MIFF 2009 Diary Part Eleven

FLAME & CITRON
(Dir. Ole Christian Madsen, 2008)

This grim exploration of life as a resistance fighter in Nazi-occupied Denmark during the dying days of World War II is based on a true story, and stars Mads Mikkelsen and Thure Lindhardt as partisans lost in the fog of war.

Ordered to assassinate collaborators and traitors, these two “soldiers without a front” soon find themselves drifting away from friends and family, the moral ambiguity of their actions placing increasing pressure on their relationships and themselves.

Set in Copenhagen, and shot in cold blue tones, Madsen directs this increasingly complex story well, but given I fell asleep part-way through the film – a victim of festival fatigue – it would be inappropriate, not to say unethical of me to review it in further detail.

Unrated

MORPHIA
(Dir. Alexei Balabanov, 2008)

Set in a remote corner of Russia in 1917 that has not yet been touched by revolution, this bleak study of addiction and tragedy is not for the faint-hearted. Explicit depictions of primitive surgery and the misery of morphine addiction are coupled with vivid portrayals of the daily life of a Russian country doctor, in this stark film based on a series of autobiographical stories by Mikhail Bulgakov.

The screenplay also manages a few digs at both the former aristocracy and the communists who overthrew them during its 102 minute running time.

Handsome young Dr Polyakov (Leonid Bichevin) arrives by train and then sleigh at a small hospital in the middle of nowhere, and must rely on the books left behind by his predecessor, and the skill of his colleagues – one of whom, the nurse, Anna (Ingeborga Dapkunaite) he starts sleeping with – to augment his lack of experience.

After treating a patient with diphtheria Polyakov proves allergic to the vaccine, and alleviates his suffering with an injection of morphine: the first step on a very steep downhill slope...

This vividly realised and lovingly detailed drama suffers from an episodic nature, emphasised by the intrusive presence of title cards between scenes which nonetheless reinforce both the period in which the film is set and its origins as a collection of short stories. Nor are its characters particularly well drawn, which distances the viewer emotionally when in comes to depicting their invariably tragic plights.

Natural light is used often and effectively, highlighting the superb set design and immersing one utterly in the unfolding story; and subtle flourishes – such as a stuck needle on a gramophone repeating the same snatch of song over and over as Dr Polyakov is confronted with the ugly truth of his addition – further enrich the story.

Morphia is not an especially original tale, but it is beautifully told.

Rating: Three and a half stars