Traditionally, the Berlinale is a worthy if unspectacular film festival, but this year’s offerings largely range from the hapless to the tasteless
If film festivals were banquets, the signature dish of a vintage Canneswould be a rich, piquant bouillabaisse; of a good Sundance, a juicy burger dripping with relish. In Berlin, however, we’ve learned to expect something more like a tofu bratwurst with extra broccoli. This festival tends to be stodgy and not obviously appetising, but you generally hope that it will at least be good for you. This year it was barely that, and the broccoli was decidedly wilted.
Everyone expected that festival director Dieter Kosslick, in his 18th and final Berlinale, would pull out some farewell fireworks. Yet 2019 gave us the dreariest competition anyone could remember. You can only feel sympathy for the jury, headed by Juliette Binoche. The opening film was shockingly insipid. Lone Scherfig (An Education) came a cropper with The Kindness of Strangers, an ensemble story about a bunch of outsiders crossing paths in New York and generally being endearingly nice to each other.
And yet another Chinese competition film, Wang Xiaoshuai’s So Long, My Son, addresses the aftermath of that period in a complex and provocative manner. Set over several decades, it’s a labyrinthine family chronicle tracing the social and psychic repercussions of China’s one-child policy. Narratively perplexing and, at three hours, a daunting watch, this was nevertheless the one truly ambitious title I saw in competition.
The Guardian,
February 16th, 2019
Jonathan Romney,
