By Elisabeth Granzow

By Christina Schultz

Jan Henrik Stahlberg’s Fikkefuchs, released in Germany in November of 2017, did not make a lot of money at the box office, nor did it gain a lot of attention. Perhaps because it was overshadowed by the blockbuster German comedy Fack ju Göhte 3, released three weeks prior on October 26, 2017, and other big studio pictures. Or perhaps because the topic just doesn’t seem that interesting: a fallen, albeit self-proclaimed, sex God finds out he has a son and the two form an odd relationship while they embark on a quest to get chicks. It gets better, though. The 50s-something father, Richard “Rocky” Ockers (played by none other than director Stahlberg himself), is a misogynist and his son shows that the apple, his son Thorben (whom he calls Thorsten, which hilariously highlights Rocky's stubborn ignorance), not only doesn’t fall far from the proverbial tree, but that it has taken root and grown into an even bigger, more misogynistic tree. The son winds up in a psychiatry clinic for sexually assaulting a cashier at a grocery store. Whereas the father once could charm his way into women’s pants, or so he claims, the son has not an ounce of charm and in his delusion thinks all women are DTF.

By Marina Brafa

The stakes are high: In the third edition of their introduction to film history, Kristin Thompson and David ​Bordwell promise no less than an overview about dates, names and developments in the history of film not only in the U.S. but worldwide. How can a book possibly cover such an amount of information? Indeed, the volume contains close to 800 pages with only a few stills or illustrations and the authors provide a flood of facts. Fortunately, they do so in a very structured way so that it is easy to follow their argumentation. Basically, Thompson and Bordwell assume and admit that several inventions and events took place more or less simultaneously worldwide and that one has to consider continuities as well as differences between times and spaces. They come to the conclusion that most occurrences are somehow related. This conclusion is a common thread throughout the rest of their book.  

The book is divided in six parts, each covering a certain time period, e.g. Part Two: The Late Silent Era 1919-1929, or Part Five: The Contemporary Cinema Since the 1960s. They chose the periods wisely as the starting points of each are marked by a turning point. However, the authors do not suggest that movements, techniques etc. introduced in one era would stop existing in another but show how they might have been changed, replaced or continued to exist.

Each large chapter is subdivided into smaller ones that focus on specific topics or national cinemas. This structure helps to clearly connect or contrast developments in the film industries on a national or international level. For instance, writing about the era of early cinema - when “cinema” still had to be defined - the authors manage to capture the many relations between technical innovation, audience demand and business foundations in the U.S., France or England. Often, the competition among production companies would force them to be more innovative than others or would cause them to work together on certain areas whilst cutting each other out of other markets. Moreover, Thompson and Bordwell point out decisions that persist in today’s cinema such as editing standards and take a brief look at film markets outside the U.S. or Europe, e.g. early cinema in Japan.

Each chapter introduces not only historical facts and developments but also film terminology that emerged along with technical inventions or events in film history, thus contextualizing and historicizing specific terms that are still of importance in today’s film production. How and why did the “shot/reverse shot” standard form? Where does the word “nickelodeon” stem from? The answers can be found in the book as well as many more explanations of – nowadays - common cinema terminology.

Finally, the book is accessible for film scholars and newbies because of its practical nature. Thompson and Bordwell’s language is concrete and developments and events are never isolated but incorporated into a bigger picture of film industry. Drawing on movies from each era and the people “behind” the stories and history of film, the abstract subject is personalized and thus rendered more traceable and understandable, especially to people without much or any previous knowledge.

However, the authors could have problematized national cinemas from a race and gender point of view in each of the chapters to raise awareness of such questions, especially for a non-academic audience. The book definitely lacks a conscious discussion of important theories from gender studies, queer studies and postcolonial studies in film. This could be addressed in a further edition of the book.

Still, Film History: An Introduction is worth having on your bookshelf or to use in your classroom. It would be impossible to to memorize all the facts and figures provided in this book. The book can serve as an encyclopedia of quick information about a certain type or era of cinema, and it is a relatively short, easy-to-read insight into a comprehensive subject. And most importantly, it makes readers understand that no development is an island! 

The Romanian-Czech-Bulgarian-French co-production - with actors and laypersons that hail from Great Britain and Australia - was filmed in English with occasional German. It is an appropriately global film in today’s day and age. In 2013, Călin Peter Netzer was the first Romanian director to the win the Golden Bear with Child’s Pose/Poziția Copilului.

People dressed in white sit across from one another in a white room; at the edge of the room, people dressed in black crouch on the floor. A calm, solemn voice gives the people dressed in white instructions on how to touch each other. The people dressed in black sitting on the floor observe. The focus is on a bald-headed young man (Tómas Lemarquis); he is supposed to touch his partner’s face, a young man with long hair (Christian Bayerlein) who cannot move his arms or legs. As the camera gradually reveals his [partner’s] face with beaming, expectant eyes, the hint of a smile, protruding teeth and traces of drool, the viewer is embarrassed by this indiscretion. Tomas carefully follows the instructions and only later can we see him oppressed by this burden. The face is too intimate for him to let someone get close, but that is exactly what this film is about.

​The director researched physical intimacy over the course of seven years. One of the main characters, Laura Benson, a woman in her mid-fifties, does not allow anyone to get close to her and tries to overcome this in various ways: in therapy sessions; with a call boy whom she watches masturbate; and with Hanna, a transvestite and music lover. At the same time she visits a person in need of care (possibly her father), and her austere look betrays that this is hard for her to deal with. In the second narrative thread, the bald Tomas explains how he lost his hair at the age of 13 and how his life changed. At one point in the film, he lands in a BDSM club where he meets another character who is not averse to unusual sex practices. The most thoughtful statements are made by the disabled Christian, who does not like to be called by his name, as he speaks openly and candidly about his shortcomings, but also about his fulfilling sex life with Grit, putting many an able-bodied person to shame by being thankful for his body.

Reflected in an awkwardly mounted glass in front of the camera, the questioning director appears every now and then and thematizes the creative process on a meta level in which she speaks with an absent person (her husband?). One time she is pushed in front of the camera by the main actress, and, close to tears, reveals her fragility. Thus she opens up her innermost self, just as she demands of her characters. The tangibly close, deeply human subject moves the viewer, especially because it is portrayed so bluntly but without compromising the characters and one is unsure whether it is scripted fiction or reality. Nevertheless, based on the director’s interventions alone, it is clearly an art film.

Audio tracks consisting partially of screams or loud music tracks underline the severity and seriousness of the film. I wonder if the film would have benefitted from a bit more humor. Instead there are some involuntary funny scenes. The film is still worth watching, not least because it sounds out the border between normalcy and the unconscious mind and gets one to think.
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Link to Edith Ottschofski’s original text in German:
https://www.siebenbuerger.de/zeitung/artikel/kultur/18601-greifbar-nah-film-der-rumaenischen.html

By Christina Schultz

If you think it’s hard being a woman, try being a prepubescent teenager who can’t decide whether they - not he or she, the semantics are important here - even want to become a woman or not. That is precisely what director and writer Anahita Ghazvinizadeh’s film They wants us to witness: “their” decision process, or more accurately indecision process, on deciding which gender to become. And this is where the film might disappoint those who expect a traditional resolution. In the end, we don’t know what they decide.

“They” goes by the name J, played by Rhys Fehrenbacher, a gender non-conforming 14-year-old assigned female at birth. Rhys, however, was born male and identifies as transgender. Like his character, Rhys was going through identity-postponement at the time the film was being made. Similarities and differences between J and Rhys aside, Rhys’ performance of J is excellent, capturing a shyness, delicateness and vulnerability totally fitting with the film’s overall theme of indecision, as if J’s introversion is somehow linked to the fact they don’t know who they are. J seems to get lost in the shuffle quite often throughout the 90 minute story, perhaps because of their indecision. We often see J in the garden tending to plants, quietly fixing technical issues (like pinning up a young boy’s outfit or fitting an iPhone into a projector) or hiding in the shed keeping tabs on how they feel that day: B - G - ? The hormone blockers, non-FDA approved by the way, are giving J more time to decide. The monthly tallies of Bs, Gs and ?s, when the camera offers us a glimpse of them, do not reveal a clear-cut answer. J tells her older sister Lauren something that perfectly captures their dilemma: “I wish I could remain a child.” Then J could avoid making the decision, which society might see as an act of resistance (by denying the very core of our heteronormative society), albeit a quiet one. This indecision, suspension, postponing of becoming an adult unfortunately has no easy solution, and the film’s ending highlights this fact.

But J isn’t the only one with a big decision ahead of them in the film that remains unresolved. Lauren, played by Nicole Coffineau, is the polar opposite of J. Extroverted, artistically-inclined, decidedly female and in a heterosexual relationship. She has to decide whether or not to take a job assignment in another city. Lauren’s Iranian boyfriend Araz, played by Koohyar Hosseini, inevitably steals the show. He is a ray of humor in an otherwise somber and slow-moving film. He and his family, who live in the suburbs of Chicago, are lively, loud, chaotic and speak a dizzying mix of English and Persian. Araz, we learn at a family get together, has visa troubles and must decide whether to move back to Iran or marry Lauren, which is now problematic if she takes the job. This is the point when J, referred to as “Lauren’s brother” in the Iranian household, is almost forgotten. At first I saw this as a weakness of the film, but when one considers the theme of indecision it all falls into place. J is always around, observing, helping, thinking, even if they are not always the center of attention.

As if the three main characters and their (in)decisions were not enough, Ghazvinizadeh adds another, subtler reminder of the theme. J and Lauren’s aunt suffers from dementia and there is uncertainty about the aunt’s health and future. In other words, we briefly meet another character who is in a state of arrested development.

Not only is Ghazvinizadeh’s thematic choice inspired by Robert Bresson’s idea of fragmentation and ellipsis, ambiguity and the undefinable, but also her camerawork, which I found skilled and diverse. She uses a number of mediated shots with images reflected in glass doors or the spectator looking through windows at the action. There are also static shots and close ups on flowers, J’s list or, my personal favorite, of J’s dirty knees from the garden. We have tracking shots of J from behind, which focuses on their alabaster neck and further highlights their vulnerability. We even see shots of computer screens when Lauren and Araz conduct Skype calls.

They is ultimately an intimate story about searching for yourself. In the end, we are reminded it is not always easy. The likeable characters and appealing visuals make up for the, for some, frustrating lack of resolution. What is important is that you have a loving family who will support you for who you are, no matter what you decide.

Recommended Viewing:
Diane Ehrensaft, PhD, clinical psychologist explains transgender vs gender-nonconforming in this video: 
​https://www.kidsinthehouse.com/teenager/sexuality/transgender/transgender-vs-gender-nonconforming
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[Note: much of the information in this review was gathered by the author during a post-film discussion with director Anahita Ghazvinizadeh; the photos were also taken by the author during the discussion]

By Elisabeth Granzow

At first glance, One Day at a Time (2017-) seems like a typical, easily forgettable sitcom. It makes use of the good old live-audience-trope of the traditional sitcom genre, which is often connected to pure escapist television by cueing the viewer to laugh. However, after binge-watching the two seasons of the Netflix comedy, I realized that One Day is a hidden, thought-provoking gem, not only within the sitcom genre, but in the whole television landscape. The comedy is created by Gloria Calderon Kellet and Mike Royce and presents nuanced and complex representations of race, gender, sexuality and class with lovable characters and heartwarming storylines. One Day accomplishes so many things, which makes it worthwhile for broad audiences despite it being hidden within Netflix’ extensive list of programs.  

Over the past few decades, half-hour comedies have been more experimental in style and content by portraying diverse topics such as race, gender and sexuality. One reason for this shift lies in the diversification of the television market, which now also includes popular streaming services and their original content, such as Netflix, Hulu and Amazon Prime. These programs are often popular with critics and less dependent on ratings and a mass audience than mainstream network sitcoms. Therefore, these formats are considered niche programs that target more specific demographics and do not have the pressure of appealing to everyone. One Day falls into the category of a niche program, since it is part of the vast selection of original content by Netflix. The streaming service just recently released the second season of One Day, which has received widespread acclaim from critics and audiences.

The show about a Cuban-American family includes a range of current topics, such as PTSD, depression, immigration and racism. What I found most astonishing about this series, however, is that it combines urgent political commentary with the very traditional format of the mainstream family sitcom. One Day is filmed in front of a live audience and incorporates the laughter and reactions of the enthusiastic viewers in the studio. Most of the scenes take place in the living room of the family and are shot with a three-camera set-up. Thus, One Day is reminiscent of the more traditional mainstream network sitcoms. In addition, it is actually a remake of the popular sitcom with the same name (1975-1984) by Norman Lear, who is also a producer of the new One Day. It is surprising to find this format on Netflix rather than a network channel. The more acclaimed network sitcoms like Modern Family and Black-ish (both on ABC) stylistically diverged from these traditions by using the “mockumentary” style or voice-over narration. One Day, on the other hand, uses typical, seemingly outdated, sitcom conventions, which are usually linked to low-brow entertainment and escapist TV, which is considered to lack political or societal value.

However, I would argue that One Day is more successful and complex in political commentary than the stylistically more experimental sitcoms on the mainstream networks such as Black-ish or Fresh Off the Boat (also on ABC). The majority of the mainstream family sitcoms are still traditional and conservative in their content, representing the norms of American society and families, such as the nuclear middle-class family with the father as the head of the household and breadwinner. Some of these shows present non-white families and might discuss racial identities as in the sitcoms mentioned above. Yet, their race is often the only thing that sets them apart from the other white middle class families prominent on TV. Therefore, these network family sitcoms still follow the blueprint of normative nuclear families and use diverse racial identities as a way to stand out and make the program more marketable. Since these series are made for a broad audience with the aim to make their viewers laugh, the issues around race, gender and class they address are often resolved in a simplified manner in one 22-minute episode.

One Day seems different from these traditional sitcoms. The comedy presents a multigenerational Cuban-American family and centers around Penelope Alvarez (Justina Machado), a divorced single mother who raises her two children, Elena (Isabella Gomez) and Alex (Marcel Ruiz), together with her mother Lydia (played by the amazing Rita Moreno). The sitcom does not have a patriarch or any important father figure. Elena’s and Alex’s father is mostly absent and battles with alcoholism and PTSD. Penelope, with the support of her mother, is the one who holds the family together while working full-time as a nurse and attending school to become a nurse practitioner. The working mother is also a veteran who is dealing with PTSD and takes antidepressants.

What is so refreshing about this show is that it portrays many issues Americans deal with on a daily basis and connects them to the political state of America, for example the lack of fundamental support of veterans from the government or the economic struggle of single parent households. While addressing many “American” issues, One Day also discusses the diversity of ethnic and cultural identities in the US and is one of the few shows depicting the life of a Cuban-American family, which is sadly rare, since the Latin American community is still highly underrepresented on US television. Furthermore, the sitcom frequently addresses topics of immigration and the fear of deportation. Lydia, for example, gives moving monologues about leaving Cuba, when she was a child and had to leave her parents and older sister behind.

The uniqueness of this seemingly traditional sitcom stems from the complex challenges the Alvarez family is facing, which are not resolved in one single episode. Instead these challenges are recurring, which highlights the complexity of the characters’ identities and experiences when they have to face sexism, racism and homophobia. Elena, for example, comes out as a lesbian to her family in season one, but this is not resolved in one episode and her challenges to grow up in a heteronormative world are continuously addressed. A cross-season storyline depicts how Elena and her family deal with the fact that her father is having problems accepting her sexuality and that it is “not just a phase” for her.

Though all these topics seem very serious and are sometimes heart-wrenching, this show is still a sitcom that aims to make the audience laugh. This is why I think One Day is such a hidden gem on the TV landscape. While it incorporates serious issues around identity and oppression, the family celebrates life, their culture and the happy things they experience. Despite the fact that some of the jokes and punchlines come out a bit flat in a typical sitcom manner, much humor is also evoked through the different identities and perspectives of the characters, especially between the family’s three generations. Another source of humor is Dwayne Schneider (Todd Grinnell), the ignorant but well-meaning white landlord. In various episodes, he relates Lydia’s immigration experiences with his own immigration as a wealthy Canadian, therefore completely overlooking his privileges as a rich white man. Thus, One Day accomplishes being cheerful, optimistic and thought-provoking at the same time.
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The complexity of the storylines and characters combined with charm, humor and important political messages make One Day a sitcom that has the potential to be appealing to a wider audience. The sitcom is also a great example of a female-centered program co-created by a woman. With its fantastic female cast the show also empowers three generations of Cuban-American women. Lydia, Penelope and Elena represent the significant bond of women within a family and are inspiring role models for Alex, who is raised to be a sensitive, thoughtful and confident young man by his sister, mother and grandmother. Thankfully, after much suspense, Netflix finally renewed the sitcom for a third season. Many fans were concerned that Netflix would not renew One Day because the program might not stick out to viewers browsing through Netflix’ vast content. I can only encourage everyone to watch One Day at a Time with the hope that many more seasons will come.

​​The two seasons of One Day at a Time can be streamed on Netflix. The sitcom has been renewed for a third season.

By Marina Brafa