100 mins |
Rated
TBC
Notturno was shot over the past three years along the borders of Iraq, Kurdistan, Syria, and Lebanon. A region where tyranny, invasions and terrorism have fed off each other in a vicious circle, to the detriment of the civilian populations. All around signs of violence and destruction: but in the foreground is the humanity that reawakens every day from a nocturne that seems infinite. “Notturno”, a film of light on the darkness of war.
The film opens with mothers grieving over lost children, wishing they were dead instead. A man with a gun takes a boat into the reeds before the sun rises. A couple in love has a romantic date atop a building overlooking the city. An armed teenager watches over the family's fields, while young female soldiers patrol a quiet outpost. A small cinema shows newsreel footage of vicious battles before rehearsing and staging a passionate play about their national history. In the rubble of once-great cities, families mourn lost loved ones. Their expressive voices and faces are haunting.
Rosi is skilled at finding raw beauty even in the most horrific situation (see also his 2016 masterpiece Fire at Sea). His camerawork here is often staggeringly gorgeous, fluidly edited (by Jacopo Quadri) without commentary. So a series of small narratives emerge within the larger story, including the heartbreaking perspective of children who describe growing up surrounded by violence. Their drawings are horrific but important. And they're followed with deliberate irony by shots of orange-clad Dayesh militants in prison.
In each strand, there's a vivid sense that nobody knows what the future will be. They yearn for liberation from war, self-rule and the freedom to simply live their lives. They love their homelands, but their days are filled with desperation, fear, death and callous disregard from the world beyond their borders. And they are under no illusions about who created this mess to begin with, and who continues to pour fuel on the fire. - Shadows off the Beaten Path
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Notturno was shot over the past three years along the borders of Iraq, Kurdistan, Syria, and Lebanon. A region where tyranny, invasions and terrorism have fed off each other in a vicious circle, to the detriment of the civilian populations. All around signs of violence and destruction: but in the foreground is the humanity that reawakens every day from a nocturne that seems infinite. “Notturno”, a film of light on the darkness of war.
The film opens with mothers grieving over lost children, wishing they were dead instead. A man with a gun takes a boat into the reeds before the sun rises. A couple in love has a romantic date atop a building overlooking the city. An armed teenager watches over the family's fields, while young female soldiers patrol a quiet outpost. A small cinema shows newsreel footage of vicious battles before rehearsing and staging a passionate play about their national history. In the rubble of once-great cities, families mourn lost loved ones. Their expressive voices and faces are haunting.
Rosi is skilled at finding raw beauty even in the most horrific situation (see also his 2016 masterpiece Fire at Sea). His camerawork here is often staggeringly gorgeous, fluidly edited (by Jacopo Quadri) without commentary. So a series of small narratives emerge within the larger story, including the heartbreaking perspective of children who describe growing up surrounded by violence. Their drawings are horrific but important. And they're followed with deliberate irony by shots of orange-clad Dayesh militants in prison.
In each strand, there's a vivid sense that nobody knows what the future will be. They yearn for liberation from war, self-rule and the freedom to simply live their lives. They love their homelands, but their days are filled with desperation, fear, death and callous disregard from the world beyond their borders. And they are under no illusions about who created this mess to begin with, and who continues to pour fuel on the fire. - Shadows off the Beaten Path