Ari Folman’s animated documentary Waltz with Bashir is a seminal entry into the canon of war films. Told from the very personal point of view of Folman himself, it is a ferociously honest exploration of the reliability of memory and the long-term impacts of violence on young soldiers.

In 1982, having sustained constant attacks from its neighbour, Israel invaded Lebanon. Soon after, Israeli soldiers, including Folman’s brigade, allowed Christian Phalangist militiamen to invade the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps. Thousands of men, women and children were slaughtered. While not directly responsible for these heinous acts, the Israelis (mostly teenaged soldiers like Folman himself) tacitly assisted by sending up flares to illuminate the night sky and, many feel, by standing by and allowing them to occur.

The film’s opening sequence follows twenty-six wild and angry dogs as they run though a town, stopping to bay with rage under a man’s window. This scene is the recurring nightmare of one of Folman’s army comrades, and it is his dream that inspires Folman to search into his own past. While he knows that he participated in the war, Folman has virtually no memory of the events. He goes in search of his fellow soldiers, hoping that by collecting their memories he will be able to recreate his own. Twenty-five years after the conflict, Folman’s new recollections elicit unsettling residual feelings and perspectives, including an uncomfortable parallel between the massacre at the refugee camp and the Holocaust.

Folman has elevated the film’s impact by securing the extraordinary involvement of Yoni Goodman, who created astonishing animations of images originally shot on film. This visual approach elevates Waltz with Bashir beyond our jaded impressions of ever-present news footage and into the surreal terrain of image and memory. Folman does not delve into the politics of the conflict, choosing instead to subjectively explore a dark chapter in his (and Israel’s) life. His conclusion, made in the last few shocking moments of the film, is a tribute to the filmmaker’s own moral honesty and to generations of young people scarred by ungodly acts of war.

- Jane Schoettle, Toronto International Film Festival

Since 2000, when Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe began his violent “land reform” program, the country has descended into chaos, the economy has collapsed and millions of Zimbabweans have suffered because of famine, illness, drought and economic hardship. Most white-owned farms have been reallocated to friends and officials of the Zimbabwe African National Union–Patriotic Front who have little knowledge, experience and, in many cases, interest in farming. Food production has crashed and extensive corruption has scared off foreign investors. Michael Campbell is one of the few hundred white farmers left and, like the hundreds of white farmers before him, he has suffered years of invasions and violence at his farm, which is also home to 500 black workers and their families. Nearly a decade into Mugabe’s regime, 75-year-old grandfather Mike has managed—just barely—to hold onto his farm. But he is unable to call upon the protection of Zimbabwean authorities and unable even to rely on the support of the dwindling numbers of white farmers around him, who all face the same brutal intimidation. In a desperate measure, Mike and his family take the unprecedented step of challenging Robert Mugabe before the South African Development Community international court, charging him and his government with racial discrimination and human rights violations.  The press is banned in Zimbabwe, making this film not only an account of one family’s daring but perhaps also the outside world’s only glimpse of what it is like for white farmers inside Mugabe’s Zimbabwe. The film stays firmly rooted in Mike’s story and leaves it to the viewer to grapple with and contextualize the complexities of Zimbabwe’s colonial history.

(Silverdocs)

At one point, an experienced rough auntie announces that the tissues are gone. That won’t surprise anyone, considering the number of tears shed in this film about an organisation called Bobbi Bear, which fights to bring child rapists to justice in South Africa. Nicknamed rough aunties, the employees of Bobbi Bear are faced with the most awful situations in their work and aren’t protected from misery themselves.

Kim Longinotto’s gripping film follows the women in their confrontations. Children and adults of all ages run the risk of being consumed and torn apart by fear, grief and powerlessness. Under the motto “Never stop crying for the children,” the rough aunties offer the victims support, comfort and encouragement. As for the offenders, who often come from the same households, the goal is to make sure they don’t get away with it. For victims of sexual violence, it’s not always easy to talk about what happened. With the help of a teddy bear, the children point out the body parts and put a band-aid on the part that was violated.

Rough Aunties reveals the heartbreaking consequences of the horrible things people do to one another, but also how the victims receive help from strong women. In the midst of so much suffering, that offers a bit of hope.

(IDFA)

Mexican immigration to the US is an issue as old and complicated as the countries themselves. Lured by the promise of prosperity, millions of Mexicans leave behind parents, siblings, and even children to attempt dangerous and illegal border crossings. Statistics, however, cannot convey the intimate consequences of this fact. Those Who Remain underscores the everyday impact of migration by focusing on the poignant personal stories of contemporary Mexicans whose family members have crossed, or are about to cross, to “the other side.” Beautifully drawn portraits capture the emotional nuances of the issue. The wife of a seemingly financially secure farmer expresses anger and disappointment that her husband is leaving their family, yet again, to work in the US. Most telling is that her protestations are deemed unusual by her friends. In this culture, absence and loss are par for the course. Shannon Abel.

(Hot Docs)

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened. — Anatole France In a remote, verdant valley in South Korea, old Mr. and Mrs. Lee live on a farm with their rickety ox. For forty years, the animal has served them faithfully—hauling untold firewood loads and dragging the plow through fertile fields. A gently unfolding meditation on the cycle of life, Old Partner playfully and poetically tells the story of the ineffable bond between Mr. Lee and his ox as their lives wind down in tandem.Rain or shine, hunched and gnarled, Mr. Lee tills, weeds, and harvests, often crouching on all fours like the ox that never leaves his side.

The camera lingering intimately on the ox’s kind eyes and creaky bones allows us to sense the depth of this sentient being’s loyalty as he carts Mr. Lee to town at a snail’s pace. In return, Mr. Lee collects special fodder by hand and refuses to spray insecticides for fear of poisoning his beloved beast. Meanwhile, the cheeky Greek chorus, Mrs. Lee, complains incessantly from the peanut gallery. This traditional life and this ox will be her undoing!A charming, heartbreaking, existential buddy tale, Old Partner conveys the almost mystical inextricability of humans and nature. As laconic Mr. Lee intones, “The ox is my karma.”

(Sundance)

Of Time and the City is a sentimental journey. At first sight the film is made up of a series of black-and-white images of people with old-fashioned glasses and old-fashioned habits. The venom is in Terence Davies’ commentary. With his very idiosyncratic voice, he transcends melancholy griping. He regards the deprived situation of workers in endless damp slums with sympathy, and pictures of Queen Elizabeth with straightforward sarcasm. Davies makes it abundantly clear that not everything was better in the old days. Homosexuality, class society, Protestants versus Catholics, post-war aftermath: they are all examined. Very personal yet with a universal value.

(GT Rotterdam)

Armed with pocket-sized video cameras, a tenacious band of Burmese reporters face down death to expose the repressive regime controlling their country. In 2007, after decades of self-imposed silence, Burma became headline news across the globe when peaceful Buddhist monks led a massive rebellion. More than 100,000 people took to the streets protesting a cruel dictatorship that has held the country hostage for more than 40 years. Foreign news crews were banned, the Internet was shut down, and Burma was closed to the outside world. So how did we witness these events?

Enter the Democratic Voice of Burma (DVB), aka the Burma VJs. Compiled from the shaky handheld footage of the DVB, acclaimed filmmaker Anders Ostergaard’s Burma VJ pulls us into the heat of the moment as the VJs themselves become the target of the Burmese government. Their tactical leader, code-named Joshua, oversees operations from a safe hiding place in Thailand. Via clandestine phone calls, Joshua dispenses his posse of video warriors, who covertly film the abuses in their country, then smuggle their footage across the border into Thailand. Joshua ships the footage to Norway, where it is broadcast back to Burma and the world via satellite. Burma VJ plays like a thriller, all the more scary because it is true.

(FROM SUNDANCE FF)