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INTRODUCTION |
 A message from the Artistic Director Anne Démy-Geroe
When a film festival's history spans fifty years or more,
as Sydney's and Melbourne's do, the only continuity from one
year to the next might seem to be the name. But there is at
least one common denominator assuring almost every festival
a continuing justification-the screening of memorable, perhaps
even life-changing, films, many of which might otherwise never
be seen.
Compared with our ageing siblings (they would perhaps regard
themselves as parents!), the Brisbane International Film Festival
is in its infancy, though still recognisably the film festival
that it was twelve years ago-smaller then, of course, but
with much the same aspirations already visible in the programme.
In 1991, we had two major, though small, retrospectives. Then,
last year, we had a four-film Suzuki retro. In 2003, we are
again presenting two retrospectives-much more substantial
this time.
To celebrate the centenary of his birth, we are presenting
an eleven-film Ozu retro. Last year, we saw Suzuki, a veteran
of genre, change tack to deliver a strikingly postmodern valedictory
with Pistol Opera. Ozu, who figures in the top-ten-directors
list of most cinephiles, is, on the other hand, celebrated
for his constancy of style, theme, and content. With his gentle
humour and his humanitarian outlook, he is an appropriate
choice in a year that has seen so much global unrest. This
selection of his films, substantial but unfortunately less
than a third of his total output, includes both masterpieces,
such as Late Spring, and lesser-known works. Silent
films have always been given pride of place in the BIFF programme,
and two of Ozu's silents will screen this year. I Was Born,
But…, acknowledged as his first masterpiece, will
be a given a free screening in the Brisbane City Hall-where
we had a presence with silents in even that first year.
Ozu, supposedly the most Japanese of directors, came from
somewhere else: where else but from immersing himself in his
youth in Hollywood genre films? Which segues neatly to the
subject of our second retrospective this year-the films of
Abel Ferrara. The Buddhist philosophy of Ozu gives way to
themes of guilt and redemption from this one-time Catholic.
With their blend of religion, philosophy, and violent pop
genre, Ferrara's films, while 'East Coast' and fiercely independent,
could only have emerged in those decades of cult, the 1980s
and 1990s.
Back in 1991, we had a single family film-Ferntree Gully.
We now have the Australian Children's Film Festival, a festival-within-a-festival
offering a rare opportunity for young people to see quality
cinema from other lands. As the centrepiece, we are reviving
Alexander Korda's Technicolor triumph of 1940, The Thief
of Bagdad. I am sure that this sumptuous piece will survive
the eyes of the young, even sans digital effects!
The past year has been one of stress and distress generated
by the war of the willing. Though I was obsessively immersed
at the time in film viewing at the Berlin International Film
Festival, I could not but be affected by the largest peace
rally in the history of the formerly divided city. While the
invasion has yet to surface on cinema screens, the general
zeitgeist generated by the allies' proclaimed certainty in
their mission is generally in evidence. At least five features
from disparate sources deal with issues of global displacement:
witness Palestinian-born Elia Suleiman's sensational absurdist
film Divine Intervention; Chantal Ackerman's impressive
film on illegal Mexican emigration From the Other Side;
the gentle Hop, dealing with illegal immigrants in
Belgium; and Hejar, the film about the Kurds that so
provoked the Turkish regime. Then there's the quite shocking
Austrian documentary Foreigners Out! Schlingensief's Container,
and, closer to home, one of Tom Zubrycki's finest films, Molly
and Mobarak.
Other filmmakers seem to have looked more to the family and
our immediate environment as a reflection of uncertain times.
Three films all dealing with loss spring to mind: the American
indie films Love Liza and Blue Car, and from
the other side of the globe the Israeli Broken Wings;
there is also the controversial but highly lauded Korean film
Oasis.
All this is almost a programming inevitability rather than
a conscious decision. What is always a conscious intention
at BIFF is maintaining the Asia-Pacific focus that was established
eleven years ago as a pillar of the festival. In those pre-Chauvel
Award days, we had a lively forum on Indigenous cinema instead.
Does the success of Rabbit-Proof Fence constitute a
breakthrough into the mainstream? Can we describe it as truly
Indigenous in terms of Aboriginal input in the key creative
roles? Perhaps the Australian film industry will only have
really come of age when the Chauvel Award goes to an Indigenous
filmmaker. In the meantime, in Tony Buckley, this year's Chauvel
recipient, we are proudly honouring someone whose extensive
body of work links the pioneers of our industry with the up-and-coming
stars.
The special place given to films from the Middle East (broadly
defined) last year continues, albeit on a smaller scale. Iranian
cinema continues to surprise with films such as Letters in
the Wind and I'm Taraneh, 15. From Tunisia comes a delightful
first film, The Bookstore. So on it goes.
I am very pleased that we are able to showcase Queensland
with our opener, Gettin' Square, and the long-awaited
and much-anticipated zombie flick Undead, by the local
Spierig brothers, familiar to many from the Queensland New
Filmmakers Awards over the years. Watch out, too, for local
animated and live-action shorts.
Other highlights include Guy Maddin's delirious Dracula:
Pages from a Virgin's Diary-a rare treat, based on
a ballet performance but made in the style of a silent film
enhanced by lush black-and-white cinematography, perhaps harking
back to the qualities of nitrate film. Bill Morrison's Decasia
also began life in another artform: a multimedia installation
to accompany a live performance of a new musical work. The
film that Morrison ultimately made from deteriorated nitrate
footage is mesmerising.
Short films are one of the elements that make film festivals
so exciting. In these tiny jewels often reside some of the
most innovative filmmaking. This year sees a very fine crop.
Try at least to get to 'Four short tales about love'.
Part of the allure of a film festival is the 'filmspeak'-a
time when film lovers of every kind get to talk about film
and listen to others talking about film. Remember to set aside
some time for the seminars and 'Meet the Filmmaker' sessions,
as well as chatting with fellow film-lovers.
BIFF has grown and developed considerably since its first
year, but, regretfully, the old shibboleth of censorship is
still with us. Last year, BIFF responded to the rumblings
of this ever-threatening problem by inviting Mark Spratt,
the distributor of the controversial Baise-moi, among
others, to address the issue. The banning of Ken Park,
which BIFF had invited to screen, can only be seen as a measure
of Australia's cultural immaturity-our moral guardians continue
to confuse works of confrontation and subversion necessary
for the questioning of values in a democratic society with
those of unfettered exploitation. In the case of Ken Park,
it is difficult to tell whether the banning is the result
of the enshrining of bureaucratic procedures or merely a pretext
to impose the authorities' ideas of community standards. How
can we escape the tyranny of the imposed perceptions of so-called
'community standards' if such films cannot even be screened
in a festival context? Ken Park premiered at the Venice
International Film Festival, and has been seen at major festivals
all over the world. It is screening in New Zealand. But you
can't see it. You cannot decide whether it is 'teens-ploitation'
or an important description of this generation's alienation.
But why this retrospection? This is not a landmark year.
The most important role of a film festival is simple: to provide
access to a broad spectrum of cinema. But exactly how it does
that, how it can be relevant to its audience, depends on its
cultural context-the landscape changes. The Sydney Film Festival
turns fifty this year, which has been cause for celebrating
the certainty of its past achievements and contemplating its
future. Brisbane, through initiatives of the Queensland Art
Gallery, looks poised for a richer film culture. For us in
the office, every year is a retrospective year. Comparing
BIFF with the Sydney Film Festival-with an age-difference
of decades separating the two-gives us cause for satisfaction,
but no cause to rest on our laurels. There are exciting prospects
for reshaping our festival as it approaches its teens.
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