REVIEW: L’immensità

L’immensità translates to “the immensity” in Italian. This film is certainly immense – immense in the scope of its themes, in its emotional depth, and in its luscious score and cinematography. Thankfully, though, it is not immense in its runtime. I don’t know if I could have taken one more minute of heartbreak. 

The film is devastating from the get-go. We are introduced to a normal, Italian family. Penélope Cruz is dazzling in her role as Clara, mother to three beautiful children in 1970s Rome. The kids are doing what kids do: sneaking down into the sewers, playing games under the table at Christmas, and generally going where they’re not supposed to. The oldest, Adriana, played by Luana Giuliani, is especially poignant as a young girl coming of age. In the background is their father Felice, played by Vincenzo Amato, who looks fittingly swanky in tailored Italian suits and a flashy car. The furniture is mid-century modern, the coffee is strong, and the outdoors is lush. 

It’s the perfect nuclear family – until it’s not. We learn that Felice is an abusive husband, beating and raping his battered wife both under the cover of their bedroom and in front of their kids. Clara is a good mother, but she is buckling under the weight of her husband’s temper. Throughout the movie, she regresses into a child-like state, until Adriana takes on more of the parent role than her own mother. The three children struggle to survive as their two parents, their protectors, betray, neglect, and soon abandon them. To top it off, Adriana is struggling with gender dysphoria, but being transgender in a patriarchal, gender-segregated society is not an ok thing to be. The family’s dysfunction soon becomes the focal point of the movie. 

It’s a dark underbelly to a glitzy surface. A fight for survival, not a coming-of-age movie. Adri does what all kids do when faced with adversity in the home – get out of the house. He races through the reeds into the “bad side of town,” where he soon befriends a Romany girl named Sarah. Two outsiders, their friendship quickly turns romantic. They are at once two kids playing, two young adults exploring their sexuality, and two aliens looking for companionship in a dangerous world. 

We stay long enough to form an attachment to the characters, but we leave too soon to see their conclusion. It’s hard to envision anything but a downward spiral. Nobody is going to come to Clara’s rescue, nobody is going to tell Adri it’s ok to be themselves. This ultimately pessimistic message clouded the rich visuals of the movie, forcing me to even cover my eyes at certain scenes. It’s hard to watch such overt gender-based violence, especially when you know that despite the strides we have made since the 1970s, it is still pervasive. 

L’immensità is a beautiful movie. Just don’t ask me to watch it again.  

 

REVIEW: Survivors Saving Survivors: Photographing the Ukrainian Refugee Experience in Poland

Chuck Fishman’s recent exhibition of work, titled Survivors Saving Survivors: Photographing the Ukrainian Refugee Experience in Poland, is a portrait of love and not war. Fishman is incredibly talented at capturing this; his portfolio is full of waving public figures and energetic jazz musicians, exposing the subtle attitudes and tender moments behind distinct lifestyles rather than the suffering that plagues so much of the world. His work has been featured on the cover of many magazines like Time and Life, earning him a reputation as a recognizable and exceptional photographer.

This series of photographs was taken in mid-2022 in Poland, particularly in and around the JCC Krakow— the Jewish Community Center of Krakow in Poland, which provided endless support and resources to the influx of Ukrainians in the city— food, dinners, events, beds, et cetera. Because there was no wall reading to introduce the context of the exhibition, I gathered information about JCC Krakow’s central role in this crisis by reading the plaques beside the pictures. That is how I pieced together the meaning of Survivors Saving Survivors— Fishman is referencing the historical suffering of the Jewish community in Poland and their empathetic support for another group in crisis.

The portraits themselves weren’t very telling about the context of the situation, but they are intricately emotional; one image shows a mother with a tired expression gently comforting her children while they wait their turn outside the JCC distribution center, and another depicts heartwarming smiles between Ukrainians at a community dinner. Each moment is tender, disconnected from the chaos, but still subtly pulled by it— children playing joyfully in a too-empty playground and smiles dampened by a dissociative gaze. Every image frozen in time, although captured in an age of war and instability, represents the indomitability of the human spirit. Chuck Fishman doesn’t attempt to draw distinct lines between the Jewish and Ukrainian communities but rather depicts them as one entity in mutual solidarity— existing together through a shared experience and drive to repair.

The gallery space itself is small, just a single room with art on all 4 walls. It was manageable, though, allowing me to linger on each image longer rather than feeling rushed through it, especially taking in the differences between the photographs. All subjects were different, and locations were different too, meaning the context of one image didn’t necessarily carry over into another. This complex and human-focused approach to photojournalism is refreshing because it does not paint survivors of war as mere subjects of pity— instead, they are multi-faceted, ordinary people, attempting to build some semblance of normal life under strange circumstances. Strange is what Fishman seems to be getting at, yet in a more optimistic than pessimistic way. It is strange, he seems to be saying, that people will persist through anything, and especially persist with each other. It’s a beautiful strangeness.

The exhibition is running through the end of April! It is showing on the fifth floor of Weiser Hall in room 547. It’s right next to the Central Campus Transit Center, free, and open to the public, so make sure to stop by and see some talented work before the end of the semester!

 

 

PREVIEW: L’immensità

The Italian Film Festival in Ann Arbor is an incredible way to become acquainted with Italian film, an underrepresented yet incredibly poignant field. It is a way for film students to venture out of American-made films, a way for Italian students to practice their language in a colloquial setting, and a way for anyone to experience beauty in a different language and culture. 

L’immensità by Emanuele Crialese is an emotional movie dissecting a failing relationship. Clara and Felice, an Italian couple in the 1970s, have fallen out of love, but are forced to stay in the relationship because of extenuating circumstances. As their children witness their parents’ failing marriage, viewers are treated to a spectacle of love, loss, and childhood woes. 

This film festival only comes once a year, so sign up while you can!

Where

  • L’immensità by Emanuele Crialese will play at Lorch Hall – Askwith Auditorium at 7:30 pm on Saturday, April 8th. 
  • Nevia by Nunzia de Stefano will play at Lorch Hall – Askwith Auditorium at 5:00 pm on Saturday, April 8th. 

Tickets are free, making this an accessible event for all students, faculty, or anyone else interested in watching beautiful Italian films. 

PREVIEW: Survivors Saving Survivors: Photographing the Ukrainian Refugee Experience in Poland

In 2022, photographer Chuck Fishman traveled to Poland to photograph the influx of refugees from Ukraine. He wasn’t capturing the devastation and agony of the war, but rather something optimistic: the power of humanity in healing and uplifting communities and the ability for different groups to band together in times of exhaustion and pain. The Copernicus Center for Polish Studies, or CCPS, is holding an exhibition of Fishman’s work, titled Survivors Saving Survivors: Photographing the Ukrainian Refugee Experience in Poland. Surprisingly accessible at 547 Weiser Hall, which is right next to the Central Campus Transit Center, this exhibition is a great opportunity for students to learn about global current events, empathize with victims of crisis and war, and view the extraordinary work of an acclaimed photographer.

As a traditional artist, photography hasn’t been within my range of intense interests, but recent coursework and experimentation has led me deeper into the realm of reportage photography. I find photojournalism that has an empathetic and humanitarian approach fascinating— when the photographer strives to portray the complicated humanity within global crises, the audience is shown something emotionally important that is not typically portrayed through unbiased journalism. Chuck Fishman is noted— and has received awards— for his often black-and-white portrait photography of social and political issues in particular. He initially photographed Jewish life in Poland since 1975, and has traveled around the world to capture everything from the energy of political figures to joyous cultural moments in jazz clubs. His photographs have appeared on the covers of Time, Life, Fortune, Newsweek, The London Sunday Times, The Economist, and many others. I am intrigued to see how Fishman has portrayed the current crisis. and what kind of narratives can be brought to the surface.

The exhibition runs through April 28th, and it’s smack in the middle of central campus, tucked where you wouldn’t even notice it. Head to the International Institute Gallery at 547 Weiser anytime between 8am and 5pm to see some incredible work from an experienced artist and learn more about the Ukrainian refugee experience in Poland.

REVIEW: Blue Velvet

* Image taken from Turner Classic Movies (TCM)

Last night’s late night showing of Blue Velvet at the State Theater felt like watching a sex scene with your parents. That is, a two hour sex scene in a world where sexual blackmail prevails, women are held captive to masochistic, drug-addled perverts, and a young boy discovers his sexuality in a Freudian psychosexual nightmare. I don’t know how we watch it. Even less how it was made. 

Blue Velvet is the strangest coming-of-age tale ever created. Released in 1986 by the infamous director David Lynch, Blue Velvet was initially rejected by several studios based on its aggressive, sexual, and, frankly, perverted content. However, despite these initial trepidations, the film went on to achieve true cult classic status, with Lynch earning an Oscar nomination for best director. I first watched Blue Velvet when I was 14 years old, and was immediately transfixed by the opening scene. A camera travels down a royal blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds, coming to rest on a white picket fence covered with luscious red roses. A smiling firefighter, a dalmatian by his side, waves at the camera from a slow-moving fire truck. This is a land of serenity: children safely cross the road, a man waters his green lawn, and a woman sips a cup of tea while watching TV. 

But things are not as they seem. Suddenly, the man falls into the mud, clutching his neck. Something terrible has happened. The hose comes to rest at the man’s groin, obscenely shooting water into his dog’s mouth. As he lies prone on the ground, the camera travels down into the underbelly of the world. This is no longer a place of roses and tea. We dig into the ground, where carnivorous spiders burrow into the dirt and ants bite chunks out of stringy brown leaves. This is the real world – a place of secrets, confined underground in the Earth’s bowels. 

I don’t really know how Blue Velvet is supposed to make me feel. Its content is so erotic, so charged, it feels almost like David Lynch is abusing the actors. Isabella Rossellini plays Dorothy, a battered woman who is being blackmailed into sexual slavery by the sadistic Frank (Dennis Hopper). Dorothy starts up an equivalent sado-masochistic relationship with the clean-cut Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan), who is ashamed of his feelings toward her but can’t control his urges. The scenes this trio – almost a love triangle – share are some of the most pornographic I have ever seen. 

Blue Velvet is a 20th century masterpiece. I don’t know who decided to play it at the State Theater, but that person is one sick bastard. 

 

REVIEW: 27th Annual Exhibition of Artists in Michigan Prisons

Each year, the Prison Creative Arts Project (PCAP) at the University of Michigan organizes an annual exhibition to celebrate the 2D and 3D artwork of incarcerated individuals across the state. This year, the exhibition features works from 360 artists from 25 prisons, forming a stunning mosaic of 625 works— all with different stories to tell and drastically different mediums, but sharing a common passion for art as a mode of self-expression.

The work in the gallery is as diverse as you could imagine within a single gallery space, and far more diverse than you would expect from within prison walls. In terms of incarcerated artists’ resources, few are available; their small budget, when it fails, must be supplemented by any disposable material or item allotted to prisoners, such as toothpicks, tissue paper, ramen, and even blood, which are all used as mediums within this exhibition. The fragility of their resources doesn’t dampen the quality of the artwork but  rather imbues it with tenacity as well as a sense of masterful resourcefulness. This exhibition feels alive and buzzing with deep tension, each piece attesting to an emotionality that begs to be expressed even within despair and scarcity.

Condemned by M.J. Van Meter

When I stepped closer to a painting of a skeletal figure, one of many finely detailed works on a gallery wall, I realized that it was not a painting, but delicately carved bar soap with a layer of acrylic paint on top. I imagined all of the hours put into the construction of its curves, likely with a subpar or illegitimate carving tool. This painstaking work stands as evidence of the indomitable desire to create, and its transcendence beyond physical restraints; for incarcerated artists, art is both a beacon of hope and a weapon to break down the dehumanizing stereotypes surrounding imprisonment, rarely just a hobby.

Institutional Lobotomy by LIAM

Much of the art depicts the cruelties of the prison system— the separation of families, the bitter absence of human necessities, and the burden of emotional trauma. Many of the artists work in paint on canvas, although the two-dimensional art ranges from pen drawings to multimedia collages. The pieces most directly confronting incarceration are particularly colorful in their variety of expressions. Some artists took a surreal or even abstract route, inventing grotesque characters to represent their psyche; others pulled striking scenes straight out of reality, painting haunting memories with vivid oils. By contrast, a large portion of the works present placid and euphoric scenes— flowers pressed into ornate designs, loved ones with the sun beaming on their faces, three-dimensional log cabins made from scavenged materials— also expertly crafted. The passion poured into the more joyful work is just as evident as the passion put into the grim work, because, as a typical human response, hope is an essential component of resistance. By depicting some simple yet so out of reach, artists are reminiscing, or dreaming, or simply reclaiming their happiness from the oppressive grip of incarceration. Their labor-intensive work, done purely for the sake of it, is a slap in the face to a system that promotes and thrives off of the squashing of the human spirit. Art is resistance.


A Patient Man by Albert Krakosky

Much of the art is for sale, and some pieces cost as little as $10! The proceeds for sales will return to the artists so they may be used to purchase higher quality art materials. To learn more about PCAP, their mission, and to see (or buy!) the beautiful works of art in the exhibition, visit the gallery in the Duderstadt sometime before April 4th! The gallery is open Tuesday to Saturday from 10am to 7pm, and Saturday to Monday from 12pm to 6pm.

Featured Image: Portrait of Kamilla by Willie Anderson