And the winner is…

… sound the trumpets, beat the drums… Mohammed Soudani! On Kino Otok’s last day Algerian director won out twice, as his Taxiphone got selected by the festival’s audience and he himself had previously had a role in the victory of the Golden Boys’ team against the Blu-Rays’ in the afternoon football match.

Sunday meant no movies for me, this unbecoming stain on my moviegoer’s cv being due on one hand to the coming of some friends of mine (who preferred sunbathing at the svetilnik to screenings) and on the other to the abovementioned football match. So, a few words about the latter.

Solved not without worry the problem of finding a ball, at 4 pm we found ourselves on the field by the Gasilski Dom. On one side the Blu-Rays (staff members + Innsbruck guests),  in impeccable festival’s pale blue shirts; on the other the Golden Boys (directors + other staff members), in casual clothes – I was dressed to kick, being allowed for the 1st time to wear my Athletic Bilbao’s lion-representing centennial t-shirt. Aficionados who came looking for Mohammed’s talent and Vlado’s magics weren’t disappointed by the GBs’ orchestra leaders, although the honor of entering the scorers’ list went to mr. C.W. Winter and the writer. Among the BRs there were great expectations on mr. Leitner, usually a very tough opponent: but, in his attempt to repeat the exploit performed in 2005 by Lisandro Alonso – who had been able to party veeeeery much on the previous night and then, some hours later, to score two decisive goals on the pitch – the Tyrolean ace stopped halfway. Therefore the Brs hopes had to rely mostly on Piera’s shoulders: but despite a great performance and a goal by the redheaded forward (my pick as MVP), it proved to be not enough. So, GBs 4 – BRs 1 and off we went, back to our cinema-related duties.

I must confess that, after having placed some chairs in Manzioli, I skipped the closing ceremony too. To get to know about Taxiphone’s victory I had to wait for the beach party, when I eventually made the acquaintance of Mai Tai, the cocktail drunken by Contact High’s protagonists in a scene of the movie (thanks for the suggestion, mr. Glawogger).
And then the night went on, talking & drinking & dancing ‘til the moment when, as in the best fairy tales, the police came by to stop the music. Bedtime, both my pard Luciano and me thought. Thus that was the end, for us, of Kino Otok 6.

In the end, were I to say one final sentence about this festival, made by people who are wise enough to take cinema very seriously and themselves not so seriously, I would paraphrase what J.D. Salinger makes Holden Caufield say about books: "What really knocks me out is a festival that, when you're all done experiencing it, you wish the people that organized it were terrific friends of yours and you could call them up on the phone whenever you felt like it."

Luckily enough, I have many staff members’ phone numbers…

Piervi

Let the music do the talking…

… or at least think of it as to the ideal structure to be led by on the unusual and exotic journeys you’re invited to by The Anchorage and The Land Inhabited. The two titles in competition (respectively by C.W. Winter & Anders Edström and by Anna Sanmartí) happen to have much in common. One – despite having a screenplay behind its shoulders – has the formal appearance of a documentary, while the other is a documentary proper; they both do without a clear narrative path and almost without dialogues; they both charm us with the beauty of the nearly uncontaminated landscapes of Swedish (in one case) and Mongolian (in the other) wilderness.

And – although in a very different form and to a slightly less poetic extent – we experienced the chemistry between music (this time concretely performed) and a fascinating sight on the forth night of Kino Otok too, thanks to the concert on the beach by Ante Upedanten, one of those things that mostly can make you blame for you haven’t learnt Slovenian yet (supposing you’re as ignorant as I am)…

Two more music-related coincidences:

1) Ante Pupedanten’s “Poštar” begins with an instrumental intro which comes directly out of “Tammurriata nera”, one of the most famous songs from Naples’ popular tradition. The story told by the song is that of a woman who gets pretty surprised when she sees his newborn baby is black. More or less the same kind of surprise Mohammed Soudani (Taxiphone’s director) told us he had when he realized he was darker-skinned than the average Algerian. But, if I can give you an explanation for the 1st case (it’s the end of WW2 and the woman had had sex with a coloured soldier of the US army, which wasn’t very rare at that time, given the circumstances), I have no ideas about the 2nd. Nor has Soudani (no insinuation intended, be it clear)...

2) Some minutes ago, just after I had begun writing these lines, a brass-band quite unexpectedly (to me, at least) showed up and began playing here below, in Manzioli square.

Kino Otok: you never know what you’re going to get!


Piervi

The (Cameroon Love) Letter I would love to review…

… but I cannot. I literally can’t find the words to express a judgement on Khavn’s last title. It’s beautiful, no doubt about it, but I find myself unable to tell you if it’s just beautiful, or very beautiful, or unbelievably beautiful, if you get what I mean. Actually, the experience I’ve just passed through it’s more complex than just sitting in a hall and watching a movie. Take the picture, add the live accompaniment for piano solo performed by the director himself, add the memories that the dedication brought to my mind and maybe you can get an idea of the reason why Cameroon Love Letter gets into the narrow group (I guess I can count them on 2 or 3 hands’ fingers) of movies whose vision – and, here must be said, listening – moved me to tears or almost succeeded to.

Others will be able to tell you about the technical, narrative and poetic virtues of the movie. I’m not, at least not now.

No more words, then, but – thanks Khavn and thanks life, chance or whatever for having led me to cross certain persons’ paths.

Piervi

Marko Cvejić: "Na otok hodim kot avtor in mentor"

Beograjski režiser, ki v sklopu Kina Otok vodi delavnico, v okviru katere je izkušnje pridobivala mednarodna ekipa bodočih mentorjev filmskih delavnic.

Znova v navezavi s krškim DZMP, preko katerega je vodil poučevanje že avgusta na Trški gori, delavnica služi kot nadaljna stopnja - torej predvideva, da udeleženci že poznajo osnove filmskega jezike. »Z ekipo sodelujem že dlje časa, saj je njihov način nabora udeležencev iz različnih evropskih držav vselej zanimiv bazen za bogastvo raznolikosti, ki jo potem spravimo na film. Tako na Trški gori kot zdaj v Izoli, so recimo prisotni trije beloruski mladci, ki so zanimiva popestritev.«

Tudi sam je bil zanimiva popestritev različnih filmskih festivalov, na Kinu Otok je bil prisoten ob vseh petih izvedbah. »Sem hodim kot avtor ali mentor, saj sem v preteklih letih že predvajal svoje izdelke v sklopu Videa na plaži. Meni osebno predstavlja tukajšnji festival posebnost v ponudbi, saj izdatno neguje filme nekdanjega tretjega sveta. Prisotnost avtorjev doda svoj čar in ta se odrazi v festivalski atmnosferi, ki je tu vselej izjemna. Tudi če kdaj filmi niso na tako visokem nivoju.«

V Beogradu sicer Marko prav tako kot v Izoli deluje kot avtor in mentor. »Predavam v Akademskem filmskem centru, ki je ena izmed mnogih državnih filmskih šol, in tam preko celotnega šolskega leta skrbim za vodenje skupine skozi proces ustvarjanja filma.« Vseeno mu ostane dovolj časa, da predvsem med vikendi opravi kakšno delavnico, pri čemer se mu je ob številnih obiskih Slovenije izostril tudi občutek za naš jezik. »Veliko sem v Krškem in Tolminu, lani sem sodeloval tudi na Dokmi, kjer sem bil član žirije, tako da zagotovo poleg ustvarjanja, velik del mojega dela zajema tudi izobraževalna plat. «

Naslednji njegov projekt ima naslov »Podonavske švabe.« Kot dober poznavalec vojvodinskih manjšin, med katerimi se najde kar 34 narodov,, se je po Slovakih odločil pod prerez vzeti nemško manjšino. Bolje rečeno preostanek le te. »Pred prvo svetovno vojno jih je bilo milijon in pol, zdaj pa najdeš v Vojvodini 3952 prebivalcev, ki se opredeljujejo kot Nemci.« Marko pripravlja zgodbo o tem, kako sta Marija Terezija in Franc Jožef naselila številne prebivalce Avstroogrske, ki so zgradili mrežo kanalov in naselili v 16. in 17. stoletju pusto in močvirnato Vojvodino ter jo spremenili v panonsko žitnico. »Tem ljudem so dali posest in državno službo, ker so branili mejo pred otomanskim imperijem, ki je sicer potekala ob Donavi v Beogradu. Za zahvalo pa so jih po drugi svetovni vojne, predvsem nedolžne, spravili v taborišča, jim odvzeli vso lastnino in državljanske pravice, tako da je njihova množična migracija iz Vojvodine popolnoma razumljiva. Zakonodajo smo spremenili šele leta 2001, Srbi pa imajo uradno še vedno zapisane sankcije zaradi t.i. nemške krivde.«

Lahko bi napovedali, da bo Marko Cvejić tudi ob sedmi izvedbi festivala Kino Otok gostoval v Izoli. Morda ga bodo prav zgodbe podonavskih švabov uvrstile v uradni program festivala, katerega gost je že od prve izvedbe dalje.

Toni

Tik-tak

Pet, štiri, tri, dva, ... in mimo je še zadnji dan. Sonce, povabila, obljube - vidimo se kmalu! Če ne prej, naslednje leto.

Česa smo se naučili? Od filmov tega, da je hitrost časa zelo relativna. Dobri filmi imajo moč, da nas odlepijo od tiktakanja urinega kazalca in nam čas odmerjajo v kadrih. Sodelovanje v prostovoljski brigadi Kina Otok ima moč, da še za odštevanje časa zmanjka časa in je vsega konec še preden se dobro zaveš, da se je res začelo.

Od tistih, ki so kupili vstopnico in sedli na Manziolijev trg, smo se naučili, da se je treba v septembrskih večerih toplo obleči in da hladen severni veter lahko s trga pomete smeti, filmofilov pa ne.
Od filmov smo se naučili marsičesa. Da se zgodovina ponavlja, dokler se trak njenega filma ne pretrga. Da tudi v črno belem filmu marsikdaj marsikaj ni črno belo. Da je svet takšen, kakršnega si zamisliš.
Od modrih misli, ki so jih z nami delili gostje, pa se nas je prijela tista najbolj univerzalna, ki smo jo že nekje slišali in ki nam jo je ob večernem druženju na Svetilniku zaupal režiser zmagovalnega filma: da je vse, kar potrebujemo, ljubezen. Pa saj to smo že vedeli!

Za to priložnost bom zato njegovo misel prepleskala z drugačno barvo: vse, kar potrebujemo, je Otok. Vprašajte prostovoljce, ki s(m)o svoj čas za en teden podredili taktirki Direktorice, Izolane, ki so nas (in vas) z veseljem sprejeli medse, in redne obiskovalce otoških prizorišč.
Vse, kar potrebujemo, je Otok. Kino Otok! Južni Otok. In spet odštevamo.

Rappporto Interstellare #2

- Sì, pronto, centralino? Vorrei parlare con l’Ufficio Missioni Interplanetarie, grazie…
- ?
- Salve, qui Maggiore Erregibì Monkey per nuovo rapporto Missione Interplanetaria. Ci sono grosse novità, Tenete.
-?
-Questa Isola non è un’isola, ma a volte si trasforma in un’isola. Un’isola felice. E manco a dirlo si chiama proprio così: Izola.
- …?
-Beh, facciamo così: lei provi a immaginare una spiaggia, Signore. Una spiaggia è un posto che comincia sempre nello stesso punto ma finisce un po’ qua e un po’ là, perché un attimo prima l’acqua ne copre un pezzo e un attimo dopo lo scopre. E quell’acqua, che si muove e scopre e ricopre eccetera eccetera si chiama mare.
-?
-Ecco. Adesso la spiaggia se la immagini di notte, piena di vento. E su questa spiaggia un telo bianco. Poi provi a immaginarsi che qualcuno ci spari su una luce, che non è sempre della stessa intensità. Bene, Tenente: il risultato è che l’immagine sul telo si muove, e questo è ciò che sulla Terra chiamano “Cinema”.  E poi mentre tutto questo succede, con la spiaggia, e il fascio di luce che va sul telo e che se non ci fosse il telo guarderebbe il mare, due persone improvvisano della musica. Ed anche questo è cinema, perché tanti anni fa funzionava proprio così, solo che poi non è più stato così fino a quando su questo pianeta non si sono ricordati che l’idea non era male. Ed in effetti lei non immagina quante cose si possano fare con un po’ di luce, un telo bianco, un sintetizzatore, un didgeridou e qualche piatto metallico, Signore.
-?
- Le immagini erano di bagnanti in spiaggia. Ma di giorno.
-?
-No, non è sempre così: non è che se proietta qualcosa su una spiaggia le immagini devono essere state per forza girate su un posto simile. Oggi, per esempio, ho visto un film di riprese aeree su una regione del Canadà. Si immagina la scomodità di proiettarle a 3000 metri, sennò? L’idea mi è sembrata bella proprio perché c’era una spiaggia su un telo su una spiaggia. E le immagini non avevano suono, ma arrivava il suono dell’acqua  che copriva e scopriva la spiaggia su cui era posto il telo.
-?
-No, Signore. Non era un cocktail party e non c’era bisogno del pass blu per arrivarci. E lei che mi aveva messo istruito che senza il pass avrei dovuto fare delle avances a un produttore di fictions televisive.
-…
-Anche qui si sbagliava, Tenente. Il festival non è dentro l’Italia, ma un po’ più in là.
- ?
- No, Signore. Ancora niente VIP: neanche Renato Pozzetto. VIP, per me, ieri sera, lo sono stati gli ANTE UPEDANTEN: quattro strampalati in abito e cravatta fullsize che con un contrabbasso, una grancassa, una chitarra e un violino suonavano canzoni di partigiani e lavoratori, molti brani in sloveno (Maledizione: perché mi ha fatto imparare l’italiano e non lo sloveno?!?), un po’ di Jimi Hendrix, un po’ di tradizionale italiana e pure When The Music’s Over dei Doors. E a questo proposito, signore, dovrei rivolgerle la mia comunicazione più importante.
-?
-Ho intenzione di rassegnare le mie dimissioni, Signore.
-!!!
-Beh, allora lo consideri un ammutinamento. Vorrei che mi lasciaste qui: ho intenzione di prendermi il mondo. Ieri sera mi è sembrato che si potesse fare. E che a tratti possano farlo un po’ tutti i terrestri, Signore. Ad esempio, pare che nell’acqua che viene e va e che scopre e ricopre ci si possa anche tuffare. Ho proprio voglia di scoprire che effetto fa. Mandi pure le mie credenziali in casa di detenzione. Si tranquillizzi, Signore: le invierò una cartolina.

Luciano

Ko vsi spimo - film, ki ga ne boste videli na iranskih avtobusih

Iran se v današnjem geopolitičnem prostoru nahaja na ožigosani strani totalitarnih režimov, med katerimi mu lahko preostali člani osi zla, vsaj glede kinematografije, kvečjemu zavidajo. Resda je za to delno zaslužna številčna perzijska diaspora, ki je uspešno predstavila Iran in tamkajšnje razmere s pomočjo produkcij izven matične države, kar je ob drznem obravnavanju iranske družbe, predvsem filmske srenje, uspelo tudi filmu »Ko vsi spimo«.

Že uvodni kadri so mi vzbudili spomin na dolge nočne vožnje z avtobusom med iranskimi velemesti, na katerih je vselej, poleg jokajočih otrok, največ negodovanja potnikov in preglavic s spanjem povzročalo neumorno vrtenje filmov. Običajno je šlo za cenene situacijske komedije s tipično karakterizacijo v slogu commedie del'arte; po pogovoru z domačini je bilo tovrstnih izdelkov vsaj toliko kot kritik na Ahmadinedžada, po zelo ugodni ceni pa so bili ti filmi dostopni v vsaki izmed prodajaln s plagiatskimi DVDji. Ob izdatni produkciji pa se pojavi vprašanje - zakaj so v vseh filmih nastopali vselej (skoraj) isti igralci. Odgovor je spretno ponudil lanskoletni izdelek Bahrama Beyzale.

Destrukcija iranske kinomatografije po njegovem mnenju izvira v nepotizmu, s katerim se skuša preprečiti sleheren vstop kontra-revolucionarne miselnosti v skrajno ideološko obremenjeno podobo iranske družbe. Kaj državljani počnejo v svoji zasebnosti je po razpadu nravstvenih milic bolj ali manj prepuščeno njim samim in tak odnos ima oblast tudi do filma – dokler ni podprto z državnimi sredstvi, si lahko privošči tudi odmik od striktne režimske hvale - seveda do določene mere. Režiser je spretno upravičil zgodbo zamenjave glavnih igralcev, naslova filma, režiserja, celo zaključnega razpleta z idejo filma v filmu. Tragično smrt iranske kinematografije je naprtil producentom, smrt mučenice, kinematografske Nede, pa uprizoril kar pred staro in opuščeno kinodvorano. Kako simbolično.

Ne glede na to, da se »Ko vsi spimo« bržčas odmika od masovne produkcije iranskih cenenih filmov, pa jih smelo zajame v svojo idejo. Brez njih, tega filma pač ne bi bilo, brez tega filma, pa morda tudi ne prepričanja, da je večina iranskih filmov dandanes pravzaprav groznih. K sreči ti ostanejo v Iranu in jih vidite le na nočnih avtobusih ...

Toni

“There’s something belonging to me that’s been… lost…

… a bag. The content is none of your concern, but it has an inestimable value to me...” That’s not what I’ve said this morning, noticing that my tobacco set was no more (farewell, faithful friend for many smoky years: hope you’ve been found by some who could appreciate and love you), but the spark that gets Contact High’s crazy carousel off the ground – phrase to be taken even literally, as shown by a scene towards the end of the movie.

Actually, the abovementioned bag serves just as a MacGuffin to lead the action from Austria to Poland, on a bizarre – to say the least – journey where drugs is the common denominator among all characters. Michael Glawogger’s movie is indeed the second chapter of a trilogy dedicated to sex (Nacktschnecken, 2004), drugs & rock’n’roll (project in development); and if I’d thought I already had a quite psychedelic experience with the visual experiments Clouzot’s technicians made for L’enfer, well, Contact High raises the stakes (yes, I know, 45 years ago there were no CGIs…). Space distortions, dog-headed people in a disco, pig-nosed Polish policemen and other kinds of perceptive alterations for a bunch of odd losers and small-time crooks: that’s the menu (hope you like mushrooms, btw). Once you’ve been told that all this goes along with a fresh & humorous script and an enthralling soundtrack, it’s hard to believe mr. Glawogger when he says that the fun lies only in imagining the movie and not in shooting it… Anyway, Michael, we had fun in watching it, and with so many comedies around that seem concerned to entertain their authors rather than the audience, I guess it’s enough to say your movie’s worth the ticket’s price.

So, people, if you’ve missed Contact High yesterday at Odeon, you can catch it on Saturday morning at Kulturni Dom. And, as Jurij Meden said in his introduction, better if you don’t get there sober…

Contact High, Michael Glawogger, Aut / Ger / Pol / Lux 2009
RIYL:
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Terry Gilliam, USA 1998 (a viewer mentioned it in the after-screening q&a but, trust me, I had already thought about it)

PIERVI

Shipwreck…

… is an issue I’ve been thinking about during these first days in Izola. Mainly because, after having seen a couple of movies, I kept wondering why before every projection they show on screen a frame displaying the text of Giacomo Leopardi’s L’infinito (that in the English translation ends precisely with “So that in this immensity / my thoughts are drowned, and shipwreck / seems sweet to me in this sea”). The link between Kino Otok and the most famous poem by the hunchback from Recanati seemed quite inexplicable to me… Insomuch as I ended up thinking that those lines were possibly meant to express the hope that the moviegoers sailing the Northern Adriatic could be shipwrecked on the Izola seaside (maybe to be hunt by the staff, like in The most dangerous game… Ok, I’m digressing).

Actually the truth proved to be (just a little) more prosaic, as I got told by Sanja that it’s only a part of Vlado Škafar’s project to get rid of cinema and replace it with poetry by presenting examples of this kind of art in the most unthinkable places and forms (obviously Vlado, as a performer, belongs to the school of thought named “hiddenism”, according to which the pleasure given by the mere enjoyment of the art works should be doubled by that given by the surprise of finding them where you least expect’em… Ok, I’m digressing again).

The second reason why this word has come to my mind is connected with Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Inferno, the documentary by Serge Bromberg & Ruxandra Medrea I saw in the afternoon. As it tells the story of the 1964 overambitious project by French master that got exactly shipwrecked, it could seem somehow appropriate that the movie’s test screening on Tuesday evening got shipwrecked too (due to some technical problem). Anyway, the Odeon screening went without any problem, so we got the chance to imagine the visual masterpiece L’enfer would have been if only the captain had succeeded in leading the ship safely to the port…


Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Inferno (L’enfer de Henri-Georges Clouzot), Serge Bromberg & Ruxandra Medrea, France 2009
riyl:
Hell (L’enfer), Claude Chabrol, France 1994 (you’d never thought about it, uh?)

PIERVI

SOS Interstellare

- Sì, pronto, centralino? Vorrei parlare con l’Ufficio Missioni Interplanetarie, grazie…

- ?
- Salve, qui Maggiore Erregibì Monkey per primo rapporto Missione Interplanetaria. Obiettivo raggiunto: sono al Festival. Beh, ascoltatemi bene: qui c’è qualcosa che non va.
-?
- Avevate informazioni sbagliate, Tenente. Di grosso.
-?
- Sì, sì, il mare c’è. Ma niente canali.
-?
- Non Canalis: canali, ho detto. E comunque neanche Canalis. E nemmeno Ghezzi, né Lino Banfi. Pare che non ci verranno, Signore. Io dicevo canali. Lei mi aveva parlato di canali, ponti…
-?
- Bella è bella, per carità. C’è un buon odore, sa? Non è vero che sa di pantano.
-?
- Piccioni? Pochissimi. Poi ascolti, Signore, non è costosa come mi aveva istruito.
-?
-Sì, sì, lo spritz c’è, ma per pagarlo non è servito il mutuo attivato. Lo segnali all’amministrazione: Disattivare mutuo! Disattivare!
Ah, e anche il campanile c’è. Però la piazza non è poi tanto invasa dai turisti. Anzi, ci ripensi sull’idea di lasciarci andare sua moglie per le vacanze. Il posto non è affollato. Direi l’opposto: tranquillo.
-?
- Cinema, sì, certo. Ma è stato inutile il corso intensivo a cui mi ha sottoposto negli ultimi 7 anni: se al bar parla d’altro nessuna la snobba. A proposito, segnali pure alla sua segretaria: buttare via Bordwell-Thomson! Buttare via!
-?
- Gente, dice? Ce n’è molta, sì. Ma niente code interminabili per le proiezioni, niente code interminabili per i trasporti, niente code interminabili alle casse dei bar.
-?
- Sì, sì, utili i corsi d’italiano. Ma pare che qui parlino anche un’altra lingua.
-?
- No, non dialetto. Lingua, proprio. Però ho scoperto che i terrestri che non vengono dallo stesso posto ne parlano una di un’isoletta, e non lo hanno neanche deciso tutti insieme, ma un gruppetto di gente che apparteneva al distretto dei JohnWayniani. Fortunately, communication is not a problem, here.
-?
-Sì, le dico: l’obiettivo è raggiunto, ma i vostri informatori sono tutti da spedire di fronte a un tribunale interstellare. Tutto sbagliato.
-?
-Izola, sì, Izola: il festival sull’izola. C’è la laguna pure. Ma non c’è l’Izola. Izola e basta, pare.
-?
-Non so, Tenente: questo non mi è ancora chiaro. Deve esserci qualche problema di lingua. Lo sapevo, io che la lingua imparata a scuola non è come quella parlata quotidianamente.
-!!!
- D’accordo: provvederò personalmente. Da domani guarderò dei film. Gliene parlerò, non si preoccupi: si calmi, Tenente.


Luciano

Blogerska ekipa je dobila še enga člana! Luciano Palumbo bo posebni poročevalec otoškega zakulisja za naše italijanske bralce. 

20 vprašanj Otoškim filmskim gostom: C.W. Winter

Pomemben del Otoškega festivala so tudi filmski gostje, ki v Izoli predstavijo nastajanje filma iz prve roke. Mi pa smo naše goste pocukali za rokav in jih prosili, da odgovorijo na malo manj filmska, a kljub vsemu zanimiva vprašanja.

Prvi se je opogumil C.W. Winter, eden od režiserjev filma Sidrišče.

Kje si odraščal?
Newport Beach, Kalifornija

Kaj je tvoj prvi spomin?
Kopanje v kadi, ko sem bil star 3 leta

Kot otrok - kaj si želel biti, ko odrasteš?
Igralec baseballa

Tvoja prva služba?
Nosilec sodnih pozivov

Je tvoj koledar vedno na pravem mesecu (oz. dnevu)?
Všeč so mi bila 90’.

Tvoja delovna miza - razmetena ali pospravljena?
Pospravljena

Kaj je tvoj najljubši dnevni ritual?
Kava

Katera pesem bi najbolje opisala tvoje življenje?
Junior Kimbrough: “Most Things Haven’t Worked Out”



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Če bi lahko šel na večerjo s 3 ljudmi, koga bi izbral?
Lorna Maitland, Mama Lion in Fatty Arbuckle

Kdo je imel največji vpliv na tvoje življenje?
Moja mama

Kateri je tvoj najljubši film, da ga gledaš vedno znova?
Katerikoli od Yellow Movies Tonyja Conrada

Najboljša knjiga, ki si jo prebral o filmih?
Ne vem.

Kubler, Frye, Deleuze, Ranciere, Bresson, Robbe-Griller, Terkel, James, Graham, Smithson, Hergé

Kakšen nasvet bi dal mladim filmskim ustvarjalcem?
Več berite (ne o filmu).

Festival Kino Otok - Isola Cinema je …
sem ravno dobro prišel.


Foto: Katja Šircelj

“I’m no dark lady”…

… Ksenija Surkova says with a heartmelting laugh, confirming the impression I already had that my question was a good candidate for the award for most stupid one in this Kino Otok edition. “Rita has both bright and dark sides, then I wouldn’t call her a dark lady”, the young Russian actress explains.

Indeed, a girl convincing a boy to escape with her and leading him on the path of crime is not enough to talk about noir movie and dark ladies. And actually, in Larisa Sadilova’s Sonny, Andrej and Rita’s runaway – and the homicide they seem to have played a role in – is mostly a pretext for the director to focus on Igor, Andrej’s father, and to depict his character and the parent-child relationship. Both elements are defined more by objects (Igor’s owl-shaped decor, the stereo he switches off when he thinks Andrej’s sleeping) than by words, which could allow you to put the movie in the already crowded shelf of the “lack of communication dramas”... But Sadilova (also author of the screenplay) knows how to play her cards, one of the most important being Viktor Sukhorukov’s well-measured performance. The veteran thespian plays a man who – unable to overcome the fact that his wife left him when Andrej was a baby – deals better with animals (either the fake owls and the living bees) than with human beings. Despite his will to find and save his son, he constantly acts in a passive way, letting the others lead him (as with the reporters and the policemen) and seemingly unable to break the same frame Andrej (and Rita) are escaping from. Regarding this, a mention necessarily goes to the camera work, with the recurring use of lockdown shots that stand out particularly when Igor is, indeed, “framed” in his flat’s interior.

In summary, I don’t see any reason why Sonny couldn’t repeat the achievement of Lidiya Bobrova’s Babusya, which is – as far as I can remember – the only precedent as for Russian titles in competition at Kino Otok and ended up by deservedly winning the “Harvest” section back in 2004.

Sonny (Synok), Larisa Sadilova, Russia 2009

RIYL:
The clockmaker of St. Paul (L’horloger de Saint-Paul), Bertrand Tavernier, France 1974

PIERVI
Photo: Jože Rehberger Ogrin

Prostovoljska brigada Kina Otok

You can serve your country...

... even by keeping guard over an oil can. Or so they say... Well, there are strange ways you can serve Kino Otok too, and in little more than 24 hours you can happen to go from rags to riches (and viceversa, I guess). On Tuesday afternoon I had found myself helping other brigadeers in setting the chairs in Manzioli square for the evening test screening; and if you have to make sure that there aren't two chairs of the same colour side-by-side, it can become an exercise whose zen value equals that of Mr. Miyagi's »wax on, wax off« (cfr. Karate Kid).


And then yesterday I found myself on the stage of Kulturni Dom to give the introductory speech alongside of Lorena! Definitely, here at Kino Otok they don't take hierarchy very seriously... Having been in front of a mic and having faced a crowded hall sometimes in the past wasn't much of a comfort, as I'm not used to such official occasions. And the anxiety was doubled by the fact that - weren't the stage spotlights enough – I was to speak in English (and if you're reading this, you know how laughable the idea is).


Anyway, somehow it all went well, and now I have just two reasons to complain:
1) for the first time in my life I've given a public speech staying completely serious from the beginning to the end (I hope at least that the image of my shattered gym shoes 50 cms away from the guests' faces could serve to save my reputation as a buffoon presenter...);
2) due to the speech's cognac-flavoured rehearsals I missed Kells' screening, and therefore at the end of the day the number of movies I had seen was still stuck at zero.


But today I'm planning to play the good moviegoer, so I promise in the next post I won't write about me, but the content will be 100% cinema.


Piervi

Režiserja spustila sidro

Na videz popolnoma preprosta fotografija, ki površnemu pogledu razkrije le to, da smo v objektiv ujeli vsakdanji izolski prizor - dva domačina, ki v eni zmed neštetih uličic v lokalnem kafiču ob pogovoru srkata dopoldansko kavico.

Ostrejše oko bo opazilo, da imata kavopivca z Izolo skupnega le nekaj - Kino Otok. Pri asimiliranju v lokalno skupnost smo namreč v objektiv danes ujeli oba režiserja filma Sidrišče, ki se v letošnji sekciji Trgatev poteguje za nagrado občinstva. Da, če se vam zdi to malce nenavadno obnašanje za filmske režiserje in cenjene goste iz tujine, imate prav - tudi meni bi se zdelo, če bi bila tu prvič. Toda naš (in vaš) filmski otok zaznamuje prav ta nenavadna sproščenost, ki filme in njihove ustvarjalce zbliža s tistimi, ki vztrajno obiskujejo svoj najljubši sedež v kinu. Ne verjamete? Spremljajte nas še naprej, saj sledijo pričevanja očividcev in sveže slikovno gradivo!

Getting back to Kino Otok…

… is something that, as far as this post is concerned, doesn’t refer only to myself or to all those – organizers & volunteers – give their contribution to the festival by “working” at it. If you think that it’s a platitude to say that this event – being “small” as it is – creates a community proper of film lovers, well, consider these names: Peter Mettler (Petropolis), Khavn De La Cruz (Cameroon love letter), Mohammed Soudani (Taxiphone). For all of them this is the second time here in Izola. Peter and Khavn first came here in 2006, when the incredibly prolific Filipino director showed us his talent as pianist as well (so, no surprise that his last effort is For piano solo…). The second coming of Mohammed, who was here in 2005, makes me particularly happy, as I take it as the guarantee that this year the traditional football match staff vs. guests will take place again. As a matter of fact, in the late 60s the guy was a member of the Algerian sub-21 national team, a thing that was very easy to believe for those who were on the Izola pitch on that day, five years ago, and saw him playing. Oh, yes, accidentally he’s also a great director, as his movies proved to us (I personally remember with great pleasure Les diseurs d’histoires).

Anyway, while we’re all waiting for our guests to come (back), these 24 hours of pre-festival have been telling us that one of the most important things to do is to cross fingers because of the weather (and not only if you’re looking forward for the match). At worst, you can still think at the combination between seaside and rain as a homage to The secret of Kells, which is about to open today’s program at Kulturni Dom.
See you later, hopefully with some impression on the movie.

Na blogu "In ... Akcija!" z veseljem pozdravljamo novega pisca Piervittoria Vitori, starega znanca Kina Otok, ki bo s svojimi prispevki poskrbel tudi za bralce iz tujine.

V Izoli smo odkrili novo vrsto dreves

Drendologi poročajo, da so v Izoli odkrili novo vrsto dreves. Gre za Kinodrevesa (Arbor Cinematicus), ki so bila do sedaj odkrita le v Izoli, znanih pa je 10 primerkov.

Naši viri poročajo, da je nova vrsta dreves vzklila v sredini poletja in nato rasla pod nadzorom Andraža Seiferta, ki jih je zalival, gnojil, obrezoval skupaj z mizarjem in cepil s pomočjo jeklarja.

Vsako drevo ima 32 listov iz umetne mase. Listi se začetek jeseni oddanejo v živahne barve in navdušijo mimoidoče, 5 dni zapored pa drevesa obrodijo svež festivalski časopis.

Posebna značilnost Kinodreves je tudi njegova modularnost, zato ne vemo, v kakšni obliki se bodo pojavila naslednje leto.

Na Kinodrevesih bodo kmalu dozoreli prvi sadovi in na trgatev si vabljen tudi ti.

Foto: Dino Škorja Jugovac

Kino Otok kolekcija poletje - jesen 2010

Tudi letošnja poletno-jesenska kolekcija majic Kino Otok izpod rok priznane otoške oblikovalke Maje Rebov navduši z barvitimi potiski in izjemno funkcionalnostjo.

Nova kolekcija se namreč enako dobro nosi tako ob bolj svečanih filmskih priložnostih kot tudi na sproščenem sprehodu ob obali. Pristaja vsem postavam, ženskam in moškim. Barvni spekter temelji na modri in rdeči, ki ju začini bela, zelena, svetlo modra in rumena barva.

Kolekcijo sta posebej za bralce bloga predstavila modela Kina Otok, fotografiranje pa je potekalo v avtentičnem okolju filmskega festivala.

Majice bodo med festivalom na voljo v Galeriji Alga, v Kulturnem domu Izola in na Manziolijevem trgu po "only-for-you-my-friend" ceni 10 €.

Foto: Dino Škorja Jugovac

Letošnji Kino Otok prinaša golobica

Lanskoletno podmornico, polno malih ribic, je letos zamenjala sončna golobica. Osrednja podoba letošnjega festivala tako temelji na simbolu Izole, mesta, ki že šesto leto pod okrilje jemlje Kino Otok.

Stara izolska legenda pripoveduje:

''Pisalo se je leto 1380, ko so se obali mesta Izole približevale sovražne ladje genovske vojske. Ladje so se z naglico približevale mestu, zato so se prestrašeni prebivalci zatekli k Sv. Mavru. Po legendi naj bi svetnik njihove prošnje uslišal in nad mesto poslal meglo in belo golobico. S tem je dosegel, da je megla popolnoma prekrila obalo in mesto in tako sovražne ladje odvrnila od napada. Golobica pa jih je povedla, namesto v pristanišče, na odprto morje in Izola ter njeni prebivalci so bili rešeni. Golobica se je vrnila na kopno, v kljunčku je držala oljčno vejico v znak miru in svobode.''

Golobica Kina Otok pa v Izolo prinaša odlične filme, ki bodo poskrbeli, da bo tudi 6. edicija Kina Otoka legendarna.