There’s something odd about the average person’s face when they’re around celebrity. They’re naturally curious, maybe even agog, but also want to maintain the illusion that hey, it’s cool, they can take it or leave it, no biggie. Last Saturday night the stairs of the Festival Theatre in Edinburgh log-jammed as people held up cameras and phones to catch a blurry shot of the various stars present for the premiere of Perfect Sense; nearly all of the neck-craners had that slightly bemused smile, as if they can’t quite believe they’re joining in with the hoopla – but damned if they’re going to move out of the way either. Only when the bell has rung the five minute warning does the queue, now out onto the street, finally, reluctantly, begin to move.

James Mullighan (Director of the EIFF) is there to introduce. I’m liking him (certainly as a person) more and more. Only a few words in, he stops, admonishing the thousands of people in front of him: “You could at least pretend to look at me!” Eyes turn sheepishly away from the side entrance where Ewan MacGreogor, lead in the film (and clearly the man everyone is here to see), waits. Accidentally, as I’m taking the seat of a mate who can’t make it at the last minute, I find myself sitting in the front row, mere feet from him once he’s standing on stage at the microphone. My own attempts to be cool fall by the way side and the phone comes out… I know certain female and male friends will never forgive me if I don’t take the chance.

It’s all a little disheartening, though: Gillian Berrie (Producer) and David Mackenzie (Director) are on stage first, and they’re suitably jovial, seem to be genuinely happy to be at EIFF for the event – Mackenzie stating his support for the festival overtly, perhaps a little too much so. Other crew members are introduced or mentioned (polite applause), and then the supporting cast (more polite applause) before MacGregor’s name is finally read out. Cue a roaring scream from the room, and several wolf whistles. These are no blushing women in their early 20s either; the entire row behind me seems to have been imported straight from Morningside’s tea rooms – and they’re not holding back. As much as they’re probably used to it, and even grateful for their star’s attractive qualities (every little helps sell a film), I’d find it hard to stand on stage as a fellow actor or crew member, and listen to the massive disparity in received reactions. All because of a cheeky smile and a six pack. Still, easy for me to moralise, I only like MacGregor’s talent, and not his bum – if it had been Keanu Reeves up there, I’d probably have melted into a small puddle within seconds. One woman’s talented Scotsman is another’s….

I’ve fallen into hypocrisy; tutting at others for obsessing over the main man, whilst my thoughts thus far have done the same. Onwards to the film.

It’s hard to describe without giving too much away. You could say it’s about the end of the world. You could say it’s a love story. Or even a treatise on stopping and smelling the roses once in a while. It’s odd, and a little slow, perfectly poised in a balance between all the above (and more), and about an hour in I give up, take my critical hat off and just enjoy loving it. Because I did. I loved it completely. From the performances, to the music, to the Glasgow setting, to the humour, to the occasional, unapologetic, unusual directing decision. Of course it’s not perfect – few things one loves ever are – but I haven’t fallen this hard for a film in a while. The chemistry between MacGregor and Eva Green (she of Bond girl fame) is effortless; and needless to say the camaraderie between Ewen Bremner (MacGregor’s co-star in Trainspotting), the lead and his real-life uncle, Denis Lawson, is a joy to watch. But mainly it’s just a damn good story, executed beautifully. It’s out in October – go and see it.

The next day was back to business, with more event hopping: the highlight of which was a late afternoon session entitled “Selling Films Socially – A Revolution in Film Distribution”. The grandiose title evidently worked, as there was a queue snaking down the stairs to gain entry, and precious few seats left when all shuffled in.

The main info to take away is this: there’s a rather cool site you should know about called Distrify, that works on a very simple, good idea. It’s a central location for a film online, with the built-in ability for the previewer (you) to buy it instantly, if you like what you see. No more watching the trailer, and then remembering to go see it at the cinema, missing it and then twiddling your thumbs waiting for the dvd. Browse films, watch trailers, fancy it, buy it. Within minutes. For the filmmakers, it saves them having to reel you in over and over again, gaps of days, weeks or months between your interest being sparked and the film being available for viewing – and they control how much they sell it for, and in what format.

Most popular platforms are catered for (with no extra software needing to be downloaded), and the player can be embedded in any website you like. It seems like a win/win for everyone (apart from cinema owners), and of definite interest for short film makers; it’s near nigh impossible to garner major distribution for a short film, let alone recoup any costs (let’s just leave the idea of actually making a profit in dream land for the moment), but Distrify keeps the control for both firmly in the hands of those who made it. It’s Vimeo + Google checkouts, only prettier. I’m going to be very interested to see how they do…

The weekend over, I’m knackered. Monday will be my day of rest, heading back into the fray on Tuesday. Videotheque, here I come – well, it’s going to be raining anyway, right?

I caught up with the director this afternoon in order to talk about his work and discuss these issues.

(Download the audio here.)

If you’ve never been there, find an opportunity to do so. It’s a wonderful space run by New Media Scotland in partnership with the School of informatics; located on the corner of what was once Crichton Square car park, opposite the Mosque, it’s a techy nerd’s surreal minimalist wet dream. This year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival almost completely bypassed me. Since it escaped the August festivals hurly burly it’s harder for me to get enthusiastic about it and if it hadn’t been for the number of excellent events I’ve seen at Inspace of late I probably would have seen nothing. The Atmosphere programme goes almost unnoticed during the EIFF; although listed in the programme it just talks about the films and not the remarkable things that go on around them.

The goal of the series is to “re-imagine the concept of Atmospheric movie theaters from the 1920s and 30s,” and it does this very well. Last year a screening of Moon had the staff all in NASA-style jumpsuits and a real life astronaut there for a Q&A about what it’s really like to go to the moon. Since I had already been spending a lot of time there and had some free time I dived into the 2011 programme…

It started with The Man in the White Suit, a film I had never seen. Excellent! Entertaining as well as educational. The audience were welcomed with white cocktails in test tubes which were tasty but amusingly difficult to drink.

The chemistry theme continued with a glorious glass construction near the cocktais.

And of course there was the film to watch as well.

Next up was The Incredibles, which got me very excited and everyone else too apparently as it was a full house. This ‘season’ at Inspace has been in association with the Scottish Academy of Fashion, so for this event we saw a selection of dresses that could almost have been designed by the film’s star, Edna Mode.

There was also a tiny voice activated talking Edna who had been wired into the building’s computer and sound system. It’s remarkable how many people coo-ed and squeed over her.

The Pufferfish had also been roped in, taking the form of the Omnidroid and lurking distressingly in the corner.

The drinks today were mimosas because, of course, Mr Incredible sips on one during the film. I think most of the audience only cottoned on to this while watching.

I had to miss Funny Face. Apparently I should be very sad because it was a massive bunch of fun. [sigh] I am sad.

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie was another full house.

The audience came in to a tranquil picnic scene where they were served drinks with the promise of picnicky delights later.

There was more fashion…

… and throughout the film Erika Duffy created a Jean Brodie ‘signature scent’ using bubbles, squirters and vast beakers scattered around the space.

For Eyes of Laura Mars the extras were very scientific. Working with the DIEM project, a bunch of volunteers came in to the Informatics department a few weeks previously and watched a clip from the film while having their eye movement tracked. This was then pulled together in a number of styles and the results projected around the space on the night.

You can see the output here:

The Eyes of Laura Mars photoshoot peekthrough from TheDIEMProject on Vimeo.

And so to the grand finale, Fellini’s 8 ½. I knew some of what was planned for this so even though I had to run away from another engagement early to get there, get there I did. Confronted on arrival by a ringmaster’s outfit – complete with whip – and a strangely monochrome setting with gauzy partitions, it set the tone perfectly for the film.

As well as being projected on the main wall…

… the film was also projected onto the rear wall through some of the drapes…

… onto a bed…

… and onto a dinner table…

… where people were invited to sit and have some wine and cheese.

And as if this wasn’t enough, ten minutes before the end of the film it was stopped; people were asked to join hands and were led onto the roof of the building where the remainder of the film was shown on the pufferfish while ‘Fellini bellinis’ were served.

It was a truly magical and spectacular way to show a film that broke the barriers of filmmaking. I saw nothing else of the 2011 EIFF but thanks to this series I have nothing but good things to say about it. I thoroughly recommend you keep an eye on what’s happening next season and where possible, go along!

Image: Chris Harris

Director Nick Whitfield was the surprise winner of the Michael Powell award at Edinburgh International Film Festival this year. His low-budget film Skeletons tells the story of two travelling salesmen who visit people’s homes to perform a procedure to rid them of any ‘skeletons’ in their closets. The film received a fantastic reaction following its premiere at Edinburgh and since then has been touring the country. A campaign has even started on Facebook where people have championed to get the film shown in their local cinema. We grabbed director Nick Whitfield for a few minutes from his hectic schedule to find out what this whirlwind experience has been like.

What has the experience of winning the Michael Powell award at Edinburgh been like?

It’s a crazy dream come true and way beyond my expectations. The prize for me was making the film. This is absurdly flattering and weird.

How do you hope that will impact the film?

I hope it will make its audience bigger, pure and simple. The film doesn’t really exist unless someone’s watching it.

Skeletons has a very distinctive style, refreshingly different from most British film – what were you inspired by to create the film?

Events in my life played a huge part. And lots of work that I’ve done over the years, disparate influences – my old theatre teacher Philippe Gaulier, Pinter, Beckett, Eric and Ernie… films I’ve loved – Three Colours Blue, Unforgiven, Spinal Tap, Eternal Sunshine…, The Ipcress File. And much of the inspiration comes from the group of people you choose to work with in the end.

This is your first feature film, it must have been a huge learning curve – do you have any advice for budding filmmakers?

Well, I’m no expert but I’d say “Make the story that you HAVE TO. No faking it.”

What do you have lined up to work on next?

Oh, plans afoot, but if I told you, well, you know…

Visit the Skeletons profile on IMDB or the official website to find out more about the film.

“Every time I succumb anew to this film’s fresh sexiness, playful style and icy cool, I think it must surely have been made yesterday. The new digital restoration only enhances that impression and there isn’t much left to be said except: joyeux cinquantième anniversaire.”

- Jason Solomons in The Guardian 2010

Once again I see this film. Why? Each time I see it I understand better its appeal and my frustrations.

This is a seminal work; one that must have sent ripples through anyone who saw its first release and wanted the world to be a different; and above all wanted cinema to be different. À Bout de Souffle takes the mythic magic of Bogart and Bacall and relocates it for a new age in a new film grammar. It confers power to make meaning to an audience that had rarely enjoyed such power. In short, it treated film as art.

It also took the industrial filmmaking means out of the studio and onto the street: 16mm, available light, no location sound, no shooting permits, no traffic control: just get out and shoot. In fact, there’s not much of a pre-written script. Story changes are abrupt, dialogue meanders, cuts, for the first time, jump. This is what freedom looks and feels like: sexual, moral, financial, cinematic freedom. Exciting.

“The film of tomorrow will not be directed by civil servants of the camera, but by artists for whom shooting a film constitutes a wonderful and thrilling adventure.”

- Francois Truffaut in Arts, 1957.

But who exactly is thrilled? The barely-considered script does not really empower its audience quite as much as it ignores that audience; the dialogue is at times interminable; and the hatchet techniques grate rather than illuminate. Acting under these conditions is tested beyond usefulness to the point that emotional turning points are missed; not in a way that feels deliberate, pointed or ironic; but rather as though no-one understands what’s going on. Consider the moment Patricia tells Michel she’s ratted on him to the police. Are we afforded a distant Brechtian perspective on this pivotal moment or do we feel simply that something has been left unacknowledged? Are we in the throes of the kicking dream or following the insights of a polemic essay? It would seem neither is the case given such inconsequential events. Life may not be like Hollywood movies, but it’s not like this either, and so the effect is both unemotional and apolitical. Is this not bourgeois art-for-art’s-sake?

Indeed, in this same scene we are beaten over the head with the fact that they’re shooting handheld, as the camera follows each character around from living room to hall and back again. Richard Lester are you taking notes?

It’s very self-consciously cool, but it is also cold. The sexiness – and they are a very good looking, nicely-styled, freewheelin’ couple – is undermined by the lack of narrative substance; drowned in undisciplined techniques; and overwhelmed by authorial intrusion: ‘le camera stylo’; the camera as pen. 

“The style is everything, a calculated destruction and remaking of traditional film grammar, and Godard formulated his much-quoted idea that ‘a film should have a beginning, a middle and an end, but not necessarily in that order’.”

- Philip French, The Guardian

But does it feel like a film? Well, it documents its world, which puts us in a privileged cinematic position – all cinema is voyeurism after all – and you feel like you could have gone to Paris and just stepped into that world, which must have been an amazing feeling back in 1960, but 50 years later, its overly loose narrative, and its collagist’s approach to an argument make it a bit of a chore to watch.

Film is not photo-montage, neither is it a journal: it’s too full of life for the mere collision of images or ideas. Time passes, and we can all feel that time passing. For this reason, film, whether dreamlike or distant, needs an emotional heartbeat that is something close to music; and dynamic music at that. Miss those evolving pulses and beats, and we may miss your point.

À Bout de Souffle is a seminal work, no doubt; this film marks a change, and doubtlessly changed filmmaking everywhere – it’s hard to imagine the likes of Easy Rider being made ten years and ten thousand kilometres away without it – but this is the new cinema in its infancy: showy and brash and needing to go up to its room until it’s ready to behave.

It should be said that À Bout de Souffle is far from alone in achieving extraordinary acclaim through showing off the sexy-cool of its faces whilst disregarding its audience’s desire for a coherent script: Bogart and Bacall had done just that for Howard Hawks in The Big Sleep only 14 years earlier. But that’s another story.

I wasn’t there when À Bout de Souffle first opened. I wish I had been. I first saw it in the Edinburgh Filmhouse as a schoolboy (was thrilled) and last saw it in the GFT three weeks ago. I’ve seen it on TV since then, and I even have the DVD. If you haven’t seen this film, I recommend that you do (along with many other Godard films). Give your heart to it, but don’t forget your head or be afraid to admit you don’t like it as much as you feel you ought to.

Above all, if you’re about to make a film, please be very careful what you take from Godard.

The restored version of À Bout de Souffle gets its DVD release on 13 September.

Superb trailer for À Bout de Souffle:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2hDR_e1o1M

Cinematographer Raoul Coutard reflects on shooting À Bout de Souffle:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2010/jun/06/raoul-coutard-jean-luc-godard-breathless

For a highly-informed, in-depth appraisal of À Bout de Souffle as well as Godard through the years, read Philip French (he was there):

http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2010/jun/06/film-jean-luc-godard-breathless-feature-philip-french-french-new-wave

Jason Solomons:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2010/jun/27/a-bout-de-souffle-godard

Could it be? My face pulled up into a grin. I raced down Bread Street, feet hitting the pavement. There were more badge-holders now; I followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs, running up towards the familiar glass-fronted building. Storefront of dreams! Badge-holders, even the odd programme book tucked under an arm. Maybe I’d been mistaken; perhaps it wasn’t really over after all.

I pulled up to the Delegates’ Centre and, at once, my face fell again. Boxes. Folded-up signs. A team of people, badge-wearers all, packing it away, done with us for another year. Turncoats!

I rejoined my companion and, together, we sauntered off to the Best of the Fest: the last wheezing gasp of an emotional rollercoaster of a film festival.

Following its debut at the Göteborg International Film Festival earlier this year, Skeletons was this year’s winner of the Michael Powell award for Best New British Feature. (Powell, you will recall, was the legendary British director of The Red Shoes and A Matter of Life and Death.) Will Adamsdale (fresh from The Boat That Rocked) and Andrew Buckley (Gobbler from Extras‘s sitcom-within-a-sitcom, When the Whistle Blows) are exorcists of a kind: they make a living by exhuming the skeletons from peoples’ closets.

Skeletons deftly defies expectations: it comes across, on paper and in its trailer, as a faintly low-key surrealist comedy, and that’s what you sit down expecting to be shown. Indeed, for the first half hour or so, it ably delivers some genuinely hilarious moments. It’s when we dive into our exorcists’ lives, however, that it comes into its own, eventually delivering an emotional wallop that it has no business being capable of.

It’s clear that the budget here is through the floor, but the production values are high. The supporting cast are surprising in themselves: Harry Potter‘s Jason Isaacs plays the exorcists’ boss, while Paprika Steen – Danish alumnus of Lars Von Trier films like Dancer in the Dark and The Idiots - is a woman who hires them to find her husband. Disparate as they are, the players pull together to create a seamlessly offbeat journey that’s hard to find fault with.

And so, Toy Story 3. Somehow this feels like a fitting end for my Edinburgh International Film Festival coverage: sure, it’s yet another film about loss, but it’s also one about moving on and fondly remembering what was so good about what we left behind.

Sequels are never a particularly attractive proposition, but Toy Story 2 defied expectations. It was a well-rounded, accomplished film that in many ways eclipsed the original. Ten years have passed since then, though, and fifteen since Toy Story. Back then, its position as the first ever full-length CG film was enough to blow us away; where do you go now that 3D animated toys are old hat?

There’s no need to worry: we’re in safe hands here. After all, Pixar’s films have always been more about heart than visuals; last year’s Up had me tearing up before the ten minute mark. Indeed, Ratatouille, The Incredibles and Finding Nemo all managed to pull off something new, and despite being the third part in a series that has endeared its way into popular culture, Toy Story 3 does the same.

From the opening reference to Indiana Jones, it feels like it’s been pitched a little bit older than the previous two. There’s a laugh-out-loud subtitled segment, some body horror courtesy of Mr Potato Head and a tortilla, and even a shared touchpoint with eighties cult horror flick The Devil’s Gift. That’s not to say that it’s not suitable for children – this is still very much a kids’ film – but Pixar aren’t afraid to push the envelope a little bit.

The new actors all hint at the tone. Michael Keaton – you know, from Batman, Beetlejuice and Pacific Heights – is Ken (as in Barbie’s boyfriend). Ned Beatty – Network - is Lotso, a southern bear who smells of strawberries but secretly rules his daycare centre home as a sick kind of prison. Meanwhile, less threateningly, Timothy Dalton has a hilarious turn as a luvvie hedgehog, and Kristen Schaal (familiar to regular Flight of the Conchords and Daily Show viewers) is a chatroom-obsessed triceratops.

Toy Story 3 is fun, exciting and emotive: in other words, everything you’d expect from a Pixar film. It’s out here in the UK in July, and I recommend you go seek it out – with or without children.

On a final note, I’d like you to open this song in another tab. It’s mood music; a little background atmospherics for what I want to say. I’ll wait.

Done? Okay, good.

I’d like to thank Central Station for giving me the opportunity to cover this year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival. It’s been fun, exhausting and extremely satisfying. I hope my pieces have given you a little hint of the atmosphere here, as well as an insight into the kinds of films we’ve been seeing. This is one of the world’s most interesting arts events, and while there’s been the odd hiccup behind the scenes here and there, this year’s programme has been educational, challenging, diverse, surprising and incredibly entertaining. I’ll miss covering it for you.

I’ll continue to pop up on Central Station from time to time, but this marks the end of my official engagement. If you’re interested in web technology, my regular home is over at benwerd.com – but I’ll also be writing more along these lines at Off Topic. (I’m also always interested in new places to write, so if you’ve liked what I’ve written here and would like some content over at your place, please get in touch with me here at Central Station or at ben [at] benwerd.com.) Finally, you can always find me on Twitter as @benwerd.

Thanks for reading; hopefully I’ll catch you soon.

Oh, and you can turn the Celine Dion off now.

The film is asymptotic to meaning: as the film progresses, it gets closer and closer to making an underlying point and hanging together as an overriding whole, but never quite arrives. Director Iyari Wertta flings bizarre ideas at the screen, never anchoring them in wit, plot or dynamism, while the slow pace and catastrophically low budget end up acting as obstacles in the way of any kind of engagement. The actors ham it up appropriately, in one case attempting a poor man’s Owen Wilson, but the expectation seems to be that ludicrous situations should be enough to keep us watching. With some brief exceptions – the hilarious arrival of the alien, for one – it isn’t.

Tragically, the last five minutes hint at a considerably more accomplished film, both poetic and human, with parallels in The Wizard of Oz (not to mention this year’s season finale of Doctor Who). If only Wertta had given this seed a little more room to grow.

Maybe it’s the sun, sea and cervezas, but apparently aliens can’t leave Mexico alone. Monsters imagines a world where Baja California has been overrun with giant otherworldly octopus creatures who tear down planes from the sky and destroy whole cities. Kaulder, a press photographer, needs to escort Sam, the daughter of his newspaper’s owner, back safely into the United States.

@GuyLodge: MONSTERS (B+): Surprise package of #EIFF for me. Resourceful, great-looking hybrid of romcom, tourist movie and creature thriller. It works! ~ June 25, 2010

Visually, this is everything anyone could want from a monster movie. We’re in the post-Cloverfield shakycam world, albeit from a third-person perspective, and director Gareth Edwards has made the most of his visual effects background. There are no gratuitous CG shots here: everything drives either atmosphere or tension. The octopus creatures are carefully thought out, and the moment where we discover just why they’ve been so destructive is both visually and conceptually breathtaking. At the same time, even the smallest environmental details impress: this is a well-rounded, fully-realized near-future world.

Indie movie fans might be interested to know that the film’s leads, Whitney Able and Scoot McNairy, are in a film called Everything Will Happen Before You Die, which just completed a round of funding on Kickstarter. Hopefully, they’ll fare better there – when it comes to acting and dialogue, Monsters unfortunately falls flat. Monster movies are never going to rival Shakespeare, but some of the Festival’s most wooden lines lurk within this film’s neat 90 minute package. It’s a real shame that the visual attention to detail wasn’t matched in character development or scriptwriting.

Nonetheless, if alien invasions, well-meaning B-movies or cephalopods are your thing, this is almost certainly worth a look.

In fact, during an illuminating team Q&A after the film, production team Savalas revealed that they had spent nine weeks on the sound design. The hard work paid off: some of the audio effects were genuinely threatening in themselves, even outside the context of H.P. Lovecraft’s unsettling short story.

Set in New England, The Dunwich Horror is one of the central tales in Lovecraft’s Cthulhu mythology. Wilbur Whatley is the son of an albino mother and something not quite of this world, and seeks to open a gateway for eldritch creatures called the Old Ones to return. In order to do so, he travels to the Miskatonic University in Arkham to find an unabridged copy of the Necronomicon, the Book the Dead. The librarian, Dr Henry Armitage, refuses to let him take it with him, and Wilbur decides to break in late at night to take it by force. The guard dogs kill him, but that’s only the beginning of the horror that unfolds …

Mercifully, the drama doesn’t take itself too seriously, although it’s careful to stay on the right side of campy. Furthermore, Lovecraft’s stories don’t lend themselves to visual adaptations, so the otherworldly creatures that populate this story are arguably far scarier than they could ever be in a traditional film. It’s just a shame about the voice work, which lets the production down by being inconsistent and of a far lower quality than the soundscape they inhabit.

The communal atmosphere of the packed-out Filmhouse added to the fun – there were laughs and simultaneous intakes of breath a-plenty – but I hope Savalas decide to release an audio download of the film. For me, the best possible auditorium would be a car, driving through the New England countryside in the dead of night.

Cameo 1It was probably the most surreal experience I’ve had at the Edinburgh International Film Festival so far.

Vworp. Vuh vuh vuh vwwwwooooorrrrrrrrp.

I stepped tentatively into the Cameo cinema’s main screen. I was five minutes early, but the noise seemed to suggest that the film had already started. Indeed, as I emerged into the screening room’s dark expanse, the audience of film critics and industry professionals sat transfixed. The film had started, but the sound was a bleak electronic tone, like a corrupted MP3 at the end of the universe. Could this really be what I had come to see? Was Romanian cinema more avant-garde than I had anticipated?

I contemplated leaving again. It was half past nine in the morning and I was pre-coffee, after all.

Vuhvuhvuhvuh vworrrrp.

The sound gave through to recognizable human sounds and all at once the picture vanished, the lights came on and someone hit the reset button. Saved; deus ex cinema.

@WeAreDN: If I Want to Whistle, I Whistle was a great start to my final morning. One more screening & then it’s home time. Shame. (@albaztks) #EIFF ~ June 23, 2010

If I want to Whistle, I Whistle came out of workshops with young offenders at actual Romanian prisons, and is based on Andreea Valean’s stage play of the same name. It’s bleak stuff, obviously rooted in reality, and the line is further blurred by the film’s documentary stylings. George Pistereanu pulls off an impressively naturalistic, nuanced performance as the film’s protagonist, Silviu, and the supporting cast does nothing to spoil the illusion.

The trouble is, it’s perhaps too bleak; there’s precious little hope or light here. After four years, Silviu is within days of release, but it soon becomes clear that it’s not going to be a painless ride. Indeed, for most of the film we’re forced to watch his slow emotional breakdown due to the reappearance of his negligent mother, who wants to regain custody of his little brother, who he’s raised since she left. At the same time, he develops a crush on Ada, a student training to be a social worker in the prison – and ultimately ends up holding her hostage when he unravels a step too far.

There’s a story to be told here, but while the acting is undoubtedly incredible, I found myself wishing there was more humanity on display. I’ve seen films this Festival about the tragic aftermath of bloody wars that had more light and hope. Romania has been part of the European Union since 2007; it’s jarring to think that somewhere as bleak as is portrayed here is in our political block.

Whereas Silviu is imprisoned against his will, Robert Duvall’s protagonist in Get Low has willfully sequestered himself away for forty years. Hiding away in the Tennessee woods, he’s become the stuff of legend – or rather, half-whispered stories passed on between children, and spun-out tales in the local bar. Did he kill someone? Why does he hide himself away? The inhabitants fear him, and he does nothing to dissuade them – until one day, he rides his mule and cart into town and asks for a funeral party. The catch: he wants to be alive to see it.

Incredibly, Get Low is based on a true story. Duvall’s character, Felix Bush, really did have a living funeral. In order to encourage people to come, he raffled off his land, and come they did: up to twelve thousand “mourners” in all. In the end, Felix wants to tell his story, and explain the real reason why he’s hidden himself away.

It should go without saying that Duvall is excellent, transforming completely into the reclusive, bitter hermit with one last story to tell. It’s director Aaron Schneider’s first film – he was cinematographer on the groundbreaking television legal drama Murder One - but he handles the direction, pace and tone expertly, sparsely punctuating the camerawork with the odd close-up that showcases his technical background.

The supporting players are equally perfectly cast: Bill Murray in particular continues his trend away from pure comedy, delivering a well-rounded performance as the town’s struggling funeral director that hints at a dark, sad backstory of his own (although he is still allotted his fair share of one-liners). Sissy Spacek and Lucas Black – as Felix’s love interest from long ago and the funeral assistant respectively – get less room to sparkle, but can’t be faulted.

The film lands on a satisfying – if tragic – conclusion that cleverly plays with expectations and turns Felix’s self-confinement on its head. It certainly left this reporter blubbing uncontrollably in his seat – a welcome catharsis from the loss and helplessness that we’ve seen so much of during the Festival.

Edited to add (June 28): Get Low was the recipient of the Standard Life Audience Award, and I think deservedly so. It was probably my pick of the festival too, and deserves to find a wide audience.

“I wish they wouldn’t have press screenings of troubling films at nine in the morning. It colours your whole day. The Runaways; The People vs George Lucas - those are morning films. You can sing and laugh and leave part of your brain soaking in your double-strength flat white. The Oath? Not so much.”

“Oh, grow up. It was thought provoking, intimate, intelligently made and non-judgmental. A well-considered movie for adults about a complicated topic. That’s the kind of material that gets your brain going in the morning. Exercises your moral core.”

“I don’t know about that. It left my moral core confused, if anything.”

“How so?”

“There are several aspects to the film. One is a careful portrayal of the cultural landscape that Abu Jandal came from and lives in. It’s completely different to ours; a world in which everything is in the eyes of God, and promises have a weight beyond even the law. The truth is a kind of absolute for them.”

“Right. Which is kind of admirable, isn’t it? Particularly against the backdrop of the trial of his brother in law, Salim Hamdan, who he recruited to al Qaeda and was captured and imprisoned in Guantanamo Bay for eight years. He was simply the driver, materially unconnected to terrorist activities, and eventually took his case to the Supreme Court and won, only for the US government to create a new law which enabled them to send him right back to prison. The film contrasted these two systems – the American moral relativism versus the hard-line Islamic set of rules, both literally and figuratively, though some very effective vignettes shot in Yemen and Guantanamo.”

“It did make that contrast, perhaps implicitly, but I’m not sure I agree with it. I’m an atheist; I don’t believe in any kind of God, although I accept that we probably don’t know everything about our universe. Those kinds of hard-line rules don’t sit well with me, and I found them actively disturbing. In fact, we see as the film progresses that Abu Jandal, despite once being a jihadist with no fear of bloodshed, has turned towards more considered, academic ways of thinking. But here’s the rub: should Salim Hamdan have been convicted for being an al Qaeda driver?”

“Well, no. He was innocent.”

“Was he? He wasn’t a terrorist, but he was part of the jihadi infrastructure.”

“I think that’s a discussion that could go on for a very long time. I certainly don’t think he deserved to sit in solitary confinement in Guantanamo Bay for eight years, and the film’s coverage of his wife and children really underlines that. It strongly suggests that these are normal people in a very different culture, thrown into very difficult circumstances.”

“Actually, I thought those portions of the film – following Abu Jandal while he drove his taxi around Yemen, and reluctantly letting his son watch Tom and Jerry – were some of the most interesting. Another great example of film showing us different contexts and situations in an illuminating way. But I feel like that’s almost a distraction from the issue: although it really helps paint a picture of the man’s character, I’m left wondering about the ethics of it all.”

“The whole thing was expertly made, for sure: low key, but in a way that allowed us to consider the situation, the people involved and the overarching facts without succumbing to hyperbole or propaganda. I’m still troubled by the moral issues it throws up though.”

“Of course! We all are. They affect all of us, whether we choose to acknowledge them or not. Abu Jandal, the jihadists he left behind and the young men who gather to listen to him talk every week all believe that our culture – the rich west – is an invading imperialist force, and are willing to fight back, whether with violence or ideology. They consider it a battle: that word is used over and over again, in the film, and not lightly. That’s something we’re going to have to come to terms with and address in a sensitive, productive way, and this film is a step in the right direction.”

“Okay, but who’s in the right here? The film pretty much shows both sides as being flawed, ideological and dangerous, sweeping innocent people up in a conflict about cultural integrity, resources, religion and politics.”

“Exactly. That’s where the film really succeeds: it forces you to make your own mind up.”