by Ryan Smillie, Staff Writer

Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn
Written and Directed by Radu Jude
Starring Katia Pascariu, Claudia Ieremia, and Olimpia Malai
Runtime: 106 minutes

When viewed from above, as Bucharest so often is in Radu Jude’s Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn, Emi’s (Katia Pascariu) problems are dwarfed by the structures and billboards that tower over the city. Even if it means she might lose her job as a teacher at a prestigious school, a leaked sex tape seems like nothing when compared to the crumbling old buildings now housing aggressively commercialized storefronts and advertisements – a shaky foundation ready to collapse at any moment. But Emi and her fellow Bucharesters don’t have time to think about these threats, global warming and COVID included, although Jude makes sure his lingering camera pans up and around to catch every single one.

Bad Luck opens with Emi and her husband filming the inciting sex tape, footage that feels more intrusive than sexy. As we follow Emi running errands and following COVID protocol some time later, we learn that her students have found the tape (after her husband uploads it to a private site, others make it public on PornHub and their own sites), and their parents are not pleased. Naturally what follows is a socially-distanced outdoor hearing, equal parts Salem witch trial and Harper Valley P.T.A., that ultimately becomes less about Emi and her sex tape and more about the state of Romania, or even the world. The whole ordeal feels like one of the many viral school board meetings of the past year, where reasoned arguments are no match against internet conspiracy theories. Though a sex tape feels more lascivious, this sort of confrontation wouldn’t be out of place in a discussion about mask policies or critical race theory. 

Jude’s biting satire took top honors at this year’s Berlinale, and for good reason. Though specifically Romanian in its references (including a healthcare scandal at the center of Alexander Nanau’s riveting 2019 documentary Collective), it captures the mood of a planet where an ongoing pandemic has catalyzed a worldwide explosion of reactionary politics. While Jude’s approach can be a bit heavy-handed at times, including a lengthy yet funny montage that leaves no doubt as to Bad Luck’s intentions in the middle of the film, a little bit of gracelessness works in a film with such a sharp and pointed sense of humor. 

Titane
Written and Directed by Julia Ducournau
Starring Vincent Lindon, Agathe Rousselle and Garance Marillier
Runtime: 108 minutes

We still have a few months to go, but I feel confident saying that if you want to see the most shocking, most original film of 2021, stop reading and go see Titane.

I’m hesitant to say much about Julia Ducournau’s explosive follow-up to her 2016 debut Raw. Both because I don’t want to give anything away and because it feels impossible to do justice to the film in a few hundred words. What I can say for sure is that Titane absolutely proves that Raw was no fluke and that Ducournau has cemented herself as one of the most confident and distinct directors working today. She manages to keep her films laser-focused, even as their plots seem to get crazier and crazier. Her films feel like fever dreams, where even the most unexpected and shocking developments have their own twisted logic. 

While Raw dealt with a classic coming-of-age story (through the eyes of a cannibal, of course), this time, Docournau’s violent, fiery, visceral film concerns the possibilities of the human body. After a childhood car accident leaves Alexia (Agathe Rousselle) with a titanium plate in her head, we next see her years later dancing at a car show, where a Tawny Kitaen routine eventually becomes something out of a David Cronenberg movie, and then some. Rousselle is a revelation in her debut performance. Disturbing and compelling, Rousselle’s Alexia is a wholly unique and unnerving character whose body – what she can do with it and what she can do to it – is the center of the entire film. And when she tricks Vincent, a grieving firefighter (Vincent Lindon) into taking her in while she’s on the run from the police – did I mention that she’s also a violent criminal? – it becomes evident that Vincent has a parallel relationship to and with his own body.   

Maybe I’ve already said too much. Titane has to be seen to be believed. Otherwise, how could I convince you that, while certainly stomach-churning, it’s ultimately kind of heartwarming? It’s certainly a viscerally shocking film, all the way down to its harsh, metallic sound effects, just as dread-inducing as the many grotesqueries on display. But even more shocking is the warmth that Ducournau manages to draw out of her completely bonkers plot, and I’m not only talking about the ever-present flames. I promise, you’ve never seen anything like this before.

Vortex
Directed by Gaspar Noé
Starring Dario Argento, Françoise Lebrun, and Alex Lutz
Runtime: 142 minutes

I’m always excited for a new Gaspar Noé movie. And at this point, I’m not really sure why. I can’t say that I’ve ever enjoyed any of his movies. But I am always intrigued by his provocative choices, both formally and plot-wise. Let me rephrase – I’m always intrigued by the possibilities of his provocative choices. Noé is always on a mission to shock his audience, and I’m sure he would’ve been thrilled with Titane’s Cannes reception (both walk-outs and the Palme d’Or) had it been his film. But Titane is far too focused to be Noé’s. Even in Vortex, possibly his most restrained film yet, Noé is led astray by his maximalist impulses, turning an emotional story about family, aging, and death into a tedious formal experiment where style obscures and belabors what could be a straightforward and affecting plot.

Françoise Lebrun (star of Jean Eustache’s classic The Mother and the Whore) and Dario Argento (the famed giallo director in a rare acting role) play an aging French couple only referred to as The Mother and The Father. Both visibly declining, he with a heart condition and she with dementia, they seem trapped, both in their cluttered apartment and in their failing bodies. Their son (Alex Lutz) does what he can to help, when his parents decide to accept his help, but he has issues of his own, managing his sobriety and caring for his young son, seemingly oblivious to his grandparents’ condition. It’s a familiar enough, though depressing, scene.

Noé, predictably, is not one to be satisfied with familiar, and has shot the entire movie in split-screen, with Lebrun on one side and Argento on the other, usually nearby but always separated by that black line down the middle. And there are certainly some nice-looking moments where Lebrun and Argento’s movements or positions echo or complement one another, or when they cross over the line and swap sides of the frame. But more often than not, it’s a headache that alienates a viewer, distorting scenes to drive home the same metaphor for two and a half hours. Don’t you get it, even though they’re together, they’re ultimately alone! Lebrun and Argento are as compelling as they can be, but their performances are hamstrung by a style that wants to treat them like props. By the time Noé finally gets to a striking split-screen shot when – spoiler alert – one of them dies, it’s two hours too late. I don’t think the split screen was destined to fail; it just can’t be sustained for over two hours. It’s clear that Noé’s work with his actors on set was better than his final bifurcated product. I guess I’ll have to hope for a better movie next time, like always.

The Girl and the Spider
Directed by Ramon Zürcher and Silvan Zürcher
Starring Henrette Confurius, Liliane Amuat and Ursina Lardi
Runtime: 98 minutes

Before going to see The Girl and the Spider, I joked that I was going to see a feature-length adaptation of the classic “They were roommates” Vine. If only that had been the case. I’ll allow that maybe I was triggered after a frustrating move this summer, but I couldn’t wait to get out of the tangled yet dull web of Lisa’s (Liliane Amuat) interminable move. 

Lisa and Mara (Henriette Confurius) are roommates. Lisa is moving out. Mara is staying. They have a lot of attractive friends and neighbors and movers and parents. They’re all standing around the apartment, making noise and getting in the way. And there are multiple children running around, for some reason, making more noise and also making a mess. But don’t worry, the adults are also making a mess. As choreography, it looks kind of cool, and cinematographer Alexander Haßkerl captures their bodies in the tight apartment in sophisticated shots. As some sort of dance piece on stage, I might be more interested. But as a movie, I can’t say I know what co-directors and twins Ramon and Silvan Zürcher were going for.

The Girl and the Spider has the feel of a mildly interesting short film, spread over a long 99 minutes. I’m not one to shy away from a “boring” movie, and in fact, I love having an opportunity to watch something that forces me to think about what I’m watching. But I have to draw the line at a movie that makes me wonder why I’m watching. I wish I had more to say about The Girl and the Spider other than the fact that did nothing but bore me. If I wanted to watch vaguely dissatisfied people alternate between passive aggression and sexual tension, I’d just go to any of the bars near my apartment. At least then I might get to dance.