Toronto International Film Festival 2022: VENUS, SISU & VIKING

The bond shared by these three films would seem to be their sense of liberation. Diving into a deep well of ideas and images, the artists explore their respective narratives with pure unadulterated joy, exploring the vast realms that their genres allow them to journey into. Emotional and steeped in wonder for sure, but also cathartic, haunting and poignant.

But above all, they ooze wit.

Venus (Jaume Balagueró)

When we’re burdened by an existential threat, can we escape our destiny (if such a thing exists) or beat it into submission?

It is n Venus where director Jaume Balaguero revisits the claustrophobic, gothic-drenched sensibilities of 2008’s cult hit [Rec] and expands on the promise of a full-out apocalypse.

Written by Balaguero and Fernando Navarro, the film sees Lucia (Ester Exposito), a dancer at a hellish, ecstasy-laden nightclub, steal from her monstrous mob bosses and go on the lam. Wounded and nowhere else to turn to, she darkens the doorstep of her estranged sister, Rocio (Angela Cremonte) and her niece Alba (Ines Fernandez). As if it weren’t bad enough that Lucia’s poor life choices drove a wedge between her and her family, Rocio lives in “The Venus”, a run down apartment complex plagued by supernatural entities tethered to an ancient cult and its lore. Lucia is suddenly left to protect Alba when Rocio suddenly disappears, and she tries to make contact with the only other person she trusts, before her world falls to the hands of the mafia, the occult, and a darkly divine power.

Inspired by H.P. Lovecraft‘s The Dreams in the Witch House, Venus isn’t ashamed of sinking its corpse into a sea of blood-drenched pulp and terror. Despite embracing the trashy aesthetics that decorate crime novels and horror comics, fans of the fantastic know damn well that the visage of the macabre always conceals heady ideas that hack away at the dark corners of our fragile minds.

The ingenuity of Balaguero and Navarro‘s script is how they subvert “hardboiled crime” archetypes and tropes within the framework of a grander, terrifying celestial order.  Lucia is a broken failure in her eyes, and those of others. Her job deemed her to be nothing more than a piece of meat to be objectified, used and violently abused. She has the drive to break the mould and start fresh, but remains, nonetheless, a lost soul in search of a compass.

Venus illustrates that cosmic horror need not strictly adhere to an absurdist (or fatalist) attitude where our actions, dreams and desires are all for nought, but can ultimately be therapeutic. An intervention. A means to an end, or an avenue to illuminate the gaps in our journeys.

Venus can be damn terrifying, but doesn’t take itself deathly seriously. From taking the mickey out of sadistic mafioso misogynists to introducing us to a host of quirky oddities who make up the tenants of the titular residence, there is a good measure of levity brought to an otherwise dark abyss of demonic terror.

Of course there are elements that one would find in occult horror and the dark side of world folklore & mythology. And of course Navarro will turn everything up to eleven. Why the hell not?

The murky yet surreal art direction. The atmospheric yet kinetic cinematography. The ominous yet heart-racing score. Every technical element makes it work.

With a solid acting ensemble at its disposal, the film’s sense of agency is anchored by Exposito‘s powerhouse performance, encapsulating the anger and vulnerability of the MeToo movement; with a firm foot forward towards progress, and no shits given if she takes no prisoners.

Venus is an effective and enticing story about individuality rising strong out of bloody chaos. There are no subordinates. Just people who want the opportunity the opportunity to give the middle finger to an indifferent (and potentially selfish) universe.

Sisu (Jalmari Helander)

Hey kids, remember that dopey do-gooder Captain America from the Golden Age of funny books? The guy draped in the American flag and carried a shield? Didn’t you love it when he beat the living shit out of Hitler and the Nazis?!

Obviously Steve Rogers (created by Jack Kirby and Joe Simon) has evolved beyond his (arguably) propaganda-laced origins from “a gentler time” to something more complex (like many of his contemporaries). Yet he still serves as a cautionary tale of how infantile, shallow and (potentially) toxic the narratives of supreme beings and superhero vigilantes can be if they they simply functioned as mindless, wish-fulfilling power fantasies.

This can occur when those stories never stop to examine accountability and consequences beyond their single-minded desires. However, that doesn’t entirely matter when one’s taking the piss out of that outdated iconography.

Brought to you by the contagious creative mind of Jalmari Helander (who crafted the scary Santa Claus film, Rare Exports), Sisu is the Finnish answer to the WWII superhero icon. The film sees its myth in the form of an elderly Prospector (Jorma Tommila) who simply wants to take the gold he found in the Lapland Wilderness (in Northern Finland) to the nearest bank. However, hot on his trail are a company of Nazi stormtroopers headed by the disgraced Obersturmführer (played by a scene-chewing Aksel Hennie) who’s convinced that killing the Prospector (considered a legend) and stealing his treasure will make him honourable in the eyes of the Third Reich.

The Prospector is an absolute unit. A nameless man of few words, whose life story is articulated by his cold, hardened visage. While the whole cast are a delight, this is Tommila‘s show. He brings many layers to our protagonist simply through action, gestures and suggestion, with shades of his more tender side balancing out the brute force directed at his opponents.

Sisu is an unforgiving western with edge and attitude. It’s not about some grand Herculean figure who does what he does to save the world and restore people’s faith in humanity (“Nah, screw that hypocrisy”, some might say). It’s about an ordinary working person who doesn’t take kindly to some meddling Nazis taking away what they’ve earned.

It’s obvious from the word go that Helander is having the time of his life in this no-holds-barred experienced. Blood is spilled, guts are thrown about, and all sorts of mayhem ensues as everyone’s blood pressure skyrockets to uncontrollable levels of stress-induced mania. Oh yes, this is a truly angry action film…which is the greatest kind we could ever hope for.

On top of which, the film is proper comedy gold. No character is infallible, and most don’t even know what the hell they’re doing but seem to make it up as they go along. The Prospector himself is forced to improvise to survive long enough should he arrive at his desired destination, resorting to extreme measures on Hitler‘s goons of unbelievable feats.

It’s a really deliciously surreal stew that boasts hints of  Chuck Jones, Tex Avery and Sam Peckinpah when you realise that landmines can be used in more ways than is advertised on the tin.

Even with the bone-crunching ferocity permeating the proceedings, Helander gives his characters time to breathe and shine, and allows the audience to bask in the general atmosphere and mood of the piece. The anarchic environments, ravaged by destruction and war, are beautifully photographed with special emphasis on the grit and weather. The more intimate character moments, shot up close and personal, underline individual hardships and trauma.

Sisu could have been called “Once upon a time in Northern Finland”, because it truly embraces a fairytale (or folkloric) sensibility. Except it isn’t the cheesy “happily ever after” type. Nor does it have the inclination to impart pseudo-wisdom about the consequences of revenge and violent responses. When you’re outside the established order, who the hell’s going to try you when you get even with those who’ve done you wrong?

With Sisu, Helander creates an incredibly visceral action film that moves with all the fury of a runaway train, wired to detonate upon impact. Above all, he’s demonstrated how any kind of character or era of history are malleable enough to speak to our troubled times, now and forever. That’s cinema for you, folks.

Viking (Stephane Lafleur)

A man sees a spacesuit as he dreams. When he lies awake. When he’s lucid. He dreams of floating towards the suit in the deep depths of space yearning for contact.

In reality, he merely aspires to be an astronaut, but his strong determination can come at a cost.

David (Steve Laplante) passes a rather cold personality test where he and four others are selected to participate in a role-playing endeavour. They’re to emulate the behaviours and characteristics of each astronaut on the first manned mission to Mars, as part of the organisation’s problem-solving initiative to help predict and potentially avert any disaster. As everyone assumes their assigned “characters”, egos are bound to clash and the line between theatre and reality blurs to the point where the stakes seem higher than we’d imagine. Above all, David’s obsessions and conflicted feelings begin to add to the jeopardy.

While watching Viking, I was reminded of Alice Winocour‘s Proxima (2019), featuring Eva Green‘s timeless screen magnetism. While the latter centred on a proper astronaut, both films brilliantly deconstructed the myths and iconography of venturing to space, which could be likened to venturing to a fantastical realm any artist can conjure up.  To dream about floating in complete weightlessness within proximity of the stars and planets is one thing. To overcome the burdensome weight of our own fears, insecurities and possibly deluded fantasies may prove too arduous a task on its own.

The beauty of Viking is illuminated through David’s interaction with his fellow company players, and the conflicting attitudes with grander corporate and governmental desires to (frankly speaking) colonise the galaxy. David becomes overly consumed with carrying the weight of the world’s future, to the point where his otherwise calm demeanour begins to crack, alarming those around him. While the rest of the group take their jobs seriously enough, David feels they’re functioning within a narrow gaze, like laboratory mice who don’t envision much beyond their experimental maze trappings (except the Brain of Pinky and the Brain fame, perhaps).

There’s a visual gag in which the actors, in full astronaut gear, complete tasks in the desert surrounding their base. They’re approached by cowboys on horses, offering to help. A truly witty reference to the perceived irrelevance of classic Westerns making way for 1960’s space-inspired cinema.

In this timeless human drama, Lafleur has deftly woven together a sense of absurdist tragedy with brilliant character-based humour to highlight the inherent flaws in our limited design.  We’ll always have a hero complex. A power fantasy of being a self-appointed messiah or moral authority. Hell, you don’t have to be an authority figure, soldier or a corporate fat cat to know it.

As impressively portrayed by LaPlante, David showcases the tribulations of being the centre of our own universe, especially when we’re merely cogs in a grander machine. And we don’t need the existence of Cthulhu to remind us that our vast universe doesn’t care much for our hierarchal or individual plights. It’s more about how much further can we push ourselves to fulfill our desires without forgetting about how it affects those around us. And will these desires benefit our fellow humans or hurt them?

Viking is endearing and intelligent, but most especially a profound masterwork from visionary filmmaker Stephane Lafleur. Aided by an exceptional cast, outstanding score, and phenomenal cinematography and production design (which demonstrates how effective minimalism can be), the director makes an emphatic statement on how cinema as a medium is the key to our dreams and desires. An eternal force that entices us to be lost in the alchemy and illusion of it all, while simultaneously echoing the great Roger Ebert‘s declaration that “The movies are like a machine that generates empathy”.