Category: reviews

my review: conclave

so about the film ‘conclave,’ which is generating oscar buzz. i was excited to see it when it came out because of the cast – ralph fiennes, isabella rossellini, stanley tucci, john lithgow – all actors i like. the setting of the film is interesting. most of the action happens during a conclave – an assembly of cardinals who self-segregate until they’ve appointed a new pope. remember the smoke rising from the sistine chapel, signaling that the next pope has been elected? that selection comes out of a conclave.

as i’m watching the film, i’m thinking to myself how wonderful it is to see this thriller with these masterful actors set in a completely different context, constructed with meticulous replicas of the vatican and full of elaborate costumes and rituals. v catholic of course.

towards the end of the film, there is an explosion in the midst of the conclave. there’s a hole in the building where the voting is taking place, with debris and pulverized dust everywhere. the camera begins to shoot at an angle, ralph fiennes is hurt, we feel disoriented.

my first thought is: it’s a dream. fiennes is under stress so he’s imagining the end of days. no such luck. this is actually happening. we soon find out that this is a terrorist attack – a suicide bombing to be more exact – which triggers a disgusting islamophobic rant from one of the cardinals: “we can never work with muslims, they are animals.”

at this point i say to myself: “this can’t be. they will probably reveal that the attack was the work of some christian sect or extremist group. they’ll flip it.” nope. the bombing is immediately assumed to be a muslim thing and that gut reaction is proven to be right.

now i’m thinking: “there will be strong pushback, this cannot be allowed to pass.” in fact, there is some pushback by one of the cardinals, but it’s not political. it’s simply meaningless generalities about not hating anyone (even suicide bombers).

for a film about catholics, taking place in the vatican, where the central theme is the election of a pope, this bit of last minute anti-muslim racism is so arbitrary. or is it? in the midst of a live streamed genocide of mostly muslim people, with propaganda deployed to invert reality and turn the killers into victims, perhaps every film that comes out has to fulfill a certain quota of islamophobia, even if it’s a side story randomly added at the end. my husband and i paid $20 per person to see this bs at a movie theater. it’s hard to tell what’s what when we are picking films. there are racist traps embedded in every bit of western culture.

Elizabeth Catlett’s work at the Brooklyn Museum

A couple of weeks ago I saw Elizabeth Catlett’s work at the Brooklyn Museum. I had already seen ‘Target’ as part of the exhibition ‘We Wanted a Revolution: Black Radical Women, 1965–85’ in Buffalo, in 2018. It’s a beautiful bronze bust of a Black man, his distinguished face seen through the crosshairs of a rifle scope made of metal and drilled roughly into the wood block that holds the sculpture. Fierce.

‘Elizabeth Catlett (1915-2012) was an avowed feminist, a lifelong activist, and an astutely observant artist. Spanning 75 years of diverse production, Catlett’s career was guided by her bold creative artistry, rigorous practice, and deep commitment to social justice and political activism.’

The first thing one sees in Brooklyn, as one enters the exhibition, is an exquisite terra cotta sculpture of a woman’s head. I was completely overcome by the delicate beauty of the piece.

In 1946, Catlett moved to Mexico as a guest artist at the printmaking collective, Taller de Grafica Popular. It was in Mexico City that she learned the terra cotta technique she later employed in her work (building a hollow shape from coils of clay) from the artist Francisco Zuniga. This indigenous technique, which allows the gentle definition of features, was in use long before the Spanish invaded and colonized. ‘Tired’ which depicts a physically depleted Black woman claiming a moment of respite and ‘Mother and Child,’ a smaller piece which brims with tenderness and the sense of safety we should all be allowed to feel in our parent’s arms, are stunning. The mother’s muscular legs seem to be rooted in the soil beneath her and reminded me of Soviet monuments and Diego Rivera’s murals.

‘While ultimately becoming a Mexican citizen, Catlett never lost sight of the Black liberation struggle in the United States. She embraced a political radicalism that merged the goals of the Black Left in the United States with the lessons of the Mexican Revolution and international feminist movements. Her transnational identity fueled a critical understanding that Black Americans and Mexicans were linked with other oppressed people around the world in a struggle against poverty, racism, and imperialism. As a result, she developed a rich visual language through which she articulated her solidarity politics across various media.’

Her sketches, lithographs, woodcuts, lino prints, watercolors, and sculptures bridge the gap between aesthetics and politics.

Catlett’s work will be on display at the Brooklyn Museum until Jan 19, 2025.

one day in nyc

was in nyc for just one day but got to see ‘walden’ with emmy rossum at the second stage theater, had dinner with arseniy (a dear friend from back home in rochester), spent time with my daughter, walked around battery park, and had palestinian food at ayat (the new location in manhattan) where the muhammarah is simply out of this world. walden is a play about the future, a time when climate catastrophe is being used as an excuse to colonize other planets and EAs (earth advocates) are seen as these bizarre people who continue to be invested in planet earth, oppose colonization and the destruction of indigenous life, suspect technology, stay away from screens, and are committed as a community to reducing their carbon footprint. there is a love triangle in the forefront of the story but the backdrop is hyper pertinent. out of all the emotions i felt throughout the play, the one that hit me hardest was when we witness some kind of dangerous geomagnetic storm that can damage humans, animals and plants. it felt too close. it was frightening.

Recognizing the Stranger: On Palestine and Narrative by Isabella Hammad

Last night I finished reading Isabella Hammad’s Recognizing the Stranger: On Palestine and Narrative.

The first section of the book is based on her speech for the Edward Said Memorial Lecture at Columbia University in September 2023. It’s a speech that’s remarkably erudite, as Rashid Khalidi has said, with references to the work of Edward Said of course but also Aristotle, Freud, Kanafani, Wynter, Lindqvist, Darwish, Ferrante and many more. The tone is calm, analytical, cerebral. I felt immense joy reading it for I was privy to an extraordinary process of sculpting with words, carving ideas and connections ever so gently until a flawless shape is achieved.

From Between the Covers Podcast: ‘[Hammad] looks at the middle of narratives, at turning points, recognition scenes and epiphanies; which explores the intersection of aesthetics and ethics, words and actions, and the role of the writer in the political sphere; and which complicates the relationship between self and other, the familiar and the stranger.’

Certain paragraphs brought tears to my eyes, as there was a shock of recognition. For example this: ‘Rather than recognizing the stranger as familiar, and bringing a story to its close, Said asks us to recognize the familiar as stranger. He gestures at a way to dismantle the consoling fictions of fixed identity, which make it easier to herd into groups. This might be easier said than done, but it’s provocative—it points out how many narratives of self, when applied to a nation-state, might one day harden into self-centered intolerance. Narrative shape can comfort and guide our efforts, but we must eventually be ready to shape-shift, to be decentered, when the light of an other appears on the horizon in the project of human freedom, which remains undone.’

The speech was delivered a few days before October 7th, before the genocide. Earlier this year, in January 2024, Hammad wrote an afterword to the speech, which occupies a third of the book. The style of writing has changed, it’s now direct, urgent, political, based on numbers and dates. It’s full of questions. She sees the proximity of humanism to European colonialism and colonial violence. It’s as if Hammad has reached her own turning point, her own scene of recognition. I was choked with emotion as I read the last part of the book, I took many notes so I could re-read paragraphs like this:

‘In his essay on Shatila, [Jean] Genet speaks extensively of the beauty of the Palestinians, who remind him of the beauty of the Algerians when they rose against the French. He describes it as “a laughing insolence goaded by past unhappiness, systems and men responsible for unhappiness and shame, above all a laughing insolence which realizes that, freed of shame, growth is easy.” The Palestinians in Gaza are beautiful. The way they care for each other in the face of death puts the rest of us to shame. Wael Dahdouh, the Al Jazeera journalist who, when his family members were killed, kept on speaking to camera, stated recently with a calm and miraculous grace: “One day this war will stop, and those of us who remain will return and rebuild, and live again in these houses.”’

More Whitney Biennial

3 more artists from the Whitney Biennial that I loved. The last artist in particular has truly moved me to think about our current apocalyptic times in a different way by subverting colonial language and the limited, dismal visions it embodies.

Kiyan Williams, born 1991 in Newark, NJ: In Williams’s outdoor sculpture Ruins of Empire /I or The Earth Swallows the Master’s House, the north facade of the White House, which is composed of earth, leans on one side and sinks into the floor… The labor history embedded in the dirt points to a fragility in our political foundations, while the earth’s erosion embodies a critique of institutionality at a moment when institutions are toppling.

Rose B. Simpson, born 1983, Santa Fe, NM: In Rose B. Simpson’s Daughters: Reverence, four figures gaze at one another, creating a kind of force field of protection and solidarity that stands in contrast to an unstable world. “My lifework,” Simpson has explained, “is a seeking out of tools to use to heal the damages I have experienced as a human being of our postmodern and postcolonial era-objectification, stereotyping, and the disempowering detachment of our creative selves through the ease of modern technology.”

Demian Diné Yazhi’, born 1983 in Gallup, NM, we must stop imagining apocalypse/genocide + we must imagine liberation, 2024: As a poet and activist, Dine Yazhi’ has thought about how to use a colonizer’s language against colonialism, noting that they “want to see more poetry at protests.” Written in red neon, the text in this work emerges from the artist’s reflections on Indigenous resistance movements. Diné Yazhi calls on people working toward liberation to avoid predicting futures rooted in a Euro-Western “romanticization and addiction with apocalypse,” speculating that accepting catastrophe as a given leads to “writing our own demise or prisons.” Instead, they advocate for writing stories of liberation, finding alternate ways to work through oppressive moments as a collective.

Whitney Biennial 2024

So I went to the Whitney Biennial in NY and what I liked most was the work of Indigenous/ Asian/ South American artists. Here are some examples

-Cannupa Hanska Luger born 1979, Standing Rock, ND: “This installation is not inverted… our current world is upside down.” For the artist, upending our grounding in time and space makes way for imagined futures free of colonialism and capitalism, where broader Indigenous knowledge can thrive.

-Takako Yamaguchi, born 1952 in Okayama, Japan: Her recent seascapes use meticulously rendered zigzags, tubes, and lines to suggest weather and other natural elements. They reflect Yamaguchi’s experimentation with what she calls “abstraction in reverse,” or taking recognizable forms, like clouds or waves, and abstracting them to the point of pattern.

-Clarissa Tossin, born 1973 in Porto Alegre, Brazil: Clarissa Tossin’s film appears alongside 3D-printed replicas of pre-Columbian Maya wind instruments. Tossin had the replicas made so that they could be played in the film, which traces the movement of Maya people and culture across multiple spaces and temporalities, real and imagined, cosmological and colonized. The fact that the ancient instruments are not available for use-isolated from their original context and kept behind glass in museum collections-can be seen as a distillation of the themes of dislocation and tradition that Tossin works to reconcile in the film. Featuring the Kiche ‘Kaqchiquel poet Rosa Chávez and the Ixil Maya artist Tohil Fidel Brito Bernal, the film looks at ways in which contemporary Maya culture is activated by means of both reclamation and re-creation.

More in next post :))

Return to Sender Review by Cathy Salibian

Cathy Salibian: ‘To me, that is the evocative edge of “Return to Sender.” Yes, it’s gratifying to see a current generation of South Asian women take back their images and stories. It’s even more illuminating—and unsettling—when I take or view a photograph, to ask myself: What is going on here? Who is the viewer, who is the viewed? What assumptions and power dynamics are encoded in this artifact? What is my role in all of this? This is how Ahmed invites participation in the living edge of history.’

Brilliant film review in the Beacon. Pls join us for a Rochester premiere and community discussion on May 4, 12pm, at the Cinema.

Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People

Went to see Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People at the Circle in the Square in NY last Sunday – a Broadway revival directed by Sam Gold, w Jeremy Strong and Michael Imperioli.

The stage is long and narrow, surrounded by audience members, lit by oil lamps, with various scenes taking place at different ends. It’s the late 1800s, we are in a Norwegian coastal town. The tone is set in the beginning, with actors singing Norwegian folk songs.

Jeremy Strong plays the protagonist, Dr Stockmann, w warmth and intensity. As my daughter said, the ensemble comes to life as soon as he steps on stage. He radiates sincerity.

The story is well-known. The economy and future of the town are intertwined with its recently opened Baths, which are meant to transform it into a health resort. Stockmann discovers that the waters are contaminated and his brother, the Mayor, goes to work doing everything he can to suppress his brother’s report and turn the townspeople against his “theories” which will destroy local businesses.

Stockmann is a typical Ibsen anti-hero – upright and courageous, yet also deeply flawed. There is a brief detour into eugenics and part of Stockmann’s crusade for the truth is activated by his arrogance, but Jeremy Strong endows him with vulnerability and earnestness, and breaks our hearts when the doctor is attacked and humiliated.

The parallels with our present reality cannot be overstated. As people are targeted, fired, silenced, and turned into pariahs for speaking the truth about settler colonialism and genocide in Palestine, we are seeing the same kind of crucifixions by ideological mobs.

I loved Strong’s performance in Succession, where he finessed his role into a complex Shakespearean character. Film is polished and controlled, whereas theater is raw, visceral, unfinished. Strong is absolutely brilliant. The end of the play is abrupt, and he was visibly shaken – still trying to sort his emotions as he took the final bow.

Amy Herzog’s adaptation is a seamless update of Ibsen’s language, a trimming down of the story and characters, and apt humor. After being pilloried by the townspeople, Stockmann thinks about moving to the US: “This could never happen in America.” Prolonged, raucous laughter from the audience.

Set design and direction are inventive, with a light touch. The town hall scene begins with a bar descending from the grid, serving Norwegian Linie with music by A-ha. Audience members gathered on stage to get drinks but then the actors appear and the town hall begins right in that setting. A fantastic crossing over of time and geography. This is what theater should be – unexpected, exhilarating, moving.

laurie anderson at mass moca

yesterday we spent the afternoon at mass moca (one of my favorite museums in the world). always so much to enjoy and absorb, but i will never forget TO THE MOON, a virtual reality experience by laurie anderson and hsin-chien huang.

“to the moon uses images and tropes from literature, science, science-fiction space movies, and politics to create an imaginary and dark new version of the moon. during the 15-min experience, the viewer is shot out from earth, walks on the surface of the moon, glides through space debris, flies through DNA skeletons, and is lifted up a lunar mountain.”

after i put on my headset, the walls around me began to fold and the floor started to disintegrate. it was a wtf kinda moment. soon i was in space with stars falling around me. i was able to fly to the moon by extending my arms which i could see in front of me, wearing a spacesuit. the seat i was in could pivot 360 degrees so i could look everywhere around me. my shadow (again clothed in a spacesuit) was below me, replicating all my movements as it would have in real life. on the moon i saw ancient sailing ships, dinosaurs, polar bears, and strands of numbers coming at me. at one point my arms turned into giant floppy plush snakes. later they became crystalline amalgamations of numbers. i decided to fly into a rock formation and liked how it shattered. debris hit my helmet, there was dust and the sound of breakage. towards the end of the 15 min, my body seemed to separate – the astronaut part of me peeled itself off and was now hurtling thru space. then laurie anderson’s voice in my ears:

“you know the reason I love the stars is because we can’t hurt them, we can’t burn them, we can’t melt them, we can’t make them overflow, we can’t flood them—so we keep reaching for them.”

if only that were also true of other human beings.

my review: killers of the flower moon

last night we watched ‘killers of the flower moon’ by martin scorsese at images cinema, a wonderful independent film theater in williamstown, massachusetts. it’s an important film about a piece of history that has been deliberately erased. it shows how european settler colonialism comes sheathed in duplicity and death and how indigenous peoples are constantly harmed and betrayed by the very systems they are asked to accept and integrate into. i couldn’t help but think of palestine and the genocidal bombing and starvation of its native population. the violence, pathological lies, greed and treachery we see in the film become an apt metaphor for colonialism itself. a powerful film, a nasty bit of american history. lily gladstone, who plays an osage woman in the film, is stunning.

my review: barbie movie

saw the barbie movie by greta gerwig today. full house with joyous applause at the end. here are some thoughts. the movie is trippy but doesn’t go all the way. it’s not ‘everything everywhere all at once’ by any means. there is some pseudo feminist talk, but the film’s not committed to it. it’s hard not to see the entire enterprise as a huge marketing ploy with staggering merch opportunities. i mean barbie is still being sold, so it’s not some kind of nostalgic look at or PC reframing of the past. the film is hilarious in parts (thank u ryan gosling and kate mckinnon) but also awkwardly ennuyeux and disconnected. for example, we could have done without the mattel storyline entirely (what a waste of will ferell’s talents). enjoyed america ferrera and hope to see her more, in leading roles.

my review: cold war

cold war is based on pawel pawlikowski’s own parents and their stormy relationship. in fact, the main characters have the same names as his mother and father.

the narrative of the film is polished, airtight, condensed — scenes are whittled down to their essence. for example, much of what happens to zula and wiktor when they’re apart remains off camera and is cut out of the film.

it is a fleeting, repeatedly interrupted romance that collides against broader political agitation. the lovers have to constantly move across borders, across the iron curtain itself, to be with each other. everything feels delicate and risky, close to imploding.
although the political conflicts that push the two lovers together and then apart, are squeezed out of the frame, their presence is felt strongly. there is constant dialogue between the story and the geopolitical changes that surround it.

music too enfolds them, brings them together, separates them, and evolves over time with them.

the film’s cinematography is stunning – a shimmering black and white, the contrast so rich that the black in the footage feels like velvet. the characters seem to push against this purity.

the boxy, 4:3 aspect ratio, might be a tribute to older films and a bygone historical era, but it also produces a sense of enclosure.

the love story at the center of the film is shaped by passion, insecurity and disappointment. when both characters meet in paris, one would have thought that all their problems would be solved. but i liked how we see a different side of immigration — the difficulty of leaving home and losing a part of oneself.

we witness a more nuanced difference between communism and individualism. in paris, wiktor has to master the art of commerce, selling and branding, whereas in communist poland, it’s more about ingratiating and appeasing people in power.
in spite of the film’s tight narrative control, it is open to interpretation. although it’s rooted in ideas about art, truth, love and politics, these themes are mostly suggested. they are not clarified or resolved. it’s almost like the film is some kind of gorgeously tragic metaphor.

my review: un coeur en hiver

how to describe ‘un coeur en hiver’? it’s an elegant film about a love triangle and although it is filled with wonderful music (ravel and debussy) it is not a spectacle of swelling passions. rather it takes its cue from western classical music, unfolding within a balanced composition, with organization and sangfroid. perhaps it emulates stephane, the enigmatic character at the heart of the film, played beautifully by daniel auteuil. an instrument maker who excels at delicate, complex work, he is reticent and ambivalent. perhaps this is what attracts camille, a gifted violinist who is dating stephane’s business partner maxime. not only do they both seem to express their emotions through their work, but she also desires his professional approval.

when camille gathers the courage to articulate her feelings, stephane rejects her. he tells her about his manipulative seduction which was meant to get back at maxime. stephane’s description of his relationship with maxime is surprising. it seems to be a substanceless, symbiotic partnership that he refuses to call friendship.

stephane’s words are hard to believe. perhaps he is also lying to himself. when he visits the apartment maxime and camille plan to share together, he is visibly shaken. therefore, a cold premeditated ploy seems unlikely.

there are many ways to understand stephane’s rebuff. did camille disturb the perfect synchronization between him and maxime? was stephane wary of disturbing the equilibrium in his own life, arranged meticulously like the furniture and tools in his workshop? or does he find it impossible to make a decision? his willpower at the end of the film, when he performs a difficult but compassionate act, seems to belie such passivity or indecision.

in some interviews, the director, claude sautet, has compared stephane to iago (the famous antagonist in shakespeare’s othello). but that comparison does not ring true. stephane is hardly a psychopath. just un coeur en hiver.

my review: taste of cherry

rewatched abbas kiarostami’s ‘taste of cherry’ after many years and enjoyed it much more this time. the premise of the film is a bit absurd and persnickety, but it should be understood as a folktale rather than a precise representation of reality. i was mesmerized by the conversations between mr badii (the main character) and the passengers in his car, who all react differently to mr badii’s appeal. each character is played to perfection: the nervous young soldier, the seminarist who relies on religious texts for steadiness, and finally the older taxidermist (the film’s most richly sketched character) who radiates compassion and uses his own life along with poetry, song and humor to change mr badii’s mind. he’s the only one who accepts mr badii’s unusual (ungodly?) request.

kiarostami chooses to focus on the periphery rather than on what is at the center. the soldier is a kurd and mr badii reminds him of kurdish strength and resilience in the face of persecution. the seminarist is an afghan refugee who talks about war and dislocation. finally, the taxidermist is an azarbaijani turk. all minorities. all on the margins, not at the center of society. a subtle way to provide political context and address issues that would otherwise be censored.

the film is shot in the outskirts of tehran where there is new construction. we are constantly immersed (buried?) in the dust and noise produced by bulldozers and dump trucks. we are on the outside (where everything shifts and is unsettled), not in the innermost sanctum of the city.

kiarostami’s enthusiasm for cars is on display, much like in ‘ten,’ ‘certified copy’ and the ‘kokar trilogy.’ there is something intimate about placing the camera inside a car.

the end of the film is genius. it reminded me of cezanne — his use of thick brushstrokes and flat shapes, his reinvention of perspective, the unpainted corners and pencil outlines in his work, all make the tools of his trade visible. similarly, kiarostami reveals himself, his film crew, and the cameras, shotgun mics, boom poles, and megaphones which make filmmaking possible. it allows us to take a step back and hope for a more cheerful ending to ‘taste of cherry.’