QCinema 2024 post-script

The 12th edition of QCinema International Film Festival (Nov. 8-17) has just concluded. For 7 days, I was able to watch 11 full-length films from various sections of the festival. Since 2013, QCinema has already become my yearly cinematic mecca, with me literally looking forward to the next edition the moment that the current edition comes to a close. I already start saving up for the upcoming festival - even if it's still months away! It's like I don't mind not being able to attend all the other film events in the country in a given year, as long as my attendance is guaranteed in QCinema. The festival boasts of a top-quality curation of international films (mostly acclaimed and award-winning films from festivals abroad) that otherwise aren't likely to have a regular theater run in the country. You missed a QCinema film and it's possible that you won't ever get to see it on the big screen anymore on a different occasion.

More importantly, QCinema makes us appreciate even more the value of cinema as an art form. While it's true that the advent of online streaming affords viewers with the opportunity of simply watching a film on their mobile gadgets or smart TVs in the comfort of their homes, it still feels completely different when a film is seen on the big screen in a cold and dark movie-house in the company of total strangers. Our perspective of the film becomes more enhanced and there are details in the film that a smaller screen can't do full justice or unfortunately misses. Can we really say that watching films such as Park Chan-wook's "Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance" (QCinema 2014), Gaspar Noé's "Irreversible" (QCinema 2015), Timo Tjahjanto's and Kimo Stamboel's "Headshot" (QCinema 2016), Ruben Östlund's "The Square" (QCinema 2017), Hu Bo's "An Elephant Sitting Still" (QCinema 2018), Nadav Lapid's "Synonyms" (QCinema 2019), Ryusuke Hamaguchi's "Drive My Car" (QCinema 2021), Jerzy Skolimowski's "EO" (QCinema 2022), and Pham Thien An's "Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell" (QCinema 2023) on a smaller screen doesn't make any difference? We don't want these films to be just literally in the palms of our hands. We want them to completely envelop us in their distinct worlds, which a movie-theater can essentially let us experience.

Let's have a brief look then at some of the films that I was able to watch in this year's edition of QCinema.

It's certainly wondrous to behold the painterly snow-covered landscapes, the pinkish skies, and the sublime interplay of lights and shadows in "My Sunshine" (2024, Japan), Hiroshi Okuyama's gentle and lyrical tale of sweet innocence, first love, starting over, and, quite surprisingly, homophobia. Framed in boxed ratio, this is just my kind of Japanese cinema: minimal dialogues, lovely visuals, and zen-like beauty. The young director lives up to the promise of his feature debut "Jesus," which similarly evokes childhood innocence and small-town life, while also touching upon Christian religion. "My Sunshine" is my top favorite.

A pair of feature debuts also hold a high spot in my list: "All We Imagine as Light" (2024, India) by Payal Kapadia and "Cu Li Never Cries" (2024, Vietnam) by Pham Ngoc Lan. Both films involve characters who are trying to find meaning in their lives. "All We Imagine as Light" is a poetic, hushed and moving piece of storytelling. The crowded streets and public transportation of Mumbai have never been portrayed with such lyrical resonance in Indian cinema. So if you're used to Bollywood fare or the gritty cinema of Anurag Kashyap or have already seen the extreme "Kill," then "All We Imagine as Light" is such a breath of fresh air. How Payal Kapadia illustrates the interpersonal dynamics between two women (or we can also say three) from different generations seems like a carry-over from her 2017 short "Afternoon Clouds" - with a moody atmosphere and an air of mystery as well. Images of seemingly banal poetry leave an indelible mark: a woman holding onto the pole of a train as if she were on a carousel; lights emanating from tall buildings at night; a young couple having a secret rendezvous in the bustling city; the constant rain; and how about that red rice cooker from an estranged husband who's now settled in a European country?

Meanwhile, the beauty of Vietnam cinema has once more graced this edition of QCinema. If last year it was the above-mentioned "Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell" (a personal favorite, too), this year it's "Cu Li Never Cries." Though not exactly as grand and as ambitious in its themes like the former, "Cu Li Never Cries" is likewise a spellbinding piece of meditative cinema that's filled with both magical and solemn black-and-white images. Lonely and troubled characters who appear to be navigating a kind of life with little future or less prospects confront both the past and present that could very well be the microcosm of their own nation. There's a kind of Taoist resignation in these characters.

Another film that occupies a high place in my list is Albert Serra's documentary "Afternoons of Solitude" (2024, Spain), this year's Golden Shell winner at the San Sebastian film festival. Albert Serra is one such esoteric filmmaker with works like "Story of My Death," "The Death of Louis XIV" and "Liberté." "Pacifiction," at least, has a discernible plot. "Afternoons of Solitude," in my opinion, could just be the director's most accessible film, but no less divisive. The film's portrayal of animal cruelty is graphic, unflinching and infuriating, with the camera (a marvel of cinematography, frankly speaking) placing the viewers right there and then, as if we were actually there so to speak, directly staring into the face of the beasts as they die an agonizing death. But it can't be denied that Albert Serra's portrait of a champion and popular matador and of the sport of bullfighting itself, as well as his insights into celebrityhood, masculinity and animal cruelty, is a feat of brave and original filmmaking. "Afternoons of Solitude" has opened my eyes anew to the infinite possibilities of cinema.

Another divisive filmmaker is Miguel Gomes. While critically-acclaimed and recognized in festivals abroad, not everyone was raving about "Tabu" and "Arabian Nights." His works are also an acquired taste. His latest, "Grand Tour" (2024, Portugal; also part of this year's QCinema), while flawed and dubious (for one, it can be accused of unabashed declaration of the white-race superiority and colonial mentality), is a testament once again to the director's ever-inventive storytelling and fervent exploration of the possibilities of filmmaking. In one way or another, there's delight to be had from his feverish and dream-like travelogue of certain Asian countries (including the Philippines!).

And of course, there's Akira Kurosawa's "Ran" (1985, Japan), a perfect classic counterpoint to the number of contemporary films that I saw in the festival (the others were "Toxic," "Blue Sun Palace," "Pooja, Sir," "Simon of the Mountain," and "Pierce"). After seeing the film a couple of times on DVD some years back, I'm truly proud that I finally got to experience "Ran" on the big screen, where it rightfully belongs (just like "Seven Samurai" - as a matter of fact, any Akira Kurosawa film). A dream come true, indeed! A Shakespearean epic like this, with its painstaking attention to details, framings and compositions, coming from no other than Akira Kurosawa, deserves no less than the majesty of the silver screen. The film's stirring and stunning tale of a feudal warlord's family's downfall brought about by power, greed, envy, and ambition remains as powerful as ever, no matter how many decades have passed. Like a slowly-progressing classical music, "Ran" begins on a deliberate tempo, carefully establishing the characters, their relationship to one another, and their situation and predicament, with bird-songs ominously making their presence felt every now and then. By the 1-hour mark (the film runs for nearly 3 hours), it builds to a devastating crescendo as a bloody battle instigated by the lord's Machiavellian eldest son sets in. From there, it's all destruction and tragedy, defeat and hopelessness, leading to the film's haunting final image, where the only one who seems to see the clearest through all the chaos (the English translation of the title) is the one who's ironically denied of vision.

Nothing compares to the experience of seeing the art of cinema unfold itself on the big screen, with us film lovers simply letting ourselves be taken over by the sights and sounds of a particular cinematic world.

Until next year, QCinema!