Reports from weekend one of the New Zealand international film festival

REVIEW | ISSUE NINE | WHAKAKATA / HUMOUR

Written by Liam Hansen (they/them) | @liamhanse.n | Associate Editor

It’s taken Paolo Bertolin, the New Zealand International Film Festival’s artistic director, a couple of years to find his footing away from the prestige of his homeland of Italy to the bonkers reality of New Zealand’s film industry. While the government struggles to comprehend the value of anything less than the millions generated by Peter Jackson and Taika Waititi as international exports, both filmmakers came up making stuff on zero budget, filmed on pre-owned gear, with any expenses covered by crowdfunding and the New Zealand Film Commission. 

Despite classic funding cuts to the department and a lack of support across the board, Aotearoa has seen some of the most innovative, creative, and hilarious features created on our shores debut to sold-out audiences across the country. For Bertolin, the challenge was never bringing what he learnt overseas to Aotearoa. Instead, he had to throw everything he knew out the window. I think the NZIFF’s programming has stepped up dramatically this year, as initiatives like the Aotearoa Film Focus weekend have put our local filmmakers on their worthy pedestal. Here are a couple of our favourite local features that had their domestic debut last weekend, as well as a shout-out to an animated feast for the eyes and soul. 

Big Girls Don’t Cry

Paloma Schniedeman spent the years before her directorial debut best known as PollyHill, the multi-hyphenate rapper and producer who’s dominated student radio airwaves and bought the house down at festivals like The Others Way, Outfield, and opening for the likes of Kae Tempest. Between releasing collaborative albums with Samara Alofa and producing visuals and music videos for mates, Schniedeman was secretly tinkering away at one of raw and most brutal depictions of small-town New Zealand I’ve ever seen. 

Set in Ōmaha circa 2006, the feature circles around fourteen-year-old Sid and her navigation between queerness, chatrooms, relationships, and the never-ending quest to seem cool to people you aren’t even sure if you like that much. Schneideman's direction around the rural corners of Auckland resonates deeply with anyone who grew up between the bushes and away from civilisation. Growing up in the Waitakere Ranges with parents who moved even further afield as I left home, currently living in the same spaces in the Mahurangi depicted in the film. That is to say, it’s fucking surreal to see parts of Matakana and the Warehouse jingle on screen at the Civic. 

Each time local filmmakers get on screen, they uncover a new facet of life in New Zealand that’s barely been touched on by New Zealand's biggest directors. Schneideman navigates how young people in Aotearoa genuinely talk to each other, depicting the subtle undertones of disconnected disrespect as Sid’s relationships with old friends become increasingly strained while newer mates giggle behind her back, happily putting her in uncomfortable situations that Sid seldom helps herself in. It reminds you of another form of subtle bullying in Aotearoa: 

The Ungrateful Tenant

I’ve known Conor Bowden via Annabel and Callum from Sports Team (The Weed Eaters)  for a few years, being one of the friendliest faces I’ve come across in the Auckland filmmaking community. A few years back, at a fundraising event for TWE, the trio presented an early, short film cut of The Ungrateful Tenant at Whammy Bar, shot in the same flat around the same housemates as those shown at the feature's big-screen debut at the Hollywood Avondale. 

The film is a call to action for renters across Aotearoa, dressed up as one of the silliest and funniest Buster Keaton pastiches I’ve ever seen. Bowden, simultaneously having starred, written, directed, and produced the film, navigates each hat effectively on a shoestring budget, not taking any shame in some footage being shot on smartphone cameras when introducing the movie at its premiere. Special effects were produced using paper, scissors, and duct tape - but the film's decision to place itself in black and white, with silent film text cards creatively changing styles between characters, circumstances, and tones of voice effortlessly. I can’t wait to see this hit the theatres proper. 

Little Amélie or the Character of Rain

Who here wants to get SAD! I unwittingly saw Little Amélie or the Character of Rain at 10AM on a Sunday, meaning I was dusty and slightly late in an effort to avoid the hordes of children dragged in by their cool film parents. With this film being produced between Belgium and France, there was less of the hustle and bustle that meant I was accidentally early for the former screenings - by the time I entered, the production splash was on screen, and I had to scramble to find my seat. The film that ensued took my mind off any accidental awkwardness through its sheer use of colour and wonder. 

Little Amelie depicts a Belgian family living in Japan about 30 years post-war, as their youngest child breaks from her vegetative state at age two and navigates the next year of her life, unaware of their impending return to the EU. The film resonates, not only as a neurodivergent youngest child, but as the directors communicate the restorative friendship between Amelie and the nanny, Nichio-san, whom they hired to look over her in her most difficult times. Alongside her grandmother, Nichio guides Amelie through the wonders of her adolescence as the ramifications of tensions continue to be felt by their landlady and local community. 

If nothing else, see this film for the visuals. The perspective being from a toddler, it can easily fool you into believing the picture is a classic kids' movie; the way directors Maïlys Vallade and Liane-Cho Han bring together bombastic colour palettes makes the film worthy of its Oscar nomination.