In her late 50s, Chela is struggling to stay cushioned in her petit bourgeoisie bubble. Born in wealth and now burdened with debt, she cloisters herself inside a dim-lit room to block the humiliation, as potential buyers enter her house to look through her heirlooms. When her life-partner Chiquita is sent to prison for fraud, she is forced to come out and face a world she seldom has before.
Marcelo Martinessi’s The Heiresses astutely observes the upper-class lesbian couple, clinging to their old money and status in a post-dictatorship Paraguay, where sexuality is neither the source of conflict nor the driving force in the film. “This is not a coming-out but a coming-of-age story,” says Martinessi, over a cup of coffee in Mumbai.
Much like Chela, who presumably struggled with her sexuality in her youth but now has other problems to deal with, the filmmaker says he wanted the “homophobic Paraguayan society” to look beyond the sexuality of his characters and focus on the growing socio-economic divide in the country.
Oscar hopeful
The Heiresses , which is Paraguay’s official entry to the 91st Academy Awards in the best foreign film category, is part of a handful of Oscar hopefuls and film festival favourites this year that cast a critical eye on the growing economic inequality world over, highlighting the struggles, hopes, rebellion and resentment of the working class.
South Korea’s Oscar entry Burning builds up the frustrations of a working-class farm boy to a climax, which is symbolic of class revolution and anarchy. Lee Chang-dong’s film may appear to be a love triangle on the surface but it cuts deep into the class privileges and aspirations of urban Korean youth.
On the one hand, there’s an aspiring novelist, Jongsu, who works on his father’s farm, and on the other is Ben, who occupies a capitalistic world of gentrified apartments and sports cars. While Jongsu masturbates with his eyes fixed on the N Seoul Tower, an allusion perhaps to his economic aspiration, Ben’s inexplicable desire to burn barns portrays the hollowness of a materialistic life. They are both in love with the free-spirited and enigmatic Haemi, who seeks answers to existential questions. As the three interact, Chang-dong studies the alienation of Korean youth.
Four hours, four characters
This feeling of isolation and helplessness is amplified in Chinese filmmaker Hu Bo’s first and last film, An Elephant Sitting Still .
Haunted by the suicide of its 29-year-old maker shortly after the film was completed, An Elephant Sitting Still achieved a cult-like following across film festivals, from the Berlinale to Toronto.
Reminiscent of Jia Zhangke films, the almost four-hour-long narrative follows four characters from dawn to dusk, who are trapped in various personal crises but are linked by their shared frustration about China’s rapid economic and industrial progress that leaves no room for individual fulfilment.
The film at times is so nihilistic one can’t help but read it as Bo’s farewell note. His utter disdain for the economic oppression in Chinese small towns is brought out through a unique cinematographic language of tight facial shots where the action often takes place outside the frame or in the out-of-focus background.
The suffocating lack of space plays a pivotal role in Shoplifters as well, creating one of the most memorable love-making scenes of 2018. Cramped in a ramshackle flat with their makeshift family, Osamu and Noboyu have sex after a long time when no one is at home. Once done, they lie around leisurely, stark naked, unaware of the kids almost walking in on them.
Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Palme d’Or winner and Japan’s official Oscar entry is a hopeful and empathetic portrait of an unusual working-class family, connected by love, money and a knack for crime.
Political consequence
Although not fully interested in speaking truth to power, Kore-eda’s film is a corrective to Japan’s egalitarian image as portrayed in international media. Japanese Prime Minister Shinzō Abe notoriously snubbed Kore-da after the film’s big Cannes win, amidst speculation that its theme of social exclusion angered the conservative leader.
Halla, a middle-aged choir conductor, stands up to similar right-wing ideologies in Iceland’s Oscar submission, Woman at War . An ecological activist (or terrorist, depending on your worldview), Halla is a working-class woman hell-bent on saving Icelandic culture and landscapes from industrialists. The film supplements her efforts to bring down electric poles with visuals of traditional Icelandic musicians, reminding the viewer of the culture at stake because of rapid industrialisation.
Time of revolution
Similar anti-capitalistic sentiments can be seen in films like Jia Zhangke’s Ash Is Purest White and Boots Riley’s Sorry to Bother You , which hint at a large, systemic change.
However, the rebellion against social hierarchies is as political as it is personal in Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma .
Former Mexican President Luís Echeverría Álvarez’s forcible squashing of student protests affects a heavily-pregnant Cleo as she takes recourse in a furniture store. Set in Mexico City in the early 70s, there’s a moment in the film when the mass revolution overlaps with Cleo’s personal act of defiance: she’s a house-help about to deliver a child out of wedlock.
Roma is Mexico (and Netflix’s) entry to the Oscars and winner of the Golden Lion at the 75th Venice International Film Festival.
Narrated from Cleo’s point of view, it recreates the social and economic conditions of the middle and working classes. The film neither outrightly criticises the bourgeoisie’s hold over their servants, nor does it condone the social inequities that govern Cleo’s life.
She is abandoned by the father of her baby, is caught up in a violent student protest, and survives an earthquake during her delivery, but through it all she keeps her emotions locked up, only for an outburst in the end. It’s both her inner strength and the final cry of defiance that resonates with audiences, as one more working-class character finds a voice in this year’s cinema.
kennith.rosario@thehindu.co.in
