Reviews
'The Earth is Falling' by Carmen Pellegrino- Review
10 Jan, 2024
Carmen Pellegrino has succeeded in creating a space outside of the world in which we exist, and yet one which we cannot help but feel some affinity to. Set, materially, in a small Italian village which is slowly sinking down the mountainside along with the earth beneath it, Pellegrino introduces us to a cast of characters who may not be so different to the ones in our own lives. There is the town crier, whose news is largely ignored by the remainder of the village, but who sees his task as holy and downright necessary. There is the young woman, forced into a marriage against her will by a father too beaten down by his own failures to stand up for his daughter's future. And there is Estella, our Virgil, who introduces us into the village and its daily happenings through her own arrival as a nanny of sorts to one of the few wealthy families in the area.
​
Though the book is written in a poetic, lyrical style which always had me reading just a few more pages than I planned to- and then a few more after that- it wasn't the novel's prose which really made me sit up, determined to read the book to the last page. You see, although Estella is our main character, we are treated to another villager's point of view- one who is so startlingly different to Estella as to almost give the reader whiplash. This is Marcello, and where Estella's internal monologue is characterised by a slow, methodical, almost lethargic acceptance of the state of her reality, Marcello's is defined almost entirely by rage. Rage and spite. He is angry at Estella, an intruder into his domain and into the house which he is set to inherit. At times, it is unclear what Marcello's true mental state is at any given time, and this effect is only enhanced by the contradictions in both Estella's and Marcello's accounts of the time they spent together.
​
This harsh conflict between a teenager and his carer is underscored throughout the book by the living- and continuously declining- character of the village itself. Pellegrino never passes up the opportunity to express to us, in captivating terms, the way in which the village has shaped the lives of its inhabitants. Even as every chapter or scene moves from one tragic story to the next, we are always reminded of the peeling paint, the decaying church, and the cloying dust from the arid, mediterranean landscape.
​
Overall, this book is defined by atmosphere and by a desire to explore the ways in which different people's lives intertwine with despair and solitude at the centre. If you're in search of car chases and loud, expressive arguments between characters who are larger than life, then perhaps it is a good idea to look elsewhere. However, if you have the time and the patience to sit down with these characters and listen to them as they detail the ups and downs of their rural existence, then it is absolutely worth it. As Pellegrino is not shy of playing with then-and-now timelines, you will certainly be rewarded by seeing the birth and demise of almost every one of the cast of characters in this novel. And you will, without a doubt, come out of this story with a new perspective on reality, perception, time, and perhaps even perspective itself.
Written by: Sophie Pell
© 2021
'I'm Your Man' - Review
20 Aug, 2021
I’m Your Man (Ich bin dein Mensch) 2021 dir. Maria Schrader
It may be difficult to imagine a way in which machinery and voyeurism- that most human of tendencies- interact, but in I’m Your Man/Ich bin dein Mensch (dir. Maria Shrader, 2021), the desire to view (or be viewed by) other people is reevaluated through the ever-changing influence of technology on our lives. The concern with how technology fits into modern society is not new; as far back as Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927) filmmakers have been seeking to examine the potential practical, and moral, impacts of intelligent technology on people. So, with nearly a hundred years to digest the topic, hasn’t it gotten a little passé?
Well, no. As seen in the feminist dialogue, with Laura Mulvey’s refreshing adaptations on the male gaze and sexuality, different areas of film study are constantly being renewed in response to changing sociological and environmental conditions. And new technology, particularly AI, has provided an opportunity for a fresh look at the things which make us most human- how we view each other, and how we interact with each other. Because I’m Your Man doesn’t examine voyeurism in a vacuum, which would be nearly impossible, it also looks at the necessary consideration of gender. I’m Your Man is a German film from director Maria Shrader in which an accomplished historian (Maren Eggert) reluctantly agrees to test a prototype robot, designed with one purpose: to be the perfect partner. The film seems to focus primarily on Eggert as she navigates the ramifications of opening up to something which you know is not really listening, but it hides a deeper purpose, too.
Every aspect of this film is working, behind the scenes, to implicate the viewer directly in the questions it raises. At first glance, these questions seem ones which have been asked before. Will AI ever be considered human, with rights and identities? Do robots provide a reflection of humanity or present a threat to it? But, as the audience watches Dr. Felser fall into that classic science-fiction trap of ascribing human feelings to something without them, they unwittingly follow her lead. Watching this film in a cinema surrounded by other people, it is clear that, even while being fully aware of the circumstances, we cannot help but project our “humanness” onto other objects.
This is where voyeurism comes in, and it is why this film does such a fantastic, sneaky job of examining it within the realm of AI. A crucial moment of the film, right at the start, shows Dr. Felser being introduced to her tailor-made robot, Tom (Dan Stevens). It’s an intentional, yet smooth choice to show Tom for the first time via a POV shot, where the audience replaces Dr. Felser as the object of Tom’s attention. This creates, right from the outset, a double-examination; as the audience takes him in—looking at him in that brash, open way only film allows-Tom responds with his own direct gaze, returning the examination in the way that only point-of-view allows. Another tactic used to great effect is the well-loved technique of repetition. One of the very few shots in the film which is returned to multiple times shows Dr. Felser, intrigued by Tom’s actions on the street below, watching him from her balcony. Voyeurism and balconies have a long and glorious history dating back to Biblical times, but I’m Your Man begs further investigation into the role of gender in this very physical power dynamic.
When a woman stands on a balcony, she is being viewed, she is the object. This film, however, reverses that by giving Dr. Felser the binoculars, metaphorically. The combination of this gaze with the frequent, almost rude, discussions about Tom’s appearance both help to ascribe to Tom, a robot, qualities which are normally given to women. Characters frequently comment on his body as if he is not there and, when Dr. Felser rejects his advances, he sulks in a bubble bath filled with rose petals, a pouty look on his face.
That image, of the “ideal partner”—in reality filled with wires and circuit boards—lounging in the most traditionally feminine of settings, is what this film describes so well. Not only has gender been reversed though technology, but the audience experiences a new form of voyeurism in response. We feel caught out in our gazing, along with Dr. Felser, when Tom instinctively looks up from the street, locking eyes with us, and we are forced to inspect ourselves instead; why do we have this desire, this need, to gaze at everything we see and ascribe to it, or them, our own desires? As Dr. Felser concludes, the repercussions of these considerations could be our final social downfall, but are we willing to give them up? She wasn't.
Written by: Sophie Pell
© 2021