The Workshop (France 2017: Dir Laurent Cantet)

In Cantet's latest film (a kind of revisit of the ideas behind his 2008 movie The Class), a group of young people, who live in the French former dockyard town of La Ciotat, attend a summer creative writing workshop hosted by a successful author, Olivia Dejazet (Marina Foïs). 

The group is a mix of genders and ethnicities, and the workshop's aim is to create an extended story by committee through an exploration of each of the members' perspectives. Dejazet is from Paris and has two obstacles: to draw the kids out so that they contribute to the development of the story; and also to overcome the class's regional suspicions of their teacher's city bred pretensions.

It's apparent fairly early on in the film that Dejazet, as an author herself, is filing away her observations of the class and their interactions for future use, and her 'enjoyment' of the process of creativity feels rather detached and formal - she's a writer first and teacher second. Of particular interest to her in the group is Antoine (Matthieu Lucci), who becomes the focus of the film. Antoine is almost stereotypically textbook. He plays violent video games (that old standby!), watches on line footage of far right extremist speeches, glorifies brutality and his friends (one of whom owns a gun with which Antoine gets to practise) are wayward. When he's asked to read out some of his writing he describes a scene of bloody mayhem with a person of colour as the perpetrator.

Antoine is unrepentant of and in both his views and constant references to and glorification of the Bataclan massacre, and when challenged by the rest of the group his response is to further distance himself from them; it's clearly not going to end well, particularly when he takes to hiding in the trees to spy on his teacher in her rented apartment. Dejazet is both appalled and fascinated by Antoine, even going so far as to access his social media accounts to build up a better picture of him and his friendship circle - she doesn't like what she finds.

In developing their story, the group's reaction to their environment is interesting- La Ciotat was once a bustling shipyard town, the decline in industry leaving only the abandoned skeletons of cranes towering over the area. The students' willingness to embrace the past or reject it splits the class and their discussions about whether or not La Ciotat should be the setting for the story.

But once these points are made, watching two hours of The Workshop's admittedly very well and naturally put together scenes - of its young class struggling to bring something creative into the world, while pursuing friendships, getting into arguments and generally knuckling down to the project - starts to obey the law of diminishing returns. And the film's central idea - that of the development of the written project - is gradually set aside in favour of concentrating on the relationship between Antoine and Dejazet, the latter being a largely uninteresting character. What could have been a far shorter film concentrating on how the group reconcile their diverse views morphs into a thriller of its own with an increasingly unbelievable denouement. A pity.

The Captain (Germany/Poland 2017: Dir Robert Schwentke)

One of the many shocking things about Robert Schwentke's The Captain is that it was directed by someone previously responsible for such diverse fare as The Time Traveller's Wife (2009), old timer action movie RED (2010) and two instalments of the Divergent series (Insurgent in 2015 and Allegiant in 2016).

Not that there was anything wrong with any of those films, despite sharing a consistent air of slightness; but there's not a whiff of slightness in his latest offering.

In Germany, in the last two weeks before the end of the Second World War, Will Herold (a startling performance by the 25 year old Swiss actor Max Hubacher) is on the run, having become separated from his platoon. Cold, tired and hungry, he's on the lookout for somewhere to shelter - and to avoid a posse of soldiers on the watch for deserters, headed by the vicious Junker - when he sees an abandoned vehicle on the road. The truck's contents include the clothes of a captain of the German army, which Herold dons, swapping them for his grubby attire. In a matter of moments Herold has transformed himself convincingly into a figure of authority, just in time to meet another approaching soldier, Freytag. Herold's air of superiority is so convincing that Freytag immediately announces himself lost and, presenting his papers, asks to be attached to the 'captain'.

And so begins Herold's (short lived) rise to infamy, as he maintains his disguise and, by sheer bravado and cunning, builds up a small army of deserters and thugs; the self named 'Task Force Herold.' Challenged at checkpoints, Herold bluffs his credentials, explaining that he and his men are on a special mission, ordered by the Führer himself, to study morale at the front line. Using this story he gains access to a detention camp for soldiers of the Wehrmacht accused of desertion or insubordination, and establishes a power base, taking the law into his own hands and executing around 90 prisoners without due process. Attempts to thwart him by the camp's warden are scuppered when high command, despite knowing nothing about Herold, endorse his approach. The fake Captain is free to exercise his power freely without further challenge, even when he runs into Junker again, who can't quite seem to place him.

"The situation is always what you make of it," a line in The Captain, summarises the film perfectly. Lest that might seem like an entrepreneurial thumbs up for Herold's activities, Robert Schwentke has mentioned in interview that in part he made this movie as a reminder, particularly in these challenging times, that, as John Stuart Mill once wrote, ‘Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.’ It's also worth bearing in mind when watching the appalling events unfold in the movie that this is based on a true story, a fact which says a lot about the state of Germany at the end of the Second World War.

There are several moments in The Captain that are very hard to take - Schwentke shot the film in black and white - with superb photography by Florian Ballhaus - partly because he felt that in colour the gore would be too distracting, and the film wallows in mud, degradation and emotional torture throughout its length. But, and rather like some of Michael Haneke's early films (which The Captain reminded me of), the grimmest moments are off camera, where the mind fills in the blanks; the sounds of (unseen) prisoners, dying in trenches which they have dug themselves, is truly harrowing.

Curiously there's also a very dark thread of humour running through the film, not least the bizzare sight of Herold, in a uniform slightly too big for him, calling the shots. In an early scene, Herold, newly uniformed, walks into a tavern to a sea of disinterested faces who have had their fill of National Socialism, only to have them collectively shouting 'Heil Hitler' moments later after he promises to restore goods and money stolen from them by soldiers. Also, the attempts to curtail Herold's activities in the camp, where phone calls are made and bluffs are called, are comically absurd. But in the end this is a film whose horror emanates from its basis in fact, and where the humanity behind the characters' eyes is gradually extinguished as events move from the improbable to the possible. As a movie set in Germany and directed by a native of that country, it is perhaps a surprising subject choice for a film, a brave and unflinching slice of history.

The Captain is out in the UK on DVD and Digital HD from 1st October.

Hollow Body (USA 2018: Dir Alex Keledjian)

Horror movies about rock bands. I love 'em. Horror movies about rock bands with David Arquette as a seedy, washed up Svengali? Yes please.

So yes, Arquette stars as Jimmy, a former rock god whose glory days are way behind him (his single hit back when he was 20 barely funds his still louche lifestyle). At his fiftieth birthday party (the third one, he notes drily in the ever present laconic voiceover that carries us through the film) he's introduced to some young and hungry musicians - including the coquettish Rachel (Allie Gonino) and frustrated new dad songwriter Scott (Ryan Donowho) - and before you know it he's strapped on his axe and corralled the youths into forming a band - the 'Hollow Body' of the title.

However it's hard to work the media these days if you're fiftysomething, so Jimmy ends up doing some deals to get the band on tour, but their first warm up gig is a disaster, with Rachel developing crippling stage fright. Barb, Rachel's pushy mum, as brash as Rachel is sweet, comes to take her home, but driving away a bolt of lighting hits their car. Barb is killed but Rachel survives. But she's different. Edgier. sassier. Maybe more like her...mum? She's also lethal - a kiss and a touch from her leaves the recipients burnt out - literally. But what price a few charred bodies along the way if the band finally get the recognition they deserve?

Cheesy it may be, but Hollow Body is great fun. I was a bit confused about when the movie was set; 'Hollow Body' play that vaguely trip hoppy stuff that bands used to churn out at The Bronze during episodes of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, and there's a mention of the Clinton administration on the radio that strongly suggests we're in the 90s. But the recording equipment shown is definitely 21st century as are the social media references. Oh well.

What's great about the movie, apart from the really silly story (it's a little like A Star is Born mixed up with the 1941 Lon Chaney Jr vehicle The Man Made Monster), is the humour. Spot on faux 90s band names regularly feature - Jimmy's success was in an outfit called 'Dirt Pipe' - and script wise Arquette gets all the best lines. "I thought my luck had changed. It did. It got worse," he remarks at one point, and his response to the offer of cocaine is "whenever I do it, I break out in handcuffs."

Watching David Arquette enjoying himself playing up to his former bad boy image should perhaps be more tragic than it is, but he's clearly having a great time and is surrounded by a capable and talented cast doing well to keep straight faces. Alex Keledjian's first feature - he also wrote Hollow Body's songs too which ain't bad - is best seen as an homage to teen horror pictures of twenty years ago, very silly but very entertaining.

The Heiresses (Paraguay/Germany 2018: Dir Marcelo Martinessi)

Chela and Chiquita live together in a rather grand house whose possessions, as the film opens, are gradually being sold off. Chela witnesses the buyers browsing the possessions for sale from inside a cupboard, clearly ashamed at the situation. For we learn that both women, although from wealthy backgrounds, have fallen on hard times, literally reduced to selling off the family silver; in addition her more outgoing partner Chiquita is about to be imprisoned for fraud, and Chela, a painter who has clearly lived in Chiquita's shadow for a long time, must make adjustments to face her immediate future as a single woman.

Part of the charm of Marcelo Martinessi's debut feature is the way that the story of the two women gradually unfolds, the circumstances of their lives being unveiled slowly and carefully, and their characters unfolding in response to their circumstances. While Chiquita is sanguine about her imminent incarceration, Chela worries herself to the point where she can't get out of bed, and takes on a maid to help her cope and to ensure that the rituals of her life are maintained.

It is when Chiquita finally arrives in prison - an obviously 'open' facility which is more like a marketplace, and where none of the inmates seem particularly bothered about their confinement - that The Heiresses comes into its own. Forced to cope without her partner, Chela slowly faces the world, which changes for her when a chance lift offered to a neighbour develops into her providing an impromptu taxi service using her father's car, despite not holding a license. it's while performing this service that she meets Angy, the daughter of one of her neighbour's friends, and realises the possibility of something physical again.

The Heiresses is an elegant, quietly passionate film which foregrounds the lives and aspirations of older women, stories that mainstream cinema still tells all too rarely. Ana Brun is inspiring as Chela, transforming from a woman whose life is lived through others, to one who realises her own possibilities, while maintaining a continuing bewilderment at the world around her. This is a very quiet personal revolution, illustrated through subtle actions; the slow removal of the 'for sale' sticker from her father's car, which she has been using as her taxi and her liberation, is Chela's equivalent of a fist pump. But it's her relationship first with Chiquita (Margarita Irun) then with relative force of nature Angy (Ana Ivanova) which shows the extent of her transformation; a scene where Angy teaches Chela how to smoke, for example, is in its unassuming way incredibly sensual.

The cast of almost exclusively female characters surrounding Chela and Chiquita is also impressive (men don't feature in this movie, except as annoyances), particularly Angy's mother Pituca (Maria Martins), caustic and snobby, a woman who personifies Dorothy Parker's famous comment "If you can't say something good about someone, sit right here by me." A great film, sad and funny, full of small details, and well worth your time.

Revenge (France/Belgium 2017: Dir Coralie Fergeat)

Young, glamorous Jennifer is helicoptered in to chisel jawed, well to do Richard's country retreat - all designer furniture and no soul - for a dirty few days before Richard's missus and kids come to stay. Through a mistiming issue Richard's mates Stan and Dimitri also come a calling for a spot of hunting, thinking that Richard is on his own. When they catch a look at Jennifer the agenda changes, and although she is initally flirty with all of them, when Richard leaves the house on a spot of business Stan rapes Jen after she rebuffs him; while this is going on Dimitri simply turns the TV up to drown the screams and goes for a swim with not a care in the world - possibly the film's most chilling moment.

On Richard's return, guessing what has happened, he alters Jennifer's return arrangements to keep the trio out of jail - "you're so damned beautiful, it's hard to resist you" he offers as explanation. And when she manages to escape from her captors Richard pushes Jennifer down a ravine, her body impaled on a tree stump. He's certain that she's dead, and that he can clean up the mess after a spot of hunting, but when Richard and the others return to the scene of the crime Jennifer's body has gone, and it's the turn of the hunted to turn hunter.

Revenge, as the title suggests, is a brutal romp that in its relentless obsession with suffering and injury calls to mind those other Gallic toughies, 2003's Haute Tension and Martyrs from 2008. Fergeat's debut feature raises some challenging questions about the perception and objectification of women - like what does it take for someone to transform from super cutie to woman wronged (a question also asked back in 1978's I Spit on Your Grave - and its 2010 remake and inevitable sequels). In this case wronged Jennifer is aided in her transformation by a large dose of Peyote which she consumes to help her remove the stump of tree she's been walking around with in her gut, and to cauterise the wound post removal (with a heated up flattened beer can that leaves its brand imprint on her stomach like a badge of honour). By the end both behaviourally and physically she's a different woman.

The revenge itself is delivered in a rather other wordly way with Jen becoming rather instantly resourceful with gun and knife - it's arguable that the intensity of her fightback and the courage she needs is in part drug driven - and Fergeat uses the arid landscape of countryside doubling as desert to enforce this strangeness. A mouldering apple core in the house's kitchen, which Jen bit into and then abandoned for less innocent pleasures - is patently Biblical; something clearly metaphorical is going on here.

That's not to say that Revenge isn't a highly effective thriller, with impressively brutal performances from the four key players (particularly Matilda Anna Ingrid Lutz who as Jennifer inhabits the role in an absolutely visceral way) and some breathless editing. "Women always have to put up a fucking fight," says Richard towards the end, summarising the film's content and subtext in one line. Quite.

The Films of Cassandra Sechler and Craig Jacobson

Sechler and Jacobson

We live in a cinematic world where spectacle is largely the province of film makers with the biggest bank balances, and the concept of awe and surprise on the screen - at least on a limited budget - is a diminished commodity. Enter Cassandra Sechler and Craig Jacobson, who are here to right those wrongs like a pair of counter culture caped crusaders. My jaded critical palate was crying out for these bastions of the odd, upsetters of the normal and average, adventurers in dayglo nightmares...well you get the idea.

Sechler came to prominence with the 2010 short film Belle Nouveau, on which she pretty much did everything, directing, producing, editing, creating costumes and even acting. Jacobson helped with set design and as a musician provided the throbbing soundtrack.The four minute short is quite extraordinary - unlike anything you've seen for a long time; it reaches back to experimental films of the 1980s as a spiritual handhold if not a direct influence. Described as 'a surreal exploration of post humanism and the seduction and power that technology holds over women', it's rife with body horror images and is also seemingly a feminist response to Shin'ya Tsukamoto's 1989 movie Tetsuo, The Iron Man.

But let's back up a bit. I was interested in how the pair got to the point of making such an extraordinary art form. Where did all this come from and how did you meet?

"We met on the internet!" offers Craig by way of explanation. "I grew up in Wisconsin and never quite fit in there, and being a young musician, I had wanted to move to California since I was a teenager. So it seemed perfect when I met Cassandra, who is a native Californian. We totally hit it off, moved in together and the rest is history."

"I went to San Francisco State University for a degree in Fine Art with a focus in photography and sculpture," says Sechler, "but I actually was only introduced to super 8mm film and filmmaking as an art medium towards the end of my college experience. Craig and I, as far as filmmaking goes, in all aspects from set building and making costumes to makeup effects, are self taught. A formal education in the arts of course helped in our filmmaking endeavors as it’s all intertwined with passion, creativity, and means of expressing a concept and telling stories, which is probably why we have absolutely no problem “breaking the rules.”

Craig adds "I pretty much learned everything I know from Cassandra! While I didn’t go to college, I did help with her short films. Often I supplied the music, but I’d also end up doing anything she needed me to, whether it was controlling a puppet or adding latex and papier-mâché to her props, you name it. When I realized I wanted to start making films too, I was able to use everything I learned to communicate ideas in my own way. Our styles are different but they’re also very complementary, and we’re definitely more intuitive than traditional. Over the years we’ve grown more ambitious with the scope of our movies, and along the way we’ve been able to include more people, which has always been one of our goals. When working on a movie, we’re very clear with everyone that we don’t have all the answers. We encourage everybody to bring their creativity to the table, no matter what their role is. We’re not into ego or posturing; we want to create an enjoyable and welcoming environment where all are free to contribute."

After Belle Nouveau the pair collaborated on a number of short films, all the while refining their skills but crucially preserving a DIY feel which helps retain a sense of humanity despite the sometimes extreme visuals in their movies. These pieces, including the Anger-esque intimate flickers of Lovey, the puppet Haxan Qualia and the disorientating Alligator Bitch (all 2011), and 2012's cyberpunk reimagining of Alfred Jarry's 'Ubu Roi', Wireboy, are all stunningly realised, strange but immersive films.

The pair have also developed several alternative travelogue films for the Proof that it Happened series, in which Sechler and Jacobson respond to each other's musings on the nature of holidays. "This series began as a personal video I made when on vacation with my father who was ill at the time, " explains Sechler. "I wanted to make a video that would remind me of this dark time in my life and also document my vacation. Then it turned into an ongoing series that poetically explores why we document our experiences (as humans), hence the title."

Jacobson expands the point;"Yeah that is kind of an ongoing series we’d like to curate a gallery show for someday. It’s a really unique project that Cassandra started for the reasons she stated, but it’s become an interesting take on capturing the thought process of the emotional side of travel. Often it’s these quiet moments we remember that say the most about ourselves, and it’s a rather existential aspect of travelling I’m not sure a lot of people talk about. So yeah, it’s kind of interesting because that started a little earlier on in our moviemaking careers, but I still feel it’s a potent video series."

I ask them about how their creative roles are developed and shared. "As far as how our creative partnership works, it’s kind of like being two separate rooms in the same house," says Craig. "Cassandra is very good at all the things I can’t do, and vice versa. Because of this, there isn’t much tension because we’re not really butting heads over anything. Though we know who’s maybe better suited for what, we don’t have strict roles or anything. No matter what, we just complement each other well. I don’t think it’s very productive to be too territorial over who does what, and we definitely respect each other’s visions." "It’s a very intuitive and organic process for us," Sechler agrees.

I have to enquire about what inspires them creatively (although as I ask I'm not sure I want to have the bubble burst, but press on because ultimately I think people who see their work will find it interesting). 

Cassandra: "Many of my inspirations for film works come from my dreams. My subconscious works in mysterious ways to inspire me in my sleep. I also know that my love for silent horror films and classic monster movies (which I grew up on) have filtered into my film work. I have many special memories of going to the video store with my dad as a kid and entering the HORROR section ... I was actually allowed to rent (almost) anything I wanted. The covers of those boxes alone and the experience of being allowed to watch horror, fantasy, and sci-fi films at an early age had a profound effect on me."

Another startling image from the films of Sechler and Jacobson

Craig: "I too get a lot from my dreams and nightmares. The tricky part for me is I don’t think my dreams translate into anything directly, so I don’t try and recreate them as much as I just use them as kind of a guide. You’ll know when a dream is relevant to something you’re trying to achieve and you can use them to inform some of your decisions. A lot of other things that influence us usually become apparent after the fact."

To what extent is your art an extension of an existing scene, or do you see it as something very different to what's going on in the world of visual arts? Cassandra is ambivalent about this: "I feel that much of our work seems to exist outside of not only the genre but what is typically visually appealing to the masses. I think that’s because we don’t try to make something for the sake of doing well, winning awards, entering festivals, or make something to get attention or receive good reviews. We make movies because video/film is the main media we choose to communicate messages and feelings as a means of visceral expressionism unique to moving pictures. We make movies that hopefully make people feel and think. So many people don’t want to think anymore. They want to be spoon-fed crap they have seen before and digest films that they don’t have to deconstruct. I could go on a never-ending rant honestly. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think there is a film movement that perhaps we are indeed part of without our knowing it. A movement of those who said “fuck it” Risky Business style and did their own thing in a world of killer zombie clown shark movies going in a downward spiral."

Jacobson agrees: "If we are a part of some existing scene or movement then we certainly don’t know it (laughs)! We just kind of go about things our own way I guess, and I don’t try to think about it too much. You have to be honest with what’s in your heart. Most importantly I think if you’re true to your ideas then you’ll be faced with taking risks, and you absolutely must take them. You can’t be doing this for the good review, or to belong to some club, or to just simply advance your career."

An image from Elliot

We're leading up to talking about Elliot, the pair's most ambitious project to date. But first I ask them about the medium they shot it in: VHS. Jacobson explains why the pair chose that format: "We got into VHS for Cassandra’s most ambitious short, Wireboy, because it provided the look we were going for in that movie. It was important to have a dirty image due to the subject matter and it became a bit of a production element too. Elliot was kind of a further exploration of some of the same themes, but it was very different in what it dealt with exactly. Again, VHS seemed most appropriate for the story because this was another grimy world, and because the sets in Elliot were all made by hand rather cheaply; shooting the movie in HD wouldn’t have done it any favors. With VHS you don’t have a pristine image, and the medium basically becomes an extension of the organic nastiness of Elliot’s world. As far as the costs go, VHS is actually relatively cheap when compared to other formats. The hard part is finding cameras that still work. The other important thing is to get a decent digital converter that maintains the analog fidelity of VHS."

Elliot was apparently four years in the making and cost about $8,000. At around an hour duration it's by far the longest piece the pair have created, and seems like an extension of the various ideas in their previous movies, albeit with dialogue for the first time. It's also a step forward in terms of narrative, although 'narrative' is a relative word here. Jacobson explains the story: "Elliot is a lonely maintenance worker inside a stark and mysterious power supply complex. His only interactions are with a supervisor named Face who communicates via video monitors and overhead speakers. When Elliot does have a rare moment alone he plugs into his pod and escapes into another world containing an idealised version of himself. The more he explores this alternate universe, the more he desires it, and the less he trusts his own reality."  It's a profoundly sad film yet also an uplifting one, a vague mix of Silent Running, The Matrix, The Residents' Whatever Happened to Vileness Fats movie and 'Waiting for Godot.' with a colour palette akin to falling into a box of Quality Street chocolate wrappers while out of your gourd. So how did it come about?

"Craig and I always have ideas brewing in our sketchbooks," explains Sechler, "but there was no plan per se regarding a choice on when to dive into a feature film or use dialogue as a narrative device. It all happened naturally really. Craig was developing Elliot while we were working on our short Wireboy, extending the ideas we were playing with about technology, social media, and how it’s shaping our world and ourselves. Then while we were in production for Elliot I started developing ideas for a new film (Tearful Surrender, of which more later). It’s more of a matter of balance, practicality, budget and space." Jacobson adds: "I guess we always knew we wanted to make a feature, we just never knew when it would happen. Even Elliot was originally going to be a short, but it grew into a feature so yeah, things just kind of happen (laughs)."

I tell them that I really liked the film and Craig seems a little nervous about audience reactions: "I don’t know if it’s ever going to really take off or anything, but it would be great if it did! Who knows if we’ll ever be well known, but again that’s not why we’re doing this. We don’t make movies with the sole intent of making money, and that’s never going to change. We currently self-distribute and try to get our work seen by as many people as possible, but that’s kind of critical if you want to keep making films. We’ll be pursuing bigger budgets for our future projects, but not at the cost of our integrity. The hard part is figuring out how to get more funding for what we do, instead of doing what’s popular to get a budget."

And on that subject can you tell me about any future projects? Sechler is in like a shot: "What we have next in the pipeline is a new feature called Tearful Surrender: a dark, surreal fantasy/horror film, inspired by tales and folklore of sirens, vampires, and mermaids, films of Hammer Horror, Jean Rollin, and Ken Russell, and the works of H.P. Lovecraft. The film focuses on the desolate and immortal life of a beautifully haunting mate-hungry seductress from the sea and her muses from the underworld who must feast on human souls to survive! It’s our biggest, goriest, and most ambitious project yet, and it will be shot in England to capture the ultimate gothic atmosphere integral to the story and mood of the film. So we’re currently collaborating with cast and crew in England for this feature, and it’s been a lovely experience! Now we just need to get funding settled to be able to start actually shooting."

Cassandra and Craig are currently crowdfunding for the movie and all the information you need (plus some great prizes for donating) can be found at their Kickstarter page here: http://bit.ly/tearfulsurrender

And if this interview has triggered your interest in all things wonderful in the worlds of Cassandra Sechler and Craig Jacobson, you can order Elliot on DVD and VOD through their website www.elliotthemovie.com and find out all about their work with links to their social media accounts and directions to view their other films at www.dreamsfordeadcats.com

The Seagull (USA 2018: Dir Michael Mayer)

When filmmakers opt to rework a classic text, whether novel or play - and indeed one which has been adapted before - it's usual to ask what they hope to bring that other directors have not achieved with previous adaptations; and whether a 21st century audience even cares about characters created over 120 years ago?

This is of course not a question asked when such revivals occur on stage, which probably says something about the nature of film as a less 'worthy' medium than theatre when handling works of heft.

The point about reviving The Seagull of course is that the source material is popularly seen as the first modernist play, and therefore the natural assumption is that the text can survive three centuries and still hold relevance for an audience. And Anton Chekhov's 1896 play hasn't really been adapted for screen that much; Sidney Lumet's 1968 production; a Russian version from 1972; and a direct theatrical adaptation in 1975.

Michael Mayer's version was filmed over 21 days on a very low budget using a country house in New York state as its location, standing in for Chekhov's Russian estate. It's a freewheeling adaptation that makes great use of a very mobile camera and some vibrant performances from a cast encouraged to bring out the essential comedy in the text.

The Seagull's story focuses on Sorin, a retired government employee and his sister Irina, a prissy narcissistic actress. Added to the group are the writer Boris, Irina's younger lover, and Irina's son Konstantin, an aspiring playwright who is in love with local girl Nina. And finally there is Masha, daughter of Sorin's estate manager, who is herself in love with Konstantin.

Playwright Stephen Karam, award winning author of the 2015 play 'The Humans,' adapted the text for Mayer, opting to switch the events of the play around, with Konstantin's play, normally taking place mid way through the production, opening the film; The playwright's disappointment at its reception by his mother provides a core narrative thread for the rest of the film.

The key performances are all female; Annette Bening as Irina, with her seemingly artless putdowns and general awfulness which masks a gritty passion; Elisabeth Moss as Masha, bringing a vital humour to the tragedy of her unrequited love, and Saoirse Ronan as Nina, who parades her fresh faced acting ambitions in front of Irina, whose success she hopes to emulate.

The Seagull is full of characters in love with people they shouldn't or couldn't be, and Matthew Lloyd's skittish photography dances between them, giving the film at times an almost ethereal quality laced with longing and sadness. The let's-put-on-a-play-right-here approach of the production reminded me of Joss Whedon's 2012 Shakespeare adaptation Much Ado About Nothing in its lightness of touch. Meyer's film is a worthy addition to the Chekhov filmed canon.