Beauty

Repression and bigotry in Bloemfontein

François van Heerden (Deon Lotz) is a married Afrikaans businessman, whose ordered life masks secretive homosexuality. When he meets Christian (Charlie Keegan), the handsome son of an old friend, he is fixated. But ugly prejudices and shame constrict him and the result is confusing torment, threatening to explode. Writer-director Oliver Hermanus' film Beauty (the first Afrikaans language film to compete at Cannes) is an intimate study of repression. Obsessive behaviour, anger and bigotry are all just beneath François' bland surface. It is suggested that there have been violent outbursts in his past.

More than anything however, we pity François. Beauty is slow-paced and thoughtful, offering the time we need to sympathize whilst we despise his actions. This can come at the price of dramatic flow, and occasionally the film is in danger of halting. But Lotz's simmering performance holds Beauty together, powered by tight close-ups and a steady gaze (from both Lotz and Hermanus). It is a measured and convincing portrayal of a deeply conflicted man, thrashing out for a happiness he does not understand, as emphasized by the elegantly effective final scene.

Hermanus has a keen sense for beauty indeed and the film is carefully composed and subtly lit. Several taut scenes quietly unfurl in the evening by lamplight, in the bedroom or around a dining table; muted blues and greens dominate the screen. Sustained long shots are poised and exteriors are stark with heat. From the start, Francois' voyeurism is matched by wide, intensely focused shots, with distant dialogue unheard. The beauty is carefully underlined by a delicate musical score from Ben Ludik (alongside his Invisible Nightclub project).

There is also a dose of awkward humour. When François secretly meets with a group of middle-aged men for sex, there is an embarrassing scene of introduction and beer-drinking before they may begin. It is reminiscent of Mike Leigh, even if the milieu is a tad different. Bigotry stings all the fiercer when it comes: there is a searing flash of racism and objections against "faggots" (a defensive machismo operates here). The subsequent attempt at casual conversation is grimly funny.

Without this, Beauty's slow burning desperation could end up simply bleak. There are moments which bear this out. A pounding club scene is potent, but almost literally sickening; cathartic sexual violence pushes us even closer to the limit. But Hermanus tackles his subject bravely and largely with restraint, as reflected in Lotz's central performance. From this restraint, Beauty gains its power.

8

We Were Here/A Useful Life

It was a week of intense cinema-going, including award season catch-ups and some hidden gems. Here are two of the gems, courtesy of the dizzyingly rich current Filmhouse programme.

We Were Here

This documentary by David Weissman chronicles the impact of HIV/Aids in San Francisco, following its outbreak in the early 1980s. The story of Aids at that time is familiar, but the scale and suddenness of the disaster still shocks; around 15,000 people had died of Aids in San Francisco by the mid-1990s. The phenomenal response of the gay community of the city is the central focus of We Were Here. As love and hedonism plummeted headlong into fear, the reaction was one of compassion and activism.

The film is a well constructed look at this “San Francisco model” throughout the worst years of the epidemic, placing the personal experiences of just five interviewees within a wider picture of political debate and changing attitudes. The speakers describe a painful, inspiring history of care, research, campaigning and loss. In general, they are engaging, able to lift the sober mood. The accounts are absorbingly honest; recollections of weariness, feeling overwhelmed and unable to continue to help, resonate just as much as those of community and pride.

Most eloquent and affecting of all is artist Daniel Goldstein. His story (among the thousands) is tragic – he is the sole survivor of his entire circle of friends and lovers from the start of the epidemic. Emotional but clear-eyed, Goldstein gives us the strongest feel for the time and place. His is a well-rounded insight, taking in his deep connections with the San Francisco gay scene and involvement in early clinical trials. And his personal grief is balanced by his human response and reflection, which he offers without ego or sentiment. I was pleased that he had the final word in this film; the rays of hope at the close are powerful, breaking through the darkest imaginable clouds.

8.5

A Useful Life

Jorge's independent cinema is in severe financial straits. Its projection systems are decrepit and support is dwindling. Jorge must fix things. He must also get Paola, the university lecturer, to join him for a coffee. It is a delicate problem for a quiet man, and makes for a rather fun little film. There is not much depth, but there are enough surprises and wry smiles to sustain the short running time. And it is the first Uruguayan film I have ever seen. Tick.

The look is pleasingly low-key. It is a grainy, off-the-cuff vignette, but it still has moments of elegance. Shots of Jorge ambling up and down in front of prints of Muybridge's galloping horse are beautifully lit, as are those of him strolling through the university quads. Meanwhile, the interiors of the cinema's projection rooms and offices are appealing in their run-down, sagging aspect. This black-and-white film is noticeably grey.

The key attraction is undoubtedly optimistic cineaste Jorge, a likeable schlump with a Hitchcockian jowl. Portly, shambling, and accompanied by rather eccentric music selections on the soundtrack, he sometimes wanders aimlessly and sometimes dances on staircases. He also gets an expensive haircut on a whim. Without actor Jorge Jellinek's splendid countenance and misshapen gait, there would be something sorely missing from the film. But instead we give a little cheer every time he heaves into the frame. Let's hope he gets the girl.

7

Weekend

Poignant, detailed romance

Two people are standing together in a small kitchen, making coffee. After a drunken first night together, they have met up again the next day. The chemistry is crackling between them, but neither knows whether they are about to kiss. "Just waiting for the kettle to boil," Russell says to Glen, pointlessly. It is an almost embarrassingly recognizable detail, one of several in Andrew Haigh's poignant Weekend. These small moments enrich the film, where the interaction between the characters is so important.

Tom Cullen and Chris New

I was pleased to finally see Weekend, following its success on the festival circuit and recent wins at the British Independent Film Awards, including Most Promising Newcomer for actor Tom Cullen. Cullen plays Russell, a gay man who goes to a club after an evening with his straight friends. There he meets Glen (Chris New), and we witness their relationship over the following weekend as they take drugs, have sex and tentatively get to know each other. It is clear they are falling in love, but Glen is moving to America permanently at the end of the weekend.

Both actors are impressive in what is essentially a two-hander. They are exposed by long takes and semi-improvised dialogue, and both deliver well-realized, believable characters. Russell is not fully comfortable with his sexuality, but Cullen shows us warmth and humour rather than a one-note tortured soul. Glen is more confrontational and politicized; he interviews Russell about their first encounter for an art project, and claims not to want a boyfriend. His insecurities surface gradually and New's sometimes comical performance is cleverly balanced.

So Russell and Glen do not become consigned to stereotypes, closeted versus out-and-proud. Haigh's handheld, minimally edited shots help us embrace the characters as they develop. We are with them from their first bad dance onwards, all the while in an admirably bland Nottingham setting. It feels sometimes intrusive. There is also little additional music to distract, although the two John Grant tracks came as a pleasant surprise.



An art project

But, along with the acting, it is the writing which propels the film. Occasionally the improvisatory feel is broken slightly, but more often the notes are hit perfectly. Russell compares his unease with being gay to the feeling of indigestion, which almost tells us everything we need to understand him. Most successful are the small moments, like that with the kettle, or the indecision about punctuation in a text message ("I feel like shit!" or "I feel like shit x" or "I feel like shit...").

Through these details, we identify with the relationship. Andrew Haigh has made a film about a gay romance, but its appeal is in no way exclusive. The romance is human, and Glen's bitter conviction the straight people won't come to see his art project "because it's got nothing to do with their world" does not apply here. This is an insightful film which reaches far beyond its intimate sphere.

8