(MENAFN- Arab Times) "Whenever you do something new, you learn something about yourself," says the protagonist of Polish lenser-turned-helmer Bartek Prokopowicz's gutsy debut feature "Chemo," promising viewers a world of self-discovery in the process: No one's ever seen a terminal disease meller quite like this one, after all. Careering recklessly in form and tone from magical-realist romantic comedy to abrasive domestic drama to four-handkerchief weeper, this story of a young couple trying to start a family in the shadow of a cancer diagnosis inevitably falters in a couple of its guises, but lands the crucial emotional body blow thanks to its consistent intensity of feeling - no surprise, given the pic is inspired by Prokopowicz's late wife's own battle with the Big C. Idiosyncratic but not uncommercial, this HBO Europe co-production could travel considerably within the Continent.
While "Chemo" isn't a direct memoir, Katarzyna Sarnowska's script draws heavily from the experience of Prokopowicz and his wife Magdalena - who passed away in 2012, one year after the premiere of an hour-long 2011 documentary, "Magda, Love and Cancer," about her life with the disease. Like her real-life counterpart, the pic's tellingly named heroine Lena (Agnieszka Zulewska) also faces the painful choice of whether or not to continue with a pregnancy after being diagnosed with breast cancer. The friction between medical counsel and personal conviction drives much of a narrative in which characters' decisions are far less easy to anticipate than their unavoidably heartbreaking outcome. "Follow your heart" may be a philosophy rendered largely meaningless by a particular brand of triumph-over-adversity storytelling; here, it carries a drastic burden of consequence.
Before we get to such tough questions, however, "Chemo" initially seems to be heading in another direction entirely. As Prokopowicz stages a kooky meet-cute between Lena and depressed fashion photographer Benek (Tomasz Schuchart) that recalls nothing so much as "A Life Less Ordinary"-era Danny Boyle in its frenzied stylization - comic-book car chases, bass-kick scoring, a sudden vision of indoor thundershowers - it's not immediately clear what dimension the pic is even set in. Auds who can bear with giddy levels of upfront quirk will soon come to understand these onscreen affectations as manifestations of the pair's alternately compatible and combustible varieties of mania. Death-fixated Benek has already marked a calendar date for his suicide when he meets Lena, who - though we aren't made party to her diagnosis until later - has matters of mortality on her mind as well.
Regain
As Lena and Benek fall for each other, they regain their hunger for life; having previously refused treatment on the rationale that "suffering requires more courage than dying," Lena resolves to fight her illness using every resource available. (In this most openly sentimental stretch of the film, Prokopowicz isn't shy of symbolism as obvious as light pouring in through a previously obscured window, though the accompanying appearance of Hozier's already over-applied hit "Take Me to Church" on the eclectic, propulsive soundtrack is hardly necessary). Lena's plans for a chemotherapy-assisted recovery are thrown for a loop, however, when she discovers she's expecting her first child. Ignoring a string of doctors who urge her to abort the baby, Lena soldiers on with pregnancy and chemo simultaneously. The long-term outcome of her choice unfolds after a surprising chronological leap that takes the pic into more agitated, abstracted modes of realism, with the couple's turbulent relationship facing its own struggle for survival.
Viewers will either accept "Chemo's" frequent, inelegant stylistic breaks as rhythmically reflective of the characters' addled mood swings, or they won't. Whether they do or not is likely to determine the degree to which they indulge the helmer his more lumpily conceived imagery, or such precious devices as having the characters communicate via in-house graffiti. Yet the actors' emotional connection to the material is unwavering: Zulewska spikily conveys the spiritual itches and impetuosities that come with a medical death sentence, refusing to dully ennoble Lena's suffering, while Schuchart is most affecting as a besotted, bewildered man-child, often bottling his torment to accommodate that of his beloved.
The glistening slickness of the tech credits is counter-intuitive but ultimately apt, with d.p. Jeremiasz Prokopowicz (the director's brother) often casting a stainless, music-video sheen over proceedings - the world as its pained protagonists would like it to be, and fancifully pretend it is from time to time. Recurring animated passages by Nadia Micault, visualizing Lena's cancer from the inside out, don't merely add visual interest but inventively express the character's most panicked imaginings of her body under siege.
A teen girl with a crush on a local boy finds misplaced confidence through this uneven liaison in "The World Is Mine," a millennial-generation drama that announces an assertive new voice in debuting helmer Nicolae Constantin Tanase, even as it succumbs to many usual first-film flaws. Looking far less low-budget than the reported $168,000 outlay, the pic displays gumption on- and offscreen, proving it's possible to make slick all-Romanian features without coin from the National Center for Cinematography. Anchored by talented non-pro leads, "The World Is Mine" isn't markedly original but should greatly appeal to the teen bracket, and is likely to do strong biz at home.
The unnecessary opening voiceover is one of several overused devices all too common in first features, since it ultimately tells very little about the inner life of protag Larisa (Ana Maria Guran). At 16, she's living with her weak-willed mother and abusive stepdad, Nelu, and her only emotional bond with her family comes from her mute, immobile grandmother. An exceptionally well-shot scene has Larisa in closeup chattering away on the phone with a friend; gradually audiences realize she's multitasking, changing her grandmother's diaper while she gabs. But the scene is so discreetly composed, with the unpleasant task just out of frame, that in just that minute or so Tanase captures Larisa's teen preoccupations, the tension with her mother, and her unstated yet tangible sense of responsibility to her semi-catatonic grandmother.
Larisa is hot and heavy for Florin (Florin Hritcu), a bad boy, though she has a rival in Ana (Iulia Ciochina), the high-school princess whose father is the most powerful man in town. Initially Larisa mutely takes Ana's abuse until she's more certain of Florin's interest, and then she hits back, causing a ruckus at both school and home, since Ana's influential father (never seen) has everyone quaking in their boots, including Larisa's stepdad and the school principal.
A violent Nelu demands that Larisa apologize, but instead she flees the house with some of Mom's hidden dough and heads to Florin. Larisa feels she's queen of the ball, boasting to her best friends (Oana Rusu, Ana Vatamanu) and feeling confident of her status as the cool guy's g.f. But Florin's the wham-bam type, and Larisa's intoxicating sense of assurance, already on shaky ground, is headed for a tumble.
With her huge hoop earrings and empowering bluster not quite covering her hesitant grasp on any aspect of her life, Larisa is an impressively conceived character, nailing the uncertainty of 16 via an ear for convincing teenspeak. Unfortunately, the milquetoast mom and mean stepdad are stock figures that barely register, and even Ana and Florin are fairly stereotyped roles, although within their narrow conception these two feel real.
Clearly Tanase wants to try too much out in this, his first foray into features, and the pic lacks a sense of discipline: The use of flashback, inner voice, slow-mo and rollicking camera shots largely suggests a novice looking to flex his bona fides, yet the young helmer clearly has talent. A surprising dreamlike f/x shot toward the end carries unexpected emotional weight (and looksgood considering the low budget), though some may feel it's out of place.
Guran is a find, subtly registering Larisa's swings between insecurity and misbegotten arrogance: You sense a full-blooded character whose eyes perceive almost every situation with ill-judged understanding. Daniel Kosuth's lensing favors an ultra-inquisitive camera via extra-tight shots that give way to a solid sense of place, but less jiggling would have reined in the sense of unruliness. The grudgingly catchy hip-hop song "Toata Tara" ("Across the Country"), sung by Romanian thrush Ruby, fits the mood perfectly.
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