frame, Lanthimos subjects us to a lot of off-kilter dialog and impassive line deliveries involving some very strange characters who engage in stranger exchanges. We are introduced to this group who call themselves 'The Alps', headed by their self-appointed leader, the paramedic, who calls himself Mont Blanc (Aris Servetalis). While bringing in an accident victim, rather than assuring or pacifying her, he tells her that she might die soon, and begins jotting down details about her family, likes and dislikes, possibly as groundwork for the next substitute assignment for his business!

The nurse (Angeliki Papoulia) works with the paramedic, and she is perhaps the most warped of the lot. While the agenda or the motivations of the group to carry out what they do is unclear, her motivations grow murkier, as it begins to appear that perhaps she has other things to gain from this underground project of theirs.

But just when you think she is the one with at least some shred of an emotional tissue in her when she appears to strike a bond with the dying accident victim, Lanthimos unmasks her as a shrewd businessperson who is quick to make an offer to the girl's parents to substitute her, even throwing in a freebie, in the same breath as she condoles them! Shrewd, she is though, as is later seen when she tries to bend the rules a bit, much to the ire of her leader.

The gymnast (Ariane Labed) and her coach (Johnny Vekris) are an odd pair. She appears to be quite dependent on him and very submissive too. When they argue about the style of music to use or even when a rather stern warning is issued, it is done in a manner so poker-faced, one begins to wonder what they are on. As the film progresses, it subtly raises doubts in our minds. How credible is the identity of these characters? The man is the girl's coach...or is he? Recurring dialog and repeating situations between people seem to hint at a wholly different perspective. It is tough to pinpoint reality against role-playing, as the line between the actual existences of this lot and their acted lives begins to obfuscate.

There are no easy answers to what is happening on screen, but gradually it all begins to make sense in a weird sort of way. One could think of Lanthimos' film as an absurdist black comedy that works as somewhat of a satire on feigned relationships and emphasizes on how unknowingly, there is an underlying pretense in almost every social connection. Don't we all put on an act in real life, no matter how small? Acting has become such an inherent part of our lives, that we tend to ignore it. Isn't it very common for an employee to put on a smiling face in front of his boss, despite not being given a raise? Aren't we all polite in the face of that untimely entry of an uninvited guest?

"Alps" simply amplifies this idea and makes it a way of life of our central characters. He taps into the very concept of replacing the loved ones and poses the question; how loved were they really if merely mouthing their commonly used words, wearing their clothes, and exhibiting their behavioural traits like a ritual, could be enough to substitute them?

The nurse comes home to her father at the end of the day and they follow a routine almost like clockwork, but their exchanges are very reserved. We learn later, how little she really knows her father, automatically planting a shred of doubt in our minds about even this father-daughter relationship. Is it for real? Or is it subconsciously turning into another acting assignment for her? And if it is real, then how appallingly detached this relationship is!

It is possible that perhaps, the people who actually buy these services are doing it out of sheer guilt or a desire to make amends for not being there for the ones who died. Cracks may have appeared in their bonds and the sudden deaths awaken them from their slumber. The Alps serve as a gateway to salvation, an alleviation of guilt rather than sorrow. How ironic, though, that the alleviation process itself borders on hilarity, owing to how mechanical it is. We see a man hire the nurse to fill in for his Canadian wife who presumably died from Diabetes. Their conversations in English are the strangest and funniest of the lot; right down to a deliberately fake orgasmic utterance during a feigned cunnilingus!

The peculiar camerawork is suggestive of the theme of an inherent alienation or emotional distance between individuals. The extensive use of shallow focus puts one character in the sharp forefront, while the other individual (or two) remain out of focus and blurred in the same frame, despite not being placed very far from this character. Sometimes, the head of a person or his/her entire body is cut out from the frame. 

This could be the filmmaker's way of withholding the emotions on his characters' faces, thereby not revealing or creating any sort of emotional bias. Or perhaps, more befittingly, it could be symbolic of total detachment. In tune with this idea, one could also think of the methods of the Alps and acting as a means of reconnecting alienated individuals, a theme explored in an extraordinarily ambiguous fashion in Abbas Kiarostami's wonderful "Certified Copy" (2010).

Lanthimos goes one step further. He makes acting actually look like acting by stripping it of the histrionics as well as the naturalism. The film is primarily about role-playing, and there is a deliberate pretense about it, accentuated with the deadpan and visibly rehearsed kind of line deliveries of these characters, given their daily acting routine. And this part reflects that awe-inspiring idea of how acting takes over real life, essentially nullifying the actual existence of an individual, as was explored in a more explicit and unequivocal fashion in Leos Carax's "Holy Motors" (2012).

It is no surprise then, that the characters are all obsessed with actors and more notably, Hollywood. A recurring line of conversation always pertains to enquiring about someone's favourite actors or singers. Hollywood seems to be either mocked at or paid tribute to, with a lot of references to various celebrities, living or dead. A blind woman would rather listen to a Winona Ryder interview about her day to day life than to other current affairs. Even a tiny detail about a coffee mug is shared, that incidentally has the name "Los Angeles" inscribed on it!

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players", goes an old, almost prophetic Shakespearean quote. Yorgos Lanthimos melds it with our reality as we know it, and demonstrates just how unreal it could be.


Score: 9/10