Katyń

A film by Andrzej Wajda

The Katyń massacre was a mass murder of thousands of Polish military officers, policemen, intellectuals and civilian prisoners of war by the Soviet NKVD during World War II.

On 17 September 1939, on the strength of the agreements included in the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact, the Red Army crossed the Polish eastern border. By the end of the month all Polish eastern provinces had been occupied and nearly 18,000 officers, 230,000 soldiers, and about 12,000 police officers had been taken prisoner. Among the POWs were officers of all ranks and a dozen generals. A majority of the POWs were officers of the reserve, most of whom came from the Polish intelligentsia, and also military chaplains of different denominations. By the end of October the detained officers had been imprisoned in the camps of Kosielsk, Starobielsk, and Ostashkovo. An official document, based on Beria's proposal to execute all members of the Polish Officer Corps, was approved by the entire Politburo on 5 March 1940. An estimated 22,000 Polish prisoners were murdered in the spring of 1940 in the NKVD centres in the Katyń Forest, Tver, and Kharkov.

The German army moving east discovered the Katyń graves in April 1943. The USSR authorities denied the German charges about committing the crime on Polish POWs, declaring that the murder had been committed in 1941 by the Germans. The Western Allies had an implicit, if unwilling, hand in the ensuing cover-up in their endeavour not to antagonise a then ally, the Soviet Union. Throughout the existence of the People's Republic of Poland, the truth about the Katyń crime was decisively and unscrupulously falsified. The subject of Katyń was off limits and the advocates of the truth were persecuted and severely punished. Families of the murdered could not even light candles on the symbolic graves of their kinsmen. Only as recently as 1989 has the truth of Katyń emerged, with the USSR authorities admitting for the first time in 1990 that the crime was committed by the Soviet NKVD.

The film takes the perspective of women caught up in the atrocity and its aftermath, who, unaware of the crime, were still waiting for their husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers to return. It is a film about the continuing struggle over history and memory, and an uncompromising exploration of the cover-up of the massacre that prevented the Polish people from commemorating those who had been killed.

Pandora's Box

A film by Yeşim Ustaoğlu

Two sisters and a brother live in the centre of contemporary İstanbul. They are in their thirties and forties, and lead very different lives, self-centred with their upper middle class preoccupations. One day, a phone call brings them together on a voyage through Turkey's suburbs and villages to the small town in the Black Sea mountains where they were born. Their ageing mother, Nusret, has disappeared. As the siblings start reminiscing about her, the tensions between them quickly become apparent, like a Pandora's box which is spilled open, scattering all the unresolved disputes, and opening up old wounds again.

When they find their mother and bring her to İstanbul they soon understand that she is suffering from Alzheimer's disease and the confrontation with Nusret's condition makes them realise how poor their own lives are. It is only Nesrin's rebellious son Murat who empathises with Nusret, sneaking her out of the institution where her daughters have committed her, and leading his grandmother back to her home in the mountains to which she is desperate to return.

The story begins with everyday life in central İstanbul, a city in which the very modern and the very traditional are completely intertwined. It then continues as the journey of three people to the western part of the Black Sea region, characterised by coal mining and a working class way of life. This journey becomes an inner journey where each of the three siblings must confront the conflicts, long buried in their subconscious, and accept the reality of themselves.

The dramatic structure of the story delves into the inner worlds of the individuals and is reinforced by the landscape images that pass by them, mirroring their psychological states. As the images of their journey in the external world begin to change from the large metropolitan city to the desolate country landscapes, with details of ordinary but innocent smaller lives in the countryside, it is these details that lead the characters to unravel the problems that they have always tried to cover up.

Yeşim Ustaoğlu, the director of Pandora'nın Kutusu, describes her award-winning feature as a story of alienation and isolation. It is a story of individuals whose lives have been shaped by a sterile, middle class morality, a story that many people touched by the inevitable combination of capitalism and modernity can identify with. It is a kind of human landscape, both universal and singular at the same time.

The Spirit of the Beehive

El espíritu de la colmena
a film by Víctor Erice

Hailed as an audacious critique of the disastrous legacy of the Spanish Civil War, the film is set in a rural 1940s Spanish village haunted by betrayal and regret.

Ana, a sensitive seven-year-old girl and her sister Isabel, go to watch a travelling cinema's screening of James Whale's Frankenstein. Ana becomes fascinated by Boris Karloff's monster, an experience that forever alters her perception of the world around her, and her ability to mold reality to her own imaginative purposes. Profoundly disturbed by the scenes in which the monster murders the little girl and is later killed himself by the villagers, Ana questions Isabel about the profundities of life and death. She believes her older sibling when Isabel tells her that the monster is not dead, but exists as a spirit inhabiting a nearby abandoned barn, adding that the spirit can be contacted at any time by closing her eyes and calling "I'm Ana". Isabel takes Ana to the barn after school, making her wait outside while she explores inside the building. Amused and intrigued by Ana's naivety, Isabel then teases her sister by feigning death, suggesting a likeness to the fate of the little girl in the film, but Ana feeling betrayed, retreats into herself.

While her emotionally exhausted parents go about their mundane daily affairs, having little impact on Ana's internal world, she becomes obsessed with meeting the initially gentle monster and visits the barn alone several times after school to seek him. One night she finds the courage to summon the monster, and going out into the moonlight, she closes her eyes and calls to him. As she does so, a fugitive republican soldier leaps from a passing train and limps across the fields to hide in the abandoned barn. The next day Ana encounters the fugitive there. For her, he is the spirit of the monster who has answered her summons and she accepts his presence without question, returning with food and clothing for him from the house.

The fugitive is then found by the civil guard and shot dead, his body taken to the village. The clothes he was wearing and a pocket watch he carried are identified as being the property of Ana's father. When she again returns to the barn, Ana finds that her monster is no longer there, only the blood from his gunshot wounds remains. Her father, sensing Ana's involvement in the mystery of his clothes and watch, has followed her to the barn, but as he approaches she runs from him across the fields. Later that night when she has not returned, search parties begin to scour the local countryside, eventually finding her asleep beside the walls of a ruined building. Whilst she is roaming in the woods alone, we see a dream-like evocation of Ana's meeting with Frankenstein's monster in which she has become the little girl in the film, and we conclude that for her, the monster continues to exist.

During the period that follows, Ana, still traumatised and confined to bed, ignores the presence of her family and does not speak. The doctor tries to reassure her mother that she will in time forget her experiences and will recover completely. Later, in the night when alone, Ana rises from her bed and standing before the open window, facing the moonlit night outside, she closes her eyes and calls to the spirit, "I'm Ana. I'm Ana".

Made under the Franco regime, this astonishing feature debut from 1973 is one of the most remarkable, influential and purely poignant films to emerge from the 1970s. An enigmatic yet totally captivating study of childhood unfettered by the strictures of reason. Existing in a highly evocative dream-like state, it is a powerfully symbolic, richly allegorical tale, a timeless masterpiece that is as unique as it is beautiful.

Solas

A film by Benito Zambrano

Unable to tolerate her father's abusive and authoritarian ways, María has fled from her parents' home in rural Andalusía to Sevilla. There she finds an apartment in a rundown part of the city and a demoralising job as a cleaner. Her life now brings only frustration and bitterness and she turns to drink for solace. María's situation worsens when she discovers that she is pregnant and the father of the child, her truck driver boyfriend, refuses to take responsibility, apart from casually offering to pay the expenses of an abortion.

When her father goes into hospital in Sevilla for an operation, Rosa, her mother comes to stay with her. Attempting to care for María and to brighten her life a little, Rosa finds her daughter bitter and distant, refusing all offers of help from her mother who has to spend her days alone in the city. Rosa then encounters one of María's neighbours, an elderly widower named Vecino, whose only companion is his German shepherd, Achilles. A touching and respectful friendship slowly develops between these two as they continue to meet each other. María's mother's desire to help the old and lonely man, and the gratitude he shows her in return, is contrasted with the cold detachment of her daughter, and the contempt shown by her husband during her daily visits to the hospital. But Rosa has grown used to their ways and accepts them as a part of the life she has chosen. Vecino begins to nurture a deep affection for Rosa, and she responds by showing him friendship but maintaining an appropriate distance between them. As he quietly engages Rosa's attention and help, intentionally and unintentionally, she passively endures both her husband's abusiveness and her daughter's intolerance.

Gradually, María realises that behind her mother's passivity is a strength and compassion which is absent in herself. She begins to understand that what is missing in her life is perhaps a result of her self-imposed emotional isolation. Her father is then discharged from hospital after his operation and her parents return to their country home, leaving both María and Vecino to themselves once more. Following Rosa's departure, during a revelatory evening spent with Vecino, María realises how much she wants a life with her child, and in a completely unexpected development we learn how this is accomplished.

An outstanding, touching portrayal of loneliness and redemption, with a deep sense of serenity and clarity amid boiling human emotion, and the most uplifting, if heart-wrenching, conclusion.