(Romania, 176 min.)
Written and directed by Cristi Puiu
Starring: Mimi
Branescu, Judith State, Bogdan Dumitrache, Dana Dogaru, Sorin Medeleni, Ana
Ciontea, Rolando Matsangos, Catalina Moga, Marin Grigore, Tatiana Iekel, Marian
Râlea, Ioana Craciunescu, Llona Brezoianu, Simona Ghia, Valer Dellakeza, Andi
Vasluianu, Mara Elena Andrei, Petra Kurtela
 |
| Courtesy of TIFF |
Sieranevada is the
best three-hour Romanian funereal comedy ever made. It might be the only three-hour
Romanian funereal comedy ever made, but the film deserves to wear this title
with morbid pride.
The tragicomic Sieranevada takes audiences into the dark, cramped, and confined quarters of a home as one not-so-tightly-knit family bids adieu its dearly departed patriarch. The film, a hit at Cannes last year that went home empty handed, is Romania’s submission in the most recent Oscar race and it should have won the whole thing. In the grandest, most understated way, Sieranevada is the epic Romanian Seinfeld movie we never knew we wanted: it’s about nothing, yet everything, as members of the family gab about nonsense around the dining room table like Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer at Monk’s diner.
Times are tense as Lary (Mimi Branescu, more endearing and
sympathetic by the moment), a portly, dishevelled, and middle-aged
doctor-turned-medical-supply-salesman, makes his way to a memorial for his late
father. It is forty days after the dad’s death and less than a week after the
2015 Charlie Hebdo shootings in Paris, so emotions are high and people are
nervous. There’s something in the air, as there always seems to be in these
tense Romanian dramas that play with their surroundings through intricate
manipulations of space and time. A healthy long take opens the film as Lary
scuttles around the neighbourhood in search of a plum parking spot (also a Seinfeld storyline) as his girlfriend
Laura (Catalina Moga, a great screen
presence) lugs around a kid, a stroller, and an elderly woman whilst fending
off honking motorists in the narrow street. As the unbroken shot lingers
through the street, taking in the busy space and the faces anxiously warped by
the hustle bustle and a ticking clock, the film introduces an air of tension
that needs to be broken. When it comes to comedy, this uneasy atmosphere only
sweetens the pot.
The bickering
ensues once the couple is en route and Laura realises that Lary doesn’t listen
to a word that she or her daughters say. Communication and observation aren’t
this man’s forte, nor do they seem to be the strengths of any of the family
members who pop in an out of the film. Memory, especially at a time when people
are emotional and sleep-deprived, is a slippery thing. As the family members
spend their day reminiscing about the past—and, more often than not, fighting
about it—recollections and memories clash. Bitter memoirs compete with
rose-tinted souvenirs, and the snippets of moments pushed from memory eat away
at the family members, particularly Lary, as they realise they’re eulogising a
much different man than they recall.
Writer/director
Cristi Puiu (The Death of Mr. Lazarescu)
teases out the ceremony as the family waits in anticipation for a priest who is
stuck in traffic. The ensemble trades Seinfeldian
jibber jabber as they pass the time and fend off pangs of hunger and
temptations to nibble away at the cabbage rolls, cold cuts, and cheeses eagerly
awaiting the priest. Puiu tours between the rooms of this packed space and
moves from the kitchen (aka the smoking room), the widow’s bedroom, the dining
room, and the bathroom in which a young hot Croatian drunkard pukes, shits, and
smears everything all over the floor. She’s the least of their worries, though,
for the tensions in the other room bring lasting effects.
Debates about conspiracy theories of 9/11 and Charlie Hebdo,
which rage throughout the day, only amplify the irrational that simmers on the
hungry bellies. An unfaithful husband crashes the party and tires to justify
his actions to his offended wife. An old communist hag defends the glory days
of the party to the younger generation. Cell phones ring. Tablets invite people
to Google odds and ends. A random track from Ace of Base intrudes to break the
silence. And through it all, Lary realises the lies about his father that he
buried and that his mother deserves to know. The ensemble is uniformly
excellent as ghosts arise and wounds heal themselves. Sieranevada is caustically funny because it’s so authentic,
natural, and, unfortunately, relatable.
Sieranevada treads
heavy material as Puiu circles around the elements of ritual and ceremony that
outline a family celebration, but the comedy comes with the playful teasing of
space and time. Dinner never comes despite the family gathering around the
table on more than one instance, ready to tuck in, before another interruption
delays the ordeal. Puiu plays with the accumulating number of bodies, too, by
frequently fixing the camera from the vantage point of the hallway and panning
around the abode like an all seeing eye. Doors open and shut as bodies go to
and fro like the characters from an old French comedy of manners. Call Sieranevada a comedy of bad manners,
though, as it humorously and refreshingly reflects the tensions that arise with
any simple family gathering. Bon appétit!
Sieranevada opens in Toronto at TIFF Bell Lightbox on January 13.