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From promising prospects, the view from mid way through the 59th Berlinale is one of acute underwhelm, certainly in the main competition. I have heard nothing but bad things about Swedish director Lukas Moodysson’s new film Mammoth. I was and am a big fan of his earlier films – Fucking Amal, Together and Lilya 4 Ever but parted company there. The avant-garde ramblings of Container was enough the test the mettle of even the sturdiest film goer. Mammoth we were all hoping might see the return of this evidently talented filmmaker. Unfortunately, I have to report that it is not to be. I had a conversation with a film critic who claimed that it was worse than Sally Potter’s Rage. I found this hard to believe until I reached three quarters of the way through Mammoth and had to leave having come over quite nauseous at its increasingly saccharine musings on globalisation and the fate of the family. Whether it was at the point where Gael Garcia Bernal’s character – a seriously rich internet games wunderkid – says on the phone from a beach in Thailand to his wife in New York “I need to do some charity work, maybe set up an orphanage” or when he buys a Thai prostitute out of her trade and discusses reincarnation in the Buddhist temple, I will never know.



It was initially refreshing to see the new Claude Chabrol film Bellamy. He is a true master of cinema and the confidence with which he moves the camera and allows the story to reveal itself is exquisite. Gerard Depardieu is the retired cop who cant keep himself out of cases. Depardieu is great, a big bear of a man who is evidently enjoying himself as in nearly every scene he is either drinking or eating. But - it’s terrible that there has to be a but - there doesn’t seem to be enough happening to sustain the nearly two hours. This seems to be the name of the game.



From the distance of a couple of days and more, films somethings are becoming evident: Ozon’s Ricky begins to diminish. There is a really interesting idea in there but I’m not convinced it pulls it off. Although the baby with wings flying about the council flat banging itself against the window, was funny and added a whole new dimension to bringing up babies. Salvation is really in the Forum and Panorama strands where new voices are being discovered. As mentioned previously Romanian Happiest Girl in the Worldand Can go Through Skin are the strongest to date. Little Soldier would be my contender for main award at the moment although, we still have a whole load of films to go including new ones from Stephen Frears and Polish director Andrez Wadja, so still plenty of promising prospects.

In between the films, I manage to make it to the Swedish dinner - one of the festival’s annual social highlights - which takes place once again at the charming Café Einstein. I catch up with Asa Garnett who works at the Swedish Film Institute, also bump into a convivial David Robinson who was enthusiastic about our recent Slapstick festival and is trying to get the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain film event to his festival in Pordenone in Italy this October. It would be interesting to see how the Italians will respond to seven ukulele players playing to eccentric quirky archive British short films. During the evening, I make my way to the toilet wherein I come across a choir rehearsing in the corridor. I love the Swedes and I love their parties.