“How is Fidel?” asks the interviewer. Some say he’s well. Others, say he’s dying. After watching Alessandra Magnaghi and Ortensia Visconti’s Fidelity, we come to realise that no one really knows. Castro is like a mystical deity, a figurehead; asking ‘how is Fidel?’ is like asking ‘do you believe in God?’

This complex film shows us the various layers of modern-day Cuban society and how it was shaped, through the United States’ involvement (some might say, interference) and Fidel Castro’s lengthy communist dictatorship, which will no doubt soon come to an end.

We’re shown a beautiful Cuba, with stunningly gorgeous people, provocative and hypnotic dancing, an array of colours, sights and sounds that excite the senses. But there are also concrete, dilapidated buildings, impoverished people and a sense of indifference or complacency. Archive film footage from Castro’s early years floods the screen. We hear his voice, speaking good English, and he appears something of a hero to be admired; a revolutionary. We then hear about the great things Castro did for Cuba – free healthcare and education for all. A number of Cubans, those who lived in a pre and post-Castro Cuba are still passionately loyal to the dictator, grateful for the sanitised media of the country and happy not to be exposed to ‘American propaganda’. They are upset at the thought that Castro will soon die and Cuba will never be the same, it seems, as Cubans will no longer live happily with all their needs met.

It soon becomes apparent that this is not the experience of all Cubans. There are so many living in poverty, some turning to prostitution to make a living. Some want to leave Cuba; some have already left, risking illegal immigration into the nearby United States. We learn that the large Cuban community living in Florida is already in celebration mode, waiting with baited breath to rejoice at the death of Castro.

One of the most striking aspects of this film is the level to which propaganda has affected individuals’ views – so striking, in fact, that it is initially confusing. Is Castro really a good guy? Did he really manage to put Communism into practice successfully? Did he help make Cuba a better place? The difference of opinion is remarkable.

In general, the young people want change and are anti-Castro, but the old are still loyal and remember ‘the good old days’ with a tear or two. There are some who seem genuine believers in the dictatorship, but it is too easy to question their sincerity. One man seems battered, as though he’s had every ounce of any capacity to stand firm in his own belief knocked out of him over the years of living under a Communist regime. His eyes are wet, as though the emotion is trapped inside, waiting to pour out, and although he seems on Castro’s side, he declares that Capitalism is totally wrong and Socialism is only slightly better. Similarly, the actress Maria Antonia tells us how sad she is at the thought that Castro may soon die, and her eyes too are wet with tears. But there is something withheld about her, and we can’t be sure if she is genuine or whether the years of repressing her individuality have gotten the better of her. After all, she is also an actress…

With a great soundtrack, wonderful Cuban dancing, the full spectrum of emotion penetrates and permeates every single moment of this wonderful film. We finish watching on the edge of our seats: what will really happen when Castro is finally and officially dead?

Katharina Chase
London-based Australian writer, linguist and social historian

To read our interview with directors Alessandra Magnaghiand Ortensia Visconti, click here.

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The United Colours of Benetton – anyone growing up in the 80s would remember the advertisements for this clothing brand: images of people of all colours, nationalities, races interacting on an equal footing, enjoying a harmonious existence and joyfully pushing societal boundaries. We were impressed by Benetton – clearly he was using his clothes to send out a great message about equality and freedom. Ale Corte’s Colours at the End of the World shows us that this was merely a very cleverly crafted marketing campaign, with one aim: to make money.

That money has spurned an empire for Benetton, with the acquisition of huge tracts of land in Patagonia, Argentina. Land that, we now discover, was illegally acquired. This film tells the story, not only of the underhanded, immoral and unethical actions of a multinational company, but it also comments on the broader issue of indigenous land rights, an issue which dominates the world over but receives minimal attention because it is not about money.

Meet Rosa and Atilio, two members of an ancient tribe of Mapuche people, caught up in a battle for the land taken from them, the indigenous people of the area by the British government during colonial times. This land was sold by the Argentine government to a British company – the Southern Argentine Land Company – who consequently sold it on to various other companies, one of which is Benetton. The families of Rosa and Atilio were falsely evicted from their land by the government authorities when Benetton successfully won court claim to the land.

‘Mapu’ means ‘land’ and ‘Che’ means ‘people’, explains Atilio, so the Mapuche, even by their very name, are people of the land. Not just in the sense that they reside on that land and have done, probably for millennia; in the sense that they are in fact part of that land, physically, mentally, emotionally and culturally. Their connection to the land means that, without it, they lose their culture and therefore their reason for being, and we have already seen the result of this demonstrated to a lesser or greater extent in other cultures around the world, from the Native Americans to the Australian Aboriginals.

‘This is silent extermination,’ says Nobel Peace Prize winner Adolfo Perez Esquivel. He accompanied Rosa and Atilio to Rome to speak to Mr Benetton himself about the problem. When confronted, however, Benetton said he didn’t know the land they were referring to. Apparently the man himself has only visited Argentina once. He has since donated money in order to improve the lives of some of the homeless people in the area. But Rosa and Atilio are still not recognised as legal occupiers of their own land.

Benetton apparently owns over a million hectares of land in the region, yet the 350 hectares that Atilio and Rosa ask for is denied them. Instead, the company has built huge farms for sheep and cattle there, and various other conveniences such as a police station and shops. Benetton has also constructed the Leleque museum, dedicated to the Tehuelches and proclaiming them to be the only original inhabitants of the area, which is only slightly removed from the truth. To her astonishment, Rosa discovered photographs of her grandparents and great grandparents on display in the museum as testament to the people who ‘used to’ live in the area. Not only do those people still remain in the area, the photographs are not of the people they claim them to be. Rosa and Atilio, understandably, consider the museum a joke. The very thought of walking into a museum to find images of your family displayed alongside false information is, at best, amusing.

Colours is not just about Benetton’s misdoings, it makes a broader statement about globalisation and the damage wealth and power can do. It also paints a picture of yet another culture ripped apart by British colonisation. If we see beyond this, however, we may ask ourselves just how deep rooted this issue of one nation taking over another is. Hasn’t it happened before? For as long as human history has been documented… But just because something has happened in the past doesn’t mean it should happen again. Whose mistakes are we learning from?

Corte has exposed a mammoth issue with Colours, and one that desperately needed a voice. A passionate and complex film, throwing forward a whole series of important issues that we as human beings should understand, Colours is an exceptional piece, not to be missed.

Katharina Chase
London-based Australian writer, linguist and social historian

To read our interview with director Ale Corte, click here.

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Voices Across the Wall is unlike anything you’ll ever see. More revealing than any BBC political commentary, this stunning piece gives a balanced and evocative picture of the ongoing Palestinian-Israeli struggle.  The haunting piano soundtrack will reverberate the thoughts and images depicted in the film through you long after its end. It feels like we are there with the director…

Ever since the illegal occupation of Palestine by Israelis in 1967, the media has bombarded us with images of the horrible and bloodthirsty battle. Knowing that no cameras are permitted there, one wonders whether the picture presented to us through the media is the truth. Is there even any truth, and if so, whose is it? It’s not as though we really have much of a choice. Until now.

Using footage shot secretly on location, one-on-one interviews, still photography and scenes from family homes, Sam Liebmann presents us with the opportunity to make up our own minds about the conflict. Occasionally we see the interviewer’s hands, as he shows his passport to various border guards. But his voice is what dominates. He is asking simple questions, seeking an explanation about a sticker on the window of a house that proclaims: ‘No Arabs, no terror’.

At the beginning of the film we are on firm ground: we are taken to Hebron and ‘introduced’ to the leader of the Jewish National Front – a well-educated man, he calmly explains that he believes all Palestinians should be removed to places where Arabs belong. He tells us that the former Palestine is land bestowed upon the Israeli Jews by God, that they have a right to it, and their actions are completely justified in trying to take it back from the Palestinians. A local tour guide agrees, saying the Palestinians have an array of different Muslim countries to go to, but the Israeli Jews have only one, therefore they should own that land. For most of us, this talk provokes anger and frustration, especially when hearing news reports about how many hundreds of Palestinians were killed by Israelis sitting comfortably on the other side. It seems a simple case of ‘goodies versus baddies’. As Voices soon shows us, it’s not that straightforward.

A group of Israelis are helping build a fence at the house of a Palestinian, to add protection against nearby Israeli settlers. According to one of the Israeli helpers, these people are ‘fundamentalists’, interpreting the bible literally, believing they are ‘the true children of Abraham’, who settled in the area, according to the Bible. Muslims apparently also regard themselves children of Israel. An Israeli woman, who lives close to the Lebanese border, tells us a story about her mother, the sole family survivor, escaping the gas chambers. The woman herself lost her husband and children to a gun attack by the Lebanese group in the late 70s. Her husband’s dream of creating a village where Jews and Arabs lived together in harmony was never realised.

More members of the Palestinian contingent are introduced, and we meet a man whose son was shot when he threw stones at a passing Israeli jeep. This father is clearly an intelligent man, yet he declares his son a martyr; it seems this helps him deal with his grief. Another man, whose son was a suicide bomber, killing himself and three others, says that his son wanted to take revenge on the Israelis for killing his friends. To these people, in this most desperate situation, self-sacrifice is worth killing a few of the enemy. This man tells us that, when Israeli soldiers were gunning down Palestinians without any explanation, everyone, old and young, was willing to fight in any way necessary, and suicide was not ruled out.

Finally, we meet Shamekh, a young son of a Muslim Palestinian refugee family from Jerusalem, university music graduate and volunteer ambulance driver. This exceptional young man is without question a diamond in the rough, and the last piece of the film’s puzzle. He is taken aback when asked whether he’d get involved with the war, using guns and blowing people up. ‘Why would I do that?’ he asks, astonished. He knows there is a better way, and as we sit, waiting to hear the next articulate sentence fall from his lips, he blushes and announces that he feels ashamed. Outside, a celebration is taking place, to remember a number of recently killed young martyrs. Guns are being shot into the air, drowning out his words, and he smiles and waits patiently for them to stop, explaining what is going on. Shamekh tells us that the war is not just with the Israelis, there are fights going on between Palestinians all the time. When asked about his plans for the future, he laughs. “What plans?” he scoffs. “Our dreams are like smoke blowing in the wind.”

If you only see one documentary on the subject at this year’s Festival, this brilliant offering is the one to see. Liebmann’s documentary is a thought-provoking piece, which presents us with an array of different views on the conflict, first hand experiences from those in the thick of it, and the rare footage used gives a great insight into just how things are in this ancient, war-ravaged, non-country.

Katharina Chase
London-based Australian writer, linguist and social historian

To read our interview with director Sam Liebmann, click here.

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Eva Weber’s The Solitary Life of Cranes is a thought-provoking journey above London and its surrounds, as seen from the perspective of crane drivers. Living in this crazy, frenetic, whirlwind of a city, we see cranes all the time, their seemingly static, spindly arms breaking up the regular flow of the city’s skyline. Rarely would we think about the perspective of the man at the other end, the operator of this city fixture. Never would we dream that he may already know all about us!

We learn early on in this film that crane drivers are, due to the nature of their work, anonymous. They climb the tower and sit in their glass boxes from sunrise to sunset, sometimes hours either side. Occasionally someone may become conscious of their existence, but all they see at best is a pair of feet, not personified. Narrating the story, their observations, are the voices of these men who spend their working days hundreds of feet above the city, but we never see their faces; by the end of the film, there is a curiosity, almost a frustration, at not having seen them. But this is in keeping with the theme; we would never even hear their voices if it weren’t for this film.

The film takes us from the beginning of a day, the sunrise, with the drivers describing the beauty of those first rays emerging from below the city’s edge, then the whole sky filling with light. Immediately we get a sense of the personalities of these men, as they begin to describe their experiences in the cranes, the procession of thoughts, impulses, ideas that wade through their minds as they see the city heave and shift relentlessly through its day and night cycle. They describe their impressions, the city’s pace speeding and slowing depending on the time of day or night, the people like ants scurrying urgently in all directions, the ebb and flow of the city’s energy, like a giant, living, breathing creature. One driver expresses his desire to interfere, to change the path of an office worker who takes the same route at the same time every day; it’s as though he feels like he might interfere with ‘the way of all things’, put a spanner in the works and provide that person with a fresh perspective. But he can’t, as he is hundreds of metres in the air, merely an observer. “I’m a part of your life but you don’t know it,” remarks one man, speaking about how it feels to pass someone on the street that he’d seen every day for weeks on end.

The ascent into the crane is portrayed almost like stepping through a portal in another world, which, for the drivers, it is. One man remarks that before he was a driver, he couldn’t believe that people would happily isolate themselves for hours at a time like this, and he wondered how they didn’t feel lonely. Far from lonely, the crane is revealed as the best place from which to perform a study of social interaction, a study of people, and from what we can gather in this film, it is fascinating.

Enter the world of the crane driver, his own master, taking direction from the ground below via a radio, but otherwise free to experience the world from on high. An elderly woman hovering her floor naked at 3am; a couple cleaning their balcony in the afternoon sun; a child in a buggy waving up at the driver, the only one to notice him; a young girl and boy in a playground. All these snippets of people’s lives are revealed to the driver as he sits in his crow’s nest. There is clearly so much to learn from people’s interactions, and these men see the same people, day in and day out, walking the same routes, sometimes getting wet in the rain, smoking their cigarettes, having their conversations, living their lives. And none of them, except for a few children who are not yet possessed by the rush and stress of the city and adult life, notice the solitary crane above. No one thinks that there might be a man inside, someone with a personality, with thoughts and feelings, doing his job, and learning about people.

Weber’s finely produced, superbly edited film is a unique and striking insight into a world of which most of us would be totally unaware.

Katharina Chase
London-based Australian writer, linguist and social historian

To read our interview with director Eva Weber, click here.

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“May all beings be happy and create the causes of happiness,” sings a young boy from the Himalayas. This constitutes the key message of Donagh Coleman’s lyrical Stone Pastures – a story of one’s family’s struggle to make ends meet and ensure a better life for their children with good education. The theme seems familiar but the setting and cultural context of this film is not.

The place these nomads live in is so remote: apparently located somewhere in the Himalayas, in the disputed area around Kashmir, it does not even seem to appear on any map. Yet despite the setting and these people’s hard lives, the feeling throughout the film is one of utmost harmony.

“We have to remain as nomads because we are illiterate,” states the father, Sonam, as he herds pashmina goats across the desolate landscape. So the hope that their sons will be educated is also a hope for them to give away the nomad life and live in the city. It begs the question: how could a person who comes from generations of nomads suddenly decide to stay fixed? Surely, this infers a shift in culture.

The pashmina wool painstakingly combed from the backs of the family’s herd of goats is their primary source of income. A good harvest means the children can go to school; a bad one means they cannot. And even with the chance to go to school, Padma, the eldest son of Sonam and Phuntsok, is something of a rebellious teenager, running away from school time and time again. He is torn between the familiarity of the nomadic lifestyle and the intrigue of city living.

One remarkable aspect of the film is the family’s lack of frustration or anger at their difficult situation. The delicacy with which they display their emotions instills a feeling of such respect for them, and perhaps shame for the way we, in Western culture, are so quick to indulge in selfish and overly externalised emotional performances.

On the surface, these people’s lives seem so simple, the day-to-day existence almost instinctive, caring for the animals, which give them milk, meat and wool. Yet the softly-spoken and articulate mother, Phuntsok, speaking in earnest about her hopes for her children, quickly clarifies that this is far from a simple or average family. These people are not incapable of learning, ‘bettering’ themselves, as we might put it; they are sensitive, aware and ambitious, in the same way the most educated university professor would be. The sweet compassion Sonam has for his wife, his awareness of her needs and feelings, without her ever having to utter a word, is so finely portrayed. Similarly, the calm and even manner of Phuntsok, not repressed or forced, somehow evolved in her communication, is simply stunning.

The clarity with which Coleman captures the interactions between these people, no bells or whistles or effects needed, giving them the opportunity to just be themselves and let the audience see the elegance of their everyday life is breathtaking.

The spectacular scenery is cleverly woven into the background, depicting this stunning landscape, normally the sort of thing us Western city-dwellers would gasp at, as the simple back garden of a family. There is a strong sense of familiarity, and we realise how comfortable this wild landscape is for the nomads.

Clear communication, a simple yet often hard-to-grasp concept in modern Western culture, is the key to these people’s continued survival and harmonious existence. People address each other with a reverence, not in the least bit contrived or pretentious, but genuinely showing respect and a willingness to help. “Just listen carefully to the villagers,” is the kindly advice of the outgoing village chief, when questioned by the new one. “Then you will do well.” It is as simple as that – listen and communicate well. Despite these people’s lack of education and their seemingly simple existence, we, in the modern world could learn much from the fundamental principles by which these nomads live their lives.

With a subtle yet powerful, magical soundtrack, performed by the film’s central characters, Stone Pastures is an extraordinary insight into a quickly disappearing yet strangely harmonious, almost utopian way of life, not to be missed by anyone interested in people.

Katharina Chase
London-based Australian writer, linguist and social historian

To read our interview with director Donagh Coleman, click here.

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Every day, especially living in any city in the UK, we see women wearing the hijab, the headscarf that is often part of a Muslim way of life. In her short and succinct film, Close Your Eyes and Look At Me, Lindsey Dryden provides an insight into the reasons behind one woman’s choice to wear it.

One could be forgiven for making some assumptions about the hijab – women are ‘forced’ to wear it, the onus is on them to cover themselves from the prying eyes of men who can’t be expected to control themselves. But in fact Close your eyes presents us with another way of looking at it. The young woman shown in the film, 25-year-old Shabana from Edinburgh, tells us that, for her, the hijab equals more freedom in her everyday life. She doesn’t worry about hair or makeup, about conforming to an artificial ‘ideal’ about the way one should look.

Would people communicate more efficiently if they weren’t influenced by the judgments made about others’ appearances, their clothes, hair, other external features? Is choosing to wear the hijab a way of freeing oneself from the restrictions of others’ judgments? Dryden gives us answers to these questions and more in around six minutes by putting the audience behind the camera and letting us see the world through Shabana’s eyes.

Shabana admits that although she no longer suffers judgment on the basis of her appearance as a stereotypically ‘attractive’ woman, she now experiences abuse from people judging her for wearing it. But for her, this is perhaps more acceptable (or she is less equipped to combat it) than attention received because of her femininity. She is not denying her identity as a woman; she is simply showing reverence to it by concealing what is considered in Islam to be a woman’s most beautiful feature, her hair.

Dryden presents us with an honest and simple account of one woman’s choice to cover her head and it is refreshing to hear the story narrated by this young woman herself. Making the film more of a personal story, the director achieved a greater sense of authenticity and as she gives her explanation, she lets us into her world momentarily. By the end of this tiny gem of a film, we find ourselves just that little bit better informed and enlightened.

Katharina Chase
London-based Australian writer, linguist and social historian

To read our interview with director Lindsey Dryden, click here.

Join the conversation and let us know what you think about the film