Two years after the release of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, we return to the Wizarding World once again for the next, somewhat convoluted, chapter in the five planned prequel instalments, with Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald.
Imagine an orchestral concert made up exclusively of contemporary works by living composers: a programme in which every note was written within the last two decades. Imagine not only that this concert is sufficiently popular to fill a 2,000-seat hall with a noticeably youthful and diverse crowd, but that its format is already being replicated regularly by pretty much every major UK symphony orchestra. Now ask yourself how much critical attention such a concert would receive? You wouldn’t be able to pick up the Sunday review supplements for sheer weight of coverage, would you?
Witches, vampires and magicke of all descriptions continue to be big box office, so Sky 1’s new dramatisation of the first book of Deborah Harkness’s All Souls Trilogy should be finding a ready-made audience. Anybody who’s into this kind of stuff will be accomplished in the art of suspending their disbelief, a task made easier by the show’s handsome production values and telegenic cast.
It’s an event that only comes around once a generation: a new Matt Groening TV series. The Simpsons is rightly regarded as one of the greatest shows ever made. It changed the face of American television, and 10 years later was followed Futurama, a series that may lack the cross-demographic appeal of its predecessor, but consistently produced satirical masterpieces.
Jean Cocteau’s La Belle et la bête had been planned as a slice of wartime escapism, a distraction from the privations of war. The film was also a chance for Cocteau to give his male lead Jean Marais a less overtly sexy role than his fans were used to, though there’s still a lot of smouldering going on, some of it literal.
Childhood is an inimitable experience – the laws of the world are less certain, imagination and reality meld together, and no event feels fixed. A Sicilian Ghost Story recreates this sensation in the context of real world trauma, producing a unique and sometimes unsettling cinematic experience.
Luna (Julia Jedlikowska, pictured below) is a rather typical 12-year-old girl: precocious, imaginative, and very much infatuated with her classmate Giuseppe. Although they don’t have the same interests, they share something deeper, a comfort and belonging in each other’s company. On the walk home from school, the two dance around their attraction, Luna carrying a love letter for Giuseppe but denying it’s really for him. They’re chased by a dog, share a scooter ride, and he demonstrates his show horse; it’s a perfect day that ends in a kiss. Then, as if by magic, Giuseppe is gone.
Days and weeks pass, and no-one but Luna seems to care that Giuseppe’s not in school. At his house, no-one answers the door; his stone-faced mother stares hauntingly from the window. The adults of the village refuse to answer Luna’s questioning. Always prone to daydreaming, her imagination starts to run wild as she follows his ghost through the puzzle-like woods and deep lakes.
Sicilian Ghost Story is dedicated to Giuseppe Di Matteo, an 11-year-old boy kidnapped by the Mafia after his father turned informant. Rather than a straight adaptation of this tragic story, writer/directors Fabio Grassadonia and Antonio Piazza bring a dark, fairytale quality to the film. Luna’s imagination becomes both her guide and her sanctuary as she tries to come to terms with the grim reality, hinting at a deeper, supernatural connection between the two.
It’s an unusual watch: memories are revisited with different outcomes, dream sequences are often presented as reality, and the internal logic is stretched to breaking point. It is, really, how we remember our childhood – we can recollect the feelings, but not always separate the fact from fiction. This makes for a film that is a pleasure to experience but sometimes frustrating to follow.
The cinematography and sound design create a woozy, hallucinogenic experience
It bares a passing resemblance to recent British indie release Pin Cushion. Both have a young female lead inclined to fantasy, but where Pin Cushion is quirky, Sicilian Ghost Story is something more elemental. The characters are at once dwarfed by and connected with the spectacular landscapes of Sicily. Animals are a constant, and countryside literally hisses and rattles around the humans. It’s at times pagan-like: there’s a deeper spiritual connection with nature that lasts longer than the temporary, evil actions of man.
Visually, the film is stunning. The cinematography and sound design create a woozy, hallucinogenic experience. A variety of wide lenses and low angles add a surrealness to Luna’s journey, drawing a clear line between her world and the standard shots deployed for adults. As the camera focuses on her determined vulnerability, there’s an element of Millie Bobby Brown in Julia Jedlikowska’s performance, only emphasised when her head is shaven. It is a complicated and heavy film to lead, and she does so with ease.
While Sicilian Ghost Story offers some interesting narrative devices, powerful visuals and strong performances, it’s too tonally confused to be considered a complete success. It creaks when toeing the line between fantasy and reality, never quite committing to either to the detriment of both. At times, it feels like Pan’s Labyrinth without the visual effects, or Twin Peaks without embracing the surreal – tons of potential, almost realised.
Overleaf: watch the trailer for Sicilian Ghost Story
When Lea is nervous she picks at the skin near the nail of her thumb. When she draws blood the wound repairs instantly because she is a member of the Second Wave endowed with SmartBlood™ and DiamondSkin™. Aside from this tic she is an otherwise apparently perfect lifer in a future New York divided into those who may live up to three hundred and those who can merely hope to attain a hundred at most.
A raw pagan vitality animates this extraordinary story about a teenage boy wrestling with tumultuous emotions in the face of his mother’s terminal illness.
On the surface, Pin Cushion is a whimsical British indie, packed with imagination and charm. But debuting director Deborah Haywood builds this on a foundation of bullying and prejudice, creating a surprisingly bleak yet effective film.