Thanatophobia + The Seventh Seal

The other night I had a panic attack. Again. I laid down in bed, switched the light off and hoped my brain would follow suit. It didn’t. Instead of the usual barrage of ideas for stories or random philosophical musings that often keep me up at night, a much more sinister thought settled in my mind. Death. You see death and the process of dying (and therefore ceasing to exist) always sets me off, I just can’t get my head around it and it freaks me out so much to the point that I have full-blown panic attacks about it.

One time at the doctors when I was younger and having an injection, I fainted for the first time. It was a slow blurring of the senses and an encroaching vignette of darkness. Naturally, I thought I was dying. I was completely terrified and I can remember struggling to breathe and shouting ‘I don’t want to die’ a few times before losing consciousness. Not my finest moment. After that episode, the fear of death went away for a few years, came back and retreated again like the tide. It had been quite a while since the last panic attack about death, but I guess with the whole pandemic situation and hearing and seeing death counts every single day the anxiety around it has understandably returned.

Sometimes I ask myself how does everyone function, why is the world not in a blind panic? People running around screaming and crying because of their guaranteed oblivion. Evolution. That’s why. Religion helps too. When I was a teenager I would read the New Testament desperate to believe in God so that I wouldn’t be so scared of death, but I never could quite convince myself. I’ve also tried Zen Buddhism too, that worked much better and for quite a long time I was at peace with the transience of life. In fact, I started looking at death as the final act in a play. Your prologue takes place while you're in the womb, the first act is…well who am I kidding Shakespeare has already covered this ground and he did it far better than I ever could.

I recently watched Bergman’s The Seventh Seal to try and see another point of view on death, and perhaps because of the rather morbid connection it, a film about The Black Death has with the present pandemic. And I found it to be one of the best films I have ever seen. I mean, duh, it’s Bergman, but it really touched me in unexpected ways, and dare I say I actually felt soothed at the end when they danced over the hill with Death.

Moreover, in an earlier scene, Max von Sydow’s Knight shares strawberries and milk with two travelling actors, their young child and his squire. He tells them that he will cherish the purity of the moment as if it were a bowl of freshly milked milk. I found it to be a beautiful moment in a rather heavy film. It also made me think about how most of us spend our lives overlooking the small stuff and stressing over what has been and what will be rather than being present. Quite the Zen sentiment, and one I had forgotten to practise recently.

I dare to say this will be me when the time comes…

It is clear to me (and anyone who reads this) that my fear of death is getting in the way of me living my life. I touched on the idea of Fear, in general, having such an impact on me in the 27 Things I Have Learned in 27 Years post that I wrote recently, and I am trying to find ways to mitigate its effects on me. No easy feat really, it’s hard to unlearn habits that have driven your life for as long as you can remember.

If you're struggling with everyday things, anxiety and/or suicidal thoughts and need to talk to someone then get in contact with Samaritans (UK). They are there to help.

Korean Cinema: 도망친 여자 (The Woman Who Ran) Review

It’s safe to say that if a Hong Sang-soo film becomes available to watch in the UK I will jump at the chance to see it. Thankfully the London Korea Film Festival went digital this year as I was seriously weighing up whether it was worth risking a trip to the cinema to see his latest film.

The Woman Who Ran stars Hong’s long time muse Kim Min-hee who once again gives a fantastically understated performance as Gam-hee a woman we follow through three encounters with three different friends. Something I absolutely love about Hong’s films is that they always feel like the lives on display exist in reality, that if the camera wasn’t rolling everything would happen that way regardless.

In the first segment, Gam-hee visits a friend at their semi-rural apartment complex. Here the characters discuss a variety of topics which randomly involve animals, from the prettiness of cow’s eyes that cause the two women to consider becoming vegetarian briefly (while eating meat) to the aggressive dominance a Cockerel has over the neighbour’s chickens and another neighbour who ardently wants the apartments stray cat community to be cut off from being fed, dubbing them ‘robber cats’.

What struck me with these conversations is that there is always more to them than what meets the eye, especially with the conversation about the Cockerel, which could easily be a metaphor for sexual harassment and abuse women face when a man aggressively expresses his dominance.

The Cat Man, on the other hand, can be seen as a symbol of the human ego; he declares that the people of the apartment complex are more important than the stray cats, while Young-soon’s roommate insists that the cats have every right to survive. Is Hong weaving a conversation on the climate crisis into the film? Perhaps, that’s the impression I got anyway.

‘People in love should always stick to each other’

It soon becomes apparent that conversations with men are shot from behind; why does Hong make the men mainly faceless? Exposing them just for a few mere moments as they arrive or depart the destination of the conversation.

Another thing to consider is that each man is causing problems for the women they are conversing with. Cat Man tells Gam-hee’s hosts that they need to stop feeding stray cats, a young poet stalks Gam-hee’s second friend after a drunken one-night stand and Gam-hee herself is confronted by her self-important ex.

Gam-hee’s husband is mentioned several times and is actually faceless as he never appears in the film, but his view that ‘people in love should always stick to each other’ dominates Gam-hee’s life (as she is only now away from him after five years of marriage).

In this way, it feels like Hong is showcasing women’s lives with a very obvious #metoo sentiment; he is revealing how some men behave towards women and how things are made far more complicated for them because of the men they encounter.

This is all done with an obvious sense of humour, the women are all smart and engage in varied conversations whereas the men all come off rather foolish. And of course, this wouldn’t be a Hong Sang-soo film if he didn’t manage to weave in his usual musings of art and artists which is always a pleasure to watch.

Norwegian Cinema: Thelma film Review

Thelma is a supernatural thriller directed by Joachim Trier and stars Eili Harboe in the titular role. This Norwegian film is a fresh and complex take on “superhero” powers that navigates themes of sexuality, trauma, religion and self-discovery.

The film’s eponymous heroine Thelma is able to make things happen; if she wants something, she can manifest it or quite terrifyingly, make it disappear. Narratively, the exploration of such a supernatural power is rich ground for storytelling, and that’s exactly what Trier has achieved here.

Thelma is a beautifully dark coming-of-age story about a sheltered young woman discovering her identity both as an individual away from her overbearing family and in terms of her sexuality. While her dangerous gift could have just become a metaphorical symbol of her otherness or a delusion born out of repressed sexuality, Trier doesn’t settle for a cinematically metaphoric storyline only. This supernatural gift is real and has very tangible consequences in the film, and a flashback that unfolds alongside the main action of the narrative is rather intense and harrowing and brings the film to a crescendo before the final act.

I also liked how in an interview, Trier said that he wanted to make a film that pays tribute to all the people who feel like “freaks” who don’t fit in and still try to find acceptance in that fact (VG, 2017). And at its most basic, that is exactly what Thelma is, a freak finding her place.

“I feel angry with you, God. Why are you doing this to me? What do you want?”

Visually, Thelma is stunning. There are lingering shots of nature, erotically charged visuals involving snakes, a very Bergmanesque nod to Persona and stunning moments of VFX that bring the consequences of Thelma’s ability to life.

There is also a really clever visual at the beginning and end of the film where the camera pans in and later away from the crowded Frederikkeplassen (the centre of the UiO Blindern Campus), illustrating the sense of one person being lost in a sea of people.

Another sequence that I found to be particularly beautiful was at the Oslo Opera house; I love the way in which the ballet performance on stage melted into shots of Thelma on the brink of an anxiety-induced seizure. Both elements complimented each other and created frenetic energy that really built up the mounting tension of a rising panic attack.

The colour palette used in Thelma is also rather beautiful, as dark, brooding and cold colours are employed for the most part. However, there are moments where a rich blood-red or lush natural green pierces the shot; these snaps of intense colours symbolise danger and transgressing against the norm and are often seen when Thelma has no control over her ability.

Little Joe Film Review

Directed by Jessica Hausner Little Joe is an indie sci-fi horror that explores genetic modification and motherhood. Emily Beecham stars as Alice Woodard, a plant breeder who has created a new species that gives its owners intense joy…but at what price?

Narratively Little Joe is interesting, there is a clear exploration of deep themes: the mood altering effects of pharmaceuticals, the trials of motherhood and the bastardization of nature through genetic modification just to name a few. But, I would be inclined to say that what really makes this film quite special is the symbolism displayed through visuals and audio.

The colour design of this film is one of its most striking features. The lab and uniforms are a pale montone green which are directly juxtaposed with the vibrant red plumage of the Little Joe plant. This use of complementary colours creates a sort of visual symbiosis between the scientists and the plants, but as the film progresses it is clear that this visual harmony is indeed superficial and something far more nefarious is at work. Elsewhere, the colour design sticks to a closer palette of greens, oranges and yellows or the intense mixing of purple and red, the former displaying order and familiarity and the letter another expression of danger.

The camera moves very methodically to create a sense of control and sterileness which soon becomes creepy as it is too perfect. Moreover, this precision of the camera movement also acts as a parallel to what is happening within the lab, the modification of nature has morphed the characters into automatons, they become focused on one singular goal the propagation of the plant as it can’t reproduce on its own.

Another way in which Little Joe creates unease is through its erratic soundtrack. There is an eerie exoticness to the sounds and irregular rhythms which no doubt was used to mirror the strangeness of the plant. And while it can become a little distracting at times for the most part this soundtrack added a curious texture to the film and enhanced the mood.

Overall, Little Joe is a peculiar little film that will leave you reeling long after the credits, it’s full of beautiful visuals, uncanny commentaries on society and a really fantastic central performance by Emily Beecham who quite rightly won the Best Actress Award at Cannes last year.

Columbus Film Review

Columbus is video essayist Kogonada’s first feature film. It follows two lost people as they find solace in one another and in the modernist architecture of Columbus, Ohio.

This film hit me hard. The mood of it reminds me of Lost in Translation, and to a certain extent, the relationship that blossoms between Jin and Casey mirrors that of Bob and Charlotte. Two lost souls coming together to heal each other.

Jin harbours resentment towards his father a renowned Architecture scholar who never seemed to have the time for him, while Casey feels like she has to stick around and forgo pursuing her dreams as her recovering addict mother may be lost without her if she leaves. Jin is adamant that he doesn’t like architecture, but Casey’s passionate and soulful way of looking at the modernist buildings scattered over Columbus is infectious, and he soon finds himself enjoying it and how powerful architecture can be as a healing visual. 

You grow up around something, and it feels like nothing.

This film is beautiful, the lingering shots of architecture, the use of negative space and the solitude and beauty of modernist structures. There is a soulfulness that permeates every frame, and you find yourself mesmerised by the power of this quiet and thoughtful film.

I myself am a bit of an architecture nerd, and I love how it is discussed that Architecture can be healing, as I find quite often that when I’m feeling down or lonely, looking at beautiful buildings can ease my pain a little. So to say that this film resonated with me would be an understatement; I found it to be a thoroughly cathartic watch, and I will no doubt watch it again and again in the future.