QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN
Buschi (Aladdin Detlefsen) lives with Down syndrome inside a comfortable mental health home in Cologne, in northwestern Germany. Unlike the other boisterous residents, the man has never uttered a word in his life. And he has never been outside on his own. His imagination, however, is very fertile. He daydreams about moving to Japan, in what could turn out to be a very prescient sign of the events that are about to unfold. The origins of his fixation with the Far East nation are never clear.
One warm summer day, Buschi vanishes during a day trip on along the Rhine. He is irresistibly attracted by a group of Japanese tourists, and hops on their coach without warning. The vehicle takes off towards Weimar, 400km away, without the careless German guide (Corneliu Schwalm) and the Japanese interpreter (Yuki Iwamoto) noticing his presence. The other travellers never say a word, finding the man just too “cute” to be denounced. Surely these Japanese people could do with an exotic mascot. Buschi bonds with a booted and suited gangster, middle-aged Kitamura (Kanji Tsuda). The laconic man recently lost his brother Hirato.
Bettina Stucky plays Buschi’s doting carer, The woman scrambles tries to find her missing patient after he suddenly goes missing. She hops on a taxi, on a journey across Germany that could cost her €800. It is never clear why she never calls the police for support in such a shambolic search. This is one of the various strange developments in a plot that’s more concerned with experimentation than credibility and verisimilitude.
Our silent and inexperienced protagonist begins the journey of a lifetime. From Cologne to Weimer and then on to Dresden. Could he make it all the way to Japan? The fact that (for some inexplicable reason) Kitamura has his late’s brother passport on him and that the two men gradually establish a genuine fraternal bond suggests that this indeed may happen. Their communication consists mostly of silent gazes (Kitamura speaks no German, a language which Buschi seems to comprehend). The jumping orimagi of a frog proves quite handy. The German man becomes very attached to the tiny creation and to the Japanese word for it: “kaeru” (which also means “to return home”, we’re reliably informed).
This is a movie with a thought-provoking and intriguing premise. However it often fails to awe and amuse audiences. The story is almost entirely devoid of humour, and the chemistry between the two leads is lukewarm at. At times, the plot, the twists and the allegories (such as the frog) feel random. The ending boasts a heartwarming moment of redemption. The rest of the movie, on the other hand, is far less capable of eliciting profound emotions.
There is also another issue. The notion that Buschi blended with the Japanese unnoticed and that he looks like the late Hirato because their facial features are similar is a very problematic one. It brings to mind the well-worn prejudice that people with Down syndrome look East Asian (hence the horrific “mongoloid”, which has fortunately fallen into disuse).
In a nutshell: this is a tender, well-meaning and very unexpected endeavour, dented by its own cinematic prowess.
The Frog and the Water just premiered in the Official Competition of the 29th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.
