By Amir Ganjavie© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
Showcasing the True North: A Conversation with Ashleigh Rains on Canadian Film Fest’s Mission and Legacy
In its 19th edition, the Canadian Film Fest (CFF) has established itself as a vital platform for celebrating Canadian stories and filmmakers. At the heart of this endeavor is Ashleigh Rains, the festival director and a passionate advocate for Canadian cinema. In this insightful interview, Rains delves into the festival’s unique mandate, its unwavering focus on showcasing exclusively Canadian films, and the strategies it employs to elevate local talent. From navigating challenges posed by the pandemic to fostering a sense of community among filmmakers, Rains shares how CFF continues to thrive as Toronto’s largest festival dedicated to Canadian storytelling.
Amir Ganjavie, UniversalCinema Magazine (UM): Could you please introduce yourself and share a bit about your role in the organization?
Ashleigh Rains (AR): Yeah. Hi, my name is Ashleigh Rains. I am the festival director and head of Canadian Film Fest. I’ve been with the film festival in various capacities for 10 years now.
(UM): Could you tell us a bit more about your festival and what sets it apart from other Canadian film festivals?
(AR): Yeah. So, Canadian Film Fest, we are celebrating our 19th edition this year, and it was founded by our executive director, Bern Euler. It was born from the need to see more Canadian films on screen. So, Toronto is a great culturally diverse city, but in terms of having exclusive Canadian content, in a festival setting, Bern saw a need for that. So, he founded the festival. Our festival is different because we are Toronto’s largest film festival exclusively dedicated to screening Canadian films. We screen feature films and short films and recently, we started screening digital series as well. We also have an industry series, and this is headed by our director of Industry, Jen Pogue. It’s really such a wonderful resource for the filmmaking community in Canada. It’s five days where filmmakers get to learn from, interact with, and also do practical work in support of their careers. We cover everything from financing in Canada to distribution, to current trends, as well as last year, for example, we did the Canadian Comedy Film Igniter Challenge with the Firecracker Department, and we had filmmakers actually go and make short films. We have diverse offerings in programming or film programming, but also in terms of our industry.
(UM): Just to clarify, does your festival focus exclusively on curating Canadian films, without including international films?
(AR): Only Canadian films. We ask that the e-creatives and specifically the director of the project be Canadian. Sometimes we get questions where people are like, “My film stars 20 Canadians. Would you consider it?” No. Our mandate is to support and elevate Canadian filmmakers as well as connect audiences across the country with Canadian filmmakers.
(UM): What inspired you to create this film festival? Was there a specific gap or need you identified that prompted its creation?
(AR): Yeah, so it was Bern Euler. He was working as an editor in the industry, and he had so many friends who were creating amazing films playing in Toronto. So, it was hard to get those Canadian films up on screens. First for the community, but then also for the general public. He literally was like, “I’m going to start a film festival.” So, he started doing the screening at the Royal, and it was so successful that it grew year to year to year, and that was really the need. There was such a response within the community, where like, yes, we need a film festival that shows Canadian films and only Canadian films, and it engages the industry, but also platforms this content for the general public. I can’t speak specifically, I don’t know the exact numbers, but Bern really grew the festival over 19 years. There were some years when the festival had to go dark because of sponsorship reasons, recessions, et cetera. But this year, we are celebrating our 19th edition and it’s really a testament because Bern saw a need in the market for this type of festival and here we are 19 years later.
(UM): The concept of nation is often highly politicized, and its definition can be quite ambiguous. For example, in some countries, when supporting French films, there’s an emphasis on highlighting certain aspects that define them as distinctly “French.” I’m curious—how does this apply in your case? Do you and your team ever engage in debates about what constitutes a “Canadian” film?
(AR): I don’t think I caught the word that you said at the beginning, but when we try and define what a Canadian film is, we say, “Is the director Canadian? Is it in the creative control of a Canadian?” So, that’s how we look at defining that piece. In terms of value associated with that, we don’t come in with that. We don’t come in with a set idea of, like, “This is Canadian,” because we all have our own personal POVs and our own lived experiences, but that doesn’t apply to everyone. So, we really like our programming team. We really, I think, look at the films on an individual basis and again, go back to, is it a good story? Was it compelling? Did it make me laugh? Did it make me cry? Was I scared? Do I want to keep watching? That’s really how we do our assessment of the films.
(UM): How many films are typically submitted to your festival, and how many of those are ultimately selected?
(AR): Last year, we had over 500 submissions, and I say that’s a great number, and it’s an encouraging number to know that Canadians are making that much content every year.
(UM): Does that include both feature films and short films?
(AR): Yeah. It’s for features and shorts. Last year, we programmed 11 feature films and about 40 short films.
(UM): Could you elaborate on your selection process? How do you go about choosing the films for the festival?
(AR): Yeah, so I have a great programming team and we’ve been working together for a handful of years now. We do open calls for submissions. So, we open them after TIFF and we keep them open until the end of the year. We’re really looking for films that represent the Canadian landscape. So what does that mean? First of all, we like to consider geography. We are the Canadian Film Fest, so we want films from all regions across the country. We program films in English, in French, and in other languages. Canada has many languages, so we’re interested in films. In all languages, we do request English subtitles. Then we look at basically our mandate, and this really comes from the heart of Bern, the founder of the festival, and we just carried it through 19 editions. It’s a good story. So, we’re looking for compelling stories. In that way, we’re open to all genres. So, it can be horror, it can be drama, it can be comedy, it can be Sci-fi, it can be a period piece. We really consider all genres of films as long as it has a really good story.
(UM): Could you clarify what you mean by a “good story”?
(AR): Yeah. So, that’s a great question. I think good story, like, it’s open to that kind of interpretation in the sense that compelling, does it hook us? Are we interested? Do we want to keep watching the movie? Do we think it’s going to resonate with an audience? Sometimes, also we look at what’s going on in the world and whether it speaks to current issues. And is it of the time? Will that resonate? Does it further a conversation? Does it further ideas about an issue or a topic? I would say, like, first and foremost though, compelling in that sense, and then from there, it could be those kinds of considerations. Like, what is it talking about? What’s it saying? What’s the messaging? How is the story told? Is it told in an innovative and interesting way? Is it a theme that has been explored in film before but from a unique POV?
We love films that take chances and risks too. So, if stories are told innovatively, that’s awesome. Last year, in our programming, we had some interesting feature films that came through and we love stories told in really like cool, in a sci-fi format or a thriller that was told in a Western format. We’re really open to how the stories are told. And we’re looking for that kind of diversity of content too. We don’t program for a theme. We’re not saying this year, it’s an environmental theme, or this year we are leaning into the genre, we’re really open in those considerations.
(UM): Do you invite films to the festival, or do you select them solely from submissions?
(AR): We do invite films. Our programming team is really plugged into what’s going on in Canadian film. Most of our team, I’m going to say like 95% of the Canadian Film Fest team are filmmakers. So, we are all working in the industry and have backgrounds as producers, writers, directors, television creators, and on-camera talent. So, we’re plugged into the industry we’re following. When we see a film or hear about a film that’s in production or recently wrapped, we will approach filmmakers or distributors for that content. We also have distributors pitch us content as well. We have wonderful relationships with many of the other awesome film festivals in Toronto that will suggest content to us. So, it’s really kind of diverse. We get a lot of applications through just a call for submissions as well.
(UM): Do you tend to select films that have already been recognized at other major festivals, or do you prioritize premieres?
(AR): We’re looking for films. We want Toronto premieres and we’d love Canadian premiers for our film. So, at minimum, we’ll take a Toronto premiere, but we are looking for a Canadian premiere for our films too. Sometimes, we do screen films that have had successful runs at other festivals. It’s really kind of a case-by-case consideration looking at what our slate is this year and what we’re programming.
(UM): Do you follow any specific ratios or quotas during the film selection process?
(AR): Well, we do mandate gender parity in our programming. That’s something that I started when I joined the festival, but that’s not a difficult position for us to meet. Every year, we have an amazing amount of submissions from all genders. We look at representation too in terms of gender as well as BIPOC representation and equity-seeking communities. We want to make sure that our programming reflects the diversity of Canada. So, we do consider that when we program too.
(UM): I’m curious—how do you approach handling films that might spark political controversy?
(AR): Yeah. In Canadian Film Fest, we don’t take political positions, but we do believe in the freedom of expression and free speech. As filmmakers and as citizens of the world, we are very aware of all of the challenges going on globally and the devastation to various communities, so we do consider that in terms of our films. But our mandate first is to support our film filmmakers and to platform their work.
(UM): Regarding venues, I know some Toronto festivals face challenges in securing locations. How is the situation for your festival? Where do your events typically take place?
(AR): Historically, we’ve screened at the Scotiabank Theater. We used to screen at the Royal College, which is an amazing independent theater. Our festival grew, so we had to move to a bigger venue to accommodate our audiences. We hope to be back at Scotiabank this year. In terms of the logistics of the festival though, it’s year to year. We don’t have a permanent space as some other festivals do, so we’re always looking for our venues. But we do have a wonderful relationship with Scotiabank and we’ve been there for several years.
(UM): One common challenge for film festivals is the lack of a consistent, year-round staff, as many team members work only for a few months, leading to potential instability. How does your festival handle this issue?
(AR): Our festival director, Bern Euler, and I can speak to this specifically, running a film festival is not a secure job and it’s not a guaranteed year to year. We really are dependent on government support as well as sponsorship, as well as engagement from the filmmaking community and the general audience to make sure the festival can run year to year. Bern and I, typically, work year-round. We really believe in the need for the festival and the space for the festival to exist in Canada. So, we are working year-round on it. Whether that means, it’s not a full-time job as well, because we also do work in the industry in various roles. I also work as a producer and a creator, so I do have other jobs. But this is something that Bern and I work on year-round. As soon as the festival ends, we take a few days off and then we’re into planning for the following year.
(UM): You mentioned that the Canadian government is one of your major supporters. Are there any specific policies or requirements you need to adhere to as a result of working with them?
(AR): Are you asking if they have certain mandates for us to meet?
(UM): Yeah.
(AR): Yeah. I think different government funds have different mandates, and we see their funding used. So, for some funds, they really want to support B2B within the industry. So, it’s creating those opportunities for filmmakers to meet with other filmmakers. Other funds might want to see a lot of community engagement. So, everyone has, I think. They have specifications about how they would like to see their money spent, and then we review that of course at the application stage and make sure that our programming on the industry side and on the film side, meets those mandates.
(UM): You mentioned that the festival includes five days of networking and other industry opportunities. Could you elaborate on this aspect of the event?
(AR): Yeah. As I said, our director of industry, her name is Jen Pogue, and she’s done such a wonderful job of developing the industry side of the festival. I think it’s such a necessary component of the festival. I can’t imagine CFF without it. What we do is, historically, we always have a masterclass. It’s a hands-on practical learning opportunity for filmmakers. We’ve had directing master classes. We’ve had pitching master classes. Like last year, we did pitching with Lauren MacKinlay, who’s an incredible talent and resource. We had Jeremy Lalonde[?] come in and do a director’s workshop with our filmmakers. We’ll have something like that. We’ll have panel discussions. Usually, I’ll say, like, we’ll do something on financing. We’ll invite all of the funders in Canada to come in and speak about their funds, how to access them, and what you need to do as filmmakers to prepare yourself for that process. We’ll have conversations on festival programming.
Canadian Film Fest, we have our specific mandate, but we know that the success of a filmmaker in Canada relies on having a successful festival run with other festivals. So, we’ll talk about that and how that can leverage a festival run for the next steps. We have the Making a Canadian Classic Series, which we started a few years ago, and the objective of this is to meet with established Canadian directors who started working in independent film and their one independent film kind of launched their career. For example, we’ve had Sudz Sutherland come on, we had Jasmin Mozaffari come on. Last year, we had Vincenzo Natali. They came in and talked about their early work and how, Cube, for example, helped launch Vincenzo’s career. And that’s hosted by Warren P. Sonoda, who’s the President Directors Guild in Canada. He’s a masterful moderator. So, they are really valuable, unique conversations.
Then we have our Cheers and Chats Series where we get filmmakers to come in and informally talk about their careers, in a really practical and candid way about how to be a writer in the industry, how to develop comedy in Canada, et cetera. Then we have networking opportunities as well. We have pitch competitions. Every day we have networking socials. So, filmmakers get together, they can meet other filmmakers, they can meet decision-makers, financiers. It’s really a comprehensive week. It’s fully packed, but it’s a great opportunity for filmmakers. And, I also like to participate because I’m always learning something in this series too.
(UM): One of the biggest challenges for Canadian filmmakers is distribution, as the market is often dominated by American and Hollywood films. Even prominent Canadian films struggle in this regard. How does your festival support filmmakers in terms of distribution? Do you assist with securing distribution deals?
(AR): Yeah. So, at the festival, we’ve had films come in that we invite distributors to come to the festival. We’ve actually historically had distributors pick up films from seeing them at the festival, which is great. When we work with distributors, part of that conversation is what the release strategy looks like for the feature film. So, then it’s how we can position the feature with the festival and help leverage the festival for the release of the film. Then when our filmmakers do release films in theaters across Canada, we encourage our followers, our audience, and our community to go out and see them. However, we can support it, it’s always like a multifaceted approach, but we try to have those conversations up front and continue those conversations after filmmakers leave us so that we’re encouraging audiences to see the films.
(UM): I see a big disparity between the French and English sides of Canada in terms of film. The French side is more powerful and they have a strong system of starships and it seems that it works better. I’m just curious how you are trying to help the English side. Do you have any kind of preference or any agenda? I’m just curious to know more.
(AR): Yeah. I think generally, our mandate is to platform and elevate Canadian filmmakers. A big part of our marketing at the festival is directly promoting the individual filmmakers who are screening with us. So, that includes traditional media, like print interviews, it includes some of the entertainment shows, and radio appearances. We work with a team that helps elevate our filmmakers and make some noise about their films. That’s really important to us. We really try to make a lot of noise for our programs, films, and film filmmakers so that we do get eyes on them and hopefully that those experiences and opportunities can be leveraged for the next steps in the film’s life or in their careers.
(UM): One of the challenges I’ve noticed, especially post-COVID, is getting audiences back into theaters. Many festivals have adopted various strategies to address this. How has your festival managed this situation?
(AR): Well, I don’t know if you know this, but when COVID hit, we were two weeks away from opening our festival. And it was in that kind of gray area where the government was like, “Just don’t shake hands and keep safe distances and use hand sanitizer.” We’re like, “Okay, we’ll do that.” And then it like slowly, not slowly, it actually quickly escalated to the point of a lockdown, and we had to close. And Bern will say this, we had no contingency plan in place because nobody was expecting this, so we thought we were going to go under. And then Super Channel in Canada, a broadcaster in Canada came in and said, “We love the festival. They’re Canadian. We support this mandate.” So, they transitioned the entire festival into a virtual edition so that audiences across Canada could experience the festival on their channel. They actually formatted it like the in-person event with screenings, Q&As, introductions, networking events, and industry series. They were so generous and kind and we worked with them for, I believe, three years online.
Then when, in this kind of what we’re calling a post-pandemic world, theaters opened again and we went back to theaters and we weren’t sure, we had no idea. We’re like, “Will our community come? Will audiences come?” We had no expectations, only hope that we would be successful. The first year we were back, we had a great response, and the second year, like last year was just a banner year for the festival. We had the most people ever attend, sold-out screenings, and high engagement. It was really successful. So, I think that speaks to the needs of the festival and the legacy of the festival. We’re really pleased that we’re still engaging our community and also engaging audiences who want to come and see Canadian films.
The Hard Truths Within
By Cara-Lynn BranchMarianne Jean-Baptiste gave one of, if not the best performance, of the year that few people will see in Hard Truths as its current US theatrical count of 121 is likely the widest release it will receive having missed out on receiving any Academy Award nominations despite Jean-Baptiste amassing major critical Best Actress wins from NYFCC, LAFCA, and NSFC and nominations for BAFTA Film Awards and the Critics’ Choice Awards, both of whose results are still be determined. Academy Award nominations are critical for independent films to receive a wider audience, the so-called Oscar bump, so missing out on a nomination will most likely impact the film’s reach. But if you are reading this, do yourself a favour, and seek the film out.
Mike Leigh wrote and directed the film, reuniting with Jean-Baptiste and Michele Austin (who plays Chantelle), who also starred in his film Secrets & Lies, for which Leigh and Jean-Baptiste were nominated for Academy Awards in their respective categories. At the beginning of the film, after establishing the neighbourhood of identical townhouses where the rest of them have lush hedges/trees in the front, but the house where Pansy (played by Jean-Baptiste) and her family live only has a cold brick fence, we meet Pansy who has a similarly cold defense with barbed words flung about her son, her neighbours and everyone that crosses her path. She attacks first, as you are watching the film progress, you can see she is someone with a lot of anxiety and fear, and you can see that manifest through anger. In one scene at Chantelle’s salon, the Covid lockdowns are mentioned. Covid is so rarely addressed in films that its reference seems especially purposeful and as something that perhaps exasperated Pansy feelings, anxiety, and behaviour all before the film began, because of the prolonged isolation from her family and lack of interaction with people. However, the full root is revealed when the sisters visit their mother’s grave, and her unresolved grief is laid bare, stemming from the type of relationship she had with her mother and how it affected her life and the choices she made. Particularly staying with Curtley (played by David Webber), the father of her son. Not to mention finding her dead body.
If you’ve ever worked in customer service, you’ve probably encountered someone who reminds you of Pansy; someone who attacks first. But this film pushes the audience to look past the surface and deeper. It also doesn’t provide an easy ending. The ending is a little ambiguous and left for interpretation. I think the breath at the end was Pansy taking a step forward and healing a little, as someone who struggled to help herself throughout the film, she might not have been ready to help Curtley, but she was taking a breath – and that was a start.
I was captured by the film’s score, the lyricism that lifted and carried the quieter moments and emotions forward. However, the absence of the music was just as powerful, particularly the ending, which in some ways bookended the opening, re-establishing the house and the people in it with an exhale of breath in the silence.
While Jean-Baptiste, Austin, and Webber carry the bulk of the film’s emotional weight, it would be remiss to leave out the quiet but resonate performance of Tuwaine Barrett as Moses, Pansy and Curtley’s son. Rounding out the cast are Sophia Brown as Aleisha and Ani Nelson as Kayla, who play Chantelle’s daughters, their warm relationship with their mother provides further contrast for relationships fostered by Pansy due to her grief and pain.
Hard Truths is currently in theatres.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
A Different Man – Review
Leading up to this week, Sebastian Stan seemed like a shoo-in to get nominated for his first Academy Award for A Different Man, as it was getting significant award buzz and critical reception. However, he was nominated for his other project last year, The Apprentice. Perhaps this was a result of the recent election or Sebastian Stan being excluded from Variety’s Actors on Actors because other actors didn’t want to talk about Trump, either way, A Different Man left the Academy Awards nominations receiving only a nomination for Best Makeup and Hairstyling. However, anyone who has seen the film knows the layered performance Sebastian Stan gave as Edward Adam Pearson as his well-meaning antagonist Oswald.
A Different Man, written and directed by Aaron Schimberg, centers Stan’s Edward, who is a struggling actor with neurofibromatosis who undergoes a painful experiment treatment that promises to cure him and give him a new face. His desire for this treatment is predicated by his insecurity about how others perceive him. This is exasperated by the only role he was able to book was in an instructional video that was about teaching people to treat people like him like people, which is dehumanizing in itself, and his inability to get close with his neighbour Ingrid (played by Renate Reinsve). So, when the surgery is a success, he kills Edward and takes on the identity of Guy believing that everything will work now.
He finds success in work, getting his face on the billboards and cardboard cutouts, and having casual relationships with women in his new, cold apartment. It’s everything he wanted, except that while playing the role of Guy, he is still not living his dream of acting, and then he discovers that Ingrid lived up to her promise and wrote a play with a role for him. Well, for Edward. Guy eventually convinces her to hire him to play Edward (wearing a mask) as she can’t find anyone else who fills her vision of Edward that came in – but then in walks Oswald, who has neurofibromatosis like Edward had before his surgery.
What makes Oswald a great antagonist is you can read his character in two ways. The first is genuine, that he genuinely likes Guy and his acting and is just hanging around because he’s excited and invited. The other, is that he is manipulating the situation from the start to push Guy out. Regardless of your read of the character his presence and confidence in life drive Guy insane because Oswald is getting all the attention, love, and opportunities Edward/Guy felt he couldn’t achieve without the surgery and now is losing again despite his transformation.
What’s interesting about the film is that the characters are all messy. It leans into the concept that the grass is always greener on the other side; Edward sees Oswald living the life he only dreamed of before his surgery and getting everything he wanted, including Ingrid’s love. But you can’t discount the events that transpired to lead to this, going back to before Edward chose to “kill” Edward and become Guy. Ingrid pulled away and fled Edward’s apartment when he grabbed her hand, the closest he got to showing his affection was more than friendly. She was not present during his painful transformation. It was perhaps only because of his “death” that she was driven to revise their relationship in the play. Paving the way for Oswald, who greets the world with confidence to let her tread those paths not traveled, and he has the confidence to pursue.
The film’s message is clearly about self-acceptance. Edward’s transformation was only skin-deep; Oswald embraced who he was, while Edward never found comfort in his skin.
A Different Man is available on Max in the US and Digital Rental in Canada.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
Breakfast with Giraffes: Iranian absurdism for absurd times
By Arash AziziIranian cinema has long been known for its poetic films and, more recently, for its intense dramas. But one oft-ignored Iranian genre is comedy, a rarity on the festival circuit.
In the Iranian box-office, however, comedies often do well. Soroush Sehhat’s Breakfast with Giraffes is one example. Although it hasn’t been shown in festivals, American audiences recently had a chance to see it in a series of special screenings in Boston, Washington and New York, where it was a special screening prelude to the 3rd Iranian Film Festival New York. It will also soon be screened in Germany.
Being a comedy doesn’t always make a film less intense or even less forlorn. The Iranian films have a reputation of leaving you a little depressed and Breakfast with Giraffes doesn’t break from that tradition. But it’s nevertheless a bona fide comedy: it makes you laugh just before you notice how hard it hit you.
The film revolves around a wedding party. Pooya (Hootan Shakiba) and Shahin (Bijan Banafshehkhah) are all dressed up to go. The groom, Reza (Pejman Jamshidi) is a cousin of their good friend Mojtaba (Bahram Radan.) It is a traditional wedding where guests are segregated by gender and have to sit around round tables, busying themselves with fruits and sweets. It is an alien environment for Pooya and Shahin who come from a different milieu and a different world. They are way over-dressed, complete with bowties, and have little in common with the stout men in worn-out suits, quietly peeling tangerines and passing them around the table. Reza is stuck between wanting to entertain his friends and his hard-ass soon-to-be brother-in-law Saeed (Majid Yousefi) who follows him like a shadow and bans him from such mundane activities as eating a nectarine (he suggests something less splash-probe like a banana.)
This clash of worlds, between the hip friends and the simpler guests, between the two sides of Reza’s life, sets the tone for the film. If social dramas try to capture the brutalities of daily life in Iran, Breakfast with Giraffe uses a comical portray of contradictions to show how absurd life in today’s Iran can be.
Pooya and Shahin manage to get Mojtaba and Reza away from the eagle-eyed Saeed and into a utilities room where they can let loose some steam, primarily by consuming copious amounts of cocaine. How else to sit through this tedious wedding? Now, the very Reza who was banned from a nectarine can’t get enough of the coke lines. He ends up losing consciousness and the rest of the film tells the adventurous story of how his friends try to save his life and maybe his marriage.
Sehhat’s adoption of an absurdist style is both apt and done in a particular way. Like most absurdist or surreal works, the basic rational logic is suspended in some of the film’s elements. We see a man fall from a few floors without breaking a bone. In a memorable scene, we see two groups of characters inexplicably break into a pretend Italian to flirt with each other. But the film doesn’t go far in this direction. It never quite becomes nihilist or fully abstract. It keeps the fundamentals of a narrative. This way, it remains watchable and compelling.
The film artfully weaves absurdism into another sub-genre: buddy movies. This is a story of a few buddies engaged in activities that are typical, perhaps even stereotypical, of Iranian men: getting high together, going together to a villa outside town, putting some kebab on the grill. Iranian women, who play a heroic role in all spheres of life, have often been portrayed in Iranian cinema. But Breakfast with Giraffes is a study in Iranian masculinity and all its pitfalls. The men of the film each suffer from their own relationship crises. Shahin is a divorcee. Pooya finds out his girlfriend is cheating on him. Whenever the group meets a group of women, a game of flirtations begin, like the notable scene with the make-believe Italian. The film’s success is rooted in how it balances out these genre sensibilities, different as they are.
The very title of the film gives out a surreal flavor. The title drop occurs in the utilities room when Reza muses about going to a resort in Langata, a suburb of Kenya’s capital Nairobi, where guests mingle with giraffes and even have breakfast with them. This hotel exists in real life but the absurdism here is contextual. Reza repeatedly reminds us that he has worked several years to be able to afford a very modest wedding party. In what world could a middle-class Iranian like him afford a trip to Kenya and a stay at the Giraffe Manor? (I checked and it costs anywhere between 1200 to 2500 US dollars a night.) In another absurdist event, as soon as Mojtaba hears the name Langata, he says he knows where it is since “I am a taxi driver, I know all addresses.” As if, one could get a Snap (Iran’s version of Uber) all the way to Nairobi.
Sehhat thus weaves together absurdist elements into a compelling story line, delivering a film that is just like the Iran of today: getting by but surreally. This is a world in which men and women resort to a made-up language to flirt; one in which even relatively well-to-do folks have to resort to cocaine to get through a night; one in which having breakfast with giraffes is both an implausible dream and one that seems to be just about possible.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
Nyctophobia: An Experimental Journey Into Fear and Anxiety
By Ester BovardIn her debut feature, experimental film director Seayoon Jeong takes a deep dive into the mind of one woman suffering the debilitating effects of nyctophobia – fear of the dark. Deftly making creative use of animation and visual effects to enhance the fantastical and at times harrowing dreamscape of her central character’s mind, Jeong proves herself an original and innovative filmmaker adding an excitingly fresh perspective to the cinematic landscape.
Based loosely on her own experiences, Jeong adopts an experimental, non-linear framework in an attempt to communicate the irrational and illogical reality of being afflicted with these types of debilitating anxiety disorders. Opening with a series of unsettling animations, she immediately drops the viewer into the swirling vortex of fear and anxiety inside her protagonist’s mind. Deftly expressing the dichotomy between perception and fact fostered by irrational anxiety, she then abruptly cuts to the objectively peaceful reality of her actual surroundings.
Liz (Olivia Clari Nice) lies in a brightly lit bedroom, attempting to will herself to sleep. Clearly fearful of some unseen dark force, she talks herself down in a familiar ritual, coercing herself to sink into a tenuous unconsciousness. Meandering about the eerily desaturated dreamscape of her own mind, Liz encounters a number of unsettling images: bleeding flowers, abandoned carousels, labyrinthine hallways full of locked doors – the kinds of familiar yet illogical images that populate so many of our dreams, begging for deeper interpretation. She soon finds herself strolling along a beach peppered with bright blue sparkling gems. Modestly evoking the wild hallucinatory landscapes of films like The Fall, sequences such as these beg the viewer to wonder what a fertile mind like Jeong’s could achieve with even greater resources at her fingertips.
In much the same way as our own minds work, grasping subconsciously at the cultural touchstones ingrained in our individual experience, the film is rife with pointed cinematic references. From It to Wayne’s World to Sucker Punch, Jeong wears her influences on her sleeve. The first and most pervasive of these references is to Stephen King’s murderous clown Pennywise, with Liz stalked by not one, but several masked figures throughout her journey. At first subtle shadows lurking in the darkness, the threat they pose soon becomes more and more overt as they multiply, representations of the intensifying fears manifested from within herself.
The film kicks into high gear as Liz finds herself drawn further into the maze of a crumbling and labyrinthine industrial space. Considering her scant resources and experimental approach, Jeong is impressively targeted in her creative choices, making deft use of mannequins to up the creep factor, and utilizing a wall of analog television screens to great effect. Rather than simply relegate the device to the status of static set piece, she makes clever use of visual effects to coax the snow on the screens beyond their frames, infecting doorways, walls, and even – at times – Liz herself. The device is dynamic and evocative, indicative of Jeong’s confident grasp of the visual world at the centre of the film.
As she sinks deeper into her own subconscious, Liz takes on a series of alter egos: jazz singer, schoolgirl, disco diva, flashing in and out of self-awareness throughout. To be sure, Nice does some impressively heavy lifting here, effortlessly telegraphing her ever-changing internal states and convincingly delivering on a series of varied dance performances. Following along the natural ebbs and flows of peace and distress familiar to so many who suffer from debilitating anxiety, Jeong’s narrative (such as it is) eventually leads the viewer through her protagonist’s inevitably dramatic confrontation with the demons of her own making, seeing them vanquished just in time for her to drift off into a deep and relatively peaceful sleep.
Visualizing this moment as Liz sinking slowly into a vast sea, bathed in cool sunlight, the mood of the film slowly quiets along with her mind as she slips deeper into peaceful slumber. It is an arresting image (and the most beautiful moment contained in the film), but the tranquility it evokes is all too brief as morning soon arrives to rouse our heroine from her hard-earned idyll.
Nyctophobia premiered at the 2024 San Francisco Independent Film Festival.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
Why Jeanne Dielman Is Not the Greatest Film in Cinema History
By Mo AbdiThe 50th anniversary of Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Brussels by Chantal Akerman is being celebrated with screenings by the British Film Institute. This film ranked first in the latest Sight & Sound magazine poll for the greatest films in cinema history. Remarkably, in the previous poll—or indeed in any similar poll worldwide—it had never been among the top ten films. Now, however, it has suddenly not only entered the list of selected films but claimed the top spot. This raises countless questions: how is it that a film, that appears to pale in comparison to the masterpieces of this art form—whether it’s Hitchcock’s Vertigo, Bergman’s Persona, Fellini’s 8½, or Orson Welles’s Citizen Kane—can be considered superior? Not only does it seem absurd to compare their artistic values, but such comparisons often feel like a joke. So how has Jeanne Dielman, based on ideological waves, reached this bizarre conclusion in the Sight & Sound poll?
Both the voters—myself included, as I participated without foreseeing the final results—and the organizers seem to have unwittingly succumbed to the current trend of elevating a female filmmaker. This effort ultimately led to a peculiar list of selections that reflects not so much “cinema” and its artistic merits, but rather a journalistic response to contemporary feminist trends and a deliberate push to highlight works by women or people of color. However, I believe it is self-evident that a film being made by a woman or a Black person is not, in itself, a “value.” A film is either good or bad, and it fundamentally should not matter whether its creator is male or female, white or Black. The current emphasis on such ideological evaluations in some global festivals and mainstream criticism—such as mandates for festivals to select 50% of their films from female directors—seems to aim at eradicating discrimination against women. However, it blatantly creates a reverse form of injustice, depriving deserving male filmmakers of recognition simply because they are not women. This prioritization of ideology over cinema is not only unappealing but potentially alarming.
The elevation of Jeanne Dielman seems more an act of homage to these transient ideologies than an acknowledgment of the film’s cinematic merits. I eagerly read Laura Mulvey’s extensive article on this film, featured in the same poll issue to analyse its merits. However, the multi-page essay—though written by an important critic—is nothing more than a detailed summary of the plot, interspersed with admiring remarks. There isn’t a single line of cinematic analysis to be found.
While books can be written about the complex world and cinematic language of Vertigo, Jeanne Dielman’s advocates resort to clichéd praise about its documentation of reality and the filmmaker’s neutral and observational camera. They fail to acknowledge the undeniable fact that the film is unbearably boring and tedious. One could easily discard half of it without affecting its function. In the first 35 minutes, a woman cooks in her home, performs her job as a sex worker, dotes on her son, and eventually leaves the house. For the next two and a half hours (until the final few minutes), essentially nothing else happens: the woman repeatedly turns lights on and off in the room and hallway, makes beds, cooks meals, brews coffee, checks her mailbox, and takes the elevator. Are we seriously not supposed to ask why all this repetition and wasted time is necessary? Of course, one could write that “the filmmaker masterfully observes and portrays the monotony of life and its cycles,” but what about brevity in cinema? Many great filmmakers in history have conveyed the tedium of life in a few simple shots lasting less than a minute. So why should we endure this endless depiction of schnitzel preparation? If these scenes were shortened (or removed entirely), what would the film lose? Whereas in Vertigo or even 8½—a modern, anti-narrative film—removing a single scene collapses the entire structure, in Jeanne Dielman, cutting or removing the first dishwashing scene (where the character is shown from behind) or the post office scene (where she fills out a form, again from behind) changes nothing. Nor does the overly long coffee-making scene. If anything, trimming these scenes would make the film more bearable.
In Béla Tarr’s seven-hour Sátántangó, despite the absence of conventional excitement, the film’s brilliance ensures the viewer remains captivated and engaged throughout its entire duration. Yet Jeanne Dielman’s 200 minutes are maddeningly frustrating due to their aimless repetition and unnecessarily long scenes. Compare it with Sohrab Shahid Saless’s Time of Maturity (Reifezeit), which shares the common theme of a sex worker and her child. Shahid Saless’s concise masterpiece in narrative and mise-en-scène is far superior to Akerman’s work. However, conformist critics neither feel the need to watch Shahid Saless’s film nor are given the opportunity to do so due to the constraints of the pre-defined system. As a result, Akerman’s film is hailed as the greatest in cinema history, while 90% of voters have likely never even heard of Shahid Saless.
The film is lauded for its stark realism, but it ironically suffers because of it: the realism is flawed because the characters are not real. They resemble machines performing predetermined actions and reciting scripted dialogue, only to disappear from the scene, lacking any life beyond the frame. A clear example is the son’s sudden bedtime question about how his father met his mother. Why hasn’t he asked this in all these years? The mother robotically recites lines as though reading from a script, and the scene ends.
One of the film’s potentially remarkable scenes could have occurred when the woman babysits her neighbour’s child. In this situation, the entry of a client and the child crying in the adjacent room during the act could have created an unforgettable moment, vividly depicting the woman’s conflict between her job and motherhood. Instead, the filmmaker bypasses this opportunity: when the doorbell rings, it’s not a client but the child’s mother, who mutters trivial comments about food. Instead, the filmmaker resorts to “potato suspense.” After sleeping with a client, the woman realizes her potatoes have burned, which leads to a series of nonsensical, lengthy scenes: she discovers she has no more potatoes, goes out to buy some (the camera lingers inexplicably as the shopkeeper goes into another room and sit there again and we don’t know why), and then returns home to peel and cook them. Later, when her son returns, we’re forced to wait again for the potatoes to cook. (The filmmaker repeats this purposeless suspense with a button at the end as well.)
Labelling Jeanne Dielman the greatest film in cinema history is so absurd to me that I believe even Chantal Akerman herself, if she were alive, would have considered it a joke. When we set aside ideological biases, this film—amidst countless masterpieces of cinema history, from Kaneto Shindo’s Onibaba to Dreyer’s Ordet, from Mizoguchi’s magnificent works to the enigmatic brilliance of Welles’s The Trial (none of which are ‘trendy’)—is not the greatest, nor even among the top 100.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
Exploring the Complexities of Growing Up: A Conversation with Riya Agarwal
By Patrick RoyIn her captivating film If You Show Me Yours I’ll Show You Mine, screenwriter and filmmaker Riya Agarwal delves into the delicate interplay between innocence, curiosity, and cultural expectations. Drawing from her own adolescence and deeply personal reflections, Riya crafts a narrative that resonates with audiences navigating the blurred lines of family dynamics and self-discovery.
In this interview, Riya shares her creative journey, from the inspirations behind her screenplay to her meticulous approach to character development and visual storytelling. With influences ranging from Martin McDonagh’s morally complex narratives to Alfred Hitchcock’s layered characters, she weaves a unique tone of poignancy and tension into her storytelling. Through candid insights, Riya discusses the challenges of balancing realism with sensitivity, maintaining authenticity in dialogue, and keeping the creative spark alive amidst the demands of emotionally charged storytelling.
Join us as we dive into the heart of Riya Agarwal’s creative process and explore the themes and techniques that bring If You Show Me Yours I’ll Show You Mine to life.
Patrick Roy, UniversalCinema Magazine (UM): What was the initial inspiration or personal experience that led you to write If You Show Me Yours I’ll Show You Mine?
Riya Agarwal (RA): The story was inspired by my reflections on growing up in a sheltered environment and the ways misunderstandings shaped my understanding of the world. I drew on moments from my own adolescence—those confusing in-betweens where curiosity clashed with cultural expectations. Through conversations with friends and family, I also noticed how actions, when taken out of context, can lead to misjudgment. This led me to explore the tension between protection and over-protection and how it impacts a young person’s growth.
(UM): What message or central theme were you aiming to convey through the film’s narrative?
(RA): The central theme of the film is the delicate balance between innocence and maturity, particularly in the context of family dynamics. It’s about how well-meaning intentions can sometimes lead to unintended consequences, especially when communication is unclear. I wanted to explore the gray areas of trust, boundaries, and understanding, and to highlight how navigating these moments shapes a young person’s perception of themselves and the world.
(UM): How do you approach character development, especially when exploring complex, nuanced perspectives within young characters?
(RA): I approach character development by grounding each character in real people I’ve known or observed. For Niki, I drew from my own memories as a curious, naive child and combined that with traits I’ve seen in others. I also focus on their inner conflicts—what they want versus what they fear—and how their environment shapes those desires and anxieties. Writing young characters requires honesty; they’re complex and self-aware in ways adults often overlook, so I try to honor that complexity while keeping their voice authentic.
(UM): How did you balance the tension between innocence and maturity in a way that felt both realistic and respectful of the subject matter?
(RA): Balancing innocence and maturity required a lot of subtlety. I leaned into the idea that adolescence isn’t a straight line—it’s a messy mix of naivety, curiosity, and emotional depth. I focused on showing rather than telling, using small moments and gestures to convey Niki’s internal journey. For sensitive scenes, I made sure they were framed through Niki’s perspective, keeping the focus on her experience rather than making the moments overly explicit. This allowed the story to explore complex themes without losing respect for the subject matter.
(UM): Are there specific screenwriters or filmmakers whose approach to moral ambiguity and character complexity inspire your work?
(RA): Recently, Martin McDonagh’s work has been a huge inspiration. He has a remarkable ability to create a unique tone in his films, blending dark humor with complex, morally ambiguous characters. His no-nonsense dialogues are sharp and brutally honest, often filled with raw exchanges that feel both startling and deeply human. His characters are unapologetically flawed—the kind of ‘gray’ that fascinates me—and through his storytelling, we’re forced to confront the psychological and moral consequences of love, violence, hypocrisy, and the blurry lines between right and wrong.
Another significant influence is Hitchcock. His films have a timeless ability to reveal the duality and complexity within characters. Hitchcock was a master of exploring the hidden, darker sides of human nature, showing that no one is purely good or evil. Films like Psycho and Vertigo delve into characters’ secrets, flaws, and motivations, creating layers of tension and intrigue. His ability to craft suspense while peeling back the complexities of his characters has profoundly shaped how I approach storytelling.
Both McDonagh and Hitchcock remind me of the power of ambiguity in storytelling—not as a lack of clarity, but as a reflection of the complexities of human nature. Their work inspires me to dig deeper into the psyche of my characters, allowing their imperfections and contradictions to drive the narrative.
(UM): Can you share your process for structuring a screenplay, particularly when handling emotionally charged scenes?
(RA): For emotionally charged scenes, I start by understanding the emotional journey of the character. I map out what they feel at the start of the scene versus where they end up, and I build the structure around that shift. I also pay attention to pacing within the scene—allowing for moments of silence or hesitation to let the emotions breathe. Dialogue often comes last; I focus first on the physicality, subtext, and tone, which guide the words that eventually emerge.
(UM): How do you ensure authenticity in dialogue, especially when writing young or culturally diverse characters?
(RA): Authenticity in dialogue comes from listening. I pay attention to how people actually speak—their rhythms, their quirks, and how their background shapes their vocabulary and tone. For young characters, I focus on capturing their emotional honesty and their tendency to mix curiosity with bravado. For culturally diverse characters, I draw from my own experiences and those of people around me, always prioritizing specificity over stereotypes. Research and feedback from people with lived experiences are also key to keeping the dialogue grounded.
(UM): In writing scenes with sensitive topics, what strategies do you use to balance realism with sensitivity to the audience?
(RA): I approach sensitive topics with empathy and intent. It’s important to know why a scene exists and what it contributes to the story. I avoid sensationalism by focusing on the character’s perspective rather than the act or event itself. Collaborating with actors and crew is another critical step—they bring their insights to ensure the scene is handled thoughtfully. And I always consider how the audience might perceive the scene, aiming to evoke reflection rather than shock.
(UM): What techniques do you use to build tension and pacing within scenes to maintain audience engagement?
(RA): Tension comes from what’s unsaid as much as what’s shown. I build tension by layering subtext—letting the audience know more than the characters or creating situations where expectations don’t align with reality. Pacing is about knowing when to hold back and when to push forward. I use moments of stillness to let the audience absorb the stakes, then disrupt that with sudden action or dialogue to keep them engaged. Music, sound design, and editing also play huge roles in shaping the rhythm of a scene.
(UM): What is your process for developing a unique tone for a screenplay, and how does that influence your choices in storytelling?
(RA): Tone comes from the intersection of story, character, and visual style. For If You Show Me Yours I’ll Show You Mine, the tone needed to balance humor, discomfort, and poignancy. I leaned into contrasts—light-hearted moments like the egg-throwing scene juxtaposed with more introspective ones. The tone influences every choice, from how dialogue is written to how a scene is framed visually. I always ask: Does this moment fit the emotional palette of the story?
(UM): How do you incorporate visual storytelling, using setting or background details to reflect or enhance characters’ inner emotions?
(RA): Visual storytelling is a powerful way to externalize internal emotions. I use setting and props to reflect a character’s state of mind—like the idyllic beach town in If You Show Me Yours I’ll Show You Mine, which contrasts with Niki’s growing unease. Background details, like the cluttered family home, can hint at the dynamics within the household. I also think about color, light, and movement to create a mood that mirrors or contrasts with the character’s emotions.
(UM): What advice would you give to emerging screenwriters about keeping the creative flow going, especially during challenging projects?
(RA): The best advice I can give is to embrace the process rather than obsess over the outcome. Writing is messy, and it’s okay to have bad days. When I feel stuck, I step away—watch a film, read, or just go for a walk. Inspiration often comes when you’re not actively searching for it.
Also, don’t write in isolation. Share your work with trusted collaborators who can give honest feedback. Sometimes, a fresh perspective is all you need to break through a creative block. Most importantly, trust your voice and remember why you started writing in the first place—that passion will carry you through the challenges.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
Nosferatu: A Remarkable Achievement of Genre Filmmaking
Genre films often are often relegated to the margins, ill-considered by many critics favouring more “serious” cinema. But as Robert Eggers demonstrates in Nosferatu, in the hands of a truly skilled filmmaker, genre has the potential to provide the entry point to something truly astounding. A modern take on the classic 1922 silent film by F.W. Murnau, the director’s most recent work serves as a remarkable culmination of the talent he has honed over his already impressive filmography.
With Nosferatu, Eggers once again demonstrates himself to be an impressive builder of worlds, building on the scope of films like The Witch and The Lighthouse to take the audience on a journey through nineteenth century Germany, the snowy mountains of Transylvania, and into the heart of darkness itself. Having worked as a production designer for many years, he brings a painterly sensibility to his films, and seems determined to push the boundaries of practical filmmaking in an age of overreliance on digital trickery. Having long felt that a lazy dependence on computer generated imagery has drained so much of the magic from the viewing experience today, it is a pleasure to behold the modern possibilities still afforded by good old fashioned analog craftsmanship.
Shot on 35mm, the film is sublimely beautiful, and rendered in an astonishingly layered palette of black and gray. Building on the aesthetic of their previous work, Eggers and cinematographer Jarin Blaschke have developed a collective visual style which, while always distinctive, has matured into something truly artful to behold. Their treatment of darkness and shadow is something richer and more beautiful than one might imagine, and vital in a film that takes place nearly entirely within it. To be sure, it is a challenge to maintain visual interest in a film that is plunged into darkness for such a significant portion of its running time, but the pair are more than up to the task.
It is interesting to note that in modernizing this classic film, Eggers chose to return to more traditional technical practices, with his performers going much the same route. As Ellen Hutter, a young newlywed with a mystical link to the vampiric Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgard), Lily Rose Depp turns in an absolutely astounding physical performance that needs to be seen to be believed. Foregoing any kind of digital enhancement, Depp worked with a movement coach and immersed herself in the traditional Japanese dance style of Butoh in order to affectingly depict her character’s demonic possession. Skarsgard, for his part, though rendered physically unrecognizable with the help of prosthetics, manages to modulate his voice into something totally otherworldly, completely under his own power. I was shocked to learn that the sound emanating the actor was achieved by working with an operatic voice coach, and free of any digital enhancement. Thoroughly committed to their craft, Depp and Skarsgard remind us of the power of a truly gifted performer to bring even the most unearthly character to life.
So impressive are Depp and Skarsgard in the film that it would be easy to overlook the work of the supremely talented supporting cast. Admittedly, Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Emma Corrin sputter about with little to do, but as Hutter’s devoted husband Thomas, Nicholas Hoult is an always welcome presence, and his hallucination-laden journey into the deep Transylvanian woods is a wild and terrifying ride laced through with genuine pathos. Simon McBurney turns in a brief but wildly memorable performance as Thomas’ duplicitous boss Herr Knock, and by the time Willem Dafoe turns up as eccentric professor Albin Eberhart von Franz, we know we’re in excellent hands for the remainder of Eggers dark adventure. As the film catapults itself to its supremely satisfying conclusion, every element, every beat feels meticulously and seamlessly realized, confidently transporting the audience to its final resting place.
With this splendidly executed work, Eggers and his performers lean into traditional artistic practice to deliver a confident and impressive contemporary interpretation of a legend already indelibly imprinted on the popular imagination, and in doing so, prove that it is not necessary to use every newfangled tool in the box to produce something that feels thoroughly modern.
Nosferatu is currently screening in cinemas across North America.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
The Sensitive Vampire and the Blend of Horror and Comedy in “Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person”
An emotional vampire who doesn’t want to kill people; a peculiar combination of horror and comedy is showcased in Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person directed by Canadian filmmaker Ariane Louis-Seize, who considers tragedy and comedy as two sides of the same coin. In this exclusive interview with Mo Abdi, Louis-Seize discusses the intricacies of this film.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
A Complete Unknown: A Conventional Biopic for an Unconventional Artist
Director James Mangold is no stranger to the prestige biopic. Cutting his teeth on Girl, Interrupted (about author Susanna Kaysen’s extended stay in a psychiatric hospital) and Walk the Line (his acclaimed exploration of the lives of legendary country superstars Johnny and June Carter Cash), the famed director brings a great depth of experience to his latest look at the early years of Bob Dylan’s astronomically successful career. Sadly, despite benefiting from a subject who chafed at convention and pushed boundaries throughout his artistic career, Mangold has simply churned out yet another meticulously realized but ultimately uninspiring musical biopic.
The film covers only a very small portion of Dylan’s life and career, though admittedly a significant one, opening when he first meets Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie in 1961, and wrapping up with his infamous performance at the Newport Folk Music Festival in 1965. Charting his meteoric rise from talented but unknown folk singer to irreverent international superstar, the film is clearly aimed at Dylan true believers, never missing an opportunity for its supporting characters to express their awe at his preternatural musical genius.
Reverent hero worship is characteristic of so many musical biopics, and this one is no different. Sure, the film gestures at Dylan’s philandering, his arrogance, and his perhaps selfish abandonment of those who helped him rise to the top, but shoves down the audience’s throat – time and time again – just what an unparalleled genius he’s meant to be. While this may be true, and Dylan is undoubtedly an unparalleled talent, it makes for uninspired viewing, and at times I felt like I was listening to a sermon in the Church of Bob Dylan, entreating me to bow down at the altar of his artistic genius.
Luckily, the film is gorgeous to look at, and even more beautiful to listen to. I could pontificate at length about the accomplished work of François Audouy and Regina Graves in recreating the Greenwich Village as Dylan would have experienced it in the 1960s, but the musical performances in the film are absolutely astonishing, eclipsing nearly any other element of the film. Timothée Chalamet, unsurprisingly, does fine work channeling Dylan, and is especially impressive at expressing his moments of musical inspiration, casually tinkering at creating now legendary songs like The Times They Are a’ Changin’ and Blowin’ in the Wind. Less expectedly, Monica Barbaro is magnetic as folk music icon Joan Baez, skillfully embodying her unique voice and performance style despite lacking any previous musical experience.
Indeed, the film is full of great supporting performances, led by a warm and paternal Ed Norton as folk music purist Pete Seeger. Scoot McNairy is similarly affecting as the ailing Woody Guthrie, projecting a great complexity of emotion despite having lost the ability to speak thank to advanced stage Huntington’s disease. The weak link among the supporting cast is Boyd Holbrook as Johnny Cash, who feels here more like a caricature or plot device than a fully realized character, in disappointing contrast to the fully inhabited performance of Joaquin Phoenix in Walk the Line.
One of the most interesting elements of the film is that its central conflict is an artistic one. Despite spending ample time on the dramas of Dylan’s personal relationships, particularly with Baez and his girlfriend Sylvie (Elle Fanning), Mangold is far more interested in Dylan’s musical journey, and his abandonment of folk music in favour of unhindered musical experimentation. As Dylan, much to the chagrin of the purists who helped drive him to the top, begins to experiment with electric guitar and unconventional instrumentation, the same audience that once revered him turns, enraged by the audacity of his musical evolution. The battle comes to a head at the aforementioned Newport Folk Music Festival, and I had to chuckle at the absurdity of a folk music riot, but it really did happen.
There is a more interesting version of this film, and perhaps it’s already been made. Todd Haynes’ experimental biography I’m Not There goes so much further in matching the complexity of its subject, featuring performances from six different actors as Dylan. Perhaps it’s time for a rewatch.
A Complete Unknown is currently screening in cinemas across North America.
© 2020-2025. UniversalCinema Mag.
Recent Comments