QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN

This co-production of Czechia, Slovakia and Switzerland takes place during the Soviet times, in a country and an era that have long disappeared. What has remained are the vivid childhood memories of Emma (played by Klára Kitto, with impressively large and pearly blue eyes). While waiting for a foster family to adopt her, Emma grows up in an institution where children are forced to transport coal. The recollections of her mother are clear in her mind, yet the emotions are very mixed. She recalls a blond and beautiful woman wearing red hot heels and dress, someone with whom she wishes she could have spent more time. And she also remembers that her mother’s neglect nearly killed her and her siblings, in an episode that culminated in the children’s removal from their dysfunctional home.

Czech filmmaker Viktor Tauš – born and grew up in the defunct country depicted – creates a largely freeform and visually audacious fable of sorts. The narrative is barely discernible, with no clear chronology (the film zigzags back and forth in time, as we see Emma at various stages of her life, played by different actresses). She misses her mother, hates the orphanage, and dreams of moving to the United States. There is hardly a connecting thread between these premises. It is never entirely clear why parental abandonment results in the burning desire to cross the Atlantic. There is no overt criticism of communism, in a story devoid of overt geopolitical connotations. Presumably Emma finds capitalism irresistible. The confusing script suggests that her dad may be waiting for Emma across the Ocean, yet the real nature of father-daughter is as muddled as everything else. All we know is “America” is tempting and elusive.

Despite the aspirations of the protagonist, the film has remarkably few American elements. With the exception of a couple of emo songs awkwardly performed by a male teen, almost the entire soundtrack is European. Groovy Italian tunes – particularly Raffaella Carra’s Rumore and Gigliota Cinquetti’s Non Ho L’Eta (Italian for “I’m not old enough”) – are played repeatedly and to the point of irritation, desperately seeking to lift the film. There are no American visuals, either. The absence of US culture is not an issue. Presumably, this is representative of the culture to which the filmmaker had access at the time, and which symbolised flight and liberation for the writer David Jarab (of the same nationality and roughly the same age as the director).

The real issue with Girl America are neither its intentions nor its elliptical format. This is a movie that heavily relies on cinematography and production design in order to enrapture viewers. And this is where it fails most terribly. Don’t expect Jan Švankmajer. The costumes and the tones look silly and infantile. Girl America boasts one of the most bizarre exercises in colour grading I have ever seen. Nearly everything is bright, with a high contrast and saturation. The outcome is neither dreamy nor realistic, but instead just forced and unnatural. Campy without the extravagance. The technical wizardry is highly ambitious, but the audacious attempts repeatedly fall flat on their face. Be prepared for the cringiest fast cutting, split screens, and tableaux vivants. The make-up and costumes too leave much to be desired: A red rubber dress feels strangely misplaced, while the soot on the faces of child labourers looks almost more like face paint.

With such clumsy imagery, it is extremely hard for audiences to remain hooked for the 107 minutes of duration that Girl America boasts. Plus, these lame antics dilute the possibility of emotional engagement.

Girl America just premiered in the Official Competition of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.