Author: Nicolas Demers

I’m honestly not sure what to make of Frauensee. It was an interesting movie, well-acted, with some nicely-explored characters and gorgeous shots of the German countryside. But there was no real plot, no resolution to the personal drama or even to the one minor side plotline. It left me feeling vaguely frustrated.

Maybe I’m approaching it from the wrong perspective. My only previous exposure to German lesbian cinema is To Faro, the 2011 VQFF’s opening gala film, and it was similar in a lot of ways: big focus on atmosphere, minimal plot that left lots of room for emotional drama but without any real character growth, and a very open-ended conclusion that wasn’t so much a dénouement as just an ending, and which left a bittersweet aftertaste. So maybe this is typical of the genre?

Rosa is a warden looking over a lake in the country, setting traps and watching for poachers. Her lover Kirsten is a high-powered architect from the big city who owns and fully renovated a house by the lake, which she comes down to on the weekend to relax. Though half the time, she’s still running her business over the phone anyway. I think in her eyes Rosa is just a part of her weekend getaways: she enjoys them but has no interest in making it full-time. Kirsten does care about Rosa but doesn’t know anything about her world, and doesn’t particularly care to.

Case in point: the one side plot involves some mysterious poacher stealing fish from Rosa’s traps. If she catches him, Rosa would have every right to ban him from the lake, but Kirsten advises her to talk with him, get his side of the story, maybe find some middle ground that could keep both of them happy. Not only does this come of as really condescending, it just reflects how out of touch Kirsten is: I’m sure in the big city it’s all about compromise and you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-yours, but in the country, it’s not okay to steal from people and damage their property.

On the weekend’s first day, Rosa catches two young college students, Evi and Olivia, stealing from her trap (because they forgot to bring enough food) and setting camp on an island that’s a nature preserve (against Rosa’s explicit instructions). Instead of throwing the book at them, Rosa joins them and then invites them back to Kirsten’s house for dinner, then allows them to stay for a few days. Evi starts to hit on Rosa almost continually whenever she thinks they’re alone, and while Rosa is kind of annoyed, she isn’t exactly saying no either. Olivia isn’t thrilled either, though she’s learned to put up with Evi’s shameless flirting.

All of their tensions and frustrations come to a boil a couple days later during a booze- and pot-fueled party at the house, where everybody spills their guts to everybody else. Nothing actually changes, though, and I don’t know if anybody has learned anything. It was all revelations that the audience and most of the characters knew anyway, the only difference is that it’s all in the open.

The last scene shows Rosa leaving for work at dawn as usual, the three other women still sleeping. But where is Rosa really headed? Is she running away from all these new revelations? Is she finally leaving Kirsten and heading off into the sunrise of a brand new life? Or doggedly going back to work just to go through this same crap over and over?

So yes, like I said, an interesting film. It didn’t really speak to me, but I did quite enjoy it, not least because of the gorgeous shots of the lake—the huge sky, the rippling water, the surrounding woods, the wind in the reeds—and the glimpse of quiet German rural life. I’m not sure if it was the best choice for a closing gala film—the last two were definitely more upbeat—but hey: a little moodiness and introspection never hurt anybody.

I Do is the first dud of the festival. It looked good on paper, and was pleasant enough to watch, but I found it preachy and uninspired, and overally very forgettable.

Ten years ago, Jack’s brother Peter was on top of the world: he’d just gotten his green card (they’re both British, having lived in the States since they were teens), and his lovely wife Mya was expecting; but later that night after a celebratory dinner he was run over by a car in full view of Jack and Mya. Since then, Jack has become a surrogate father to his niece and a quasi-husband-type-person to Mya and has focused pretty much all his emotional energies on supporting them. He used to be an avid photographer but now is employed as an assistant in a photo studio, repairing cameras and so on. He has little time for relationships, instead hooking up with fuckbuddies from time to time.

Then out of the blue, two things happen: Jack’s visa is about to run out, and due to new rules put in after 9/11 there’s no way to renew it in time. He wants to stay and help take care of Mya and Tara, but how? The only option is marriage, and that has to be to a woman. Even though same-sex marriage is legal in New York State, it is not recognised by immigration law. His sister-in-law—the first logical choice—will have no part of it, since it might lead to jail time if authorities found out the fraud. His next choice is his lesbian BFF Alison, who agrees.

Around the same time, he meets someone at a gallery showing: Mano, a suave, urbane, intellectual Spanish-American architect, and it’s love at first sight. But their budding romance is complicated by Jack’s need to maintain his straight masquerade, and his constant running off to take care of Mya.

Eventually, Alison gets spooked from repeatedly dealing with Immigrations and their questioning, and sitting home alone every night while Jack is gallivanting off with Mano, and asks for a divorce. Coincidentally, Mano has to return home to take care of his ill father. He invites Jack to move to Spain with him—they could even get married!—but Jack wants to stay in the US with Mya if he possibly can. In the end he can’t, and he accepts that he needs to live for himself instead of for Mya, so he moves to Spain to be with Mano. The end.

I think part of the problem with I Do is that it tried to shoehorn two different stories together: a political one, about gay marriage in the US; and a personal one, about Jack’s relationship with Mano and their respective family responsibilities. The rest of the problem is that neither of the stories were that engaging to begin with. The romance storyline was uninspired and by-the-numbers, and the gay-marriage storyline was clunky and preachy. I guess it tried to send a Big Message about love and how it must be respected, but it just seemed to be trying too hard.

Bwakaw is a gorgeous movie about loss, regret and hope, a touching reminder that it’s never too late to start living.

Meet Rene, a curmudgeonly old man living in a small town not too far from Manila. A retired janitor at the local post office, he still comes in to work every day in spite of barely tolerating his coworkers because hey, it beats sitting at home by himself. In fact, his home isn’t much to look at: it’s old and kind of decrepit, filled with boxes he’s never opened, with no furniture except a table and a bed—the latter half-occupied by a supposedly-miraculous statue of Christ he inherited from his mother.

Rene’s grumpiness is at first only played for laughs, but underneath there’s deep pain: he came out very late in life, has never been in love, has never even kissed another man. Though he regrets all the missed opportunities, he now feels he’s too old for love; so he’s resigned to his lot in life, to be alone amongst a bunch of loons and idiots, and reserves all his affection for his loyal dog Bwakaw who he takes everywhere he goes.

It’s Bwakaw that causes an argument with taxi driver Sol. Sol wants to charge Rene double for the extra passenger (ie: the dog), but Rene only tells him to piss off. Their paths keep crossing, with their squabble flaring up in increasingly funny ways (Sol puts up a “No dogs” sign on his windshield? Rene responds by holding up a “No baldies” sign by the side of the road—Sol is pretty sparse on top despite being in his thirties). However, the hatchet is buried when Bwakaw falls ill and Sol drives Rene to the vet.

It turns out Bwakaw has very advanced cancer; Rene never suspected since he hardly ever touched her and she never complained. At this point there’s nothing for the devastated Rene to do except give Bwakaw regular painkillers and make her as comfortable as possible until the end.

Oddly, in every other way this seems to be a time of positive change for Rene. He loosens up quite a bit; reconciles with his only gay friend (a very fey hairdresser) and even agrees to colour his hair brown to cover the grey, which looks great; Sol sticks around to help repaint the house and do other odd jobs. The two chat late into the night, and Rene discovers he has feelings for him. While Sol is sleeping, Rene tenderly starts stroking his face, and plants a couple of light kisses on his lips. But then Rene wakes up and… doesn’t take it well. Rene is left alone. Again.

Bwakaw dies soon after, but for Rene this isn’t the end. He unpacks all his boxes, bringing out flowerpots, drapes, rugs, all sorts of lovely knickknacks, and his house becomes what it should have been all along: a colourful, inviting, well-lit home. And then he leaves for a walk, taking only a walking stick. He should look lonely without Bwakaw, but there’s a certain spring in his step, and he looks free: free to explore, free to hope that there’s more to life than regret and waiting to die.

The very last scene has Rene on the road, walking along, and a taxi passes by. I think it’s meant to be Sol’s taxi; if it is, Rene pays it no mind. He’s fucked up with Sol, and that can’t be undone. But that’s life; you fuck up every once in a while, and then you move on. That’s Bwakaw‘s message, and it’s an uplifting one. No matter what your situation, no matter what you’ve done or left undone, it’s never to late to start fresh.