A visual adventure: L’Avventura (1960)

L’Avventura (English: The Adventure) released in 1960 is perhaps the hardest yet most worthwhile film to appreciate in our class roster for the semester. The film forces our attention with long pauses that tend to get draggy as the film forges on. It seemed to me that the mood and the characters were the central focuses of director Michelangelo Antonioni instead of the story and narrative.

Yet for most if not all the film’s viewers, it becomes quite hard to make sense of the muddled plot in all of this chaos. It reads like a warning to the rich and privileged that the act of traveling can very well reveal uncomfortable personal truths, derail your carefully-cultivated relationships, and throw you into existential crisis.

Through the film’s runtime, it felt as though the film was not really plot-centered anymore as the movie started to wear on Antonioni’s directing style has always been noted for exploiting colors and this showed as the film highlighted the many beautiful images director was able to capture in the absence of plot. It almost afforded him a certain kind of creative freedom and elevated the cinematography to another level. However, as only a casual filmgoer who never completely understood these technical aspects of film, it took a while to appreciate the cinematography.

Later on, though, I felt I grew to understand it at least a little bit: in the absence of Anna, for instance, the shots of choice served to heighten the growing tension among the group of friends, as well as the feeling of lostness that came with being on their own in an island far from civilization.

It comes off as a modernist piece of art that does away with the story. However, it doesn’t do this in the same way as the willfully obtuse Holy Motors does: there is a clear story here; it just doesn’t seem to want you to follow it. In fact, the execution here is the complete opposite: rather than take hold of the audience’s attention with an eclectic, sensory experience, the film leaves you to your own devices and leaves you to make sense of the visuals on your own.

Truthfully, I felt like I could not figure out any of the characters’ motivations as they were all rather blank and opaque in their own ways. This was one way the use of color (or lack thereof) was exploited as the black and white definitely contributed to this as well.

At the end, the question remains: Where is Anna? Yet, as a viewer, I found that this was not the most pressing matter anymore once the final credit rolled.

The Edukators (2004)

The Edukators (2004) is a German-Austrian crime drama following three young activists who break into homes to rearrange the furniture of wealthy homeowners for the purpose of leaving political messages. The film is left-leaning through and through, brimming with themes of the lower class versus the elite class, with the youth representing the lower class struggling to make ends meet while the apathetic elite lives it up in mansions with their designer vehicles. The Edukators as they called themselves thus targeted certain members of the elite class who were shown to be completely ignorant towards the plight they perpetuate. This dissatisfaction with capitalism is by and large the entire point of the film, and this frustration is made palpable in almost all its aspects.

Yet, this is not another leftist or propagandist film pushing for armed struggle, even though the film does go there at one point. Rather, Hans Weingartner chooses a plot and characters that are wholly nonviolent to make viewers think about where they stand in the political spectrum. Audiences also perceive a certain conflict of ideals between past and present (one example being the ideals of Hidenberg) in the film and are invited to consider both sides of the spectrum. This is something I particularly appreciated about the film: it didn’t sway too much to either side, and instead simply encouraged its audience to think.

Audiences receptive to these ideals will find much of value to watch. I personally found the three protagonists’ impassioned soliloquies on the state of society and the state of their individual lives to be quite moving. Jule, for example, was a waitress working off a debt she incurred because of a freak accident that led to a wealthy businessman taking advantage of her. These stories serve to give these ideologies as well their own human faces: viewers are put face to face with the realities of the systems they themselves unknowingly perpetuate in society. Social justice is perhaps the clearest theme, and this is something any viewer would relate to regardless of their political leanings.

To an extent, I felt like the romance story arc was placed there solely to provide a bit of fan service as well as to make the movie a little more desirable and accessible to Western or mainstream audiences. While it did lend the film a more human face for viewers who may not be completely on board with the ideologies presented, it ultimately felt unnecessary not to mention half-baked in its overall execution. Not only was its contribution and effect on the plot very meager and unsubstantial, it was also very stressful to watch as it only served to make the protagonist a little unlikeable.

Admittedly, the love triangle was certainly central to the film’s story; viewers cannot help but feel disappointed towards one protagonist as he commits infidelity and betrays the trust of his best friend. However, this only serves to emphasize that as the film closes, there’s a sense that these three are working towards something bigger than themselves, whether that is the fight for a more just society, or simply their unshakable bond as friends.

Home for grave: Raw (2016)

Raw (2016) was perhaps the best title for a movie as grotesque as what we just watched it class. The plot is quite simple. Justine, a lifelong vegan, is sent off to the same veterinary school her parents attended and met years before. On her first day in her new environment, she is forced to eat rabbit kidneys as part of an initiation for a fraternity, and she wakes up with a strange rash the next day and suddenly starts to crave meat.

And although Raw (or “grave” in its native French) didn’t exactly strike me in the way I would expect a film classified under the horror genre would, it was just as horrifying. Time and time again I found myself filled with a sense of dread as the film portrayed truly horrifying scenarios: a girl devouring parts of her sibling, or discovering her parents’ history of cannibalism, or waking up in a bed next to a rotting, half-eaten corpse. This was a horror that didn’t aim to scare per se. Instead, I felt it was big on shock value that owed itself to numerous plot twists throughout the film’s progression.

With all of these horror-esque elements though, there was also a clear theme of coming of age throughout the movie. Even just the bare premise makes this evident: a young girl going off to college and discovering herself. As Justine comes to grips with her cannibalistic tendencies, there is a lot of self-discovery that happens in the process. All things considered, it does read like a teenage girl going off to college to experience the world. There’s a lot of sex, drugs, and rock and roll involved here, and she comes out of these experiences a completely different person than when she started, no longer the shy, vegan girl she was when she entered.

As with all coming of age flicks, a lot of Justine’s internal struggle seemed to depend on the question of conforming to society’s expectation or staying herself. In the beginning for instance, you could see that she was not completely on board with what the fraternity group was all about. She seemed to be having no fun at their initiation party, nor did she seem to be willing to be “hazed” by eating a rabbit kidney at all. Garance Marillier does an excellent job at performing this internal struggle of Justine’s: one scene that particularly stuck out to me was when she ended up chewing into her own arm, presumably to avoid taking a bite out of her roommate in the middle of a sexual encounter. The tension in that moment became clear, and it was perhaps that point in the narrative that we began to see Justine slowly giving herself up to this new side of her.

And so it is perhaps the rawness behind Raw that makes it such a striking film. The coming of age element is not just an emotional or spiritual journey of self-discovery, although these are definitely part of it. Instead, the turmoil happens in her innermost being: the tension is quite palpable as we witness Justine fighting her most primal desires with every fiber of her being. Her cannibalistic side is a rabid animal: she is swept away by its current as it continues clawing away at her innocent, brainiac self, all she knew for the past few years of her life, building up into a terrifying crescendo. The violence that occurs inside of her heavily outweighs any of what happens on-screen.

Better than Slayer: Heavy Trip (2018)

Everything you need to know about Heavy Trip (2018) is summed up in the line, “We play symphonic post-apocalyptic reindeer-grinding Christ-abusing extreme war pagan fennoscandian metal,” and the fact that this line is repeated multiple times throughout the film’s one and a half hour-long runtime.

Speaking as a big fan of heavy metal music for as long as I can remember, it didn’t take long for me to connect with the film’s rather unorthodox subject matter. It follows a group of friends, all twenty-something year-olds working day jobs, who play in a metal band looking to make it big.

The dialogue reads like the footnote of that niche: the hopeless musician just waiting for that big break, struggling to make ends meet by working nine-to-fives. The struggles that come with this lifestyle are touched on quite substantially in the film: having to book shows, buy a touring van, promote your demo, work day-jobs, etc. The twist comes in that these musicians just happened to play death metal (as something of a purist, this is completely subjective; their take on the genre had traces of thrash and deathcore, although this is a completely different discussion on its own) and lived in Finland. As a result, the four also have to deal with the discrimination that comes with playing a rather extreme type of music. There are some true to life themes that come with it as well: overcoming adversity, maintaining personal relationships, and ultimately, the power of friendship.

And from the aforementioned description of the band’s sound, you can already tell what kind of ride you’re in for. For the untrained viewer, the four boys Impaled Rektum might come off as a little too eclectic. An example of this is when just as the four musicians are seemingly apprehended, they do the only logical thing to do in the moment: jump off a cliff and survive the fall unscathed. Yet, directors Jukka Vidgren and Juuso Laatio pull this off in way that isn’t corny or lame, and is instead genuinely fun. Even though it wasn’t as outrageous, unpleasurable, or estranged as other offerings of European cinema, Heavy Trip still had a distinctly foreign flavor to it. I felt that the dry humor for example, was reminiscent to that of Edgar Wright’s earlier work.

However, it is clear from the get-go that the movie doesn’t take itself too seriously, and neither should you. Once the final credits roll, I found that this took nothing away from what the film was at its core: an earnest and heartfelt love letter to the struggling musician. Every scene is able to capture the youthful excitement of being out on the road with your friends to play music, and this is contrasted with the gritty reality that playing music you’re passionate about is difficult.

Thus, since Heavy Trip is still a film about musicians, it is no surprise that the band’s music took center stage (pun intended). Their hit (and only) single is played a number of times as well throughout the film, which really lets this aspect of the film shine. Metal fans should rejoice at this; not only is it a genuinely good song, but references to metal greats are peppered in the dialogue as well.

The next time I need my fix of symphonic post-apocalyptic reindeer-grinding Christ-abusing extreme war pagan fennoscandian metal, I’m glad I’ll know exactly where to look.

Holy Motors (2012)

The willfully eccentric Holy Motors (2012) is more than likely the strangest film I will ever watch. In it, we follow a balding, middle-aged man named Oscar (played by actor Denis Lavant) who is driven around the city in a limousine by his driver to play different roles. The catch is, these roles are unlike any theatre, film, or production roles we see in art. There is no stage, no audience, and no explanation. He plays a CGI stand-in for a dragon-like creature in heat, an elvish, leprechaun kidnapping a celebrated supermodel from her graveyard photoshoot, and a beggar on a bridge, among others.

If one were to cite a film arguing for European cinema’s role as a sort of counter cinema, this would be that film. All of Wollen’s elements of counter cinema after all, are present. The execution of this movie is truly unlike anything I’ve seen from mainstream and Western cinema. Besides the fixed itinerary of “appointments” followed by our protagonist, there is also no clear narrative. No semblance of straightforwardness or transitivity is present, and viewers have a hard time piecing together the narrative and the world it takes place in. No identification is given of the characters portrayed; all we are really sure of about them by the film’s end is their names. The characters are estranged from beginning to end. Everything happens in a homogenous world (single diegesis, from day in to day out) but seemingly takes you to another world as the protagonist moves from “appointment” to appointment. The only semblance of a homogenous world is the character himself: a strange man with a strange day job, working for the same agency and coming home to the same family every day after playing how many roles for who knows what purpose. Towards the film’s conclusion, the film’s overall impact shifts from unpleasure to a strange kind of pleasure. I found myself curious as to what role the man would play next, and whether or not it would outdo the last.

The film delves into different kinds of genres, and I genuinely feel like there is no one genre that can completely encapsulate what Holy Motors is. The “fantasy” tag assigned to it by many websites online feel like a mere formality. For instance, by adding music and theatrical elements, the film does transform essentially into a musical. It’s also hard to pinpoint what exactly the film is about and what it’s trying to say. With no audience to watch and no readily apparent purpose, one cannot help but wonder what the point of all this is. Ultimately, I personally feel as though the film is about cinema itsef, about actors and performance and the beauty of the art.

The question of art for arts sake thus also arises during the film. For instance, is it still art when no one is watching? His talent, after all, is obvious. The talent of Lavant, too, is more so when you consider the role he had to play: an actor playing an actor playing many different roles. He sits in his car and has a few minutes to acquaint himself with the script. More admirable still is the fact that not all the roles he had to play were even human; not all of them spoke his language.

In the beginning of the film, Oscar’s children call out to him as he walks away, asking him to work hard. This is something of a foreshadowing once you see the effort he puts into his many performances. All this does afford me a deeper appreciation for the performing arts. I realize that there really are countless aspects to take note of when you are playing the part of someone or something other than yourself.

By its end, Holy Motors doesn’t give us any sense of closure whatsoever. Instead, I am left with the thought that as viewers we have to be able to detach from our need or desire for finality and conclusion. The film’s overall impact for me approaches a reminder that sometimes things aren’t explained in art, but it can still give us a substantial experience in terms of how we relate to the scene.

Is it possible to understand such a film when it’s made glaringly clear that the film wasn’t meant to be understood? If understanding is a viewer’s goal, perhaps that is not achievable. Yet, what is surprising is that I found that this didn’t matter at all, because after giving it a chance with an open mind, it was the complexity and the complete and utter chaos of a confusing plot, coupled with captivating performances that drew me in and kept me staying until the end.

The willfully eccentric Holy Motors is more than likely the strangest film I will ever watch, but it also makes a case for the most immersive, memorable, and thought-provoking one, too.

Good Bye, Lenin! (2003)

Wolfgang Becker’s Good Bye, Lenin! (2003) sees siblings Alex and Ariane going to great lengths to conceal East German society’s many social developments from their mother Christiane, who falls into a deep coma just months before the fall of the Berlin wall and the collapse of socialism and eventual triumph of capitalism.

This premise alone reveals two of the film’s greatest strengths: its historically-charged themes and its sociopolitical commentary. Despite its often humorous undertones, the film’s entire world is underscored by the social and historical significance of its covered context. Viewers need not be comprehensively knowledgeable on world history or their own political leanings to be aware of the gravity of each situation. In this sense, the film is also very educational for the most part; as a viewer from the Philippines, I was genuinely unaware of certain events that happened in the film, and I was moved to read up on them later on.

Although the film took place in one singular world, the illusion of an unchanged world in Christiane’s point of view signified a certain multiple diegesis, one of the noted staples of European cinema according to Wollen (1972), although this was one instance where the viewer was wholly aware of these two quasi-separate worlds, and the effect of this multiple diegesis seemed to be minimal as it hinged on the story and not the actual mechanics of the film.

Speaking of the story, one universal theme the film touched on was love for family. For as absurd and contrived as Alex’s efforts were, the viewers at every point saw a certain fire and determination in his eyes, and it was clear that his actions were ultimately motivated by a pure and unadulterated love for the woman who raised him.

All things considered, Good bye Lenin is a remarkable entry-level sort of film for audiences looking to explore European cinema. Since the film was released rather recently, the plot’s progression was linear and easy to follow. As a viewer, I truthfully did not feel like I was watching a foreign flick, save for the European language and the need for subtitles. What I mean is that the experience was rather straightforward, accessible, and entertaining, all qualities I’ve come to not expect from European films. The strangeness, intransitivity, unpleasure, and foregrounding I have come to expect from these films was strangely absent in this film for the most part.

I feel as though this comes as something of a reminder that European cinema is not necessarily countercinema, even though the two do share many significant similarities. That is not to say the watch felt similar to an offering from mainstream or Western cinema. Because even though the most obvious elements separating European films from those in the mainstream market, everything from the film’s plot to its execution to all the minuscule details in between seemed to still contain a very distinctly European flavor, likely due in part to its historical subject matter.

I realize it seems like I am contradicting myself here, but Good Bye, Lenin! effortlessly fuses the historical with the sentimental; Alex’s attempts at reviving the Germany of old, particularly that of the German Democratic Republic afforded the film a cheeky sort of comic relief as he goes to great, often unreasonable lengths to continue his illusion. These included but were not limited to dressing in old, un-Westernized garments, producing fake food supplies by looking for old jars, to filming and directing faux news programs with the help of his friend and co-worker Denis, an aspiring filmmaker. And although the implications behind his attempts were heavy (since he was doing these to preserve his mother’s health), the absurdity of the lengths he went to lent the film a certain absurdity that made it quite an entertaining watch overall.

Timecrimes (2007)

In one line, I feel the easiest way to describe Timecrimes (2007) would be science fiction without a budget. The film sees a middle-aged man who is one day attacked by a masked man and is forced to run for his life after he explores the woods surrounding his house. What follows is a rollercoaster of plot twists within plot twists, as the protagonist, Hector, discovers the tragic nuances of time travel.

Because of the time travel aspect of the story, things very quickly turn meta, as the spectator and protagonist becomes the director who becomes the storyteller of a narrative we see three different times. As the character and main vehicle for moving the story forward, Hector directs and oversees the movement of the story, making sure things go along exactly how he remembers them to and according to how he wants things to play out.

It’s hard to pinpoint an exact genre for Timecrimes after one watch. I would think most would classify it as a science fiction, which is not the most unreasonable prospect; after all, it deals with the violation of a certain physics principle in an act of playing God. However, it can also be described as horror or a thriller because of the way it makes its audiences feel, particularly in its opening moments where a sense of dread permeates most scenes as Hector is suddenly plunged into a fight for survival. Yet it can also be described as a black comedy in all its complex twists and turns; I feel as though one cannot help but laugh at how confusing everything is, which by virtue of the plot becomes almost the main point of the film, all in the name of the protagonist covering up and undoing his past (present? future?) actions.

The use of sound also deserves mention here, as the eerie music at the start for instance serves to heighten the level of ambiguity and ultimately tension, which for a time leaves the impression similar to that of thrillers and horror flicks. Costumes were also utilized very well, albeit sparingly; Hector telling the girl to cut her hair for example, or the scissors he kept in his pocket throughout the entire affair.

Two elements of European cinema as outlined by Wollen (1972) present (pun intended) in the film are estrangement and identification: from the get-go, viewers will find it hard to understand and buy into the point of view of the character as this tends to constantly shift. Hector directs the girl but at the same time he initially started as a spectator. Part of it is that his function as a character changes. He does things to get his old self to do these things. For instance, his character is seemingly very unremarkable in the beginning of the film, which presents him as a balding middle aged guy simply enjoying domestic life. As the film progresses, however, he shifts from audience to storyteller to director. Us as the audience end up having to figure things out, piece the plot together on our own, and see where it goes. His role changes from victim to victimizer as he begins to take charge more. As a director who orchestrated the whole thing, he goes back to where it started by the film’s rather open-ended conclusion.

Narrative transitivity was another element that was masterfully demonstrated in the film. Truthfully, I found it hard to pinpoint whether the narrative structure is transitive or not. Not just the time travel aspect but the fact that the character himself does not know what’s happening at first. In terms of narrative structure: he’s trying to undo something (him looking at the girl through the binoculars) and at the end of the film, they end up back on the deck chair. Husband and wife just lounging around. Sort of starts with a thesis statement and restates it except differently.

This inquiry of the film’s narrative structure also leads me to question its diegesis. After first watch, I feel it’s easy to think of the three time periods as worlds of their own. However, the film is at the end of the day still an example of single diegesis in that it all still works together: we watch a single event that only happens once, but the character is inserted in different points of the narrative, but his relationship to the narrative changes.

All things considered, the film seemed to make use of all of these different elements to emphasize the concept of time travel, as the elements mentioned seemed to work together in giving time travel the main spotlight. The plot’s movement, the genre, the narrative and its structure, the characters and their points-of-view all ultimately pointed back to the time travel aspect and made Timecrimes a truly unique watch, one that I feel definitely belongs among the European cinema greats.

Trollhunter (2010)

Trollhunter (2010) is a Norwegian dark fantasy film written and directed by André Øvredal, most known for mystery and thriller flick The Autopsy of Jane Doe (2016) among other works.

The film presented an interesting take on the found-footage execution that has become something of a trope in recent years. As a viewer completely new to dark fantasy and what the genre was all about, I felt this was achieved by marrying this with elements of European cinema (and European culture in general) including Norse mythology and Norwegian culture.

Being that the film was released under a decade ago, it presents a rather modern take on European cinema in comparison to the other films taken up in class. This will be an accessible watch even for or viewers of mainstream, American cinema: it was entertaining and full of action and suspense given its found footage format. It was also a unique take as found footage was very popular at the time but was largely concentrated in the horror genre. I expected the director’s approach to be similar to those films (e.g. Paranormal Activity, Blair Witch Project), but what came out was instead something like Jurassic Park and was more of an adventure movie than a thriller. It was interesting to see found footage outside of horror and the supernatural where the found footage was more of the medium than the point of the entire affair.

I quite appreciated that the film’s director refused to lean on the tropes of the found-footage format to be engaging. It was very refreshing to see an entry in the genre that didn’t rely on jumpscares, which I’d seen so much of that I almost expected more of the same from this film. There were no jumpscares, yet the film brought a certain sort of fear into the hearts of the audience. Rather than scare us with anticipation and aggression (as jump scares do), the film toyed with viewers as we came to grips with the unknown. Because of the commitment to this form, I felt it made the audience think about whether trolls were real or not, especially towards the end of the film (Press conference at the end, the filming with a broken camera, etc.)

Most of the dark fantasy aspect came from the trolls themselves. The film included many elements of Norwegian culture and folktales. I appreciated that the world of the trolls seemed to be very fleshed out. Examples of this include the different species and breeds of trolls, each with special names and abilities, along with the existence of a secret organization formed to keep the existence of these trolls a secret from the public eye. The fact that the trolls turned into stone in direct sunlight and possessed the ability to sense a Christian man’s blood further elevated this eclectic fantasy element to the film. All these afforded the film a distinctly Norwegian and mythical flavor that I felt made the film very interesting to viewers.

The Five Obstructions (2003)

Lars von Trier and Jørgen Leth’s The Five Obstructions (2003) features its two directors as its sole protagonists, with the former challenging the latter, his mentor and good friend, to a series of filmmaking challenges he calls “obstructions” in which Leth is asked to remake his film The Perfect Human, von Trier’s favorite film, a total of five times, each remake with a different twist and instruction.

Despite being a very recent offering, The Five Obstructions could be considered one of the more advanced films for new fans of European film. I say this because most, if not all of the noted staples of European cinema according to Wollen (1972) were present in the film.

For instance, what was immediately striking about The Five Obstructions was that the plot once again was far from linear. Narrative intransitivity was very much present; although the five obstructions were shown in what seemed to be chronological order, none of these seemed to build off each other and presented fresh starts and clean slates each time. As a result of this approach, the scenes were segmented, episodic, and never necessarily transitioned into each other smoothly, with loose ends hardly being tied up and leaving the viewers to make sense of each event. Especially in the film’s opening moments, the audience’s full attention is demanded in order for them to make sense of the on-screen scenarios.

Multiple diegesis was also very much present. Even though the two protagonists an were the only two elements that remained constant throughout the entire film, nothing in the film seemed to exist solely to tie each obstruction together. To an extent, the environment each obstruction was taken up in seemed to be a world of its own.

The film’s articulation of these individual worlds are where European cinema’s unpleasure and estrangement played out. For instance, strange and unusual images were shown in the scenarios of The Perfect Human, as one particular obstruction portrayed a luxuriously-dressed Leth in the middle of poverty. I felt this kind of visual stimulus alone provoked my sensibilities rather than cause entertainment or pleasure. This occurred many more times throughout the film as each obstruction gave them viewer something to ponder intensely about, enough to be a distraction at times. Estrangement, on the other hand, was obvious in that the characters within the aforementioned film (including the perfect man himself) did not actually contribute to the film’s plot unfolding or to the dialogue and themes in any way.

A certain dedication to theatrics and experimentation is present in the film’s finest details. Everything from the dialogue and word choice of dramatic words (obstruction, suffering, torture) to the concepts and execution (limiting the sudden use of film animation) is creative, unconventional, and wildly eclectic in the way only European cinema seems to have the capacity to present.

I feel as though the film was heavy with themes of self-discovery; this became more evident as each obstruction was overcome, particularly towards the end where the film seemed to find itself launched into a deeply reflective and relatable commentary on the human psyche. What the film ultimately left with me as a viewer is the idea that the idea of perfect evolves, and this notion holds truest for artists aiming for just that. In Leth’s rehashing the same idea five times we see the misery of struggle, of work and toil, but ultimately this only serves to reveal a certain perfection in the struggle, as the fifth obstruction reveals his most authentic self having gone through the first four and escaped his comfort zone. The film’s experimental edge also comes in that the obstructions were a way to demonstrate cultural ideas of the perfect man (Cuba, cigarettes, etc.).

By the end of the movie, closure does not come in the way the plot’s progression would have its viewers expecting. Audiences eventually find that the goal was not simply the accomplishment of the five different obstructions but something much more human and much more meaningful. While not necessarily a complete rejection of proper closure, this demonstrates aperture in a number of ways; the film’s end is rich with equally valid meanings that any viewer can glean a message from. Both protagonists are also to an extent self-aware about the meanings of the entire experience and how these might affect them later on.

Persona (1966)

Long after viewing Ingmar Bergman’s Persona (1966), I still do not feel as though I have completely processed the events in the film, nor do I feel like a complete understanding of it is possible. Bergman offers a unique experience with the film, one that I felt was a rather headfirst introduction into European cinema.

Persona sees decorated stage actress Elisabeth Vogler settling into life as a recluse after she suddenly stops speaking. Her only company is her nurse, Alma, with whom she forms a different kind of bond.

A number of Peter Wollen’s noted features of counter-cinema are made glaringly obvious in Persona from the get-go, particularly those of estrangement and un-pleasure. In the first ten minutes alone, I was overcome by a deeply palpable sense of dread despite not fully comprehending just what I was watching. While this dread is something of a staple in the psychological horror genre, the film, whose genre is already hard to pinpoint as it is, the execution completely dismantles any expectations a viewer might have of the film.

Estrangement, on the other hand, comes in that the viewer knows practically nothing about Elisabeth for most of her screen time save for her background as an actress and a few bits about her family despite her being somewhat a protagonist. It is clear from this that Liv Ullmann puts on a fantastic performance as Elisabeth, given that she was limited solely to facial expressions for the most part.

I felt that the movie was a very sensory experience in most parts: I felt as though my senses were disturbed by the strange sounds and images I was faced with. I get the sense that the introductory scenes were placed there solely for the visual effect, and not necessarily to contribute to the film’s plot directly. In this portion of the film, viewers are left confused as to what is happening. Yet, despite the lack of clarity and explanation, the film is still completely engaging, as these scenes manage to capture the audience’s attention in a nearly trance-like manner.

Thematically, the film tackled a number of topics; the sincerity of interpersonal relationships, the fragility of the human psyche, insanity, gender, lesbianism, infidelity, among other things. Content-wise, this rather unusual subject matter alone already signifies a departure from what I have grown accustomed to in mainstream cinema.

Personally, I felt a deep sense of catharsis after witnessing Alma’s impassioned and seemingly unsound ramblings. Her circumstances aside, I feel like she touched on a few very relatable themes: for instance, the inherent existential insecurity and fundamental loneliness that comes with being human.

By the film’s end, viewers still do not quite understand exactly what caused Elisabet to enter her catatonic state, or what will become of her and Alma. But that is far from the point. As the film’s plot sets in, the initial disturbance felt is only heightened by this point, and this is a feeling that will stick with audiences for many days to come.