German Independence Award for Best Film
Broken Voices
Directed by Ondrej Provasnik

Seymour Cassel Award for Outstanding Performance by an actress
Sabrina Amali
for Maysoon

Seymour Cassel Award for Outstanding Performance by an actor
John Connors
for Crazy Love

German Independence Award – Originality, Daring and Audacity
Under the Burning Sun
Directed by Yun Xie

German Independence Award – Spirit of Cinema
Keep Quiet
Directed by Vincent Crawshaw

Best First Film presented with Hans-Ohlms-Stiftung
Harakiri, I Miss You
Directed by Alejandro Castro Arias

German Independence Award for Best Short Film
The Flower of Fear
Directed by Jorge Florez Arcila

Whether it was audiences emerging blinking into the light of day after their most recent cinematic trip, or filmmakers reflecting upon the environment of collaboration and mutual support they found themselves in, everyone seemed to be taking inspiration from the vibe and the programme at this year’s festival. In accepting her award for originality, daring and audacity, Yun Xie, director of Under the Burning Sun (read our review here) said she genuinely didn’t believe she’d be in contention for the award because “the whole week I was so overwhelmed by how talented everyone was.”

This might sound typical of paying homage to the other contenders for an award, but at Oldenburg that passion for each-other’s work rings loud and clear. Alejandro Castro Arias began the Q&A following his debut feature, Harakiri, I Miss You by ardently recommending that people check out Christian Genzel’s documentary about Howard Ziehm, Finding Planet Porno. During the post screening conversation at the world premiere of Jason Byrne and Kevin Treacy’s Crazy Love, one of the directors of Horseshoe raised his hand to thank the duo for all of the support they’d provided to help him through his own debut.

Crazy Love and Horseshoe share an Irish connection that was particularly prevalent at this year’s festival, with there being a celebration of the nation’s cinema that included three feature films, two shorts and a reception held at Oldenburg Castle and hosted by the Irish ambassador to Germany Maeve Collins who also spoke at the festival’s opening gala. The quality of what was on show this year across the five films was incredible. Edwin Mullane and Adam O’Keeffe’s deft family drama Horseshoe (read our review here) featured four squabbling siblings all wrestling with their own personal childhood trauma. Mullane also had featured a short film called A Day in the Sun, which the jury gave a special mention by evoking Kafka: “We went to the movies and cried.”

The same was doubtless true for many who saw the world premiere of Crazy Love, and beautiful and poignant romantic drama set in a psychiatric hospital. Filled with fantastic performances across the board, it was nonetheless dominated by the two leads, Jade Jordan and John Connors, the latter of whom picked up Sunday evening’s award for Best Performance by an actor at the festival. Connors was actually in all three of the Irish features at the festival this year and it says a lot about the moment he is having that he could just as easily been award for Re-Creation, this writer’s personal highlight a festival. A stunning speculative jury deliberation re-framing 12 Angry Men to debate the real-life case of the murder of Sophie Toscan du Plantier in County Cork in 1996 and the guilt of prime suspect Ian Bailey (read our review here). Directed by David Merriman and Jim Sheridan, and also starring Vicky Kripes, it’s an intellectually and emotionally insightful piece. Finally, Rosie Barrett’s Mouse managed to pack as much tension into its 17 minutes as some of the other stand-outs at this year’s festival (read our review of Mouse here).

It was not just Irish film on show, though, as cinema from across the globe has been celebrated. The Best Short Film winner, Jorge Florez Arcila’s The Flower of Fear, which uses nightmarish fantasy to examine the abduction of child soldiers in Colombia. Vincent Grawshaw’s Keep Quiet picked up the Spirit of Cinema Award for its depiction of an Indigenous police officer, played by Lou Diamond Phillips, attempting to avoid gang war on the reservation – it was arguably the film that had the most tongues wagging as audiences seemed to hugely enjoy it. Sabrina Amali picked up the festivals Best Actress award for her role in Nancy Biniadaki’s Maysoon, which centred on an Egyptian archaeologist working in Berlin who is haunted by memories of the Arab Spring.

The German Independence Award for Best Film went to Ondrej Provaznik’s Broken Voices (read our review here), which is a devastating drama about lost innocence based loosely on the events surrounding the Bambini di Praga, a Czech girl’s choir that was found to have been rife with sexual abuse throughout the 90s. It’s a brilliantly constructed examination of the ways that this can be allowed the happen and the impact it has on the victims, anchored by an astonishing performance from the teenage Katerina Falbrova.

Finally, the Best First Film Award, presented in conjunction with Hans-Ohlms-Stiftung went the aforementioned Harakiri, I Miss You. A bold and challenging portrayal of toxic masculinity and explosive male friendship, it’s a hugely impressive first feature and one that marks director and star, Alejandro Castro Arias, out as a talent to be watched. In his acceptance speech, he spoke about having submitted the film to many festivals around the world and being so disillusioned that he was about to upload it to YouTube when the call came from Oldenburg. That he has come away from the festival with renewed confidence and vigour is testament to Oldenburg’s influence but that his film screened at all, is testament to its commitment to champion new, exciting and creative voices. The were 16 films across the programme that would have been eligible for a first film award and one other debutant, Yun Xie summed it up when accepting her award for Under the Burning Sun: “As an Asian, immigrant, woman of colour, it often feels as though I am not being heard, but today everything is worth it.” The  power of Oldenburg shines again, across an invigorating and inspiring five days in Lower Saxony.

On 23 December 1996, Sophie Toscan du Plantier was killed near her holiday home in County Cork, Ireland. The prime suspect quickly became Ian Bailey who twice arrested by the Garda but never charged as it was determined that there was not sufficient evidence to convict. In 2019, the Cour d’Assises in Paris tried Bailey in absentia and convicted him to 25 years in prison, though Ireland did not allow extradition. David Merriman and Jim Sheridan’s exceptional drama, Re-Creation, imagines what might have happened if a contemporary Ireland had decided to bring together a jury to revisit the case.

The vast majority of the film takes place in one room – the jury deliberation room – where a group of Irish people peppered with a handful of fellow Europeans are charged with deciding the fate of Ian Bailey (played, silently, by Colm Meaney). Merriman and Sheridan use the framework of Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men for this exploration of the case, with the jury all beginning fairly convinced of Bailey’s guilt except for Juror #8 (Vicky Krieps rather than Henry Fonda) who feels enough doubt to challenge the prevailing narrative.

Rather than the classically mounted drama of Lumet’s film, Re-Creation uses its structure to create something fresh, intimate and alive. Merriman and Sheridan have been working on a documentary about this subject for some years but in this context find a way to bring significant emotional heft to the conversation, opening up questions about the biases we old hold and how they might easily inform public opinion about such a notorious case. In this dynamic setting, they are able to fuse real world documentary evidence they have obtained or even uncovered themselves, with archival materials from the media coverage of the investigation and a gripping dramatic conversation about the case.

The main jury conversation was shot over just 11 days as evidence was revisited and the collation of votes ebbed and flowed. Shot in crisp mediums shots and close-ups, Carlo Thiel’s cinematography keeps things quite claustrophobic, helping the pressure in the room to build. There are a couple of sequences take the jurors outside the confines of their room – on a trip to visit the scene of the murder, and to a lunch break that allows a brief respite – but the film is at its most enthralling when they’re conversation, building to a bravura séance-like scene towards the end that seems to conjure something spectral. Vitally, the directors came to the decision for Sheridan himself to play Juror #1, meaning that he is able to help the room navigate through the facts and counter-facts and to push the actors from within the frame in a process that leant heavily into improvisation. While the bones of the plot – for want of a better word – are taken from the directors’ script, several of the actors drew upon their own lives and histories as their juror characters wrestled with their opinion on Bailey’s guilt. This is most powerfully the case for John Connors who is absolutely exceptional as Juror #3, the Lee J. Cobb role, diametrically opposed to Krieps’ who is herself fantastic as Juror #8.

Connors begins by vehemently condemning Bailey, citing his past history of abuse, his generally unlikely demeanour and the avalanche of evidence indicating his guilt. For Juror #3, deliberation is pointless and the final decision a foregone conclusion. Unlike 12 Angry Men, Re-Creation is working with a real case that audiences – particularly in Ireland – might be familiar with, and so Juror #3’s position does not feel so unreasonable. However, over the course of the conversation his motivations become ever more apparent, his contradictions are exposed and, ultimately, an astonishingly performed revelation becomes the emotional crux of the entire film. Connors is effectively playing opposite Krieps and it is entirely to his credit that he completely steals the show from one of the most consistently impressive actors working in film today. It’s a powerhouse performance that warrants wider acclaim than it is currently getting.

If the jurors and their ongoing battles of conscience pack the film’s emotional punch, then the intricacies of the conversation and the presentation of the evidence, pack its intellectual one. Over the course of their deliberations, the jurors probe – in the way Merriman and Sheridan might have in a documentary – the imprecisions of the case against Bailey. Doing this through drama allows each of the disclosures of misinterpretation, of obfuscation, of evident tampering to have its own weight as it effects the characters on screen. Quite besides the specifics of the Bailey trial, it is a potent reminder of how our predispositions effect our judgement. In the case of both Sophie Toscan du Plantier and Ian Bailey (who died in 2024) it is a reminder that justice can only be served by uncovering the truth, not massaging it to suit our beliefs.

Directors, screenplay: David Merriman, Jim Sheridan
Cast: Vicky Krieps, John Connors, Jim Sheridan, Aidan Gillen, Colm Meaney
Producers: Fabrizio Maltese, Tina O’Reilly
Cinematography: Carlo Thiel
Editing: Jack Thornton
Music: Anna Rice
Sound: Carlo Thoss
Production design: Christina Schaffer
Costume design: Magdalena Labuz
Production companies: Hell’s Kitchen Films (Ireland), Joli Rideau Media (Luxembourg)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (International)
In English, French
89 minutes

But in the independent movie business of the 1980s, things were far more complicated than that. As he explained in a Q&A at this year’s Oldenburg Film Festival, where he is being paid tribute, he was originally working in the carpentry department for Roger Corman. Corman was keen to re-use the sets he’d had built for 1981’s Galaxy of Terror and Opper and his bother Barry, along with Will Reigle, had an idea. That became Android, which was released in 1982 and, somewhere along the process someone suggested that Opper himself would be good to play the eponymous role.

As Opper recalls, the crews in that Corman stable were all incredibly well-read and the initial screenplay written by James Reigle was dense with philosophy and literature. Opper’s own role, then, was to bring some levity to the script and then to imbue some of the same into the role of Max 404. Opper’s fingerprints are across several films of this era as a writer and it is this sub-filmography that Oldenburg has chosen to celebrate with a four-film retrospective at this year’s festival. Screening alongside Android is the 1987 dropout-Noir, Slam Dance, as well as the first two instalments of Opper’s most well-known work, Critters and Critters 2: The Main Course. Together they make a curious quartet of independent features that are each, in their own ways, irreverent takes on the genres they operate in and yet still valid entries into their respective canons.

Android is something of a forgotten gem. Set on an isolated space station and research facility with only two inhabitants, Dr. Daniel (Klaus Kinski) and Max 404 (Opper – though he was credited as “introducing Max 404” for fun). Max is the doctor’s aide for his experimental research which is, it transpires, a female android who would surpass Max in elegance and intelligence and, ultimately, make him obsolete. While Max wrestles with what it means to be alive, three fugitives arrive at the station and things escalate quickly. The film adopts a clean 60’s-esque sci-fi aesthetic that wasn’t especially de rigueur at the time. It’s charming and slightly cooky, but still explores many of the philosophical questions that the original screenplay promised.

The same is true of 1987’s Slam Dance for which Opper is credited as the only writer. A frenetic neo-Noir set in Los Angeles, it is about a cartoonist and artist, C.C. Drood (Tom Hulce), who is inadvertently caught up in a murder investigation. A woman he was sleeping with (Virginia Madsen) is found dead, and Drood is implicated as the prime suspect. In typical fashion for the genre, it’s a labyrinthine plot with a lot of ins, a lot outs, and a lot of what-have-yous, but much like the Coen Brother L.A. Noir of a decade later, The Big Lebowski, it plays with and pastiches the cliches while also honouring them. Opper himself turns up in that as the thug, Buddy, easily his most unhinged performance in this small selection, a very memorable turn for what is essentially a heavy.

Opper’s work in Critters and Critters 2 needs relatively little introduction and while his influence was slightly less, he wrote some additional dialogue and helped to shape the franchise, of which he starred in all four instalments. His role as Charlie across the first two films – as well as brief duel role – make him the heart of the overarching narrative and he gets to play a local drunk conspiracy theorist, a keen but inept bounty-hunter, and a Krite ass-kicker with relish. Critters has perhaps the most obvious spoof angle in this programme – the idea that E.T. and Gremlins were firmly in its sights can be seen from advertising, casting, and even the moment where one critter faces up to a familiar looking doll and tears it apart.

What’s interesting about these films as a collective is the way that this irreverence is baked into the genre storytelling not to its detriment but to its benefit. Each of these are eccentric examples of their genres but, if anything, are able to marry those peculiarities with commercial promise without forgoing their creativity. To modern audiences, there will be moments in which the films feel quaint, but in the contemporary landscape their vitality feels quite potent and it is difficult not to look at films such as these with misty eyes. It makes complete sense that Oldenburg and its programmers would see in the work of Don Keith Opper something that they admire; it’s the bold, youthful creativity they wish to champion, just from forty years ago. Long may such originality continue to be celebrated.

Read more of our coverage of the 32^nd Oldenburg Film Festival.

In this brief and haunting story from Mattie Do – the first woman to direct a feature film in Laos with 2013’s Chanthaly – the exact opposite transpires to be true. Instead of leaving the slumbering princess in the ruined Ankor temple in the jungle, where she belongs, Philippe (Gabriel Soutphilabaideng) brings her back to his home. The son of a local woman, Dao (Sonedala Sihavong) who married a colonial governor, they are disconnected enough from the stories of their heritage not to realise that she brings with her a terrible curse.

This conflict between the old ways of the Laotian people and the dismissive arrogance of the colonisers lies at the heart of The Sleeping Beauty. Dao is warned by her housekeeper (Sivilay Ouanephongchareune) that allowing her son to keep the body – soon a visibly decomposing corpse – in the house will spell its ruin, and that she should know better. If she’d taught her son the old stories, he would too.

Instead, Dao is paralysed with indecision even when her husband succumbs to a fever and the rot of the curse takes root. Do handles the horror well, with a couple of shocking moments – most notably Dao seeing her son with a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be. Jimmy LaValle’s music, on the other hand, maintains an almost dreamlike fairy tale quality, holding the film in a space between misty fantasy and straight-up horror. It’s a tone that Do manages well, making this a strangely beguiling but haunting fable.

Director: Mattie Do
Cast: Sonedala Sihavong, Gabriel Soutphilabaideng, Sivilay Ouanephongchareune
Screenplay: Christopher Larsen
Producers: Chatchai Chaiyon, Jakrawal Nilthamrong
Cinematography: Mart Ratassepp
Editing: Zohar Michel
Music: Jimmy LaValle
Sound: Alexandre Boyesen
Art direction: Phumidon Khongphoem
Costume design:
Production company: Wayward Entertainment (USA)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Shorts)
In English, Lao, French
20 minutes

Read more of our short film coverage over at Verdict Shorts

Based upon stories from the family history of writer-director Louise Hemon, it tells the tale of a young teacher spending winter in a rural community steeped in old customs and folk beliefs. Hemon’s background is in documentary, best known for non-fiction mid-length films like The Strongest Man and Set in Stone. Here she uses real life recollections as a jumping off point for a fictional narrative that explores the notion of what it means for an educated, secular, progressive young woman to arrive in an old-fashioned village with the mandate to teach their children. Mimicking its own central conflict, the film itself deftly weaves together straight period drama with an air of mystery, and dare it be said, folk horror, that makes for an intoxicating experience.

Aimee (Galatea Bellugi) arrives in the village Soudain under the cover of darkness. A snowstorm howls and the dissonant choral vocals of Emile Sornin’s music bark out from the wind. As she is deposited in her abode, a schoolhouse-come-barn which sits squat, fortified against the snowdrift from above, the audience get the sense of somewhere very old. The following morning, as Aimee heads out to meet the locals, the same feeling is present – their behaviour is slightly odd, they’re somewhat bemused by the new teacher. It soon becomes evident that the womenfolk have all departed for the season, working down at the houses in the valley as servants and maids.

As she begins to teach the local children – played alongside certain other villagers by non-actors – Aimee begins to come into conflict with the belief systems that they subscribe to. She is scolded for bathing the children, the elders maintain that the layer of crust in their hair protects them. When an old man passes away, they insist on keeping a window open, even in deep winter, so his soul can escape through it, then they strap his coffin to the food of her home so that he can enjoy being near the children until the ground thaws in spring and he can buried. Most angrily, they toss her notebook in the fire when she writes down a story one of them told around the fire, claiming that locking it away like that will kill it.

The film takes place primarily in gloomy indoor spaces, often lit by lantern-light and even when outside, Aimee is wrapped in dozens of layers against the cold. It’s a hermetic world in which she lives, exemplified by Marine Atlan’s boxy cinematography that manages to feel claustrophobic even in the exterior shots that take in vast, beautiful landscapes. The Girl in the Snow is a chamber piece of sorts – the chamber being the village – and as such the typical tensions begin to emerge. Aimee is shown as sexually frustrated on a number of occasions and her glances at local lads Enoch (Matthieu Lucci) and Pepin (Samuel Kircher), who themselves seem to be lovers, are lingering and filled with longing. When one of the boys disappears after a night with Aimee, supposedly lost in a midnight landslide, a sense of mystery sets in that questions the nature of his fate, particularly when villagers begin to look at Aimee and whisper.

What Hemon does so well, here, is walk the line of ambiguity that neither implies any guilt on the part of Aimee but also doesn’t explicitly exonerate her. Is she a saviour, come to help the children be something more, or siren, there to lead the young men to their doom? The notion of a woman’s sexuality being maligned in this way is as old as time, and Hemon allows those prejudices to percolate not only in the minds of the characters but also the audience. As the abrasive notes of Sornin’s score reenforce some elemental older power, the implications remain just that. Even as the film closes, we’re left with questions over what actually occurred and just how successful was Aimee’s mission to educate the rustic mountain-folk.

Director: Louise Hemon
Cast: Galatea Bellugi, Matthieu Lucci, Samuel Kircher, Oscar Pons
Screenplay: Louise Hemon, Maxence Stamatiadis, Anais Tellenne
Producers: Alexis Genauzeau, Margaux Juvenal
Cinematography: Marine Atlan
Editing: Carole Borne
Music: Emile Sornin
Sound: Margot Testemale
Production design: Anna Le Mouel
Costume design: Joana Georges Rossi
Production company: Take Shelter (France)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (International)
In French
98 minutes

German Tejada’s revision of that classic of Peruvian youth culture shifts the action forward into the present but submerges the film through with a punk aesthetic of underground gigs, hand-scrawled posters, and adolescent rebellion that mean its setting is somewhat mutable. Heavily entrenched in all of this is the fourteen-year-old Cara de Angel (Diego Cruchaga Ponce de Leon) who buys into the worldview so much that scratchy zine drawings sometimes encroach onto the screen and he sees older generations as literal zombies, after a common refrain in the culture he is a key part of.

Reynoso’s original stories were branded as repugnant by conservative commentators who disliked his depictions of sexuality and gang culture arising from economic disaffection. Tejada seeks to evoke the same things, portraying a group of youths where defiant music leads the charge against the machine, while for others the best foot forward is through criminal revenge against a local predator. Cara sits at the nexus of these two groups, on one hand courting the beautiful Gabriela (Grecia Pino) and, illicitly, desiring the lead singer of a local band, Johnny (Jose Miguel Chuman). On the other hand, he also wants to prove his masculinity to the local ruffians Carambola (Fabian Haziel Calle) and El Principe (Christian Calderon) and shirk off homophobic taunts through guts and bravado.

Each of these friends and acquaintances has their own stuff to work through – from sexual hangups to power dynamics – and the reverb of an angry guitar often bristles at the edge of action as Cara struggles to contain these various emotions. It’s an impressive turn from Ponce de Leon, who must constantly present different faces to different people, swapping out the charm he shows Gabriela for the barely contained venom he shows Carambola. It’s a testament to the nuances of his performance that the audience are never convinced be either, aware that both are just masks and that the angry young man who rages at his mother for calling him “baby” is perhaps closer to the truth.

Fabian Hazeil Calle’s turn as Carambola is an equally interesting one, clearly the most physically aggressive member of the group he is – perhaps obviously to modern audience, the most insecure. He has his eyes on a girl who he doesn’t know how to talk to and would seem to be a victim of abuse that people know about but never mention. Otherwise, the characters are fairly archetypal – the assertive gang boss, the sexually fluid lead singer, the attractive and confident girlfriend. But The Innocents isn’t particularly interested in quiet complexity as tackling things face on.

This is possibly where some people will find the film a little wearing at times, and one can imagine viewers who see it as much as a punkish music video as having enough dramatic depth to have much to say. This would be a somewhat cursory reading of the film, though. Sure, there are some dream sequences and flashbacks that make apparent what might have been more effective as subtext, but they’re ultimately few and far between. Tejada does show a penchant for falling back onto thrashing music in headphones and Cara running or cycling through the Lima streets as if racing from the adulthood on the horizon or the strictures of the man, but they make sense in the context.

Tejada’s film feels like it is less about telling the story of these youngsters and more about capturing the sense Cara de Angel’s experience. He is a fourteen-year-old boy struggling with his sexuality, with his masculinity, with puberty. The Innocents does a reasonable job of depicting those struggles against a backdrop of downtrodden Lima and the youths all wrestling with similar things and – in many cases – feeling similarly disenchanted and alone as they do.

Director: German Tejada
Cast: Diego Cruchaga Ponce de Leon, Grecia Pino, Jose Miguel Chuman, Fabian Haziel Calle, Christian Calderon
Screenplay: German Tejada, Christopher Vasquez
Producers: Lorena Ugarteche, Paulina Villavicencio, Marco Antonio Salgado
Cinematography: Julian Apezteguia
Editing: Melissa Bavaro
Sound: Cesar Gonzalez Cortes
Production design: Maria Cristina Martinez
Production companies: Senor Z (Peru), Disruptiva Films, BDC Producciones (Mexico)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Midnite Xpress)
In Spanish
90 minutes

The audience meets Issa (Boubacar Dembele) in the back of a pick-up truck lying down beneath some tarpaulin. When the vehicle stops, he is hoisted out of the back by his father and carried to the cramped entrance of gold mine which he is then – under sufferance – lowered into the darkness of. Issa is an albino boy and, as the film then explores, they are considered to have properties that allow them to speak to the gold and, by singing to it, set forth a rich vein for the miners to exploit. The film is a fascinating look at a strange custom that blends the modern with the mythic and also touches on what such a custom means for a boy like Issa.

Filming on sets recreated in the caves of Gore Island, Senegal, much of The Boy with the White Skin takes place in the dark. The camera sticks close to Issa as he is lowered, terrified, into the mine and then must scramble through claustrophobic tunnels to reach the workers. Once in the mining cavern with them, he is forced to sing until water begins to coalesce on the surface of the cave – he is seen to have reached out to the beast and been blessed with the promise of gold.

What is most powerful about Simon Payan’s short film is the position of Issa. As he begs his father not to be sent down the mine, he is told not to bring shame to the family. As he tries to grip the sides of the tunnel to stop himself being lowered, the miners unclench his fingers. When he can’t find his voice to sing, he is cowed by barked orders. More tragically, when he emerges from the tunnel, he can’t find his father, instead wandering the surface of the mines while workers crowd to touch him and intone “he’s ours.”

Director, screenplay, editing: Simon Panay
Cast: Boubacar Dembele, Alassane Diaw, Serigne Wadane Ndiaye, Moussa Thiam, Amadou Traore
Producers: Laetitia Denis, Souleymane Kebe, Maud Leclair, Kevin Rousseau, Rafael-Andrea Soatto
Cinematography: Simon Gouffault
Sound: Vivien Roche
Music: Philippe Fivet
Production companies: Astou Productions (Senegal), Bandini Films (France)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Shorts)
In Wolof
14 minutes

Read more of our short film coverage over at Verdict Shorts

Perhaps it is the unremitting bleakness of the Mad-Max-like wasteland that the characters inhabit, with violence and cruelty around every turn of the steering wheel. Perhaps it is the drive of Mowanza (Stephanie Pardi), like a shark needing to constantly be on the move towards her destination. Perhaps it is the constant and stomach-churning reminders of the ways that power structures are designed to sublimate the choices of women, particularly in the present moment. None of this necessarily makes Yun Xie’s bold feature debut an easy watch, but its impeccable performances, sweeping cinematography, and moments of rare beauty make it an incredibly compelling one.

In her post-screening Q&A following the film’s international premiere at the Oldenburg Film Festival, Yun Xie told a story about her mother. Due to the one child policy in China, her mother was going to be forced to have a hysterectomy and asked her daughter whether she would still be a woman without a uterus. Attempting to comfort her mother, Xie just told her not to worry and that she no longer needed it, and that it was no big deal. Years later, no longer able to speak to her mother about it, she reflected on this missed opportunity for a conversation between mother and daughter about womanhood and motherhood, and as a result Under the Burning Sun came about as an attempt to have the conversation over. It’s a useful bit of context for understanding quite how Xie is able to mine a brutal storyline set in a harsh dystopian landscape for moments of such tenderness and connection.

Under the Burning Sun begins with the aforementioned Mowanza in a gas station rest room, furious at the result of a pregnancy test. The blackened water in the toilet bowl, the grime on the walls, the character’s patched up clothing, convey to the audience that we’re not in a hospitable environment. As quickly becomes evident, this is a world of tomorrow paying the price for our choices today – a bottle of water costs nearly $10, sustenance of any kind is rare. It’s a vision of a world that’s on the road to becoming the place of Mad Max: Fury Road – where a jar of ice cubes is a rare treat, water is a prized commodity, and Mowanza’s request for an abortion sees her screamed at and driven out of a women’s health clinic.

And so, she goes on a road trip in search of semi-mythical land named Iropus – a named whispered in hushed tones by the those who condemn its loose morals and godlessness. As Mowanza travels from rest stop to mechanics shop to gas station, she meets various women as she goes, each in their own way abused or abandoned by those they love. From a young girl abandoned on the roadside by her parents, and longing for family; to Mavis (Steve Kincheloe) a bruised wife to a violent husband, with whom Mowanza shares a night of fleeting gentleness and intimacy. Throughout all of this, Xie chooses never to fully show the face of any of the men – leaving them to represent more abstractly the patriarchal power structures that bring Mowanza and the other women low, even out in the back of beyond.

Shot in deserts in California and China, Xie and her cinematographer Tianyi Wang craft an impressive expanse on which these lives precariously sit. The visuals employ the sandy washed-out quality of many desert set movies, but here the dystopian oppressiveness can also lift and the film, in a few moments, feels more skin to something like Nomadland. Particularly in the sequences in which Mowanza connects, albeit briefly, with Mavis and the little girl. These moments also give us a chance to see Stephanie Pardi’s range. It’s a powerhouse of a performance throughout, but one in which Pardi’s brown is furrowed and her jaw clenched with determination and anger. In the few moments where she is taken aback, or indeed even smiles, the audience sees the person she might be outside of these circumstances.

The road for Mowanza is hard, and she is equally hard in return. As a result, Under the Burning Sun will not be for everyone and there are one or two moments that viewers might need to look away from with squeamishness, but the blood and brutality are part of the point. Life is tough for Mowanza and the Xie evidently wants to explore the cycles of control that inform this dystopia, and encourage audiences to do the same in the world around them.

Director, screenplay: Yun Xie
Cast: Stephanie Pardi, Stevie Kincheloe, Amy Copsey, Martyna Frankow
Producers: Johnson Cheng, Jera Wang, Aaron Yu
Cinematography: Tianyi Wang
Editing: Christopher Ma, Bowei Yu
Sound: Sam Fan
Music: Stevie Kincheloe, Steve McKellar
Costume designer: Nan Zhou
Production companies: Narval Films (USA)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Independent)
In English
75 minutes

Set across the course  of one night in the dockland neighbourhood of Isla Maciel in Buenos Aires, it follows the exploits of the eponymous Galgo (Sergio Podeley), who has recently left prison and is trying to find his way again in a territory dominated by cold-blooded gangsters and corrupt cops. Captured in a single take, the narrative follows Galgo as he is enlisted and then set-up as a fall guy, only to find himself desperately trying to survive while gunshots are ringing in the streets. He prowls a kingdom under siege from criminals in this propulsive crime drama that barely pauses long enough for audiences – or Galgo – to catch a breath.

The single take conceit might seem like little more than a gimmick during the film’s opening salvos which are full of fast-talk and wheeling and dealing. The filmmaking certainly feels propulsive, right from the moment that the film opens with Galgo robbing a convenience store and then being shaken down by the police. The fast and fluid camerawork is impressive, but maybe not necessary. It becomes necessary, though. It comes to encompass the single-mindedness of Galgo and the claustrophobia of his situation as he races through back alleys and tries to shoot his way out of trouble. This is a world where escape is impossible, and the unbroken take only emphasises this.

There are moments in which the camera veers away from the protagonist – at one point to briefly trail his perusers as the search for him, in another to listen in on a local residents group, lamenting their lot at the mercy of the Narcos and decided to take a final stand – but primarily it follows Galgo, restlessly circling him, tracking him and his movements. He’s known as a gunman, a lone wolf, and Martin Sapia’s cinematography does a great job of capturing him as he wends his way down passages and over rooftops. In other instances, the camera swings wildly – between the individuals in a stand-off for instance – mimicking the panic of the moment and only adding to the chaos of warzone-like atmosphere.

Galgo clambers through hollowed out buildings, and over crumbling walls. His journey through the Isla Maciel of this night recalling things like the Belfast of Yann Demange’s ’71. Here, Galgo is not a British soldier alone in hostile territory, but a shooter who’s been framed for killing the local crime boss The Godmother (Julieta Diaz) and is now being hunted by any and all comers. The plot point might be overblown, but the frenzy that it creates around Galgo is perfectly suited to fuel the adrenaline rush of fighting for survival.

It is not just Galgo that is fighting to survive in Isla Maciel, though. At one stage he stumbles into the home of a man (Ramiro Blas) and his daughter (Maite Lanata) who are glad that the Godmother is dead and see it as a chance to finally rid the neighbourhood of the Narcos’ malign influence. As the narrative continues, the lives of normal and generous people are destroyed by the eruption of gunfire and malice of criminal greed. Marchiori’s film both revels in the staccato of gunfire and is also reverent to its impact. This non-stop rollercoaster is certainly at its most heart-pounding when bullets are whistling past the screen but is perhaps at its most compelling in its rare quieter moments when the reality of the situation is given a chance to hit home.

Director, editing: Cristian Tapia Marchiori
Cast: Sergio Podeley, Julieta Diaz, Ramiro Blas,  Maite Lanata
Screenplay: Clara Ambrosoni, Cristian Tapia Marchiori
Producers: Enrico Udenio, Pablo Udenio
Cinematography: Martin Sapia
Sound: Melisa Stasiak
Music: Santiago Pedroncini
Art direction: Ana Cambre
Production companies: Dukkah Producciones (Argentina)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Midnite Xpress)
In Spanish
80 minutes

Quite what is going on, is left initially mysterious, but the impact of it on Denise (Lynn Rafferty) lies at the centre of Rosie Barrett’s tense and compelling short, Mouse. The film opens with Denise walking through suburbia in her dressing gown, eventually arriving at a car before cursing and driving it home. It transpires that these car thefts are a recurring incident and one Denise is attributing to the local lads that she’s seen her daughter, Shawna (Lucie Doran), hanging out with.

Barrett’s screenplay, written with Alan O’Gorman, doesn’t focus on unravelling the intrigue of what is going on with the car, or precisely whether Jordon (Lewis Brophy) and his mates are responsible. Instead, in keeping with its title, the film explores the impact that this game is having on the mouse, Denise. She begins to see Jordon when he’s not there and jumps at the sound of the doorbell in the corner shop in which she works. None of this is helped by the strained relationship she has with Shawna, who wants to hang out in the park after school and abhors her mother fussing.

The success of this set up rests primarily on the shoulders of Lynn Rafferty and she does a commendable job of portraying Denise’s fractious response to these triggers. She manages to blend curtain-twitching anxiety with maternal frustration, allowing the ripple effect of what’s happening to her to spread to loved ones. Barrett keeps things tight, as this narrative could easily extend, but at a brisk 17 minutes Mouse manages to convey Denise’s mental state brilliantly, before a final scene that offers a ray of light going forward.

Director: Rosie Barrett
Cast: Lynn Rafferty, Lucie Doran, Lewis Brophy, Nathan Batt, Mary Brighid McDonagh, Aisling D’Arcy
Screenplay: Alan O’Gorman, Rosie Barrett
Producers: Aisling Malone, Lorraine Higgins
Cinematography: Albert Hooi
Editing: John Walters
Sound: Robin Sherry-Wood
Music: Reuben Harvey
Production design: Saoirse O’Shea
Costume: Zoe Redmond
Production companies: Rye Films (Ireland)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Shorts)
In English
17 minutes

Read more of our short film coverage over at Verdict Shorts

A combination of psychological thriller, giallo mystery and hallmark movie, it’s a tone-shifting oddity but a huge amount of fun, all anchored around the performance of the octogenarian actor. The film screened as the opening gala presentation at this year’s Oldenburg Film Festival and the festival have co-ordinated a celebration of Glenn’s career in their ‘tribute’ strand to go alongside this newer work. Always eminently watchable, here he brings a real grounding and sense of fun to retired marine, Gene – even as the genres and images of Bedford’s bold vision eddy about him.

We meet Gene living a fairly unfussy life to a clearly regimented schedule. He wakes, he works out, his does his daily sudoku, he visits the bank to withdraw cash, he tends the garden of his dearly departed wife. He can be crotchety but mostly seems affable and approachable, striking up easy friendships with a young girl working at the computer store, Parks (Shioli Kutsuna), and a barista at a coffee shop, Trevor (Charlie Ferguson) despite their age differences. However, Gene’s relationship with his son Andrew (Jeremy Bobb) is far more strained. Andrew seems primarily preoccupied with shuffling Gene away into assisted living so that he and his sisters – both of whom have long been estranged from Gene – can sell their family home and pocket some inheritance money early. Andrew’s smarmy real estate agent, Jackie (Jim Gaffigan) has a buyer lined up and Gene’s intransigence is making things difficult. Meanwhile, to connect better with his granddaughter Becca (Delaney Quinn), Gene begins dabbling into technology, making new friends and re-connecting with old ones.

The crux of Eugene the Marine is this push and pull between his son’s desire to land his inheritance and stuff Gene away in a fusty, old, gated community somewhere, and Gene’s sudden desire not to go so quietly into the night. Andrew feels that Gene is losing his grip on reality – evidenced by the holes he keeps drilling in the walls when he hears things. Bedford leans into the disorientating potential of Gene’s advanced years, inserted almost psychedelic interludes that suggest Andrew might not be entirely wrong. Colour floods and smash cuts invoke an almost giallo aesthetic, and that’s before a masked killer in black gloves begins disappearing Gene’s new friends. Beford and Cesare Gagliadoni

Bedford leans into the genre-mashing nature of this, allowing almost woozy swings between heartfelt moments of friendship and connection and arthouse horror vibes. Frances (Annette O’Toole) is a great example – and old friend of Gene’s who he connects with on Facebook, but who immediately asks him for money, opening up the possibility of Gene being taken advantage of on multiple fronts. “I know ambushes” she says at one point, fostering its own sense of unease, particularly when the police being sniffing around Eugene himself as the epicentre of the recent disappearances.

All shot on Super 16mm, the film is beautiful to behold; the celluloid brings a depth of colour that makes things really pop – whether that’s the lush red roses in Gene’s garden or the cool blue lighting that floods the room during a particularly wild party thrown at his house. The sumptuous visuals chime perfectly with the films somewhat retro stylings and atmosphere. While evidently placed in a contemporary setting – Becca’s dismissal of Facebook as something old people use being a perfect indicator – it could broadly be set in the decades from which the film takes many of its cues. Described as a horror film in certain promotional materials, it is more tonally ambiguous than that but does then fully embrace that side of its personality with a grand guignol finale that both comes out of left field and makes perfect sense. The cutaways to a snake regularly seen slithering through the grass of Gene’s garden create a sense of highly symbolic tension that Bedford is keen not to wimp out on, and he most certainly does not.

Whether or not Eugene the Marine’s particular cocktail will be to wider audiences tastes remains to be seen, but if you can tune in to its wavelength it’s a fabulously enjoyable ride – one that makes perfect sense as the curtain raiser for this year’s Oldenburg Film Festival.

Director: Hank Bedford
Cast: Scott Glenn, Annette O’Toole, Shioli Kutsuna, Jeremy Bobb, Jim Gaffigan, Delaney Quinn, Charlie Ferguson, Yesly Dimate, Joe Ando-Hirsh
Screenplay: Hank Bedford, Cesare Gagliardoni
Producers: Barbara Bedford, Hank Bedford, Henry Bedford, Cesare Gagliadoni, Patrice Innocenti, Anita Modak-Truran, Lisa Reneau, Stephen Vincent
Cinematography: Derek Howard, Ksusha Genenfeld
Editing: Brian Miele
Music: Angela Aki, Hajime Kawauchi
Costume: David Tabbert
Production companies: Concourse Media, Graham Avenue Productions (USA)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Opening Gala)
In English
88 minutes

Proyectada en Róterdam esta semana, recién llegada de su aclamado estreno mundial en Sundance, esta rapsodia bohemia a veces confusa pero enormemente encantadora, debería disfrutar de una trayectoria fructífera en festivales, con muy buenas perspectivas de estreno en salas de cine especializadas.

Llueve sobre Babel empezó a gestarse durante el confinamiento por el COVID-19, inicialmente como una especie de proyecto de terapia grupal compartida entre Del Sol y su equipo de jóvenes actores de teatro, antes de evolucionar gradualmente hasta convertirse en un drama cinematográfico completo. La extensa trama, con múltiples personajes, se inspira vagamente en el Infierno de Dante, aunque los paralelismos claros son escasos y distantes entre si. Este cuento de hadas trash-punk, saturado de neón, toma prestado mucho más de la leyenda drag Divine que de La Divina Comedia. Siendo justos, es seguro que el público meta de este espectáculo maximalista nunca iba a ser el de los puristas de la literatura italiana del siglo XIV.

El carnavalesco mosaico de personajes y tramas de la película gira en torno a Babel, un club nocturno bacanalesco en Cali, la ciudad natal de Del Sol. Una invitada habitual del bar es La Flaca (Sarai Rebolledo), la Parca reimaginada como una seductora belleza, amazona glamorosa de cabello afro, que disfruta haciendo apuestas de alto riesgo con sus desesperadas víctimas, que arriesgan sus almas por unos años más de vida, para ellas mismas o por un ser querido. En este momento, con la esperanza de cerrar uno de estos tratos, está el poeta drogadicto Monet (Johan Zapata), quien queda impactado al descubrir que murió por una sobredosis de drogas, y el atractivo exsoldado Dante (Felipe Aguilar Rodríguez), quien murió en el campo de batalla hace 20 años, solo para que La Flaca lo mantenga varado en el purgatorio mientras trabaja como su recolector de almas.

Mientras tanto, el angustiado Jacob (William Hurtado) está ansioso por explorar su doble vida clandestina como bailarina drag, pero aún oculta su lado queer de su severo padre pastor, cuya fe cristiana conservadora viene con una fuerte dosis de homofobia. El dueño del club, Gian Salai (John Alex Castillo), también enfrenta una muerte segura e inminente por sus deudas con gánsteres locales, un destino que solo puede evitar contratando al querido cantante de salsa-punk (la estrella de la escena musical de Cali en la vida real, Jacobo Vélez) y su banda Mambanegro. Desafortunadamente para Gian, su atracción principal ha desaparecido misteriosamente pocas horas antes del comienzo del espectáculo, por lo que debe enviar a su hijo Time (José Mojiva) y a la habitual de Babel Uma (Celina Biurrun) en una misión frenética para rescatar a El Callegüeso de las entrañas infernales de la mazmorra sexual subterránea de un hotel. Ayudados por una salamandra parlante, obviamente.

A pesar de su oportuno capital con el  género queer, Llueve sobre Babel  a menudo parece un homenaje estilístico a las épocas revolucionarias del cine gay. Los admiradores de los primeros filmes dePedro Almodóvar, John Waters a mitad de su carrera, Gregg Araki y otros puedn reconocer la estética teatral, de colores brillantes y glam-punk de la película. La duración de 111 minutos parece lenta en algunos momentos, mientras que el abarrotado revoltijo de tramas, que del Sol y su elenco concibieron en talleres improvisados, se desmorona bajo un escrutinio básico. La infernal secuencia del hotel subterráneo, probablemente el eco más cercano de Dante en la película, también se inclina demasiado hacia la comedia slapstick forzada.

Pero a pesar de algunos pequeños tropiezos en el tono, este debut, es un revoltijo seguro de sí mismo y admirablemente ambicioso, es sobre todo  muy divertido, sexy y brillante, generoso y juguetón. Del Sol también aporta un fuerte toque visual a cada escena, incluso al epílogo de baile disco y a los divertidos collages animados en los créditos finales. La banda sonora también es una presencia vital y estimulante, un festín musical que abarca desde la salsa hasta el folk gitano, desde el garage rock clásico hasta el vibrante dance-pop latino.

Director, guion: Gala del Sol
Actores: Jhon Narváez, Celina Biurrun, John Alex Castillo, Sofia Buenaventura, Sarai Rebolledo, Felipe Aguilar Rodríguez, Jose Mojica, William Hurtado
Fotografía: Sten Tadashi Olson
Edición: Gala del Sol, Hadley Hillel
Diseño de producción: Jaime Luna
Música: Martín de Lima
Productores: H.A. Hermida, Ana Cristina Gutiérrez, Gala del Sol, Andrés Hermida, Natalia Rendón Rodríguez
Compañías Productoras: Gala Del Sol Films (Colombia), Fabrica Mundi (españa)
Ventas internacionales: Latido Films
Muestra: Rotterdam International Film Festival (Bright Future)
en español
111 minutos

Karolina (an exceptional Katerina Falbrova) glances through the window of a hotel room and sees children in the apartment opposite, clued to the television set, watching cartoons. She doesn’t say anything, but the weight of her childhood slipping painfully from her grasp is harrowing. Karolina is the 13-year-old protagonist of Ondrej Provaznik’s Broken Voices, a film centred on an elite section in a Czech all-girl choir famed for their angelic voices and precision harmonies. While making into the lead choir is a dizzying ambition, it is one with its own politics and a demanding, predatory overseer. The film premiered at Karlovy Vary, where Falbrova got a special mention from the Crystal Globe jury, and now screens as part of Oldenburg Film Festival.

The plot is set in the 1990s and loosely based on the true story of Bambini di Praga, a Czech children’s choir whose choirmaster, Bohumil Kulínský was arrested in 2004 for numerous acts of sexual abuse of minors. This film is not an explicit adaptation of that story, but its shadow looms large. Instead of retelling it directly, Broken Voices explores the implications of that story, poking at the different forms of manipulation, rivalry and coercion that festers under rule of an abuser. While Karolina’s desire to be part of the top set with her older sister, the 15-year-old Lucia (Maya Kintera), is uncomplicated in its wonder, the reactions of other girl – including Lucie – and the inappropriate attentions of the choirmaster, Macha Vitek (Juraj Loj) are far from childlike.

The narrative first sees Karolina longing to be part of the top choir, particularly when she hears that an international tour to the United States is on the horizon. Lucie gets to stay out late at choir parties with her friends and seems to have a familiar relationship with Macha Vitek that Karolina longs for. When a chance arises and both sisters are invited to a mountaintop retreat for intensive practice – much like the monastery in this year’s other girl-choir-coming-of-ager, Little Trouble Girls – Karolina must start to understand the adult world she’s becoming a part of.

One of the most impressive things about what Provaznik has achieved here is the film’s ability to retain the Karolina’s wide-eyed innocence for so long, even after Vitek’s behaviours and intentions become crystal clear. After lingering looks and Vitek encouraging Karolina to join him in the sauna late at night, it would be easy – and perhaps simple – for the tone of the film to change completely. Instead, we don’t just see but feel Karolina’s elation when things continue to go her way with the choir. We wrestle with the dissonance of knowing what is going to happen, but also revel in her happiness at hers and her sister’s success. It is in impressive set of circumstances in which to balance such things and Provaznik is able to have us root for Karolina and Lucie’s success even when we are terrified of its cost.

This is helped by the performances, which are excellent across the board. Loj does a great job as Vitek, making him charismatic and appealing in a way that makes his seduction of the girls all the more troubling. Maya Kintera’s Lucie is perhaps the most challenging of the roles, as she is the character worldly wise enough to know what is going on and torn apart by it. She is both jealous of her sister, who in certain moments she treats awfully, and protective. However, the real star is of course Katerina Falbrova who anchors the whole film and whose wide-eyed wonder, and glassy-eyed despair, are the most powerful elements of this quiet, shattering drama.

Director, screenplay: Ondrej Provaznik
Cast: Katerina Falbrova, Juraj Loj, Maya Kintera, Zuzana Sulajova, Marek Cisovsky, Ivana Wojtylova, Anna Michalcova, Anezka Novotna, Marketa Kuhnova
Producers: Jiri Konecny, Ivan Ostrochovsky
Cinematography: Lukas Milota
Editing: Anna Johnson Ryndova
Sound: Juraj Mravec, Frantisek Sec
Music: Pjoni, Aid Kid
Art direction: Irena Hradecka
Production companies: Endorfilm (Czechia)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Shorts)
In Czech
104 minutes

The experimental documentary short, by Canadian filmmaker Alison McAlpine uses the animals’ trademark humility and simplicity to great effect as a trio of somewhat bemused burros happen across an observatory in the middle of Atacama Desert in Chile. A film in two parts, by day the donkeys (Palomo, Ruperto, and Palaye) somewhat belligerently wander around the stargazing complex, and then by night an incredible light show seems to present to the intricacies of existence.

Despite its lean runtime and its lack of dialogue, McAlpine’s film is a heady blend of myth, science fiction, documentary, comedy and philosophical exploration. The filmmaker has described part of the inspiration for the film being the stories of the Ring of Brogar in the Orkney and how the standing stones were said to come alive at night. It makes for a wonderful lens to view perfectly a strangeness, as the donkeys – unaware of what the observatory is – stand confounded before being shown its true grandeur. The nighttime sequence is stunning, but its profundity is largely due to the watchful, weather eyes being cast upon the night sky.

There is something magical about these beasts of burden afforded the opportunity to bask in the exaltation of the universe showing off for them and the marvels of human ingenuity that elucidate the heavens. There is something more majestic, though, in the indifference of asses. In the moment that the donkeys first encounter the observatory, the image cuts to a close up of their ears, flicking in different directions, like dishes searching for a signal. What they truly make of it all, though, remains tantalisingly out of reach.

Director, screenplay, producer: Alison McAlpine
Cast: Palomo, Ruperto, Palaye
Cinematography: Nicolas Canniccioni
Editing: Carolina Siraqyan
Sound: Sauel Gagnon-Thibodeau
Music: Ben Grossman
Production companies: Second Sight Pictures (Canada)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Shorts)
No dialogue
15 minutes

Read more of our short film coverage over at Verdict Shorts

Using a premise that many will find familiar, their debut film sees four siblings reunited in their family home on the west coast of Ireland after the death of their cantankerous father. This provides a rich vein to mine as this heartfelt tale of four bereft siblings explores the generational impacts of troubled domestic history and the ways in which family can still be there for one another even in the most difficult of circumstances. The film will be receiving its international premiere at the Oldenburg Film Festival this week, having first screened at Galway Film Fleadh where it won Best Irish First Feature.

Horseshoe has a gentle feel to it that belies the seriousness of the situation at its core. Jer (Jed Murray), Niall (Neill Fleming), Cass (Carolyn Bracken) and Evan (Eric O’Brien) come together in the wake of their father’s death for the reading of his will. The brothers and sister are clearly not close, with Jer and Evan still living in the old family home and Niall and Cass having flown the coop, seemingly at the first available opportunity. They’re an odd mix: Jer feels like a man of another generation, slightly awkward and formal; Niall is a firecracker, struggling with frustrating custody battle; Cass seems the most comfortable with herself but is hiding present and past trauma; and Evan is the quiet baby of the group, eager to please.

That they feel so starkly different to one another is not just by dint of their situations, they each occupy slightly different registers in the cacophony that is this family reunion. There are scenes in which they feel like they could almost be from different films, but the way they interact begins to paint a picture of very different ways their childhoods have shaped them and how they roles that chose or were forced to play in the household hierarchy echoes on now, decades later. Murray and Fleming play their roles slightly more theatrically, emphasising elements of their characters in a way that seems to follow from the violent history they shared with their father. Bracken and O’Brien seem to embody the mother they barely knew, a gentler more empathetic soul and their turns reflect this.

It’s an impressive balance to maintain in a drama like this which itself operates on various registers even with its characters doing the same. There are moments when narrative push threatens to derail things, but it never does, deftly steered by the directors and anchored by the cast. The reading of the will sets in motion a classic ultimatum in which their father, Colm (Lalor Roddy), seems to want to force them to take common action as regards their inheritance, or they’ll get nothing. Colm pops up from time to time, speaking to his children from their subconscious, adopting the sneering malice or gentle dolour that they recall him having. As the siblings all orbit one another trying to put forward their own interests, the audience comes to learn of the difficulties each face – whether that is recovery from addiction, final notices, closeted homosexuality – and how those shape their interactions and how they regard their own family.

Jass Foley’s cinematography and the editing and sound design largely stay out of the way to allow the performers the chance to reel the audience in. As the internal conflicts escalate, there are one or two slightly off notes, but they’re barely noticeable in a film that manages to so successfully navigate its labyrinthine emotional baggage. What it perhaps so notable is that it is both its overtly dramatic moments and its glimpses of quiet contemplation that Horseshoe shines. Like a family, it might not be perfect, but audiences will come away feeling all the better for 90 minutes in its company, and it marks another calling card for two voice in Irish cinema worth keeping an ear out for.

Directors: Edwin Mullane, Adam O’Keeffe
Cast: Jed Murray, Carolyn Bracken, Neill Fleming, Eric O’Brien, Lalor Roddy
Producers: Mo O’Connell, Edwin Mullane, Adam O’Keeffe
Cinematography: Jass Foley
Editing: Tony Cranstoun
Sound: Nikki Moss
Music: Anna Mullarkey
Production design: Mary Doherty
Production companies: WaveWalker Films, 3 Hot Whiskeys (Ireland)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (International)
In English
88 minutes

When the film opens, two deer stalk across the foreground, a doe and fawn, picking their way through the bushes. When they are disturbed by a boat gliding across the serene sun-dappled water and two young women get out to sunbathe, the scene remains idyllic. However Gregoire Graesslin’s quietly menacing short film is not as interested in languorous lakeside chitchat as very gradually ratcheting up a mounting tension. Dammen screens this week at Oldenburg Film Festival having premiered earlier in the year at Cannes.

The tension is imperceptible to begin with, as Aurelien Py’s unmoving and unblinking camera cooly observes proceedings from its waterfront spot. Whether it is the deer or the two young women – Liv (Henneguier) and Clara (Bretheau) – makes no difference as it gazes on. Unblinking is not quite accurate, though, as the camera does blink. Sporadically the scene changes via a cut to black, allowing time to pass in the forest. The girls gossip and then soak in the rays, topless, viewed as if from a distance, from the bushes, like someone is watching. Perhaps they are, as something happens that suddenly introduces a sense of anxiety to proceedings.

Dammen is a film in which very little technically happens on screen, but what the audience and protagonists can infer has happened cuts all the deeper. As the camera keeps cutting to black and returning with the daylight dimming, a sense of dread begins to coalesce on the screen. The forest is transformed from being a bucolic wonderland to somewhere far more sinister and dangerous, where what lurks off screen is left to our vivid, and increasingly panicked imaginations.

Director, screenplay: Gregoire Graesslin
Cast: Liv Henneguier, Clara Bretheau
Producer: Laurine Pelassy
Cinematography: Aurelien Py
Editing: Giulua Rodino
Sound: Vivien Roche, Regis Diebold
Music: Olaf Hund
Production company: Les Films de la Capitaine (France)
Venue: Oldenburg Film Festival (Shorts)
In French
15 minutes

Read more of our short film coverage over at Verdict Shorts

Once again, the spirit of independent cinema will blow through the streets of the small German city as the festival celebrates and elevates those filmmakers utilising small budgets and do-it-yourself attitudes to create thrilling, emotive, scary, strange, and dramatic movies. The festival is renowned for its championing of the little guy and its welcoming embrace for those who’ve battled to get their films made without the backing of major studios or big money. Over the five days the festival will run this year  – from Wednesday 10^th to Sunday 14^th September – it will showcase around fifty films, from beloved classics to bold new visions, from epic feature films to delicate shorts.

This year’s festival once again kicks off at the Cinemaxx where audiences will be treated to the world premiere of Hank Bedford’s new drama Eugene the Marine, which is said to be a blend of heartwarming drama and psychological thriller. Riffing on genre cinema of the 70s and 80s with nods to Gialli and American thrillers, it sounds like a perfect film to capture Oldenburg’s particular relationship with the energy of independent cinema. Starring Scott Glenn, it also inspires one of the tribute strands at this year’s festival which will celebrate the actor’s storied career. Alongside this recent work will be screenings of The Silence of the Lambs, Urban Cowboy,  Carla’s Song and The Challenge to showcase the range of Glenn’s work across more than four decades.

The festival will also honour actor and writer Don Kieth Opper with screenings of Critters, Critters 2, Android and Slam Dance. Elsewhere, James William Guercio is also honoured with a screening of his neglected cult classic, Electra Glide in Blue, and Michael Wadleigh’s Wolfen screens alongside the new documentary Uncovering Wolfen by Stewart Buck. Both Buck’s film and its inspiration screen in the festival’s Midnite Xpress strand which also features Annapurna Sriram’s ode to the trashy artistry of 70s cinema, Fucktoys; Chris Tapia Marchiori’s kinetic foray into the violent docks of Buenos Aires, Gunman; and German Tejada’s punky coming-of-ager, The Innocents. Christian Genzel’s Finding Planet Porno rounds out the strand with his affectionate portrait of Howard Ziehm.

The rest of programme features a wealth of interesting projects from Germany and across the globe. Stella Marie Markert’s Thanks for Nothing, Johannes Naber’s Letzte Ernte, and Nancy Biniadaki’s Maysoon lead the line for the Germany contingent while the festival features a host of world premieres from further afield. Other bows include: Guillaume Campanacci’s tale of lust and murder, The Silent Sinner; Greg Vrotsos’s riff on modern relationships in Situations; Alejandro Castro Arias’s study of masculinity, Harakiri, I Miss You; and Erkan Acar’s spectral Ghost Bastard to name but a few.

There are also plenty of international and German premieres with titles arriving from Cannes, Karlovy Vary, Locarno and more. Edwin Mullane and Adam O’Keeffe return to Oldenburg with their debut feature Horseshoe, Louise Hemon’s foreboding and claustrophobic The Girl in the Snow screens, Gala del Sol offers up neon noir with Rains Over Babel, Jim Sheridan and David Merriman go back over a cold case in Re-Creation, and the festival will conclude with a screening of Kristen Stewart’s The Chronology of Water at the city’s grand Staatstheater. Over the coming days there will be much for audiences to sink their teeth into as Oldenburg Film Festival once again swings its doors open to let the creativity flow.

Read more of our coverage of the 2025 Oldenburg Film Festival and watch this year’s festival trailer below or on YouTube.