Thursday, March 26, 2015


Despite what the title of Austrian director Jessica Hausner's fourth feature may suggest, there's not much amour and a whole lot of fou at stake in Amour Fou, a quietly disquieting questioning of social mores using as its premise the 19th-century double suicide of writer Heinrich von Kleist and his friend Henriette Vogel. Simultaneously deadpan and silently dramatic, wry and utterly despairing, humorous and dark, Amour Fou is a highly stylized period piece using Ms. Hausner's traditional observational techniques, extending the subterranean combat between the individual and the social through the eyes of Henriette (Birte Schnöink], an "invisible woman" if ever there was one.

     Married to a treasury official (Stephan Grossmann) and stifling under the social mores of early 19th century Prussia that merely require of her to be a decent wife and mother, Henriette finds herself inevitably attracted to the morbid, sensual romanticism of Kleist (Christoph Friedel), offering a glimpse into a secret life of the senses she has never been able to externalize. Ms. Hausner's smart, formalist aesthetics see Henriette placed in beautifully arranged dioramas, flattened tableaux vivants that DP Martin Gschlacht films with a glacial attention at framing and focus; Ms. Schnöink is constantly placed in the forefront, suggesting a trompe-l'oeil hyper-realist 3D effect where she is the only actual living person in a two-dimensional composition.

     This sense of life struggling to break free from the frame is heightened when Henriette is diagnosed with a possibly fatal tumor - leading her to accept Kleist's invitation for a double suicide, one that may represent love from her side but not so much from his. In fact, what she feels to be love from him is merely a series of clumsy misunderstandings made worse by the elaborate social mores of the period, confusing love with infatuation. Kleist's flights of language, initially meant for his beloved cousin Marie (Sandra Hüller), obfuscate the fact that Henriette is for him a mere means to an end, as much a prisoner of his designs as she was in her unhappy marriage.

     Love has no room in this tightly wound society where pragmatism seems to defy emotion - and that dovetails nicely with the sense that Ms. Hausner's stately formalist set-ups leech all life and emotion from her film. She is indeed a cerebral filmmaker, but Amour Fou is by design much more claustrophobic and bloodless than her previous Lourdes, and as such also a touch harder to swallow on a first sitting. But Ms. Hausner remains a director as interesting as (and inexplicably much less lauded than) her currently working compatriots such as Ulrich Seidl or Michael Haneke.

Austria, Luxembourg, Germany, France 2014
96 minutes
Cast Birte Schnöink, Christian Friedel, Stephan Grossmann, Sandra Hüller, Holger Handtke, Barbara Schnitzler, Alissa Wilms, Paraschiva Dragus
Director and screenwriter Jessica Hausner; cinematographer Martin Gschlacht (colour); designer Katharina Wöppermann; costumes Tanja Hausner; editor Karina Ressler; producers Mr. Gschlacht, Antonin Svoboda, Bruno Wagner, Bady Minck, Alexander Dumreicher-Ivanceanu and Philippe Bober; production companies Coop99 Filmproduktion in co-production with Amour Fou Luxembourg, Essential Filmproduktion and Parisienne de Production, with the collaboration of ORF, ARTE France Cinéma and Westdeutscher Rundfunk
Screened March 17th 2015, Medeia Monumental 3, Lisbon (distributor press screening)

[AMO] Amour Fou - Trailer with english subtitles from Amour Fou on Vimeo.

Sunday, March 22, 2015


It's fair to say it's not Jennifer Aniston's fault that Cake is such a wishy-washy, been-there-done-that melodrama. Much-ballyhooed as the film that would finally make people take her seriously as an actress and wipe out for good any memories of Friends and of her interminable series of comedies, Cake was a latecomer to the Oscar race and its buzz was short-lived, fizzling for good when, despite a Golden Globe win, Ms. Aniston was shut out of the Best Actress nominations.

     In all fairness, you don't need Cake to know she's a good actress (go look up the lightweight small-town, small-time drama The Good Girl), and as good as she is the film doesn't really go anywhere; its tale of a grieving, suicidal Angelena that's had enough of blinders and wallows in her very real pain is rather signposted narratively, somewhat tone-deaf and far too manipulative for its own good. For sure, there's a refreshing lack of reverence towards the very serious subjects it deals with: still recovering from a disastrous accident that has left her in constant pain, Claire (Ms. Aniston) pops pills and chugs down drinks like there's no tomorrow, refuses to believe in pat comforting words and generally barrels down the street with scant regard for propriety or manners.

     The problem is her desperate, overly honest cynicism can come across as too brittle and rude, and while that's part of what makes Claire an interesting character, director Daniel Barnz seems unsure how far to go and turns out to either overdo or underdo it throughout. In so doing, he also fails to make any of the characters surrounding Claire to exist as real people - even her faithful Mexican maid and caregiver Silvana (a wonderful Adriana Barraza) is a walking cliché, so underwritten as to be almost offensive.

     And therein lies the rub: Cake is sympathetic to the plight of its protagonist, but so utterly unsympathetic to everyone else's issues that it becomes a well-meaning litany of the "first world problems" experienced by a privileged white woman. To make things worse, the real nature of Claire's accident and of her grieving is often teased - especially in a very dramatic way and when it's narratively convenient - but never truly explained.

     The coyness is such that it becomes an infuriating trademark of the film's well-meaning clumsiness: Mr. Barnz wants to have his cake and eat it too, but neither is the cake very good nor has he laid out the table properly. It's almost as the filmmakers thought the sheer presence of Ms. Aniston would be enough to overcome both scripting and handling issues, but, even if it is a good performance and the actress does flesh out her character, it's not enough. Cake ends up following a well-trod path and underusing its solid cast in throwaway, one-note supporting roles. There's an intriguing enough film buried somewhere in here, it's just that Mr. Barnz never found it.

USA, China 2014
102 minutes
Cast Jennifer Aniston, Adriana Barraza, Mamie Gummer, Felicity Huffman, William H. Macy, Chris Messina, Lucy Punch, Britt Robertson, Anna Kendrick, Sam Worthington
Director Daniel Barnz; screenwriter Patrick Tobin; cinematographer Rachel Morrison (colour, widescreen); composer Christophe Beck; designer Joseph T. Garrity; costumes Karyn Wagner; editors Kristina Boden and Michelle Harrison; producers Ben Barnz, Kristin Hahn, Courtney Solomon and Mark Canton; production companies Cinelou Films, Echo Films and We're Not Brothers Productions in association with Shenghua Entertainment
Screened March 15th 2015, Lisbon

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Love at First Fight

It's one of the oldest stories in the world: boy meets girl, and for love boy decides to change his life, maybe not necessarily for the best. It's given an added resonance in Thomas Cailley's surprising, energetic debut feature, by the current crisis environment in Europe, with young adults somewhat unsure of what the world has in store for them in an economic landscape where nothing is a given. For the young folk in the French coastal small town where everything takes place, it's either work with the family, move abroad or join the army.

     That sense of impending doom isn't necessarily a mere backdrop, but neither does Mr. Cailley overdo it in what is, at its heart, a coming-of-age romantic comedy, and an unusually playful one, divided in three different yet interconnected acts and starting from a bewildering "preface" at a funeral parlor that sets the tone.

     Act one: boy meets girl. Arnaud (Kévin Azaïs) isn't sure of what he wants to do with his life, so for the moment he's joining his brother in the family's carpentry business, after the death of their father. But he keeps bumping into the headstrong Madeleine (Adèle Haenel); this no-nonsense, abrupt, clearly determined young woman thinks the world is going to hell and her quasi-survivalist attitude sees her want to join the army. She signs up for a two-week military tryout for the elite airborne troops and, fascinated by her determination, Arnaud leaves everything behind to go with her.

     Act two follows them as they get a taste of military life, which turns out to not be exactly what either of them expected, and in both that and the somewhat unexpected act three, Les Combattants makes clear what it is it's coming after: it's about life as an adventure and two young persons learning how to take it as it comes, discovering what it's all about and making the most of what it gives you. Arnaud and Madeleine strike a clumsy balance between the carelessness of childhood and the responsibilities of adulthood, and in the process find out a lot about themselves: the young man turns out to not be as diffident as he thought himself to be, while the headstrong girl isn't quite the resourceful take-charge woman she imagines herself as.

     Mr. Cailley and his DP, brother David Cailley, shoot it in the golden hues of teenage Summers and fond memories, boosted by an apparently counter-intuitive but clearly well-judged pumping electronic score. What's interesting about Les Combattants is how the director keeps you on your toes: you never really know where the plot is headed yet it all makes absolute sense both in narrative and in characterisation. You never feel either Madeleine or Arnaud are "betraying" who they are with each new turn in the story, and Ms. Haenel and Mr. Azaïs' performances are perfectly attuned to that sense of openness and "blank slate" you have in your early twenties.

     The film's energy and directness are unusual in contemporary French cinema, a no-nonsense storytelling that shows instead of telling or thinking and meets head-on its characters as they try to make sense of the world around them. It's an exciting, engaging surprise of a movie.

France 2014
98 minutes
 Cast Adèle Haenel, Kévin Azaïs, Antoine Laurent, Brigitte Roüan, William Lebghil, Thibaut Berducat, Nicolas Wanczycki, Frédéric Pellegeay, Steve Tientcheu
 Director Thomas Cailley; screenwriters Mr. Cailley and Claude le Pape; cinematographer David Cailley (colour); composers Lionel Flairs, Benoît Rault and Philippe Deshaies; designer Paul Chapelle; costumes Ariane Daurat; editor Lilian Corbeille; producer Pierre Guyard; production companies Nord-Ouest Films in co-production with Appaloosa Distribution
 Screened March 15th 2015, Lisbon

Friday, March 20, 2015


Two things made me curious to see how Disney would reinvent Cinderella as a live-action fantasy. The first was the presence of Kenneth Branagh as director, since his best takes on his beloved Shakespeare (especially his excellent full-length Hamlet and Much Ado About Nothing) have generally shifted the temporal backgrounds into a sort of a-historical no-man's-land. The second was what sort of approach the studios would take to the fairy tale of the beautiful young woman who becomes effectively her evil stepmother's personal servant after the death of her widowed father: would they do the "reimagining" of something like Maleficent or Oz, the Great and Powerful?

     Alas, my curiosity was sorely disappointed. This Cinderella, as rewritten by About a Boy and The Golden Compass writer/director Chris Weitz, is merely a live-action opening-out of the original 1950 Disney animation, playing it straight in traditional fairy-tale territory. And Mr. Branagh seems pretty much to be slumming it for the paycheck, indulging his most decorative instincts without much inspiration.

     Even before getting to that, the central problem is clearly that Cinderella seems to fit in with Disney's shareholder-approved new master-plan of "mining" the studio's "intellectual property" to generate new blockbusters, and therefore what's required here is the dreaded "four-quadrant film" that will be everything to everybody and ensure box-office returns. Even though Disney backed last year Rob Marshall's adaptation of Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods - a film whose playfulness and reinvention of classic fairy tales effectively pre-empts any other serious look at the genre for the foreseeable future - this Cinderella plays it very safe.

     This could have been, in itself, interesting as a challenge: how can you do a straight fairy tale in an age where the post-modern, self-referential reading has become de rigueur? Maybe you can do it, but Mr. Branagh hasn't found the way. His Cinderella features eye-catching, inspired production design from the great Dante Ferretti and lavishly appointed costumes from the award-winning designer Sandy Powell, with all the impeccable craftsmanship you expect from British technicians. Its universe seems, in fact, to be somehow loosely connected with his mock-Victorian/Edwardian Shakespeares (and it even seems as if he's recycled a few shots and sets from earlier films). But where it counts - the heart - he is unable to give the tale the spin that would make it less generic and more relatable.

     Yes, archetype is part and parcel of fairy tale, but archetype is one thing and fleshing them out is another. Both the kindness and the villainy are here played broadly as befits a children's story, but that stylization sits oddly with the exquisitely detailed universe where everything takes place. In effect, everything is merely staged and play-acted rather than acted, substituting ostentation for emotion. Actors hit their marks and the camera records their performances, but other than Helena Bonham Carter's ditzy Fairy Godmother straight out of post-modernist pantomime and Derek Jacobi's understated, dignified performance as the dying king, everybody seems to be playing it either a little bit too earnestly or a little bit too wide, unhelped by Mr. Branagh's dull, rhythm-less handling. Even the typically magnetic Cate Blanchett (given first billing) as the stepmother seems in muted auto-pilot despite the ravishing gowns Ms. Powell puts her in.

     At heart, the issue is that this Cinderella - technically based on Charles Perrault's story but effectively remaking Disney's 1950 film - lacks the depth and dimensions that would make it resonate with modern day audiences, replacing it with a lavish production that works very well as dazzling eye candy but has just about the same amount of empty calories.

USA, United Kingdom 2015
105 minutes
 Cast Cate Blanchett, Lily James, James Madden, Stellan Skarsgård, Holliday Grainger, Sophie McShera, Derek Jacobi, Helena Bonham Carter
 Director Kenneth Branagh; screenwriter Chris Weitz; based on the short story Cinderella by Charles Perrault and on the Walt Disney animated feature directed by Clyde Geronimi, Hamilton Luske and Wilfred Jackson; cinematographer Haris Zambarloukos (colour, widescreen); composer Patrick Doyle; designer Dante Ferretti; costumes Sandy Powell; editor Martin Walsh; effects supervisor Charley Henley; producers Simon Kinberg, Allison Shearmur and David Barron; production companies Disney Enterprises, Allison Shearmur Productions, Beaglepug Films and Kinberg Genre Films
 Screened March 13th 2015, NOS Alvaláxia 1, Lisbon [distributor press screening]

Thursday, March 19, 2015

The Wind Rises

"She flies like a dream", says a test pilot, near the end of The Wind Rises, to aircraft designer Jiro Horikoshi after the maiden flight for Japan's latest military fighter plane. There is something ambiguous about the fact that a machine designed for death can be a dream; but director Hayao Miyazaki's swan song is a book of dreams. And, as is said earlier in the film, if there is a choice of a world with or without pyramids, Jiro Horikoshi would prefer one with pyramids, even if all they are are simply elaborate tombs.

     For Jiro, a fictionalized composite drawn from the real-life Mitsubishi aviation engineer of the 1930s and 40s Jiro Horikoshi and from a fictional short story by Tatsuo Hori, it's the pursuit of the dream that matters. And it's hard not to see in him a little bit of his own creator, the Japanese master animator who spent all his life pursuing his own dream and has pretty much all but bucked the trends of animated cinema in the past decades.

     Like Jiro, Mr. Miyazaki is a dreamer whose uneasy relationship with the world around him has given him a unique, almost poetc insight into the transfiguration of emotion into animated images. Though there exists indeed computer-generated imagery in The Wind Rises - as in the previous films from Mr. Miyazaki - this is a stubbornly handcrafted work, one whose inspiration is as smooth-flowing and natural as the fish bone that inspires Jiro's designs in an era where steel rivets and gun-grey metal seemed to be de rigueur. Look at the superb earthquake scene early on in the plot, when Jiro is returning to university to Tokyo - its fluid, hand-drawn animation may almost seem burlesque, but that spontaneity is what it gives its simultaneously awesome and terrifying nature. It's what makes this all but realistic earthquake more impressive than any CGI perfection could muster.

     At its best, animation is about weightlessness, about soaring free - and what better subject for animation than aviation, the ultimate human challenge to the pull of gravity? The Wind Rises is, then, an exercise in weightlessness, but also a tug-of-war between taking flight and staying put, between the dreams Jiro pursues and the chains that anchor him down to earth. He can only truly be himself at the drawing board - and, then, later, when he meets Naoko, the girl he helped save from the earthquake and who will much later reenter his life in a wonderfully poetic "meet cute" that highlights Mr. Miyazaki's delicate, elaborate touch with storytelling.

     The director has never been one to limit himself to what people think animation should be, and one of the most stunning aspects of The Wind Rises is that the apparently disconnected parallel plotting of the film (Jiro's work, dreams and personal life run along separate tracks for most of the story) turn out to connect beautifully at its end. I was much reminded of Brief Encounter in the way Mr. Miyazaki winds Jiro and Naoko's stories together, just as so much in this extraordinary work seems to pull into its orbit elements from earlier films (Porco Rosso and Howl's Flying Castle come most to mind).

     The visual references to German Expressionism and the constant quotes from Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain and the poetry of Paul Valéry also give the film a unique poignancy, borne out of the sense that Jiro's dreams take place in a placid world of elegance and beauty that is about to end dramatically as World War II looms into view. But, as the earthquake scene shows, in a country such as Japan, where nature takes precedence without asking permission, apocalypse is not a distant concept anyway.

     It would probably not be hard to find in what the director announced publicly as his final feature film a lot of career resonances, and indeed fans of Mr. Miyazaki will find here much to chew on. This brings us back to the idea that Jiro is a thinly-veiled match for Mr. Miyazaki, both men of dreams whose yearnings and desires set them apart from their contemporaries, using tradition as a means to move things forward. The Wind Rises could be "Miyazaki redux" and there's nothing wrong with that, but it's also a gloriously layered throwback to an earlier era of melodrama, melding together Oriental and Western elements in a film of extraordinary elegance and almost unspeakable precision. Indeed, The Wind Rises flies like a dream.

Japan 2013
127 minutes
 Original Japanese voice cast: Hideaki Anno, Hidetoshi Nishijima, Miori Takimoto, Masahiko Nishimura, Mansai Nomura, Jun Kunimura, Mirai Shida, Shinobu Otake, Morio Kazama, Keiko Takeshita
 Director and screenwriter Hayao Miyazaki; supervising animator Kitaro Kosaka; composer Joe Hisaishi; art director Yoji Takeshige; editor Takeshi Seyama; producer Toshio Suzuki; production companies Studio Ghibli, Nippon Television Network, Dentsu, Hakuhodo DY Media Partners, Walt Disney Japan, Mitsubishi Shoji, D-Rights, Toho Company and KDDI Corporation
 Screened March 11th 2015, Lisbon

Monday, March 16, 2015


Following up on his smart remake of Brighton Rock, The American screenwriter Rowan Joffe's sophomore directing effort takes on S. J. Watson's best-selling pulp thriller about an amnesiac trying to piece together her past. In this well-made but rather disappointing film, Mr. Joffe is aiming at a would-be Hitchcockian take on something like Christopher Nolan's Memento, or a Dial M for Murder hinging on memory issues, where the plot is slowly revealed as the viewer follows the lead character's discoveries. But it turns out that Before I Go to Sleep is more of a Brian de Palma tease at the director's flashiest and least interesting.

     Christine (Nicole Kidman, very good in a Grace Kelly-ish sort of way) has no memory of anything before she woke up today, but as she heads into the bathroom, she finds all sorts of permanent reminders that show Ben (Colin Firth, proving there's more to him as an actor than the British gentleman), the man in bed next to her, is her husband. As he tells her every single day, after a horrible incident that left her unconscious, she is unable to form any new long-term memories; all she will learn in the course of the day will be undone as she goes to sleep. But after Ben leaves home for work, Christine receives a phone call from Dr. Nasch (Mark Strong), a neurologist who has been treating her for some time now; as he picks her up, he gently reminds he's given her a camera to film herself every day so the accumulating footage creates a permanent memory, a permanent record of her past.

     The poignancy and ingeniousness of this device as Christine finds out about herself from the recorded segments, however, is quickly subsumed into the thriller plot. This is set in motion when both Ben and Nasch's stories start not quite adding up, when flashes of a child and a close friend start coming into the frame, when she realises not everything is as clear-cut as it seems. This could open up a whole new path, as we witness the amnesiac Christine suddenly having to navigate issues of trust and belief - not only of those around her, but even of her own self and memories.

     And therein lies what makes Mr. Joffe's film simultaneously so intriguing and so frustrating: it's a great premise, glossily and handsomely presented so as to make the plot's innate implausibilities fall to the background in true thriller fashion. But once the pieces start falling into places it becomes very clear, and highly predictable, where it all is heading, and you realise how much of what was left behind was merely obfuscation and sleight-of-hand. Everything was there in clear sight if you were attentive enough to look at it, and when the big twist comes in at the hour mark, it's somewhat disappointing how easy it was to see it coming and how suddenly one-dimensional Before I Go to Sleep becomes.

     What until then was a really rather decent film about a woman trying to keep her grasp on reality suddenly becomes yet another run-of-the-mill woman-in-danger melodrama (not entirely powerless, but nearly), with a neatly-wrapped ending that leaves at least one string of the bow untied. As well as a sour after-taste: you somehow feel conned that you invested this much in a nicely-made but rather hollow film that doesn't really make the most of the not inconsiderable talents involved. Almost as if the genuinely intriguing mystery the first hour teases was chopped down due to commercial considerations.

United Kingdom, USA 2013
92 minutes
 Cast Nicole Kidman, Colin Firth, Mark Strong, Anne-Marie Duff
 Director and screenwriter Rowan Joffe; based on the novel Before I Go to Sleep by S. J. Watson; cinematographer Ben Davis (colour, widescreen); composer Edward Shearmur; designer Kave Quinn; costumes Michele Clapton; editor Melanie Ann Oliver; producers Liza Marshall, Mark Gill and Matt O'Toole; production companies Scott Free Productions and Millennium Films in association with Studiocanal Features
  Screened March 9th 2015, Lisbon

Friday, March 13, 2015


The word "polarizing", according to economist Robert Reich, is currently used to describe "anyone with a strong conviction, who tells it like it is, who challenges the status quo". That is, anyone whose actions raises important questions that shatter the conformity of society, politics and media, and to those who speak their minds, rightly or wrongly, in face of massive opposition. Certainly, Edward Snowden fits such a bill.

     A systems administrator with access to the secret American intelligence and surveillance networks, born in a military family in North Carolina, Mr. Snowden decided to make public the extent to which the American government (but not only) was using technology to maintain an "always-on" surveillance state, and in so doing became - depending on where you stand - either a heroic whistleblower or a miserable traitor.

     The truth, however, is more shaded: his actions have brought to the fore a growingly disturbing sense of encroaching Orwellianism, as the all-pervasive technology surrounding us and liable to empower an individual also welcomes in an all-seeing, all-controlling state as depicted in the British writer's classic dystopian novel 1984. And the disclosures of the extent of the surveillance programmes set up by the American National Security Agency and other intelligence and police agencies certainly raise important questions about the growingly porous borders of personal privacy.

     At the time of his 2013 disclosures, Mr. Snowden "recruited" American documentary filmmaker Laura Poitras and Brazil-based American journalist and columnist Glenn Greenwald to help him navigate the media in order to divulge the documents he had gained access to and wished to leak. Ms. Poitras and Mr. Greenwald were chosen by Mr. Snowden for their history of looking at the global consequences, unintended or otherwise, of momentous decisions made at a political level after the tragic events of 9/11.

     What Ms. Poitras does in Citizenfour, though, isn't simply a mere recap of the seven days during which her, Mr. Greenwald and British journalist Ewen MacAskill met Mr. Snowden in Hong Kong and strategized how best to make the information available. Using the "access-all-areas" footage shot in Mr. Snowden's hotel room in June 2013 as the centerpiece of this feature-length documentary, the filmmaker is instead creating a warts-and-all portrait of Snowden the man, as seen beyond the hall of mirrors of media attention and activist stands. Yes, Citizenfour narrates the process of leaking the information Mr. Snowden decided needed to be shared with the world, but in so doing it trains its camera on the man who made that decision.

     Ultimately, as Ms. Poitras' film shows, despite all of the help he may have had, the buck stops at him, and things are never how you think they were going to be. It's one thing to take a moral, idealistic stance, as Mr. Snowden clearly decided: "this is wrong, I can't be a part of this, I have to do something to stop it from happening." It's another thing to actually face the consequences of what it was he did. Citizenfour shows the "before" and the "after" of that decision; it depicts the category-5 hurricane Mr. Snowden deliberately walked into, then shows him standing in its eye like a deer caught in the headlights, suddenly realising what it was he did and willing to let the chips fall where they may.

     The very picture of a bright boy-next-door-made-good, once his identity is revealed publicly you can see something shift in Mr. Snowden, something become different, other, like a great weight has been placed on his shoulders and he is no longer as certain that he can carry it. Therein lies what makes Citizenfour a thrilling piece of filmmaking: it's a film that takes its time to let us know who the person at the centre of its story is, it reminds us that there are human beings at the heart of every decision ever made for good or bad, and that there are strong feelings underlining that decision.

     This is an openly activist documentary, in the sense that it tells us something is going on that is important for our society and polity and that we should not look away from. But it would just be a dry tract if it didn't take the time to explain why and to show us why other people think this is important. And what is important in Citizenfour is precisely that it shows us someone willing to lay himself on the line for what he believes in - something that comes out of a profound love for an ideal Mr. Snowden felt his country was not living up to. For that, Ms. Poitras films him with great respect but also a peculiar sense of disbelief that someone like him, willing to sacrifice everything for a greater ideal, can still exist in this day and age. A deer in the headlights, indeed.

Germany, USA, United Kingdom 2014
113 minutes
 Director Laura Poitras; cinematographers Ms. Poitras, Kirsten Johnson, Katy Scoggin and Trevor Paglen; editor Mathilde Bonnefoy; producers Ms. Poitras, Ms. Bonnefoy and Dirk Wilutzky; production companies Praxis Films in co-production with the Bertha Foundation, Britdoc Circle, Channel Four Television Corporation, Nord Deutschen Rundfunk and Bayerischen Rundfunk, in association with Participant Media and HBO Documentary Films
 Screened March 3rd 2015, Medeia Monumental 4, Lisbon (distributor press screening)