rarely a jury has managed to extract, from the bargain clearly improved ten days of cinema, the grain of their few bright images. The Golden Lion for Roy Andersson, Swedish sniper veteran, for his film A pigeon sat on a branch pondering existence, given in the target for the black humor that exude their corrosive flat-sequence, with room for tenderness stories like the guy who drank a glass of grappa in one coffee for 60 years and the challenge of showing the conquering king Charles XII, talisman Swedish extreme right, choreographed his homosexuality, taboo historiography Nordic country.
No less wisdom accompanies the recognition of another filmmaker who seemed already cast aside by the turn of the century, the Russian Andrei Konchalovsky, the Silver Lion for best director for The White Nights of a postman . In it, in his deep Russian lake, a beautiful serenity that knows Konchalovski palpitations inject emotion within this seemingly minor work, but it takes a stream of powerful underground elegy for lost time.
The return of Joshua Oppenheimer, following The Act of Killing, or rather the place of the crime of genocide: we speak of the extermination of over one million alleged communist sympathizers in Indonesia in 1965 is a exercise in memory of the horror that overwhelms me to see that Oppenheimer traveling to a country where still sending the masterminds of that slaughter. So the Jury Prize for The Look of Silence is necessary amplification of this mirror atenazador about the crimes of the twentieth century, film and testimony to Rithy Panh height of the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia or Lanzmann about the Nazi lager .
Now when we saw Hungry Hearts, Saverio Costanzo, we were overwhelmed by the suffocating, claustrophobic atmosphere of the apartment where Alba Rohrwacher embroidered with disturbing textures borrowed perhaps from Polanski Rosemary? s Baby and Repulsion, his new mother role obsessive fixation with her newborn. The jury decided to award, along with the pride of insanity Rohrwacher, the replica that gives Adam Drive. And both the Volpi Cup as best actors.
The Iranian cinema has carte blanche to take any palmares. The winning script interwoven stories of Tales is a cluster of platitudes about social problems but it is something like the Persian assessment of any festival.
And I dislike that unnecessarily cruel fights of Turkish Sivas dogs, pat consolation Grand Jury Prize carried.
But, overall, is a great track for a flimsy 71st Mostra. I will continue to miss him the sensational reinvention of G. Iñárritu and Michael Keaton in Birdman. Neither will finish relieve the arrogant and deceitful use of the figure of Pasolini by Abel Ferrara for an obscene commercial operation, leave this vacuum that Lido until next August, will be the Island of Dr. Moreau .
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