If all you know of cats is what you see on Facebook, you will be amazed by Kedi. If what you know about cats comes from your resident feline, you will be soothed and assured by Kedi. This documentary explores the world of cats in Istanbul, where they reign and roam.

Director Ceyda Torun wanted to show the humanity behind the people of Istanbul, and the best way she found to do so was to concentrate on the cats they care for. So she introduces seven cats: Among them, Bengü is a lover; Sari hustles for food for her babies; Psychopath fights off other cats, including any flirting with her "husband"; and Aslan is the hunter.

One velvety grey cat will not enter the bakery but paws the window to express hunger. Another lovely cat leaps into a woman's first-floor apartment house from the crotch of a tree, eats, looks around, and leaps back out. One man, who had a breakdown, found mental health by caring for cats; another woman whomps up great pans of food and feeds more.

This is the way it's been for years, with the inhabitants feeding the cats, petting the ones who will allow it, grooming them, and medicating them. What no one seems to do is castrate or spay them, for there are kittens everywhere. Yes, they're cute, but a lot of them have to die in the streets of Istanbul of hunger or traffic. Once, Istanbul offered green spaces for cats to hunt and loll, but with development there are few places for the cats to find nature. That means that the people of Istanbul must care for these creatures.

Torun's cameras sneak into a rat hole or under tables to follow the cats. She captures their faces, from eyes to whiskers to brick red noses. But she also shoots the city from on high, creating some amazingly beautiful cityscapes. More than anything, she captures the community of cat lovers whose philosophy is to love their feline neighbors as themselves.

 

 

The plot summary promises a hard-hitting indictment of Joseph Stalin's intentionally engineered and cruelly perpetrated famine designed to eradicate Ukrainians. Set in the early 1930s, Bitter Harvest has its political ideology on the right track, but its pervasive, simplistic, romantic perspective undermines every dramatic point. Regrettably, director George Mendeluk's story, though drawn from history, lacks any subtlety or complexity.

The film begins in an idyllic rural Ukrainian community with the artist Yuri the focus and in love with Natalka. After Soviet troops invade with dire consequences for the peasants, Yuri travels to Kiev with several lessons in Stalin's brutality paraded during the journey and once arrived in the city. As events proceed, the entire, rural Ukrainian community will be catastrophically impacted, but insightful, complex details are entirely absent.

The cast could certainly handle a more challenging narrative. Led by Max Irons as Yuri and Samantha Barks as Natalka, it also includes Terence Stamp and Barry Pepper. But the good guys might as well wear white hats, so admirable are they, and the villains could have black hats so malicious are their actions, all presented with heavy-handed monotony, the music included. The cinematography is Hallmark Hall of Fame style picturesque, the lighting melodramatic, and the art direction serviceable. This is old school, uninspired filmmaking.

That's particularly disappointing since the topic resonates with today's continuing Ukrainian conflict, but Bitter Harvest fails to explore the complex dimensions of the tragedy. It does remind us of Stalin's Holodomor, that is, death by starvation, the purposeful, merciless 1932 to 1933 famine. Archives revealed details after the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991; in 2003 a U.N. statement, signed by Russia, acknowledged between seven and ten million Ukrainians died. To this day, Russia disputes the ethnic genocide allegation.

Nevertheless, in Bitter Harvest the merciless actions are clear, the effect indisputable. This monumental "crime against humanity," as asserted in 2008 by the European Parliament, deserves a more careful and nuanced presentation. Check area listings.

 

 

Elliptical and elusive, Dark Night offers vignettes of five individuals' lives over the course of a day. They will enter a movie theater, never, we know from opening shots, to leave alive. Writer/director Tim Sutton's dramatization explicitly alludes to the 2012 Aurora, Colorado, massacre and imagines also the shooter's day, though we're not sure of his identity early on.   

The title Dark Night fits that tragic evening and also reminds us that "The Dark Knight Rises" was showing at the Colorado multiplex where twelve people were murdered and 70 wounded. A briefly glimpsed television screen further solidifies that connection with commentary about the mental evaluation of James Holmes at trial. It's chilling, added to the opening shot of red and blue police lights reflected on the close-up of an eye with a stunned woman sitting on a curb. We've seen the end before the lead up to it.  

Stylistically, the film is reminiscent of director Gus Van Sant's Elephant on the Columbine massacre, though Dark Night mercifully does not include any graphic footage of the killings. Rather, Sutton shows the routine events of an ordinary day that culminates in what should be a pleasurable escape to the cinema. The young men and women share little more than that unfortunate connection.

Throughout the vignettes, Sutton minimizes dialogue, relying on visuals to chronicle this fateful day's events. The camera tracks with individuals or watches from a distance, the women regrettably, but accurately for our culture, sexualized. A sense of dread builds with the day's natural, sunny beauty shattered by the pervasive violence in video games, at target ranges, and in angry fantasies. And it is not just the killer participating in this widespread, oppressive gun culture defined by an ambiance that often feels alienating.

Of note, Maica Armata's haunting music plays during the introduction, skateboarding, bicycling, a woman lounging in a swimming pool, the murderer trying on masks and other events. Dark Night screens at Webster University's Winifred Moore auditorium Friday, March 3 through Sunday, March 5 at 7:30 each evening. 

 

Dutch writer/director Michael Dudok de Wit has become the first European animator selected by Japan's Studio Ghibli to be the talent creating their feature The Red Turtle. Dudok de Wit is an inspired, wise choice. He understands the appeal of simplicity and the power of understatement, the more Eastern aesthetic of less suggesting more. 

This is certainly the case with The Red Turtle, which includes no dialogue, and yet it speaks quite eloquently about human and animal nature and natural elements. The situation is simple: a storm deposits a man on a desert island, a castaway scenario. Using resources from the bamboo forest that covers the island, the man repeatedly builds rafts, increasingly better ones, to attempt an escape, only to have the title turtle confront him with other ideas. I'll reveal no more as unexpected events follow in this rich, symbol-laden fable. 

Dudok de Wit has written that he "hoped to convey my deep love for nature: for the beauty of light and shadow, the special ambience of warm nights and rainy forests, and the naturalness of death and birth." Adding an emphatic emotional element, composer Laurent Perez del Mar's score never intrudes disagreeably on events though it magnificently interprets them.

Studio Ghibli is justifiably famous among those of us who love elegant animation on serious topics, among them My Neighbor Totoro, Grave of the Fireflies, Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, Howl's Moving Castle, and Ponyo. I could go on so beloved are these films from 1986 on. Dudok de Wit works wholly within the Ghibli style, preferring, as quoted in The New York Times, "films that are monochromatic. It gives a purity and simplicity to the image," a complement to the minimalistic line drawings that nevertheless express realistic movement. This is a film to relax into, to enter as in a dream, and to relish for hours and days afterward.

Two and a half years in production, The Red Turtle was well worth the wait. Winner of the Special Prize in last year's Cannes International Film Festival's Un Certain Regard section and an Academy Award nominee for Best Animated Feature Film, The Red Turtle is playing at Landmark's Tivoli Theatre.

 

 

Revisiting tragedies requires a sensitive, humane touch. When the revisited horror is the December 14, 2012 Sandy Hook Elementary School murder of twenty elementary school children and six adults, the undertaking poses huge obstacles. In her documentary Newtown, Kim A. Snyder manages this Herculean task through present-day interviews with many directly affected. It is both uplifting and heartbreaking.    

We know the statistics: twenty-year-old Adam Lanza (his name never spoken) fired 154 rounds from his XM-15 rifle. He had driven to Sandy Hook after shooting and killing his mother in their home. After emptying multiple assault type bullet magazines, Lanza killed himself. What Newtown the film presents is the enduring effects that, understandably, will nominally, if ever, fade. 

Snyder begins with footage from breaking news reports followed by a series of poignant remembrances from parents, brothers and sisters, classmates, neighbors, teachers, the school custodian, library clerk, nurse, state troopers and first responders. Each adds a deeply moving, honest description of their immediate and everlasting pain. Later in the film Snyder interweaves brief crime scene footage from Lanza's house, clips from Congressional task force hearings on gun violence, Obama's condolences with the comfort he offers, and several families lobbying Congress for gun control legislation. They come away appalled by the lack of action. 

Throughout the documentary individuals often speak directly and calmly to the camera, their words expressing their deepest agony. Music doesn't intrude; none is necessary while the beauty of the Connecticut area contrasts with the enveloping grief. Events and comments that conclude the film are uplifting and a tribute to the community.

Humanely, quietly, profoundly, Snyder honors those killed and those coping and helps us understand. Newtown screens at Webster University's Winifred Moore auditorium Friday, February 24 through Sunday, February 26 at 7:30 each evening.

 

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