Category: Review
Ari Aster’s second full-length film Midsommar offers a delightful journey from the US to Sweden, out of mundane consciousness, along with plenty of compelling visuals.
In nearly all his Midsommar-themed interviews, Aster admits to having made a conscious choice to use the folk-horror genre as the framework for the story, being aware of the predictable narrative structure of the genre. For this reason, the plot of the movie is not central; the emphasis is instead placed on secondary nuances, details, and the atmosphere.
Surprisingly, many reviewers have brought into question the categorization of Midsommar as a horror movie, stating that it is not very appropriate or even misleading. Okay. This could be true if one was to see the versatile genre of horror as one-sided, pointing to the fact that the film is lacking jump scares and explicitly violent acts, which are instead carried out in secret, off-screen. However, in many cases, the horror of Midsommar is overlooked precisely because it isn’t a low-budget splatter film featuring someone being tortured in a basement; in other words, Midsommar is not accepted as a horror movie because it isn’t sufficiently cheap, bad, and boring.
The film is thematically rich, obviously. Hidden behind the surface of the American protagonists’ culture shock in the small Swedish community are many existential questions, contrasting emotions, and, characteristically of Aster, angst and melodrama combined with cynical humour. Although the film operates on slasher-like logic, it doesn’t dedicate much screen time to the characters’ gruesome ends, rather, the film focuses on their dysfunctional relationships and subtle revenge fantasies. Aster’s directorial debut Hereditary proved that he is extremely skilled at using film techniques to portray his characters’ troubled psychological states – this talent has also been utilised masterfully in Midsommar.
Aster’s directorial debut Hereditary proved that he is extremely skilled at using film techniques to portray his characters’ troubled psychological states – this talent has also been utilised masterfully in Midsommar.
Discussing his psychedelic western El Topo, Chilean film legend Alejandro Jodorowsky has said: “I ask of film what most North Americans ask of psychedelic drugs. The difference being that when one creates a psychedelic film, he need not create a film that shows the visions of a person who has taken a pill; rather, he needs to manufacture the pill.”¹ Jodorowsky suggests that the film itself has to have drug-like effects on the viewer, and Ari Aster has been quite successful at creating such a product in Midsommar. The Midsummer-worthy length and slow pace of the film allow it to make both random and meaningful digressions (it can be hard to tell one from another). The endless visual abundance, unnaturally beautiful colour scheme and subtly changing environment open pathways between emotions, stories, time and space, carrying the receptive viewer far far away with it… Until everything culminates in an ecstatic finale, where fantasies are fulfilled, angst dissipates, and the viewer is overpowered by joy.
¹ Jodorowsky, El Topo: The Book of the Film, p. 97
I feel a bit strange writing this opinion piece about an ambient album. I don’t think I’m an expert. I haven’t listened to the style for many years and I don’t know all the key performers, I’m not familiar with its’ nuances and sub-genres. I feel a bit like a politician. A bit like a former athlete or an actor, who is now sitting in a committee and developing methods of support for installing solar panels.
There was a time when for me Aphex Twin was synonymous with ambient music. That’s because a magazine had a tree of different music styles and its name was under ambient music. My friend Andres, who actually follows the genre, said that this was not entirely true, and in fact, Aphex had only ever made one ambient album, but you wouldn’t bother explaining that to a fool. I didn’t believe it. Now I am older and wiser, and when I’m working, I mostly listen to ambient music. It doesn’t distract me a lot when I’m concentrating, it covers talking noises in the room, a win-win situation. But as I mentioned, I know little about this genre.
During the past few weeks, I have repeatedly listened to the digital album Best Wishes by an Estonian project Wondering O. Also, this was almost the first time I had listened to local ambient music in the form of an album. So, I got even more excited that I’d be listening to it. As I don’t feel at home in this area, it’s difficult for me to bring out examples of who this music reminds me of, but I can talk about what it reminds me of and what thoughts the music brought out. As by now I have continuously excused myself, I will state that I childishly divide ambient music into two broad categories. Calm and tense. Personally, I prefer a more calm and peaceful style of music. You can play the so-called meditation music as background or listen to it when you need help falling asleep. You need to pay more attention to the tense ambient music. Then it will be good and will not disturb you. But when you play it as background music, it will subconsciously make you uneasy and cause discomfort.
When I started listening to the Best Wishes album my first emotion was that this is the tense ambient music type. Everything seemed to be peaceful, you heard the cello quietly sawing, but this was through a coarse distortion (the British have a beautiful word “distortion” for this effect, which is mostly used by electric guitarists).
The second song deepened the notion of tense ambient. Again, there were no anxious and sudden sounds. Quite the opposite, there’s a long and continuous sound of strings that ambient music often uses as background, and which is layered with various sounds from the environment (this is what ambient means). But this continuous sound was not mellow, and for some reason, the additional sounds made me anxious. To get ahead of myself, I can say that for me, the entire album had a very film-like feel — most of the songs could have been in a film. The second song from the album is called Eternal and that was a song for an Estonian film. Not for a contemporary one, but a classical one. Greyness, darkness, some lengthy shots. Music brings the angst of the actor closer to the people so they can feel the mist and the greyness, the dampness and desolation. Perhaps it could be from the film The Temptation of St. Tony.
But then onwards there was a quiet turn. The third song started very peacefully. Some sounds were anxious and wouldn’t let you fall asleep, but the general tone let go of the anxiety. The name of the song is Occhiolism-nakas. This song also makes the entire pattern of the album evident. One song that holds many songs. Within the song, there is a big development in another direction. If you listen to the music without knowing the number of songs you would think that an entirely new piece had started. As this album is also released as a cassette tape, I imagine that listeners might get quite confused about there are fewer number of titles on the cover than there are songs and many of the titles can end up shifting.
By the fourth song, your brain has gotten used to the level of anxiety and although the song is not for yoga, it doesn’t feel disturbing. The song is called Perceive Microcosm. This song is the most varied and is also one of my favourite songs from the Best Wishes album, especially the ending, which reminds me of a religious choir. At the same time, there’s a moment where the song has a rather deep 4/4 bass drum. It’s filtered, but it’s there. The song has been skilfully compiled.
So, you are here, Mister Sensitive. You made it, said the next song. The title of the first song of the album, Uphill, now starts to make sense as this album moves closer to something I can appreciate about ambient music. Calming and interesting patterns instead of pure experiments. My second favourite from the album is the sixth song Ghost Notes. This is also framed with continuous sounds, but the second half is filled with brief chirping melodies. I’d also bring out the song Axx without a deeper deconstruction. Maybe only that I didn’t get a film-like feeling during the song. It was only music. Without a video.
The last songs brought me back to the films. In Macrocosm you can hear a conversation and children speaking in the background. A situation too lifelike to be able to think about it as only music. In some sense, it was also a wake-up call. Just when you started to think that you could let this music pass through you, without having to put it into words, then after hearing the annoyed man talk, it inevitably brought you back to reality. The last song of the album is the title song Best Wishes. I think that musically it concludes the album very well. It has all the emotions that you heard during the album. All the anxiety and peacefulness, different styles in a tasteful compote.
Overall, I was very happy with the work. For a change, it’s good to listen to something when you don’t know anything about it, without knowing the background of the artist, being stuck in something you had listened to before. This is music for listening, not background. If you don’t do anything else during your listening then interestingly enough this music is quite different, much more understanding and enjoyable. The album has nicely been tied into a complete whole. I wish best wishes to the artist Wondering O! Great achievement!
In the French romantic comedy-drama ‘A Faithful Man’, the protagonist Abel goes from one love triangle into the next.
Abel is played by Louis Garrel, who is also the director and co-writer of the movie. This allows him to wonderfully tell the story just like he had imagined it. The female protagonist Marianne is played by his wife Laetitia Casta and this fact also seems to contribute to the movie as their intricate relationship patterns are brought onto the screen with delicate subtlety.
Abel and Marianne go to the same university and live together for some time. But then, Marianne leaves Abel for their mutual friend Paul whom she likes more. Abel accepts their break-up and because fighting for his feelings is not his strongest side, he packs up his things. Eight years later, after Paul’s death, the matured Abel decides to once more try his luck with Marianne.
The second central role of the movie is played by Ève, a 19-year old Lily-Rose Depp, who shows charismatic determination and creativity in clearly indicating and enacting her feelings and wishes in a way that is very distinctive to her character. Ève has had a crush on Abel since she was a teenager. And now as a grown-up, she has the opportunity to play her cards.
The series of events that she initiates show that one of Oscar Wilde’s sayings could be quite accurate. That is: “There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it.” By the way, in some long camera shots, the woman bears surprising similarity to her father Johnny Depp (I am reminded of his Jack Sparrow in the ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’). And who doesn’t know, her mother is no other than Vanessa Paradise.
The movie has used an interesting approach in some of its scenes. In some of the scenes, you can hear the character’s inner monologue and this attributes meaning and motivation to the activities we see on the screen. This type of story-telling brings enjoyable psychological intimacy and invigorates the sense of the movie just like a quiet part at a piano concert.
Overall, I got the impression that the events in the movie are quite random and that they are not the result of a specific aim. But perhaps the factors influencing the characters are more hidden from what they first appear as. This way, ‘A Faithful Man’ gives the audience an effective brain training session that is no doubt useful.
Photo: scene from the movie
On 28 March, Ruslan Stepanov and Artjom Astrov’s play-performance “Performance @STL” on the position of victimhood at Sõltumatu Tantsu Lava was an experience — everyone was on stage, even the audience, as at times the audience was more on the stage than the dancers-performers.
In the middle and edge of the space, there are boats that are covered in rugs that we step on. We position ourselves where we feel most comfortable. Sometimes we get out of the boats and sit on the floor, the empty space. Sometimes we step closer to the performers to get a better view. Sometimes we step back so we wouldn’t be in the way. The extent of being part of the performance depends on the audience’s level of curiosity, courage, and will to change their position. Interestingly, because the areas covered in rugs were literally higher and closer than the dancing space allocated to the dancers, then, of course, you had to change your position for a better view. Not everyone could see the performance entirely because some dance steps always remained behind an elevation or in the kitchen that was built under the elevation. This was a separate playground and reminiscent of a more realistic theatre.
Like in life, we need to change our position to gain more information about the situation we are at. To change our perspective in life we need to use empathy, which is the skill of putting yourself in another’s situation instead of physically moving from one place to another. This also requires courage, curiosity and the will to change your position. What takes place between the performers is a similar means of giving a voice to someone – to one, another, third, fourth. According to where they stand or who they become in that moment, the performers choose their words and their movements. Though most often the performers aim to be someone, who they already are by their first name. Kai, Annemai, Raido, Oliver, Artjom, Ruslan.
In the current political climate, the imagery of the uncensored kitchen especially stands out. And it feels like I have accidentally found myself in Sergei Dovlatov’s Soviet Russia or Estonia, where the intellectuals are safest in their kitchens and not in fancy restaurants or cafes or bars, where speaking freely can lead to jail. For some reason, Artjom Astrov reminds me of Isaac Babel and the tiny kitchen in the corner of the stage Aleksey German Jr.’s movie “Dovlatov” (2017). This movie with its endless and funny journeys ends up in censorship and in a situation, where people (long ago those people were women, but now journalists can end up in the same place) cannot speak or write anywhere else but the kitchen. That is, they literally change their physical position like we do when we watch the performance. Let’s hope we don’t end up in that situation. That we won’t find ourselves in the corner of a kitchen cursing the government and being afraid of someone overhearing the conversation outside of it. That is why you should be courageous and curious and take on someone else’s position, and just for a moment push them out of their position, to get a better understanding of what is happening around us.
Towards the end of the performance, the imagery of the kitchen is amplified by the conversation that engages the public. We find out that Kaja Kann, Mart Kangro and some others, who are directly connected to dance are also there. For example, I consider myself to be an honest by-stander and volunteer. I am unnoticeable. You cannot notice everyone involved in the performance. And yet you get a feeling of being outside of the game. Which game precisely, I don’t know. But I suppose that is the piece of the pie that is described in the programme leaflet: “Victim mentality as a means to assert oneself in this world. The group of performers with different life and stage experiences as well as nationalities is astonished and asks: when will the world hand me the piece of the pie that is rightfully mine?” As if by accident I have found myself in someone’s kitchen talking about their important matters. Without knowing what to say. And I am not even being involved in the conversation.
In some way the performance is an homage to Estonian dance. A reference to something that once was, but that continues and changes in the hands of Ruslan Stepanov. Similar to Henri Hütt’s and Mihkel Ilus’ performance “Caprices II”, which was a serenade to Kanuti Gild SAAL. Ruslan Stepanov takes a bow to Estonian dance and includes various dancers from different generations in his kitchen. And this is exactly what is needed — a feeling that once there was something and once something will come after. Not a white ship with promises of a better future, but the knowledge of changing positions. And attentiveness towards something that once was in order to get a better understanding of something that could come after.
Header photo: Lee Kelomees
There have been several exhibitions on Gordon Matta-Clark and one of the most comprehensive ones is exhibited at KUMU until the 8th of June, 2019. Matta-Clark, an architect who uses photography for documentation of his works is revisited by a space-oriented photographer Anu Vahtra through the exhibition Gordon Matta-Clark: Anarchitect. Anu Vahtra: Completion through removal.
Underneath the Visible
Gordon Matta-Clark, best known for his “anarchitecture” (a combination of the words “anarchy” and “architecture”) in which he gets into soon to be destroyed buildings and cuts them, uses architecture to show what is deep inside. As he cuts through floors, ceilings, and walls, he creates a new open space that was not there before. Through his usage of photography and videos for documentation, he puts the viewer in such a disoriented position that one has to fully focus to determine his standing point in that newly existing space. His works are interpreted as an effort to show how connected we are through removing connections. He cuts and digs. Through time, he cuts and digs wider and deeper. He searches for what is underneath the visible. And this time, the viewer also has the chance to go deep in Gordon Matta-Clark’s thoughts, underneath the visible, by the broad range of works exhibited at KUMU.
Problematic Family Relationships
There have been said and written a lot about his artistic medium and philosophy behind the building cuts within the terms of architectural and art historical languages. Re-exploring his works through different disciplines may help to understand and know him better. From a comparative standpoint, Matta-Clark’s relations with buildings and divided spaces within them can be interpreted as a representation of his relations with his father, Roberto Matta.
Matta-Clark’s father Roberto Matta was a well-known surreal artist who started his career as an architect. He worked at Le Corbusier’s studio for about two years in the late ‘30s and during this period it was obvious that those two men, Corbusier and Matta, were not on the same page. Almost 30 years later, the architecture education Matta-Clark had at Cornell University was dominantly founded on Le Corbusian principles which Matta-Clark was totally against. Matta-Clark’s relationship with his father was actually a problematic one. Matta had never praised his son until the day Matta-Clark died at the age of 35. In 1970, Gordon would change his surname to Matta-Clark by incorporating his mother’s maiden name. Matta-Clark had a twin brother, Sebastian (Batan), who was also an artist, a brighter one with some problems. Since they were very close and getting along quite well, Sebastian’s suicide (or fall) in 1975 would devastate Matta-Clark.
Opposition to the Father of Modern Architecture
In the ‘70s, New York’s city plan was designed through Corbusian principles. Even though the city was hosting the world’s tallest building (the Empire State Building), it was also welcoming its successors, the Twin Towers – World Trade Center. Like palaces and cathedrals of previous centuries, architecture was again used for the sake of power symbolization in the name of corporate buildings. “For Gordon, architecture had failed the common man” would say Bessa from Bronx Museum. Anarchitecture, was born due to this urge; the urge to oppose to the “father of modern architecture”.
The will to destroy the tallest buildings which symbolize the dominant power, the father, can also be interpreted as a reflection of his relationship with his father. In her book, Object to be Destroyed: The Work of Gordon Matta-Clark, Lee would explain this situation as “Matta-Clark wrestled for the rest of his short life with a simultaneous denial of his father’s influence and a desire for his recognition. Every testimony devoted to the younger artist’s rejection of the father is complemented by a discussion of Matta-Clark’s need for acceptance”.
An Artist, an Influencer, and a Son
Whilst trying to be like his father, that Oedipal anger and the need for changing the paternal figure were there. He was creating new spaces by removing connections via cutting, slicing, and dividing. Those connection free spaces were also attachment free spaces that always had an opening so that no one could be trapped. “Although he never spoke about his father, I realized that he had spent his whole life competing with him” would say his former partner Carolina Goodden in Lee’s book. Since the outer world represents the father figure, every cut, split, remake he did to reshape the outer world can be seen as an attempt to overcome his ambivalent feelings about his father whom he might want to supersede, resemble, and differ. Countless efforts to deal with the father who was and was not there…
In the end, considering Matta-Clark works as a pure expression of father-son relationship can be too much simplification, even a reduction. On the other hand, ignoring the signs may prevent the viewer from seeing the topic from all possible sides. Therefore, through your journey in KUMU corridors redesigned by Anu Vahtra, be ready to meet an artist, an influencer, and a son.
Photo by Harry Gruyaert. Gordon Matta-Clark and Gerry Hovagimyan working on Conical Intersect. Paris, 1975. Courtesy of the Estate of Gordon Matta-Clark and David Zwirner, New York / London
Martti Helde’s full-length feature film Scandinavian Silence reached cinemas on March 29. While Estonian film has provided diverse experiences during the jubilee year of the Republic of Estonia, Scandinavian Silence manages to add yet another nuance. The power of this work relies on silence that subtly awakens the feelings inside.
‘Scandinavian Silence’ places great emphasis on nature, in terms of both visuals and meaning. Visually, it is expressed in slow scenes filmed with a drone that flies over winding roads and bleak forests. All of this might be just striking if similar shots had not just recently been used in The Wind Sculpted Land by Joosep Matjus, Eva’s Christmas Mission by Anu Aun and Truth or Justice by Tanel Toom. While it’s clearly good news that during the past year so many people found themselves in the cinema more often than before, these reference moments may take away some enjoyment while watching Martti Helde‘s movie.
However, I applaud the decision to make the film in black and white. It may scare away some potential viewers, but it works well. One layer that is so familiar and characteristic to the movies that you wouldn’t even suspect it in causing any additional noise has been removed. The lack of colours lets you focus on the feelings that are bubbling deep down in the hearts of the characters, tamed masterfully by the actors Reimo Sagor and Rea Lest-Liik.
In fact, while you’re watching this movie, it feels like you should be perfectly quiet not to break that last thread of trust between the two characters. The feeling that you are accidentally witnessing a very personal moment between two people that might be shattered by the smallest shake, has been created very convincingly by the camera work. The illusion of reality is only ruined by a slightly over-elaborated dialogue.
Mick Pedaja‘s music with its restrained power is perhaps the most Scandinavian part of the film. Music that is specially designed for this film supports story-telling, making the mix of emotions more dynamic while also bringing out the brighter shades of it.
One question that still hangs in the air even after watching the movie is – what is this feeling that keeps us holding back our words?
Photo: Press Material
In these betwixt and between times of our everyday life, how do contemporary artists hatch images of physical and non-physical elements of living? The question seems to be vast and boundless, but the works of six artists of Post Winter Mixtape explore this question within the frameworks of dreams, rhythm, play-sets, chair-table-typewriter, or star-gazing in the starry night.
Jointly curated by Alina Astrova and Lilian Hiob, the exhibition presents a total of 10 artworks including formats such as painting, photograph, video film and installation. This ongoing exhibition was opened on February 28 and will remain open until the 27th of April at Temnikova & Kasela Gallery. Visitors are welcome from Wednesday to Sunday, from 3 pm to 7 pm and the admission is free for everyone.
The phrase Post Winter Mixtape may be interpreted by some people as something related to a seasonal perspective of nature change such as Winter, Spring, Summer and so on. Others may raise a question, “Then, why Post Winter? Why not Spring?” Yes, it is now Spring in Estonia. But like “Post Winter” strikes on the ordinary thinking of time frame, the notion of six artists’ artworks also has similar connotations: “neither one thing nor the other” or, you could say, mixing of fragments which have no ending in the gallery.
The eminent and emerging six artists are Jaanus Samma, Sigrid Viir, Inga Meldere, Helena Keskküla, Ann Pajuväli and Anna Mari Liivrand. Inga Meldere is from Latvia and the others are from Estonia.
The works are placed in the different corners and spaces of the gallery and the first work that visitors encounter is Helena Keskküla’s 7 minutes long black and white film Etude of Dreamcatcher. This is her new artwork – production from 2019 that consists of a smartphone held by genderless hands. Gaining inspiration from Samuel Beckett’s play Rockaby, Helena re-imagines our moments of sleeping at night with rocking chair and lullaby. The film opens with a long, wide shot of a rocking chair – a woman sitting on it and swaying expressionlessly but rhythmically; like a pendulum, like a wave of motion. Then a techno sound breaks the illusory motion, and at one point a close shot of the woman’s face appears in an inverted arrangement. The chaotic sound turns into a soothing song – a lullaby. This is such a familiar image that anyone can relate it to their childhood memories. Chimeric images dramatize the relationship between mind and body, voice, memories and identity in today’s device-dependent everyday living.
Just opposite side of this mobile-mediated film, Anna Mari Liivrand’s artwork Ripple on a Field (2019) is displayed. Shiny, metallic grey color of graphite on the silk fabric, this painting sets quite a wide spectrum that reaches from classical biology book to architecture and makes visitors to experience something undefined – an arch with a microscopic organism that can poke into one’s mind as a dancing body in the Medieval Church.
Along with the new artworks, five previous works by two artists are also presented at the exhibition. Sigrid Viir’s three artworks from 2008, 2009 and 2011 are displayed on the left and on the opposite side of Liivrand’s work. Viir’s main medium is photo but she also deals with a form of installation using wooden frame and sculpture. For example, her smallest work in size at the exhibition, Compromise no: RXP-1209-18 from 2009. It frames the photograph of office table and shelf and a number of file folders with wood. Along with a long wooden trolley-stand, this screen-shape, rectangular framing creates a nothingness of stupid work-space at one point; another look takes you to a tour of TV-watching experience from the 1990s when TV was always set on a trolley.
Office appliances and furniture are leading elements also in the works of Latvian artist Inga Meldere. Her two works are from 2018. Correlation juxtaposes photograph with oil painting. Again, framed by wood, the photograph contains old and new appliances and furniture of work spaces such as desks, shelves with file-folders, typewriter, chair, table lamp, telephone, and so on. By using ultraviolet light, this digital print of the photograph gets a photographic mat-look, but when viewer’s eye catches the small female figure with green and grey color in the left of the canvas, the whole tale takes a different perspective. This tale can be told as a woman’s personal experience in the office space where separate and temporal memories are reflected through objects. Meldere’s other work, Recollection, is a fuse of taxidermied birds, animals and series of drawers and cupboards.
Jaanus Samma’s two new artworks are positioned next to Meldere’s works, on the right-side wall. Based on early 20th century’s archival postcards from Estonian National Museum, each artwork consists of two parts: one part consists of an enlarged postcard, and another one is a water color painting of a starry night. This set up looks like a museum’s table-top display. Samma depicts the starry night in such ethereal and majestic way that the elements on the postcards (socks, gloves, and sculptures) are seemingly floating, as if they are eliciting a sensation of materialistic history in the orbit of the planet. Two artworks with the same title Museum Display (Stargazing) 1 can also take the viewer’s mind to Don McLean’s song ‘Starry Starry Night’ where Vincent (Van Gogh) rests silently.
The last piece of art at the exhibition is Ann Pajuväli’s new work Play Sets. This artwork that combines demo models made from different materials and animated video is perhaps addressing the flexibility to enter the childhood memory lane or vulnerability to stay in the hyperreality. Or perhaps not … But one thing I am sure to say is that the use of wooden frame in most of the artworks stands on environmental sensitivity.
Header photo: Anu Vahtra
The French dark drama comedy Who You Think I Am (Celle que vous croyez) can shake the viewer pretty nicely. The film convincingly shows how great feelings can become – like the video of Rolling Stones song ‘Love Is Strong’ that captures the mood of Who You Think I Am with its slightly depraved visual aesthetics perfectly.
Oscar winner Juliette Binoche plays 50-year-old Claire, a literature lecturer at the university, who has split from her husband after 20 years of living together and has now found herself a younger lover who is a construction man. The construction man, however, is not much interested in the company of the woman after having sex, and he will soon leave the literature teacher on her own.
Claire needs emotional proximity. A need for control also emerges in her, she would like to achieve a position where no one could leave her anymore. She decides to use her trained mind and creates a picture-perfect 24-year-old woman’s account on Facebook. Using a false account, she’s going to infiltrate into the life of ex-lover to yet to see about this abandonment thing.
In the course of her mission, Claire will have a chat contact with the construction man’s friend Alex, who is a photographer. As both somehow manage to direct the conversation to the dream of a perfect partner and an ideal self, the cyber relationship fiercely flares up and both get carried away. Claire, however, resists the chance to actually meet the online lover, even though the young man is pushing hard. So Claire ends up at the psychotherapist to unravel her feelings.
The central issue of the film is how a person’s perception of his or her best self expresses his or her spiritual reality and how that perception could be implemented. The different choices are twisted and turned by the film in a very intense way, and in the course of this, light is cast into the darker parts of the human soul.
Who You Think I Am is a rather recognisable French/European film. For example, if you compare it to the French drama thriller Double Lover (L’amant double, 2017) there are at least three substantive similarities in the films. These include sex in a big-windowed apartment while there’s a night-time city panorama in the background, the heroine’s extensive conversations with her therapist, and scenes that don’t immediately give away the meaning of what’s going on on the screen.
If you didn’t get enough of a 50-year-old woman’s quest for closeness and her true self after seeing Who You Think I Am, you can go see another new movie on the same subject, Gloria Bell. Julianne Moore, the main actress here, is also an Oscar winner, and the story unfolding on the screen is much brighter and includes plenty of dance music from the 80s.
Upcoming screenings: http://kultuur.info/event/film-who-you-think-i-am//
Photo: image from Who You Think I Am
Last weekend I had a chance to experience an extraordinary concert tour ‘Nordic Pulse Tour’ at the Estonia Concert Hall. The Estonian musician and composer Mick Pedaja, Swiss violinist David Nebel and conductor Kristjan Järvi were performing with the Baltic Sea Philharmonic.
Contagious passion and energy
In addition to Tallinn, the ‘Nordic Pulse’ concert tour has also performed in Palanga, Riga and Helsinki. The Helsinki concert supported the important environmental work of John Nurminen Foundation. For every ticket sold, one Euro was donated to the foundation projects that protect the Baltic Sea. The last concert will be held in St. Petersburg on 21 March. They will also perform at the 20th annual international Baltic Sea Forum that highlights various ways of protecting the marine environment of the Baltic Sea.
The Baltic Sea Philharmonic website states that this is a new paradigm for making music in the 21st century. Their concerts offer a unique show of sound, light and projection art as well as choreography; their passion to perform music that is written for orchestras without the help of sheet music, changes the musical experience for the performers as well as the audience; under guidance of musical director Kristjan Järvi and his almost electrifying conductor’s baton, their concerts convey remarkably contagious passion and energy. We can certainly say that their aims are fulfilled effortlessly and with visible enjoyment.
Particularly moving journey
They performed Pēteris Vasks’ song ‘Vientuļais eņģelis’ / ‘Lonely Angel’, I and II part of Gediminas Gelgotas’ violin concerto and Kristjan Järvi’s own song ‘Aurora’. The programme booklet had colourful introductions to these stories. In Vasks’ song, ‘the violin solo moves in the background of the string instruments and reaches spiritual heights while symbolising the composer’s deep religious convictions’. At the beginning of Gelgotas violin concerto, ‘the darker sections interchange with lyrical episodes that progress into a solo cadence. … The peak for the second part comes with the violin solo that is followed by orchestral themes, similar to a chorale, and that give the work with a harmonious end.’ These introductions were easy to recognize when listening to the concert. Violinist David Nebel performed seemingly effortless and truly skilful solos. He was drawing energy from the conductor, with whom he cheerfully communicated, and from the orchestra, he was playing for.
According to the Baltic Sea Philharmonic website, ‘Aurora’ was inspired by the magical northern lights and the concept of rebirth and new light. Kristjan Järvi himself has said the following: ‘Aurora is a story about the northern lights, but also about spring, which is a period of creation and rebirth.’ The booklet added that ‘the atmospheric composition uses only a few main motifs that constantly transform and that contain the natural beauty of the Nordic nature.’ The song is minimalistic and yet its natural growth and journey hold something particularly moving.
Chilling performances
The first half of the concert was enriched by Mick Pedaja song arrangements for the orchestra. This cooperation justifies itself. You can hear and feel their connection and efforts to define nature. It is enjoyable to observe the natural energy that they create on stage. The first half of the concert culminated in a powerful and chilling performance of Mick Pedaja’s work ‘To the Light’ (‘Valgeks’).
At the second half of the concert, they performed Kristjan Järvi’s suite of Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s ballet ‘Sleeping Beauty’. According to the booklet, Kristjan’s ‘new arrangement is based on ballet excerpts and popular concert suites that create a dramatically cohesive work’. The suite was performed standing up and without sheet music. The conductor explained that with this approach, he hopes to get people to see and believe that they are capable of anything if they so desire. At the same time, this approach enabled the musicians to fully engage with the song. During the suite, various instruments performed solos and the musicians were even more immersed in the song as they were performing it standing up and without sheet music.
What was my experience?
The emotions were wonderful! As an audience member and classical music enthusiast, I had a true concert experience that I haven’t had in a very long time. The songs were very expressive, you could hear and feel a wide range of emotions. The sadness, sorrow, despair and tensions were intertwined with bright light, hope and genuine joy. I was especially touched by Kristjan Järvi’s own song ‘Aurora’. Unfortunately, I have not found a recording of the song, but I have the unforgettable memory of what I experienced at the concert. The lightness of the song and notes reached every cell of my body and the flow of sounds left me happy in tears! The charismatic Kristjan Järvi passionately roots for his orchestra and effortlessly moves with the music. The joy of what he does was so contagious for me, for the orchestra and for the entire concert hall. The audience even cheered in between and at the end of the songs, and the concert ended with a standing ovation for the orchestra and its remarkable conductor. To observe each member of the orchestra was an experience in itself. Some caught my eye more than others. For example, the first violinist was so expressive that from the beginning you could imagine that she could just as well be a dancer. The second half of the concert confirmed that thought. She danced with every note and wave of music that travelled through the orchestra and got inspired by every move of the conductor.
How was the concert experience for some other audience members?
Visitor 1. All in all, I really liked the concert: the programme was varied and brought the joy of recognition, tension, dreaming, thrill and much more.
The first half was very-very good in its concept, but the technical performance diminished the wow-effect.
The second half of the concert was more lively and the musicians were able to embody the music they performed. It was really cool to see how getting rid of sheet music will free the performers and force them to notice one another, communicate and express the entire concept.
I thought it was an excellent idea to have an hour of autographs after the concert. It was the first time I’ve seen this at a classic concert house.
Visitor 2. For me, the concert was definitely an experience. I liked the vitality of young musicians. Especially the cooperation between the vocals and the powerful instruments. Of course, giving a standing performance of Tchaikovsky’s ‘Sleeping Beauty’ without sheet music was remarkable. And you cannot escape the expressive conductor Kristjan Järvi, whose charisma will have an effect on anyone. By the end of the concert, I had to admit that there is nothing like the organism of the symphony orchestra.
Visitor 3. When an orchestra performs something that they have memorised, the energy is completely different from when playing from the sheets. Actually, there is no need to compare the two, both are unique in their own way. It is inspiring to see and hear two different sides during one concert.
***
It certainly was an experience that I whole-heartedly recommend to anyone, who is interested in classical music or would like to discover it.
“This is the main aim of the exhibition – to be the critical and polemical tool, and the means for initiating a discussion, instead of offering a place for presenting comprehensive research results and final assessments. To provide leads for future research and to discuss what viewpoints could be used to reflect on architecture.” This is how the text of the first feminist architecture exhibition in Estonia (known to the author) that is titled after one of Virginia Woolf’s essays explains the exhibition.
A Room of One’s Own is not a ready-made and resolute product, but is more like fragments from a diary, ideas that support and oppose one another. It is a collage of different topics that relate to the relationship between women and architecture, women as creators of architecture as well as women as ‘consumers’ of architecture.
The exhibition A Room of One’s Own is divided into nine rooms that each approach a set of different questions that lie within the scope of a broader subject. This distinguishes the exhibition from the exhibition canon of classical architecture – these themes are not merely specific to the author, but the room is also viewed as a social and aesthetic construction. The exhibition begins by introducing statistics about local women architects and progresses on to more abstract and broader concepts. Here, the exhibition moves away from women-centred approach and begins to research the ideas that the feminist approach has brought to architecture as a discipline – for example, valuing private space, spatial equality, home decoration, and collectivism.
At the same time, when we step away from the concept of the exhibition, feminism and women in architecture, we can view the display as an alternative history for architecture. The selection of exhibition works is varied and many of them have received undeservedly little attention, because of their author being less known or their subject matter has remained in the background. For example, there are interesting works by Heili Volber, who designed the Tallinna II Lastekodu (Tallinn Children’s Home) with interior designer Aate-Heli Õun in 1976 or the Narva mööblivarbik (Narva furniture factory) by Maimu Kaarnaväli in 1958-60.
The exhibition is also a manifest that fights works that have one single viewpoint, an approach that is characteristic to modernism. There is no one and single truth that is forced on the viewer. The exhibition relies on the viewer and not the author.
The exhibition is also a manifest that fights works that have one single viewpoint, an approach that is characteristic to modernism. There is no one and single truth that is forced on the viewer. The exhibition relies on the viewer and not the author. In the first room, the viewer is confronted by dark facts from recent history when representation of women in architecture structures and institutions was low. But the last room of the exhibition admits: “The general picture of Estonian architecture confirms that creative choices are mostly influenced by the aesthetics and social truths of the period, and gender identity, if it plays a role in a project, is only present indirectly – although in some cases, the gender specific interpretation is possible as an added layer.” And so, the exhibition leaves it up to the viewer to decide what is the nature of architecture that is created by women, and whether it is possible to identify this type of construction at all. The strength of the exhibition lies in knowing how to simultaneously approach a subject from various viewpoints – being more open to discussion and trying less to prove a hypothesis.
This prevalent fragmentation also adds freshness to the exhibition design. Some rooms are designed according the exhibition canon of classical architecture, but in between them we find surprises, such as the media display by Laura Linsi and Ronald Reemaa or a room experiment on the subject of marginality and professionalism. So, if the concept of the exhibition talks about nine rooms and questions, we can also add a tenth question on the metaphysical level: what describes a feminist architecture exhibition and where are its characteristics manifested? In the subject matter? In the structure? Approach? The viewer will have plenty to think about when visiting A Room of One’s Own.
On February 8, two performances in the Premiere program were unfolding at the stage of Sõltumatu Tantsu Lava: Sanghoon Lee’s ‘It Is Still Impossible To Exist At Two Places At Once’ and Grėtė Šmitaitė’s ‘What Do I Cry For?’.
Sanghoon Lee with his objects on the stage (kettles, vacuum cleaner, ladder) reminds me of Sigrid Savi’s Premiere 2018 production ‘Imagine There´s a Fish’. Sensing the space through objects becomes discovering humanness or our material culture. There is something cute in how we smoke or eat potato chips or walk around, face covered with Christmas tinsel, or stand beside a speaker that is swinging like a pendulum. We? Or they – Karolin Poska and Sanghoon Lee.
The lack of music and the use of objects to produce sound leads to discovering the ambiance. Smells, movements that are associated with odours; sounds that are associated with reflexes that are, in a way, specific to being sociable like smoking near something warm. At times, Sanghoon Lee ironically resembles the rules in a quiet, somewhat remote way. The rules of a smoking room or potato chips come to mind, i.e. that neither smoke nor processed food is not beneficial. The question remains, of course, whether everything that a person consumes must always be beneficial. Funny, absurd rules from people to people. Karolin Poska helps Sanghoon Lee to implement the parallelism of breaking the rules.
Since all these violations of rules have been carried out politely and joyfully then you feel like giggling. It’s a bit like watching a little next-door boy stealing apples for the first time. He’s a very cute boy. Acting real sweet. So what, that he is stealing apples from the next-door auntie. But he doesn’t hurt anyone! It’s cute how he steals. Like the smoking of Poska and Lee. It’s cute. Together they look a bit like Moomins. Beautiful and funny.
But the mood is changing during the performance of Grėtė Šmitaitė. It’s inconvenient. It’s weird. I’m not even sure what Šmitaitė is doing. From behind the dancer-choreographer looks like a boy in a feather jacket who is dancing in club Hollywood, has accidentally lost his trousers and is now cheeping like a tiny black chick in the middle of cobblestones, looking for his mother hen or a girl who is the reason why he is dancing there in the first place. But who is not there, is a mother hen or that girl. Black swan in the modern take of ‘Swan Lake’, I state a few moments later, especially when I hear the Lithuanian disco music.
Inevitably, I start to compare the dance of sadness with Stella Kruusamägi’s ‘Holy Rage’ that I saw at Püha Vaimu SAAL of Kanuti Gildi SAAL. Kruusamägi radiates sharp precise rage. Sadness is more complicated. It is not so easily danceable. Šmitaitė’s sadness does not get under my skin, it gets stuck in the feathers falling on the floor, in a smile that is not confident but is confident at the same time. It’s like the question itself: “What do I cry for?”. There’s something absurd in this question. A person finds oneself crying and does not know why they are crying. Šmitaitė has an uncanny impact. This creates a different kind of rage than Stella Kruusamägi’s holy rage. Grėtė Šmitaitė does not directly move her audience in a way Stella Kruusamägi did with her performance. She is approaching the sadness indirectly.
Sadness does not have to be a tragic feeling that forces one against the ground. It may be related to melancholy, an encounter with one’s boundedness, limitations. And then — at the end of the day, the black chick will understand that one can smile, calmly, expectantly, as Grėtė Šmitaitė does. Carefully. It is a bit like a smile of Sanghoon Lee and Karolin Poska. There’s some irony squeezed in there.
Neither one of the performances struck me. But I would be really struck if someone who is fascinated by the Conservative People’s Party of Estonia saw the last scene of Sanghoon Lee’s show, even if by accident, and would be offended because — who wears the pants here? A woman or a man? This unfortunate person would also be struck by the androgyny of Grėtė Šmitaitė. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I don’t see that kind of people at Sõltumatu Tantsu Lava and among the audience, because they wouldn’t stand the haziness, half-tones. Half-sadness. Although it exists in the world around us. And that’s why it is sometimes worth to think about what we really are or why we are crying.
For further information about the upcoming performances, click here: http://kultuur.info/event/premiere19-what-do-i-cry-for-and-it-is-still-impossible-to-exist-at-two-places-at-once/
In the 1990s, I recorded a lot of music onto the cassette tapes off the radio. One of the troublesome special features of recording off the radio is that the songs do not usually play from beginning to end, because the radio DJ introduces and outroduces the track. However, the tape is not to be wasted and therefore the recording button is usually pushed down as soon as the DJ starts talking. That’s why my cassettes oftentimes included one introductory sentence at the beginning and one at the end of the song. On one of the tapes that was recorded in 1995 from Radio 2 show Vibratsioon, there is a half sentence at the end of one track: „This is Out-Or, a man even a guy like Aphex Twin is curious about…”
Almost 20 years later, Out-Or is back on tape. But this time it is not recorded off the radio, but officially released by the label Lejal Globe. All the tracks can be listened to from beginning to end without being interrupted by talking DJ. The title of the work is ‘Structures’. In addition to the cassette format, the album was also released in the CD and digital format. I have repeatedly listened to this material and have thought from the very beginning that this is just the perfect work for releasing in the cassette format. Apparently, the author himself thinks that his music is just the right thing for the tape because it is not by far the first time when Out-Or has released a cassette.
Also the content that Out-Or has now released sounds as if it were created in the golden age of the cassettes, in the first half of the nineties. To be honest, I have listened to all the tracks only in digital format by now, but even in the digital format, the music sounds like as if listening to a cassette, and not because of the rustle. There’s just this nice pleasant sound. It can’t be helped – you can be open to everything new and listen to all the styles, but a human being has been built this way that the sounds heard in one’s youth are still the most loved ones and I am used to such slightly filtered cassette sound. I am sincerely glad that for some time now, it is not ashamed to make music that sounds old-fashioned. Electronic dance music has existed for so long that children of those people who once danced to this music have already grown up. And for this new generation, the old sound is not old. Or even if it is, then it’s old and interesting. Clothing trends come and go within a few months. At the same time, fortunately, there are some things – jeans or jackets, for example – that have a longer life span than one season. Out-Or is a tailor who sews sound jackets. And he uses the same fabric that was used for making clothes 20 years ago. This is not an imitation of old school made by young people. This is music that sounds like it used to be because it is made like music was made in the old days. With the same instruments that were used at that time and by the man who hadn’t had to watch YouTube videos on how to make ’90s techno. He knows because he was among the first ones who started making something like this in Estonia.
Out-Or also cannot be blamed for being stuck to some era or not being able to do anything more modern. His musical spectrum has been very wide throughout the years and in many periods he has released quite modern music. ‘Structures’ just combines the works that sound like something from the times when the author was young. Stylistically, the new album is not very even. It includes technical minimal techno, mellow and deep electronics with fewer drums, and IDM, rhythmic dance music, something pretty ambient, acid house, and more. In short, it’s a real treat for open-eared people. And all the works are very well produced. Although it seems that this is a collection of Out-Or’s recent works rather than a conceptual album, I find this approach very likeable. I recently listened to the latest album of Mr. Fingers (Larry Heard). Out-Or’s career length is almost the same. The album of Fingers was also full of different styles – a summary of everything that Heard has made throughout the decades. But his album sounded dull because I had repeatedly heard all those tricks before on his earlier albums. Somehow, ‘Structures’ sounds very fresh and interesting to me. Perhaps it is just that, unlike with Larry Heard, I have not consistently followed the doings of Out-Or or listened to his albums so many times.
One thing is for sure, Out-Or is a very unique artist at Estonian level. Always has been. He’s making music that very few are making here. However, while I was listening to the album, several parallels with foreign artists came into my mind. Unfortunately, I don’t know what was the thing with the mentioning of Aphex Twin on my cassette, but there are similarities with Aphex in some tracks (‘Eeprom’, ‘Dertwas’, ‘Dunel’). ‘Skaala 2000’ and ‘Csale 2 (Edit A)’ remind me of LFO’s work. And there is also a resemblance with one of our local Estonian artists. ‘Csale 2 (Edit B)’ uses the same or similar rhythm machine, that was, at some point, used by Ajukaja in almost every track, which makes it feel like it was the production of Raul Saaremets. Apparently, the similarities with the other musicians are also felt because of the use of the same instruments or sounds.
All in all, this is an album that I definitely recommend to buy. Being very choosy, I rarely find the albums that I would like to listen to several times from beginning to end. Cannot find them from the whole wide world, let alone from Estonia. ‘Structures’ is finally one of those albums, where almost every piece of music is a favourite one.
Ivo Posti and Ensemble Floridante at Estonia Concert Hall on December 18, 2018.
There is no snow yet, and, as we know, the cheesy Christmas songs playing again and again at the shopping malls are not evoking any Christmas feeling. The spirit that is tired of the end-of-the-year struggles would need something that helps to stop time for Christmas peace to come into the heart. Maybe baroque music – Vivaldi and Handel – could help?
Vivaldi and Handel are from the same era, but their fates were different like night and day. Venetian Vivaldi died in poverty in Vienna, while Handel from Northern Germany gained fame and wealth in the British high society. The concert presented the works of Handel and Vivaldi in a manner appropriate to the time and place in which it was composed (historically informed performance): period instruments were used by Meelis Orgse, Mari Targo (violin), Johanna Vahermägi (viola), Tõnu Jõesaar (cello), Mati Lukk (double bass), Saale Fischer (harpsichord and organ) and Kristo Käo (baroque guitar, theorbo). This time, only Vivaldi’s instrumental works (simfonias and string concerts) were performed, while Handel’s most famous arias were performed by the countertenor Ivo Posti.
Vivaldi’s melodic and playful string pieces alternated with Handel’s affect-filled arias. The ensemble’s style is accurate and professional, beautifully toned music is colourful and enjoyable. Floridante was also visually attractive.
Countertenor is a rare male voice, the scope of which remains in the registry of alto and soprano. The internationally renowned Ivo Posti’s natural talent is nicely polished, he delivers high notes elegantly and with ease. The performance which is velvety-soft, while outlining each note accurately at the same time, caresses the ear and tickles the receptors pleasantly. However, Ivo Posti’s charm and great acting skills alone would have been fascinating; his colourful-emotional and extremely expressive performance remained concise, technically accurate and focused. Harmony with the ensemble was great.
A bit over an hour long concert ended surprisingly fast. At the end, I was thinking that it would have been interesting to hear some Vivaldi’s vocal works for comparison. Was Handel the choice of the ensemble or the singer is unknown to me.
In any case, the Christmas feeling came powerfully and baroquely. Joy and satisfaction could also be spotted from the faces of those leaving the hall. There is no way to see and hear this kind of combination of musicians every day. The concert series “Matinee” will continue at the Estonia Concert Hall also in the year 2019, and I hope to hear Floridante and Ivo Posti again soon.
If you don’t have plans for the weekends, the Estonian ballet evening is a must-see for you. The performance consists of three separate parts and each one of them tells its own story.
The first one is ‘Thread’ by Tiit Helimets. It was created to show the director’s view of the way human beings grow and develop throughout their lives. Honestly, this part was pretty hard to understand from a position of an unprepared spectator but still amazing to watch. Anyway, I believe there is no shame in interpreting the performance differently, not like it was supposed to be interpreted.
The second part is called ‘Echo’ staged and directed by Eve Mutso. It is dedicated to the idea of everything we did in the past and are doing right now affecting the lives of others. The director especially wants to celebrate the concept of people uniting and achieving their goals together, with the help of their nearest and dearest. The ballet itself was simply beautiful, including both classical and modern elements.
‘Keep a Light in the Window’ by Jevgeni Grib is my absolute favourite among all of the parts. The stage was decorated as a house with several apartments. We get to see what is happening there, silently watching the life of different people. I think every one of us can find something they find familiar, draw a parallel with their own life. This performance was the thing I loved most about the ballet evening because it was so real and so relatable but still breathtaking.
To sum up, if you want to see something both purely Estonian and absolutely outstanding, this is the right thing to choose.
More information about the event: http://kultuur.info/event/ballet-evening-estonian-ballet-100/
Gunnar K. A. Njalsson’s ‘Harper: A Collection of Horrors’ easily catches attention since it combines elements that form quite an unexpected combination – it’s a horror collection written and published in Hiiumaa, but the story in the book takes place in a small town called Harper which is located in southern California. The book is written in English but it contains some fragments in Estonian as the main characters are people who fled from Estonia to the United States during World War I. Without giving too much away it can be said that life in their new homeland is not quite comparable with a rose garden.
The book consists of a first-person narrative of the son of a family, Gordon, who tells about a small town called Harper, where his family settled in 1954, and about a series of daunting and terrible events that happened there in the years 1950-1980. The beginning of the story is promising: there’s a nice and thorough overview of the town, which, by the way, has some interestingly named streets (Shrapnel Street and Mercy Shot Boulevard) but everyday life in there is constantly interrupted by weird accidents and strange creatures. Gordon’s descriptions give a nice glimpse into the small-town atmosphere of the US horror films of the ’70s and ’80s, and also make you feel a bit tired because of the stereotype familiar from many movies, in which all the characters can see with their own eyes that something is not right, but no one ever believes the words of their loved ones or family members and everyone lives in a continuous state of denial where everything bad is definitely not real and is possible only in nightmares and fantasy world. And it continues in the same vein for decades, until everyone has found their place either in another city, in the mental institution or, in the worst case, in the afterlife.
Of course, involving Estonian characters makes this novel interesting for the Estonian readers and it has its point in the context of the plot, but at the same time, the Estonian element brings out somewhat naive clumsiness of the novel that might have been avoided with the help of a good editor. Firstly, several sentences in Estonian are grammatically incorrect or just sound really weird. It’s understandable that people who live abroad for a long time may not perfectly master the Estonian language, but sometimes the phrases are just too out of place. Secondly, it is stressed every time when someone starts to speak in Estonian. This continuous mentioning that somebody told something IN ESTONIAN makes you feel that you are reading some children’s book where everything has to be very clearly stated to be understood.
Although the author is able to create a mood suitable for a horror novel, he writes fluently and very visually and has many interesting ideas, the different pieces of the book do not form a coherent and effective whole. The story of the family progresses quite well and even has a small twist in the end, but the horror part of the novel remains a bit too monotonous, the tension does not rise nor drop, nor does it create any meaningful connotations or improvements, and in the end, it does not get anywhere. Of course, the title of the book already points out that it is a “collection of horrors”, but I would have expected some exciting conclusion (not a solution!) or a striking link between the incidents that took place in Harper. In its current form, ‘Harper’ remains just a collage of fears and nightmares where there are so many different things happening but where all the individual leads take you to nowhere.