The Treasure explores value in the modern world — a film review
February 6, 2016
The Treasure is Corneliu Porumboi’s fourth feature film and another opportunity to explore the socio-political ecosystem of post-communist Romania. The film seems simple at first glance, but it carries depth in its simplicity. It follows Costi (Toma Cuzin), an average Romanian man leading a non-extravagant life who has a steady job, a wife and a young son. Porumboi takes time to show us that Costi’s life is low-key, average and ordinary. His home life is filtered by TV watching and some episodes of bonding with his child, who steals some of the scenes as an affable little man. Costi has a staunch quality that a calm life may bring, a middle-class family man that does not seem to wander, rather moves forward in a non-confrontational way.
The action in The Treasure is catalyzed by Costi’s neighbor Adrian (Adrian Purcarescu), who appears at his doorstep one evening to ask him to borrow a large sum of money. Surprised by the request, Costi responds that he is unable to help. The two ruminate on details about borrowing money in post-communist Romania and the different possible interest rates, as well as the differences between using Euros versus other currencies. One gets the sense that this is a typical water cooler conversation, one that in a country like Romania may be seen as a trap. Ultimately, Costi refuses to loan Adrian any money, and he leaves only to return soon after with the full story. It turns out that his family has buried treasure in his backyard and the initial loan was to cover the costs of a metal detector. Now he offers Costi a share of this treasure if he decides to go in and invest with him.
Porumbiou’s style is naturalistic. He allows cinematographer Tudor Mircea’s camera to linger on the subjects and allow them to be. The action is not driven by the director, but it is actually character-driven in a style that is far from Hollywood and indeed moves in the direction of minimalism. The tone follows the story wherein seemingly small actions point toward big payoffs. When Costi agrees to follow Adrian in this quest to find the treasure it all seems naïve, childish even. Costi consults with his wife about the investment to go after this treasure and shares with his son the exciting quest — a bonding moment for the two. It would seem throughout that Costi is about to get into deep trouble. His easygoing nature and the simplicity with which he approaches most situations make us wonder what is beneath this guilelessness. The quest for the treasure involves Costi facilitating the entire trip to Adrian’s old family estate in a venture that might indeed be headed to failure.
The main action of the film sees Adrian, Costi and Cornel (Corneliu Cozmei), a man with a metal detector who, in a running gag, clashes with Adrian over ridiculous trivialities that begins with ideology and devolves into ad homonym attacks. The quarreling between the two shown in long takes slows down the pace of the narrative, but also makes for some very funny moments when we see different sides of the everyday politics of post-communist Romania, with the disenchantment that capitalism has brought, especially in light of the many loses people suffered in the 1990s.
Although the hunt for the treasure is where the main action of the film lies, it is the little moments between Costi and his family that reveal the deep, real quality of this film. As with his earlier films, Porumbiou has again presented, in a very simple manner, something that is complex and hard to capture, which is revealed in the last few minutes of the film. Without going into spoilers, let it suffice to say that the film deserves repeated viewings and may in fact be one of the best depictions of the pitfalls of modern life and the redeeming qualities of life through the simplicity of human bonds — which have no price. Indeed, the Romanian director gets to the heart of what is valuable in civilized society.
The Treasure runs 89 minutes, is in Romanian with English subtitles and it is not rated. It opened in out South Florida area exclusively this past Friday, Feb. 5 at the Coral Gables Art Cinema where it will play at least through Feb. 11, Thursday.
UPDATE: The Treasure is coming to the Lake Worth Playhouse on Friday, Feb. 19.
IFC Films provided all film stills in this review as well as an on-line screener link for the purpose of this review.
‘Aurora’ offers banal glimpse into psychopath’s killing routine
October 10, 2011
Eastern Europe and its sensibilities for the grim and gloomy will make another one-night only appearance in South Florida, thanks to the Miami Beach Cinematheque. Prepare for Aurora, a film by Romanian director Cristi Puiu, the director of the Death of Mr. Lazarescu (Support the Independent Ethos, purchase on Amazon). That film arrived on the scene in 2005, a full two years before 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (Support the Independent Ethos, purchase on Amazon) really kicked off the buzz about the Romanian New Wave. In the mid, 2000s, the scene was bursting with directors who won critical if not commercial acclaim in the US art house scene (do not forget Corneliu Porumboiu, director of both Police Adjective and 12:08 East of Bucharest and the fact that 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days was first released on DVD in the US as a Borders exclusive, many months ahead of a wider release as a marketing gimmick for the store).
Despite their acclaim, these films were never known for their perkiness and happy endings. Hence, none had the true crossover, mainstream appeal of say a Zhang Yimou film. Aurora will do nothing to perk things up, as it follows a psychopath as he commits what seem random murders until he surrenders to police and confesses. It is no giveaway to say the main character, Viorel (played by the director), is the killer. The kicker arrives as Viorel offers his reasoning for the murders, revealing their connections and offering the final piece of the puzzle. The trailer does a nice job of setting up the film:
Knowing that this man is preparing for a spree of murder in fact livens up the first hour of this three-hour movie, as for the first hour, what you mostly see is a morose guy going about his day, doing mundane things. A distant, stationery, almost voyeuristic camera presents shots of Viorel doing nothing that seems out-of-the-ordinary, much less acting psychotic. Do not expect to see Buffalo Bill, from Silence of the Lambs, smearing lipstick on his face, dancing naked to “Goodbye Horses,” as he waits for his victim’s skin to soften up with lotion so he can skin her. Instead, you will see Viorel showering in all his flabby paleness making sure he has scrubbed well down there. Peeking around corners, the camera finds him simply waiting. The distance of the camera does not allow for any sort of sentimentality, as there are no closeups to allow for subtlety, much less a glimpse at the soul or thoughts of the character. This is not a man deep in thought or emotional turmoil. This is a man waiting. He waits to get somewhere in a car, he waits for someone to pick up the line on the other end of a phone, he waits for the elevator to arrive. The industrial equipment that offers much of the backdrop or the ruin of his apartment, which he tells relatives and neighbors is under renovation, only enhances the gloom.
Adding to the humdrum proceedings is the director’s choice not to use any extra-diagetic music or sounds. If there is any noise or music, it comes from the props in the scene. Even without close-ups, the characters do nothing to draw you in. They all seem to have faces frozen in frowns. When you do see something that might offer some levity to the proceedings, it only appears incidentally, on odd props denoting the everyday, like the rows of bright red, little hearts that ring a white broom stick handle in the corner of a room or the Tom and Jerry cartoon character stickers on the dashboard of Viorel’s car, slightly blurry, in the corner of a frame.
But, indeed this is all leading to something. By the time Viorel is handling the giant double-barrel shotgun that will become his murder weapon, putting it together in his bedroom, surrounded by stacks of books and CDs and rows of LPs and DVDs, not to mention a shelf dedicated to a miniature car collection, it makes your skin crawl to see how he nonchalantly turns the weapon at his chest and then under his chin, unable to reach the trigger, only an inch or so away from the reach of his outstretched arm.
Puiu has done an ingenious trick. By offering repetitive shots of the everyday as a set-up, he has reminded the audience of the banality of life, enhancing the shock when the shotgun finally goes off without showing the gruesome side-effects of the result. When Viorel first fires the weapon, it is inside his own house at some furniture. But it does not come with any immediacy, as the film— though long— unfolds with the efficiency of very few edits. The camera lingers as Viorel stands up, points the gun at some cushions, positions himself in a stance, snuggling the rifle’s butt into his shoulder. He decides to turn off the light. There’s a delay in the shadowy image and time again for him to find the right stance. The waiting again. Boom! Bright yellow lights up the dark. With very deliberate patience, it all seems to lead to that gun blast that comes with a shock. When Viorel finally goes out to use it on someone, you never know who these people are until the very end. The distance of the camera enhances the mystery. The shots never come fast enough, as Viorel spends some decent time bracing and positioning himself before firing the weapon. When the first fatal scream penetrates Puiu’s coldly directed film, the ghost of it seems to echo throughout the rest of Viorel’s ho-hum day.
In the end, Puiu makes distance, be it physical, emotional or social, the most creepy aspect of Aurora. Viorel is not always alone in the movie. He interacts with co-workers, neighbors, relatives and even loved ones, which include one of his 7-year-old daughters, almost never giving off a hint of edginess, until the killings begin, then he seems to loosen up, growing bolder with his mouth, most of all. Then the film truly starts to roll, as the presence of Viorel seems threatening to everything around him, including his own child. Halfway through the movie, all of a sudden the tone and the drama has been heightened, and everything Viorel does is tinged with a bit of edgy tension that culminates with him finally turning himself over to the police, where he admits to the killings and shares the connection and reason behind the murders, which is the real mystery that loads the movie.
The film is an odd experience and a true test of audience expectations, offering something beyond what one would expect in a suspense thriller, where the killer is often cloaked in darkness. Indeed, by shining a light on a lonely man, barely ever putting him outside of the frame (except one scene, where the camera seems to hesitate in following Viorel, as he commits one of his atrocities), Puiu flips the psycho-killer movie on its head, but maintains a creeping sense of dread, nonetheless.
Aurora is Unrated and will make its Florida theatrical debut at the Miami Beach Cinematheque, which provided a screener for the purpose of this review, for one night only: Wednesday, Oct. 12 at 8 p.m.