QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM KARLOVY VARY

Despite initially being first coined this century in Jonathan Romney’s review of Tsai Ming Liang’s Goodbye Dragon Inn (2001), the subgenre of slow cinema has rapidly evolved to a point of non-sustainability. The initial blueprint has been expanded by global independent auteurs like Kelly Reichardt, Nuri Bilge Ceylan, and Ryusuke Hamaguchi beyond the limit. This phenomenon hit fever pitch during the pandemic, when static explorations of the interior were in vogue. A new generation of auteurs instantly had the most potent life experience to fuel any future slow cinema endeavours. Subsequently, the concept of a “pandemic” film became saturated.

Co-directors Lillith Kraxner and Milena Czernovsky are aware of the way the pandemic informs their disparate narratives in Bluish. Yet they don’t allow the tropes of quarantine and online isolation shape their film. Kraxner and Czernovsky’s approach is more confrontational. The co-directors force audiences to adjust to their rhythm, one that thrives in its own aimlessness. The pacing reflects an equal attention to all distractions and details, disrupting our narrative desires and compelling audiences to bask in its awkward monotony.

This 83-minute film captures the everyday experiences of two young women in winter: Errol (Leonie Bramberger) and Sasha (Natasha Goncharova). The mission of Bluish is to capture a domiciliary drifting. Our characters shift their deliberations to different small projects as distractions. What makes Kraxner and Czernovsky’s style different is the lack of literalism and didacticism. The long static takes convey a message, often without uttering a word.

The film focuses on boring daylight routines. In its first act, one scene encapsulates the unspoken feeling of being stuck or stagnant despite your best efforts to break these patterns. A woman messes around with a portable Casio piano, only to end up playing the default tunes built on the device’s soundboard. She then dances by herself. This scene serves as the most effective insight into this film’s emotional core. In the nightlife scenes, filled with real dialogue and some great needle drops, the relationships are left obscured and distant. Although filmed in Vienna, the city in Bluish remains nameless. Much like the spaces that our characters wind up in during the night, the Austrian capital all feels bizarrely anonymous.

After that interlude of sorts with the guided meditation scene where the screen goes black as a character tries to sleep, the last leg of the film is far more optimistic, however delicate and reflective. Our two main characters each embark on another attempt to break the cycles and potentially find some inspiration, or at least a reprieve.

Despite the “boring” topic, there’s a clear excitement behind the camera. The cinematography is crisp and evocative even in the most humdrum of environments. The film succeeds because it avoids the cynicism that typically comes with narratives of repetition, there’s a real care placed on our characters. This is reflected in the thoughtful framing, editing and sound design. Kraxner and Czvernovsky employ Laura Mulvey’s “female gaze” in a way vaguely reminiscent of a Sofia Coppola or Jane Campion (on a lower budget). Te two women are confident in their vision. They convincingly implement the fundamentals of slow cinema into the fragile lives of young people today. A fascinating cinematic experiment, with an aggressive attention to the mundane, and a sharp sense of empathy.

Bluish shows in the 59th edition of Karlovy Vary: