The Colony (2015)

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Aka Colonia. This is the film that infamously earned just £47 on its opening weekend in London last year. That means about 5 people paid to see it. Maybe it’s the subject matter. You don’t need me to tell you that anywhere Germans gather in large numbers there’s going to be a problem. They know it themselves at this point. This takes place in Chile in 1973 when the country was at the high point of unrest and General Pinochet was taking over in a vicious military coup. People were rounded up in the streets and identified by masked informers, and shot in football stadia. And caught up in this are Daniel (Daniel Bruhl) and Lena (Emma Watson), a German activist and photographer and his airline stewardess girlfriend who goes to his rescue when he’s kidnapped by the secret police and delivered to a torture camp run by cult leader Paul Schaefer (Michael Nyqvist). Daniel fakes disability to survive beatings and electrocution; she fakes religious fervour to gain admission to this supposed religious cult and finds herself inside a major circle of child abusers and … inbred Germans. There are a lot of them in South America. It’s not a very well observed drama and frankly despite its being rooted in truth – just watch the German Embassy sell them out when they eventually escape the madness, into more madness – it made me giggle at times.  Not, I fear, the desired response. Watson is not very good and Bruhl is doing what they say you should never do as an actor (remember Harrison Ford?!) – going full retard (well, sort of… ) The fact is this is actually the makings of a brilliant documentary, as the closing credits make clear:  the real camp was a centre for Government-ordered torture, the German Embassy was in collusion, Pinochet never admitted to it, and Schaefer wasn’t caught until 2002 – where? Argentina, of course, that other haven for Nazis. Hundreds of bodies were buried at Colonia Dignidad. We are far from Carmen Miranda territory.  Directed by Florian Gallenberger from a screenplay he co-wrote with Torsten Wenzel.

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Heart of Glass (1976)

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Werner Herzog has made some incredible films and this exercise in a kind of allegorical mysticism earned its reputation not merely on its merits but because he had the cast hypnotised. We are in eighteenth century Bavaria. The village glassmaker has died and the formula has been lost;  the local baron is literally losing his mind because he has come to believe that the ruby glass has magical properties. Everyone else seems to fall into a sympathetic trance-like state. The local seer predicts the destruction of the factory by fire. Some of Herzog’s finest moments are within the first few minutes, with Popol Vuh’s music accompanying beautiful Super 8 landscape imagery; while the last sequence proves that there is a connection between Star Wars and this most interesting of filmmakers – I’m referring of course to Skellig Michael, off Ireland’s west coast, the furthest point in Europe before you get to the US. Herzog adapted Herbert Achternbusch’s story and Joerg Schmidt-Reitwein’s cinematography is splendid. Like most everything, better seen than written about.