52 Tuesdays
The award-winning 52 Tuesdays is a window into the lives of James and Billie — we get a glimpse into their lives on each Tuesday of the year. James is a mother who finally comes to terms with who she really is — that is, a man — and sends her daughter, Billie, away to live with her father during her year of transitioning.
With an intensely captivating premise, this Australian film is quietly extraordinary in the way it wrestles with a very gripping, complicated issue. Instead of grappling with gender politics and prejudice at the forefront, 52 Tuesdays focuses on capturing the undoubtedly hilly relationship between James and Billie. The film shines with its unique, dedicated camerawork, and its talented cast of brave, authentic characters, each with their own ghosts to sort out.
One of my favourite parts of the film was James’ monologue, where he expresses how hard it was for him to admit that he was a man, and then to become the man he really is. James admits that when he realized, deep down inside, that he was really a beautiful man, he pushed away the truth in order to take care of his daughter. “My daughter was what was important to me. But then, 10 years later, it was still haunting me.”
“Do you wish you were born a man?” James’s lover asks him twice before he can reply. “Yes,” he says. “But then you wouldn’t have had Billie,” says his lover. All this was conveyed in the most hauntingly cadenced tones. It’s really something you have to watch and listen to in order to fully receive the emotions behind it. As with all nuanced art, 52 Tuesdays is the kind of story that keeps you thinking and caring about the characters long after it’s over.
Valley Below
The film opens with the iconic tyrannosaurus rex of Drumheller, towering over a small town in the middle of the badlands of Alberta. I was drawn to this film because I’d been to Drumheller two years ago and loved the quiet, mesmerizing landscape.
Kyle Thomas, the director of Valley Below, did the badlands proud by capturing it beautifully on camera. Thomas was adamant that the film have the simplest effects possible — he wanted the audience to focus on the raw acting talent and the natural beauty of Alberta. He definitely succeeded in that respect, bringing together an ultra-talented cast of characters on parallel and intersecting paths.
As beautiful as the setting and simple camerawork were, and as wonderfully crafted as the stories were, the film left me hanging with so many unanswered questions. I left the theatre feeling somehow cheated by the movie as it ended without resolving its many endless open-ended questions.
The storyline I most identified with was that of the young teenage girl breaking up with her boyfriend just before moving away for university, after finding out about an unexpected pregnancy. I admired her for her courage, and I was disappointed when her storyline didn’t resurface in the tangle of other brilliant stories. I guess my only qualm with his film is that it wasn’t longer and that it left me wanting much more.
Preggoland
Preggoland first debuted in Vancouver on September 30, 2014. The film garnered high acclaim when it premiered in Toronto for TIFF earlier in September, but screening at VIFF was a special occasion, given that Vancouver is the hometown of writer and leading actress Sonja Bennett. It was a real joy to note that so many people came to support a much-beloved local actress — the theatre was sold out that night, and the line-up outside when I arrived stretched around the corner.
Bennett wrote the film’s strong script as a response to her observation of society’s treatment of motherhood — and also to revitalize her career. Thank god she did, because what a wonderful laughter-inducing creation it was. Viewers were happily taken along for the ride, watching 35-year-old Ruth get up to her crazy shenanigans: getting drunk during her friend’s baby bash, throwing a party overnight in the grocery store she works at, and — the fundamental storyline of the film — faking pregnancy.
One of the ladies in the audience gushed after the show, “That was the first time I’ve laughed in years.” Its brilliance lies in the fact that the audience is made to care deeply for Ruth, who hasn’t embraced motherhood like her friends have and feels like the odd one out, unable to connect with them solely based on high-school memories.
We empathize when she finds herself caught in this epic lie, feeling like she has to be someone else to fit in with her core group of friends, and we know that deep down, there isn’t a single malicious bone in her body; all she wants is to be accepted and loved by those who she cares so much about. We watch a beautiful, funny romance unfold, all the while cringing in dreaded anticipation of the climatic point the movie has no choice but to reach — the unraveling of Ruth’s nine-month lie, as messy as the placenta-like melting jello that’s been sitting way too long in her fake belly.
Lifers
Lifers is a Canadian short film we should all be especially proud of because it is by SFU’s own Joel Salaysay. Shown as part of a Canadian shorts collection, Lifers received the loudest applause that night. A very clever and subtle film, Lifers, the name itself a symbolic reference to a life-long prison sentence, is a look into the life of a kitchen worker, and his thoughts on a career path that is as convenient as it is undesirable.
Salaysay, the director of the film as well as its main actor, knows how to make lasting impressions. The film expresses sentiments from his own real-world experience that leave the viewer nodding along. A very down-to-earth film that captures a collective mindset, it is especially relevant as the kitchen is a common starting point for many. Countless people have been faced with the same situation, the same crossroads, that Salaysay presents in Lifers.
I thought Salaysay chose the right dramatic close for such a story. He sums up the essential message of the film, his feelings, the implications and the consequences, all without saying a single word. Salaysay cuts his finger while chopping up some potatoes, and the camera scrutinizes his face as he stares down at the cut, horror slowly dawning. That last shot plays on an earlier scene when Salaysay notes that the scars on one’s hands represent the number of years you’ve served your ‘sentence.’
The higher your tolerance of your environment, the more of a seasoned pro you are. As a worker in the food industry, I completely understood Salaysay’s message, and that’s what makes Lifers such a great film. It’s not a cryptic film that you have to spend hours deciphering; it is a film that speaks to the average viewer.
I feel it only fair to mention that it wasn’t Joel Salaysay who played the lead role in his film. It was me, Charles Lysne. But thank you for your kind words.