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    ‘Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World’ Review: A Wild Romanian Trip

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    In Radu Jude’s shambling, acidly funny movie set in Bucharest, a foul-mouthed gofer named Angela tours the troubled heart and soul of her country.Late in Radu Jude’s “Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World,” the movie shifts tones. Our heroine, a funny, foul-mouthed gofer who’s racking up miles driving in Bucharest, has just told her passenger about a road outside the city that has more memorials edging it than it has kilometers. The movie then cuts to one after another roadside memorial — some stone, others metal, some with photos, others with flowers — for an astonishing four silent minutes, and this near-unclassifiable, often comically ribald movie turns into a plaintive requiem.The woman, Angela — the sneakily charismatic Ilinca Manolache — is a production assistant toiling for a foreign company that’s making a workplace safety video in Romania. Among her tasks is interviewing men and women who have been injured on the job, the idea being that one will make a camera-friendly cautionary tale for workers. As she changes gears, and the movie switches between black-and-white film and color video, Angela flips off other drivers, acidly critiques all that she encounters, creates TikTok videos and effectively maps the geopolitical landscape of contemporary Romania. At one point, she meets the German director Uwe Boll, who’s known to have trounced a few of his critics in boxing matches.I don’t think that Jude wants to beat up critics (even if the interlude with Boll, who’s shooting a “bug-killer film,” is almost endearing); among other things, his movies tend to be well-received. Jude’s shaggy provocation “Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn,” for instance, earned high praise as well as top honors at the Berlin Film Festival in 2021. At the same time, there’s a pushy, borderline abrasive aspect to how Jude strings out Angela’s time behind the wheel in “Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World,” forcing you to share in her tedium. The movie is overflowing with ideas — about history, capitalism, cinema, representation — but it also tests your patience before amply rewarding it.It’s still dark when Angela stumbles out of bed one early morning, naked and cursing. (One of her favorite expletives is featured both in the first and final words in the movie, a fitting bookending blurt that seems like a cri de coeur and one of the movie’s more unambiguously authorial statements.) Before long, she’s dressed and out in the streets, making the first in a series of TikToks in which she takes on the guise of her bald social-media avatar, a bro named Bobita, an extravagantly offensive vulgarian who brags about hanging out with his pal Andrew Tate, the online influencer and self-anointed “king of toxic masculinity.”Tate’s trajectory is lurid and gross, but the references to him are more symbolically than specifically germane to the movie. (Tate moved to Romania in 2017; he was arrested there in May 2023 on an assortment of charges, including human trafficking.) For Angela — for Jude — Tate basically functions as yet another emblem of Bobita’s grotesqueness and of a larger worldview, one that has reduced everything to its market value. Everything is part of his unending hustle, including the Maserati he brags about owning, the women he boasts about sexually conquering and, of course, himself. “Remember,” Bobita says, “like and share!” With her avatar, Angela entertains her audience with a very sharp sting.The same can be said of “Do Not Expect Too Much,” which gradually gathers shape and force as Angela motors around Bucharest. As she does, Jude cuts between her and the title heroine of “Angela Goes On,” a 1981 Romanian film directed by Lucian Bratu about a taxi driver. Produced in the waning years of the Ceausescu dictatorship, the earlier film serves as a fascinating counterpoint to Jude’s movie visually and thematically. (The opening credits announce that this movie is a “conversation” with the 1981 film.) From one angle, not much has changed, but if the roads are still jammed and people hungry, it’s now capitalism rather than communism that keeps this world busily spinning.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Radu Jude Brings TikTok’s Chaos to the Movies

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      Radu Jude’s films are messy mash-ups of art, literature, advertising and social media, with some dirty jokes thrown in.Halfway through a recent Zoom interview with Radu Jude, the acclaimed Romanian director of “Do Not Expect Too Much from the End of the World,” he offered a glimpse into his creative process. He pulled out one of the books he’s reading, an illustrated tome about commedia dell’arte. Then he shared his screen to reveal a collection of texts and images — Van Gogh still lifes, Giacometti sculptures, Japanese haikus — saved in folders on his computer. Jude stopped scrolling at a picture he took of a sign posted on an apartment building entrance.“It says ‘Please have oral sex so as not to disturb the other tenants,’” Jude explained, translating from the Romanian with a grin on his face.The autodidact Jude is not above a dirty joke. His work melds tragedy and farce, drawing promiscuously from art, literature, street ads and social media to fuel his brazen visions of Romanian history and contemporary life.Jude’s previous film, the Golden Bear-winner “Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn,” starts out with the making of a humorously sloppy sex tape and concludes with a witch trial against one of the tape’s participants. His latest, “Do Not Expect Too Much from the End of the World,” arrives in U.S. theaters on Friday.The black comedy follows Angela (Ilinca Manolache), a film production assistant who spends most of her 16-hour workdays in her car, shuttling clients and equipment around Bucharest, Romania’s capital. One of Angela’s gigs entails interviewing former factory employees who were injured on the clock for a chance to feature in a corporate safety video. Scenes from the present-day, shot in black-and-white, are interwoven with colorful clips of another woman named Angela: a taxi driver in the 1980s also chained to a thankless job that involves navigating the streets of Bucharest.Ilinca Manolache as Angela, a film production assistant who spends most of her 16-hour workdays in her car, in “Do Not Expect Too Much from the End of the World.”4 Proof FilmWe are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      ‘Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn’ Review: No Sex, Please, We’re Romanian

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      A viral video scandal ensnares a Bucharest schoolteacher in Radu Jude’s biting, bawdy and brilliant Covid-age fable.The English title of Radu Jude’s new feature, “Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn,” strikes me as deliberately clumsy, in keeping with the cacophonous, off-kilter tone of the movie itself. My Romanian isn’t what it should be, but I might quibble with “loony,” since the porn in question — a three-minute clip that is the first thing audiences see — doesn’t seem especially crazy. It’s certainly explicit, but the lunacy Jude is interested in exploring has less to do with what’s happening on camera than with some of the reactions to it.A decidedly amateur piece of adult cinema, the video shows a married couple exuberantly enjoying each other’s company. The action, recorded on a cellphone, is inadvertently comical (a mother-in-law knocks on the door in medias res) and mildly kinky. There’s a lot of breathless dirty talk, and also a latex flogger, a magenta wig and a leopard-print mask — the costume-party kind, not the Covid-precautionary kind.There will be plenty of those in evidence later, when the camera (now wielded by professionals) moves out into the noisy, pandemic-anxious streets of Bucharest and the focus shifts from sex as a conjugal pastime to sex as a political and cultural issue. That’s where the bad luck comes in. The naughty video has made its way onto the internet — exactly how is a matter of some ambiguity — causing problems for one of the participants, Emilia Cilibiu (Katia Pascariu), a history teacher at a prestigious secondary school. Outraged parents have demanded a meeting, and much of the movie consists of Emi (as she is called) preparing for that event and then enduring it.But plot summary is more than usually irrelevant here. “Bad Luck Banging” announces itself as “a sketch for a popular film,” and it unfolds, in its first two-thirds, as a portfolio of documentary gleanings and notebook entries rather than as a linear narrative. Shooting in the summer of 2020, Jude and his team were clearly constrained by the realities of Covid-19, but they also succeeded in turning a bad situation to creative advantage, facing the awfulness and absurdity of the present with wit, indignation and a saving touch of tenderness.In the first section (following the pornographic prologue), Emi walks through Bucharest, talking on her phone and pursuing various errands. Dressed in a sober gray suit, her blue surgical mask double-looped over her ears, she navigates a tableau of bustling urban banality, her own stress visible in her eyes and brows.She tries to purchase a single Xanax at a pharmacy and is given an herbal remedy instead. She pays a visit to the school director (Claudia Ieremia), whose apartment is a scene of baroque domestic chaos. The atmosphere in the shopping malls and open-air markets is even more hectic, and much less polite. Citizens lower their masks to scream obscenities at one another. Rudeness is so endemic that it seems like its own form of civility. Graphic remarks about someone’s genitals — or, more often, their mother’s genitals — sound almost neighborly.This dissonant city symphony ends on a somber note, in a shot of a closed-down movie theater with a “For Rent” sign in the window. In the scheme of things, this may be a minor catastrophe, but it segues into a litany of disasters that make up the film’s essay-like middle chapter.Taking a break from Emi and her plight, Jude compiles a “short dictionary of anecdotes, signs and wonders.” The entries run from “August 23, 1944” (the date Romania left the Axis and joined the Allies in World War II) to “Zen” and consist of brief skits and snippets of archival and social-media video. With grim humor, they glance at ugly facts of human existence — war, misogyny, household violence, racism, workplace exploitation — and pay special attention to Romania’s complicity in the two major forms of 20th-century totalitarianism.Some of that information will be on the exam — or will at least resurface when Emi faces her accusers in an open-air, socially distanced inquisition in the courtyard of the school. The indignant parents include an airline pilot, a military officer, an Orthodox priest and a hipster intellectual who reads long passages of sociological theory from his phone. (He may actually be on Emi’s side, but with an ally like that, who needs trolls?) Someone invokes the name of Mihai Eminescu, Romania’s national poet of the 19th century, and Emi responds by reciting one of his lesser-known bawdy poems.Five Movies to Watch This WinterCard 1 of 51. “The Power of the Dog”: More

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      ‘Uppercase Print’ Review: Between the Lines

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      Radu Jude’s rousing, form-bending new feature rails at the power of propaganda to suffocate people’s freedoms.“Uppercase Print” opens with a fragment of a quote from the philosopher Michel Foucault: “the resonance I feel when I happen to encounter these small lives reduced to ashes in the few sentences that struck them down.” The film, a rousing, form-bending new feature by the Romanian auteur Radu Jude, rails at the tyrannical potential of language — particularly when backed by government power — to suffocate people’s freedoms.The movie braids together two accounts of life under the dictatorial regime of Nicolae Ceausescu: a filmed play about the 1981 investigation of a teenager who graffitied slogans about democracy and workers’ rights in the city of Botosani; and advertisements, educational programs and newsreel footage from state-sanctioned Romanian television of the same era.A queasy sense of party-line artifice haunts both the theatrical performance and the TV footage, which the film’s archival opening telegraphs strikingly. Three well-dressed presenters praise Ceausescu’s Romania enthusiastically, until a teleprompter malfunction renders them awkward and speechless. Without its scripted cues, they have no idea what to say.The play, originally written for the stage in 2013 by Gianina Carbunariu, repurposes text from the files of Romania’s Communist-era secret police. Actors read these lines with deadpan intonation, making vivid the dehumanizing effects of bureaucratic jargon. “Reforming the objective” is a dry euphemism for the repression of dissidents; “youth protection” is code for surveillance.Jude’s genius lies in his ability to turn these words against themselves — to render them absurd through canny juxtapositions of text and image, documentary and fiction. And if the film draws on the past, it’s as a warning for the present: A closing exchange about Ceausescu-era phone-tapping slyly references Cambridge Analytica.Uppercase PrintNot rated. In Romanian, with subtitles. Running time: 2 hours 8 minutes. In theaters. More

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      A Dirty Winner at a Lonely Berlin Film Festival

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }What to WatchBest Movies on NetflixBest of Disney PlusBest of Amazon PrimeBest Netflix DocumentariesNew on NetflixAdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyCritic’s NotebookA Dirty Winner at a Lonely Berlin Film FestivalThe Romanian director Radu Jude’s “Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn” took the top prize in an online-only edition that lacked the magic of in-person moviegoing.“Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn” won the Golden Bear, the Berlin International Film Festival’s top award, on Friday.Credit…Silviu Ghetie/Micro FilmMarch 5, 2021Updated 1:01 p.m. ETBERLIN — No one wants to read more on the things we miss about going to the movies. Too much has been written about that already — and I can practically hear the pipsqueak sighing of mini-Mr. Stradivarius, stressed out by the demand for his tiny violins. But with the Berlin International Film Festival divided this year into two events — a physical edition to take place in city theaters this summer, and an online press-and-industry portion that unfolded over the past five days — the so-near-yet-so-far contrast between theatrical and home viewing has never been more stark.I’ve never felt more removed from the real Berlinale, as the yearly festival is known, nor sensed more acutely the strange sterility of pandemic-era online movie watching.“Mr. Bachmann and His Class,” directed by Maria Speth, won the festival’s Jury Prize.Credit…Madonnen FilmA jury of directors whose films have won the Golden Bear, the festival’s top prize, announced the competition prizes without fanfare via a video livestream on Friday. Some were among my favorites from an outstanding lineup: the top awardee, “Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn,” by Radu Jude; the Best Screenplay winner, “Introduction,” by Hong Sang-soo; and Maria Speth’s Jury Prize recipient, “Mr. Bachmann and His Class.” Others, I have yet to catch. That is always the way — but this year’s online-only presentation meant few buzzy, last-minute discoveries, found out by word of mouth.Instead the stellar program played at my personal convenience, in my living room, sometimes scarcely 12 inches from the end of my nose, on a laptop screen. The stories were teleported in perfect resolution directly into my brain, with a frictionless purity. At some point, I realized: It’s no longer even the sociability of the theatrical experience that I long for; it’s simply the interference. I miss the dust in the projector beam. I miss the tiny tactile imperfections of being in a public place that remind you there’s a world outside the film and your own echo-box brain. Without them, everything is too clean.“Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn” is a satire about a schoolteacher whose sex tape is uploaded to the internet.Credit…Silviu Ghetie/Micro FilmSo it’s good that some of the best films were, frankly, dirty. Radu Jude’s Golden Bear-winner, “Bad Luck Banging or Loony Porn,” begins with graphic sex acts, and ends with a woman in a superhero costume shoving an oversize sex toy into a priest’s mouth. So, maybe not one to have on when the kids are home-schooling. In between, however, it’s perhaps the most direct sampler of pandemic-era filmmaking we’ve yet seen, with virus restrictions shaping both the form and the content of a scrupulously untidy satire about a schoolteacher whose sex tape is uploaded to the internet.But its central section is a different beast: a compendium of bite-size segments, most just a few seconds long, into which Jude packs a hundred sometimes blistering, sometimes banal observations about life, sex and Romanian society. It’s almost like an exorcism of all of the ideas that can ferment in a mind left alone too long with its thoughts — so it might feel familiar to anyone who has ever wildly overshared on a Zoom call because it’s their first social interaction in a week.Betsey Brown in “The Scary of Sixty-First,” about two young women who become obsessed with conspiracy theories about Jeffrey Epstein.Credit…Stag PicturesBad taste is also the chief attribute of the actor-director Dasha Nekrasova’s hysterically schlocky “The Scary of Sixty-First.” In the film, two young women become obsessed (and possessed) by the sordid story of Jeffrey Epstein, as theorized on numerous conspiracy websites, after they discover he used to own their new apartment. It’s not directly about the pandemic, but the horror of the walls closing in and being Too Much Online are certainly elements many of us can relate to.Infinitely more wholesome, Natalie Morales’s “Language Lessons” is also a response to quarantine filmmaking restrictions. Told entirely via virtual-meeting app calls, it casts Morales as an online Spanish teacher who connects with a student (Mark Duplass) after the sudden death of his partner. It’s not often that films track platonic friendships as though they’re romances, and rarer still that the process happens exclusively in head-and-shoulder close-up. But the movie, while a little, well, “millennial” in its portrayal of the duo’s angsty interactions, is surprisingly easy to watch, despite the constraints of its format — a testament especially to Morales’s amiable screen presence.Mark Duplass, left, and Natalie Morales in “Language Lessons,” a movie told entirely via virutal-meeting app calls.Credit…Jeremy MackieIt would be a reach to claim any acute topical relevance in the quietly stunning Vietnamese title “Taste,” which took a Special Jury Prize in the festival program’s Encounters sidebar. But for those of us who have experienced lockdown as an infinitely repeating cycle of postures in the same few dimly lit interiors, there is a kind of kinship with its uncannily precise and minutely choreographed tableaux. The director Le Bao’s arresting debut is a largely wordless depiction of a Nigerian footballer who lives, cooks and occasionally couples with four Vietnamese women in an eerily stripped-back Saigon tenement.At the end of “Taste” a tiny rodent sticks its quivering nose out of a mouse hole, before retreating back within. Which leads me to those Berlin titles that are the opposite of brash, that beguiled me instead with their smallness — a quality flattered by the intimacy of online home viewing. And feature films don’t come much smaller than “Introduction,” the latest miniature by the South Korean auteur darling Hong Sang-soo. It is a 66-minute black-and-white scrap of a thing that still somehow manages to play as a deep breath of refreshingly cool, oxygenated air.It won’t convert anyone not already attuned to Hong’s low-key, rueful register, but for the initiated, its delicate story of a young couple navigating a fearful entree into the adult world with the well-meaning assistance of their mothers, has all of the familiar strangeness of the director’s best work.Joséphine Sanz and Gabrielle Sanz in Céline Sciamma’s “Petite Maman.”Credit…Lilies FilmsThere’s another small, exquisitely detailed portrayal of a mother-child relationship in “Petite Maman,” the latest film from the director of “Portrait of a Lady on Fire,” Céline Sciamma. “Portrait” was something of an art-house blockbuster when it came out last year, but in “Petite Maman,” Sciamma is back in the mode of earlier films like “Tomboy,” delivering a beautifully observed growing-pains drama that is also deeply respectful of the dignity and personhood of very young children. It has a magical central twist, but the film’s real magic is in its somehow healing evocation of the bone-deep loneliness of existence, summed up by a line spoken by its 8-year old star: “Secrets aren’t always things we try to hide. There’s just no one to tell them to.”Great films often feel like a secret you’ve been told, and that’s how it is with Alexandre Koberidze’s “What Do We See When We Look at the Sky?,” a gorgeous modern fairy tale about ill-starred love, mysticism, soccer and street dogs, which is also perhaps the most bewitching love letter to a hometown that I’ve ever seen. Throughout, the filmmaker’s own wry baritone narrates, and sometimes contradicts or digresses from, the story, and the effect is almost a flirtation, as he invites you to amble with him through the ancient city of Kutaisi, Georgia, making briefly visible the invisible, supernatural forces that connect us all even though we don’t believe in them anymore.Ani Karseladze in Alexandre Koberidze’s “What Do We See When We Look at the Sky?”Credit…Faraz Fesharaki/DFFBFull disclosure: I got to see this one in a movie theater, at a socially distanced press screening before the festival began. (I’ve since watched it online, and its miraculousness was not lessened one iota.) So in addition to the transcendence offered by the scene in which a gang of local kids plays soccer in joyful slow motion while a gloriously cheesy song by the Italian singer Gianna Nannini plays, just this once, I also got the dust in the projector beam. It was like a glimpse of better, dirtier days to come.AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More