Parky at the Pictures (In Cinemas 4/1/2018)

Intent on reminding us that we are watching a conscious creation, Bergman opens proceedings with a prologue that juxtaposes a projector beam, edge numbering and some film clips. A subliminal shot of an erect penis is followed by close-ups of a spider, a lamb being slaughtered and the palm of a hand being nailed to a piece of wood. We then see the faces of an elderly man and woman lying in a morgue. Also reclining under a thin white sheet is a young boy (Jörgen Lindström), who wakes up, puts on his glasses and begins reading a book. He is distracted, however, by the blurred images of two women on a screen beside his bed and he reaches out to touch them.

The scene shifts to a Stockholm hospital, where the doctor (Margaretha Krook) is briefing Nurse Alma (Bibi Andersson) about celebrated actress, Elisabet Vogler (Liv Ullmann), who has been admitted after falling silent during a performance of Elektra. Alma introduces herself to her patient, who appears to have elective mutism rather than a psychological disorder. She tries to cheer her up by chatting and playing the radio, but Elisabet is reluctant to engage and is further traumatised during the night by the sight on the television news of Buddhist monk Thích Quang Ðuc self-immolating on a busy street in the South Vietnamese capital, Saigon.

The next morning, Alma reads a letter from Elisabet's husband (Gunnar Björnstrand), which contains a photograph of their young son. But she rips the picture in half and the doctor suggests that Elisabet might make a better recovery if Alma accompanied her to a quiet retreat on the coast. They pick mushrooms and Elisabet touches Alma's hand and strokes her cheek, while smiling at the endless prattle that the nurse hopes will bring them to a better understanding of each other. She confides that no one has taken her seriously before and, during, the course of the evening, Alma tells Elisabet about her relationship with her fiancé, Karl-Henrik, and how things had fallen apart after she had gone nude sunbathing with a new friend, Katharina, and had ended up having sex with two boys who had been watching them on the beach.

At times, her words sound like an erotic confession. But Alma ends up sobbing on Elisabet's shoulder, as they lie on the bed in the half light and she reveals that she still feels guilty about having an abortion after Karl-Henrik had discovered she was pregnant. Elisabet remains silent, as she consoles Alma, but her expression changes slightly, as the hint of a smile appears to contradict her empathy, as though she was wishing that she had followed suit and spared herself the unwanted burden of being a wife and mother. Alma gets tipsy and retires to bed. As she snuggles down, Elisabet can be seen approaching through a gauzy curtain and, when Alma realises she is there, she gets up to rest her head on the actress's shoulder (after thinking she has heard her whisper to her). Elisabet stands behind Alma and they face forwards, as though looking into a mirror, as Elisabet brushes Alma's short blonde hair from her forehead and then moves her own long brunette tresses over her cheek (hence the speculation in some quarters that this is a lesbian vampire saga).

After a stroll on the beach to allow Elisabet to take some photographs, Alma runs some letters to the postbox. She notices that Elisabet has not sealed an envelope addressed to her husband and she can't resist pulling over to read it. However, she is dismayed to discover that Elisabet has betrayed her confidence about the orgy and the abortion and is affronted that the actress is studying her, as though she was preparing for a role. So, when she accidentally breaks a glass while sunbathing outside the cottage, Alma leaves a shard for Elisabet to step on in her bare feet. As she watches her through the window, however, the film melts in the projector gate and the screen goes whitish grey.

Snippets from the opening montage recur before a distorted image of Elisabet appears, as she searches the cottage for Alma. Eventually, she finds her reading on the beach and is taken aback when Alma accuses her of exploiting her. The fight and, returning to the kitchen, Alma threatens to throw a pan of boiling water at her patient. Elisabet shouts out in terror and Alma feels a sense of triumph at breaking her silence. However, she lets her feelings get the better of her and gets slapped so hard that her nose starts to bleed. Alma washes her face and, distraught at having spoken out of turn, follows Elisabet on to the beach. But she refuses to accept an apology and Alma sobs face down on the rocks.

The women give each other a wide berth as dusk descends. Alma wakes from a nap and thinks she can hear a male voice calling for Elisabet. She crouches beside her bed, while the actress sleeps. But Elisabet has been listening to every word Alma says and, when she goes to investigate the calling stranger, she rifles through a book on the adjoining table and is disturbed by a photograph of a young Jewish boy being rounded up in the Warsaw Ghetto by Nazi soldiers. After a while, she follows Alma to see that Vogler has mistaken her for his wife. Despite her attempts to correct him, Alma responds to his advances and they kiss, even though Elisabet appears to be standing behind them. They go to bed and Alma does nothing to disabuse Vogler that he is making love to Elisabet, who continues to watch them with taciturn detachment.

Some time later, Alma finds Elisabet sitting at the table. Wearing an identical black headband, Alma touches Elisabet's hand and sits opposite her. Slipping the fragments under her fingers, she asks why Elisabet had torn the snapshot of her son and begins to piece together her patient's past. Alma suggests that Elisabet was content in her professional and personal lives until she decided that she was missing out on motherhood. No sooner had she become pregnant, however, than she began having regrets and tried to induce a miscarriage. But she failed and is now stuck with a child she despises for making demands on her time and her emotions.

Despite Alma's efforts to goad Elisabet into speech, she remains impassive until she suddenly blurts out a denial. However, the facial close-up becomes a composite image and, in her distress, Alma finds herself struggling to deny that she has assumed Elisabet's identity. As Elisabet sits at the table, Alma returns in her nurse's uniform. She tries to remain calm, but bangs her fists on the table and comes close to striking Elisabet in her frustration. Once again, she tries to force her to speak. But, instead, she scrapes her nails along the underside of her own arm and grabs Elisabet's hair to coerce her into sucking the slowly oozing blood.

Alma slaps Elisabet repeatedly, but the scene suddenly reverts to the hospital, as the nurse looks in on her patient. Elisabet seems fragile and, when Alma urges her to speak, she says `nothing'. We see again the moment that Elisabet stroked Alma's hair and, as she exposes her neck for what might be a vampiric bite, Alma wakes with a start (hence the theories that the film is either Alma's dream or Elizabet's son's reverie - see below) and sees Elisabet packing to leave. She puts on her uniform and gathers the cushions and chairs they have been lounging on. As she looks into the mirror to put on her hat, she thinks back to the hair-brushing moment, but quickly resumes her mode of brisk efficiency.

As Alma locks up, the camera alights on the face of a stone statue outside the cottage and a flash cut contrasts it with Elisabet's face in her Elektra make-up. A second cutaway shows a film crew recording in a studio before we see Alma board a bus with the sea rolling behind her. As the vehicle drives away, the scene returns to the morgue, as the young boy pulls his hand away from the screen with the fading female face and the film strip slips off the take-up reel and the action ends on a flare of bright light that fades into darkness.

Consistently raising questions to which there are seemingly no right answers, this is a work of great intensity, complexity and artistry. Bibi Andersson and Liv Ullmann excel as the nurse and patient who could be projections of a single character wrestling with the consequences of a decision that has continued to haunt a woman who either regrets aborting her baby or wishes she has never given birth. We never learn why Alma feels so drawn towards Elisabet or why she has such a struggle to cling on to her own identity as she becomes the performer and Elisabet assumes the role of her audience. But, similarly, the reasons for Elisabet's silence remain shrouded, as does the rationale behind the doctor's decision to entrust Elisabet into Alma's care in such a remote spot.

Such is the brilliance of the performances, however, that such considerations slip beneath the surface. Indeed, it would also be easy to overlook the stark potency of Sven Nykvist's monochrome images of the human forms and the Fårö landscape, the audacious intricacy of Ulla Ryghe's editing and the deceptive simplicity of Bibi Lindström's production design and Mago's costumes. But what binds everything together is the boldness of Bergman's vision and the bleakness of his outlook on the Cold War world and an artform that is struggling to fulfil its potential.

Another clash of personalities informs Glory, which confirms the excellent impression that the Bulgarian directing duo of Kristina Grozeva and Petar Valchanov made with The Lesson (2014). Based on a true story and co-scripted by Decho Taralzehkov, this slyly sombre satire on the gulf between town-and-country life feels like something that Milos Forman or Jiri Menzel might have remade in 1960s Czechoslovakia from an original idea by Frank Capra or Preston Sturges. Superbly played by leads reuniting with the film-makers from their feature debut, this exposé of national foible has a dramatic precision that is as honed as its socio-political edge.

Bearded railway worker Stefan Denolyubov sets his Russian Slava watch by the talking clock and watches yet another story about corruption within the transport ministry while eating his breakfast from a pan. Dishevelled and solitary, Denolyubov turns a blind eye to two men siphoning fuel from a train in a siding before starting his day's work tightening bolts on a stretch of country track. As he shambles along, he finds a couple of banknotes worth half his monthly salary and starts to whistle. However, when he spots a bagful of money beside the line, his conscience is pricked and workaholic PR consultant Margita Gosheva interrupts a fertility appointment with docile husband Kitodar Todorov to send a camera crew to Denolyubov's backwater in order to capture the good news story that might deflect attention away from a scandal involving spending on carriages.

Much to the amusement of Gosheva's staff, Denolyubov has a debilitating stutter and they have to edit around his excruciating efforts to state that he contacted the police without hesitation on finding the cash. Gosheva is called away from the meeting, however, as Todorov needs her to start a course of daily injections to increase her chances of conceiving. As she slips off her skirt in the conference room, Todorov covers his wife's modesty with an EU flag as her curious colleagues sidle past. Meanwhile, out in the sticks, Denolyubov is mocked by his workmates in the local bar for handing in a windfall and he is embarrassed to find that the first notes he discovered are still in his pocket when he undresses for bed.

At the behest of transport minister, Ivan Savov, Denolyubov takes the train to Sofia to receive a reward for his honesty. However, he gets lost in the city centre and Gosheva has to send Todorov to collect him before dropping off the syringe that she left at home. Unfortunately, in calling Denolyubov's phone to track him down in Macedonia Square, Todorov causes him to spill a drink down his trousers and Gosheva has all the men on her staff remove their own pants to find a suitable replacement pair before Denolyubov meets the press. Micromanaging every aspect of the presentation, Gosheva is furious to see that crusading journalist Milko Lazarov has managed to worm his way in and she orders her underlings to keep him away from Denolyubov.

As Savov is to present the lineman with a new digital watch, Gosheva removes the wind-up Slava from Denolyubov's wrist (leaving a white patch on his weathered skin) and he becomes increasingly agitated about its whereabouts, as it was a gift from his father. Gosheva slips outside for her injection and berates Todorov for equating her forgetting the kit with a reluctance to have his child. Thus, she is distracted when she returns to the cocktail party being held in Denolyubov's honour, after he has posed for pictures with Savov, who is irritated when his guest asks why his pay cheques keep being delayed and why nobody does anything about fuel thefts on regional branch lines.

Despite Gosheva detailing her minions to keep Lazarov and Denolyubov apart, the reporter slips the hero his card before he is whisked away to have his emergency trousers removed in the gents. Left standing in his underwear, Denolyubov frets about his Slava and calls the ministry the following morning (using a dial phone) to find out when Gosheva will be returning it. She is too busy congratulating her team to bother about a watch that appears to have vanished into thin air and tells her assistant to fob off Denolyubov with a feeble excuse. Calming himself down by petting his beloved rabbits, the lineman feels belittled. But he grows more frustrated when he struggles to set the timer on the new watch and fails to remove the stain from his good trousers.

As a last resort, he returns the missed call from Todorov, thinking he is Gosheva's chauffeur. He is about to have sex with his wife, who is furious with him for interfering in her office business and snatches the phone to inform Denolyubov that the ministry porter will return the watch the following Monday. However, nobody knows where it is and Gosheva leaves a substitute at the reception desk while she goes to see doctor Georgi Stamenov with Todorov. As Denolyubov is aghast to discover that Gosheva is trying to dupe him, he calls Todorov in the hope that he can help and Gosheva admonishes him for replying in the middle of an appointment (just as she had done during their last consultation).

Stung by Gosheva's accusation that he is a fake hero who is trying to wheedle money out of the ministry, Denolyubov contacts Lazarov, who pretends to be interested in the missing Slava while coaxing the lineman into divulging details of the graft involving his workmates. He is delighted when Denolyubov declares that he told Savov about the diesel racket and persuades him to appear o on his television show the next morning. Arriving after spending the night with a prostitute, Denolyubov is nervous about making his accusations from a script, but he knows this is the only way he will recover his watch and goes live on air just as Gosheva is waiting for a crucial examination at the clinic. Seeing the item on TV, she changes out of her surgical garb and takes a cab across town to fire off a press release denouncing Denolyubov for slandering Savov and rendezvous with a bent copper who might be willing to take care of the yokel if he refuses to back down.

She returns to the clinic in time for her appointment, but Stamenov is unimpressed with her attitude and, for once, Gosheva is shamed into silence. While she is being examined, however, the police descend on Denolyubov's house and plant a wad of cash in order to arrest him for stealing from the sum he had so nobly returned. Confused and concerned about his rabbits missing their feed, Denolyubov is handcuffed and led from a cell for his interrogation. He pleads his innocence, but the corrupt cop and his partner convince him that the only way he can go free is if he makes a public apology to Savov and confirms that he knew nothing about fuel thefts on the railways.

Worried that his rabbits will suffer in the heat unless he can get home to water them, Denolyubov agrees to record a mea cupla and has to borrow a shirt from cameraman Dimitar Sardzhev because he is only wearing a sweaty vest. As he arrives home, however, he is set upon by the fuel thieves, who bundle him into the back of their car. Back in Sofia, Gosheva arrives for a press conference at the ministry after learning that she has provided two healthy embryos. She can barely contain her delight, as she sits at the back of the room, while Savov addresses the press. However, her mood changes abruptly when she sees a newspaper item about a lineman throwing himself under a train and she scurries back to her office to call the reporter for details.

In her panic, she gets drunk and searches her office for the missing watch. But she fails to find it and winds up spending the night in the front seat of the car because Todorov is unable to move her. When she wakes the next morning, she leans forward gingerly and catches sight of Denolyubov's watch under the mat. Gosheva calls the journalist to confirm the name of the dead lineman and is mightily relieved when she discovers that Denolyubov is okay. She gets Todorov to drive her to his address and rings the doorbell with a degree of trepidation that becomes shock when he answers the door with his head shaved and badly swollen. Smiling weakly, she proffer the Slava and, as Denolyubov reaches for his giant wrench, the action cuts away to Todorov turning up the jazz music on the car radio that will drown out his wife's cries for help.

The off-screen climax is a masterstroke that continues on through the closing credits, as Todorov whistles along with the jaunty tune before venturing out of the car to see what is keeping his wife. Such finesse is entirely in keeping with the meticulous direction that ensures this underdog tale is consistently amusing and moving without ever becoming smug or mawkish. Grozeva and Valchanov must take the bulk of the credit, with the latter deserving extra kudos for the exceptional dexterity of his editing, which keeps the viewer on edge by frequently cutting away from scenes a fraction of a second before actions are completed. Such a daring tactic could easily prove irksome, but Valchanov's timing is as immaculate as one would expect from a picture that places so much emphasis on ticking watches and body clocks.

Krum Rodriguez's nimble camerawork and Hristo Namliev's wry score are also spot on, as are supporting performances by the likes of Kitodar Todorov and Ivan Savov. But the exceptional Stefan Denolyubov and Margita Gosheva - who had played a grasping moneylender and a virtuous teacher in The Lesson - dominate proceedings, as the shabby nobody and chic wannabe whose contrasting stammer and garrulousness reinforce the extent to which they occupy different worlds despite only being separated by a length of railway line. The unthinking manner in which Gosheva robs Denolyubov of his dignity and sense of self is so chillingly depicted that one is left wondering why the genial Todorov was ever attracted to her. But Grozeva and Valchanov wisely avoid making Gosheva too monstrous or Denolyubov too saintly, with the consequence that this rings all too true as a snapshot of a country divided along so many lines that it's a wonder it functions at all.

Prolific Hungarian provocateur Kornél Mundruczó had been making a steady impression on the festival circuit with the likes of Pleasant Days (2002), Johanna (2005), Delta (2008) and Tender Son (2010) before he took first prize in the Un Certain Regard strand at Cannes with White God (2014). This potent parable on the state of the nation was co-written by onetime actress Kata Wéber and the pair reunite on Jupiter's Moon, an ambitious if not entirely successful attempt to combine arthouse themes with blockbuster visuals. There's no doubting the stylistic ingenuity of Mundruczó and cinematographer Marcell Rév. But this bold bid to examine everything from the growing class chasm and the decline in organised religion to the refugee crisis and the rise of the far right lacks the socio-political depth and dramatic rigour that such pressing topics demand. Following a caption explaining that Europa is the only one of Jupiter's 67 moons with the potential to host life beneath its icy ocean, we join a party of refugees in a lorry full of chickens. Twentysomething Zsombor Jéger is fleeing from the Syrian city of Homs with his carpenter father, David Yengibarian, when their boat is ambushed by a patrol led by György Cserhalmi. The pair become separated and Jéger is gunned down by Cserhalmi as he runs through the forest. Rather than dying, however, Jéger feels droplets of his blood rising upwards from his wounds and he finds himself levitating above the trees.

In debt and facing a malpractice suit, doctor Merab Ninidze is reduced to working in cahoots with nurse Mónika Balsai and providing treatment for the refugees at the camp where Cserhalmi is the director. Migrants plead with Ninidze for favours and he accepts bribes for the little he can do to help them. But, after seeing him float above the floor of his makeshift surgery, he becomes convinced that Jéger has mystical powers and take him to Budapest in the hope of exploiting his potential gifts.

Despite having told a Jehovah's Witness that the Bible is full of fibs and empty promises, Ninidze is convinced that Jéger is an angel and takes him for a scan at Balsai's hospital to see how he could have survived three gunshots to the chest. She is worried that her superiors will find out she is fleecing patients with Ninidze and orders him to leave the ward. But, having seen Jéger delighting an ailing woman and her young son by floating upside down above them, Ninidze is certain he is on to a winner and promises Jéger that he will not only protect him from the pursuing Cserhalmi, but will also help him find his father.

Having earned a bumper payday by having Jéger levitate above a Turkish bath for a wealthy old man recovering from an organ transplant, Ninidze has to leave his upper-storey apartment after Cserhalmi bursts in without a warrant. Jéger bolts through the window and his shadow appears on the outer wall of the building, as he descends past oblivious residents going about their business. He persuades Balsai to let them stay in her room at the hospital, where a party is being held for her boss, who is emigrating to America. As they rest, Ninidze explains that he accidentally gave a patient a fatal injection after being called to an emergency when drunk and he now hopes that he can seize his second chance.

They pay a house call to an abrasive balding man who is unhappy that Ninidze is not his regular doctor and accuses Jéger of being a Gypsy. However, he soon comes to regret his attitude, as Jéger defies gravity by tilting the entire room so that its contents are thrown around and smashed, while their owner clings on for dear life. By the time Cserhalmi arrives on the scene, the man has plummeted to the street below and his commanding officer informs him that Yengibarian is a suspected terrorist and that he needs to step up his dawn raids on likely hiding places in order to flush him out.

Meanwhile, Ninidze takes Jéger to see Ákos Birkás, who is willing to pay handsomely to spare wife Judit Meszléry any further suffering. He spends his time constructing a model village in his gloomily luxurious apartment and is showing the layout to Ninidze when Meszléry grabs Jéger's hand and pleads with him to help her. Touched by her anguish, he spins in mid-air above her bed and the shock causes Meszléry to pass away peacefully. Birkás tries to thrust money into Jéger's hand in gratitude, but he is becoming freaked by his powers and rushes out of the building and on to a bus in the hope of finding his father at the railway station.

Ninidze follows, as he can't afford to lose Jéger before he has amassed the amount he needs to compensate the family of his victim. However, Jéger recognises one of the men from the camp and watches as a railway worker hands over a bomb in a bag. He chases the man on to a subway service and sees Ninidze running along the platform as the train pulls away. Suddenly, there is an explosion and Ninidze staggers through the darkness to safety. Jéger also survives and floats high above the station, as frightened bystanders flood out of a side exit and Cserhalmi is handed passports that make Jéger and Yengibarian his prime suspects.

Watching the TV news reports in dismay, Ninidze asks the bartender if he has seen Jéger and is taken aback when he asks if they are lovers. He spends the night with Balsai before paying a call on Sándor Terhes (the father of his victim) in the hope that he will accept his savings and drop the prosecution. However, he refuses to let him off the hook so easily and accepts his apology with sardonic grace. Wandering aimlessly, Ninidze joins a vigil at the station and overhears a woman praying to the angel she saw hovering above the carnage. Gambling that Jéger will be hiding on a rooftop opposite, Ninidze is relieved to find him and promises to protect him. But he also breaks the bad news that Yengibarian has been found at the morgue and they are forced to flee the hospital after Balsai loses patience with Ninidze and betrays him to Cserhalmi.

Following a frantic car chase through the city (superbly filmed from the low-angle perspective of the pursuing vehicle), Ninidze crashes and Cserhalmi drives straight at Jéger in a bid to kill him (and cover up his own reckless behaviour in shooting at him). However, Jéger jumps over the onrushing car and floats across Budapest, which looks so serene beneath him. Bribing the desk clerk, they check into a swanky hotel and Jéger munches on French fries while watching a ballroom dancing competition. But, when Ninidze calls on a favour from one of his contacts within the police force, he is betrayed and finds himself riding at gunpoint with Cserhalmi in the back of an ambulance.

Knocked out in the lift during a struggle to seize the gun, Ninidze is powerless to prevent Cserhalmi from bursting into the room and capturing Jéger. But, as they enter the foyer, Ninidze takes one of the armed cops by surprise and threatens to kill him unless Cserhalmi releases the boy. They back into the lift, only for Ninidze to be wounded as the doors close and he summons his last strength to point his gun at Cserhalmi so that Jéger can leap through a decorative window on an upper floor. As Ninidze dies with a smile on his face, citizens look up to see Jéger floating above them. But his fate is far from clear.

Mundruczó and Rév can't be faulted for the bravura nature of the camerawork, as they seek to bring a little spectacle to this social realist thriller. The punishing viscerality of the opening people smuggling sequence is matched by the car chase and the recurring use of breakneck tracking shots and the elevation effects. Yet, for all the ingenuity of shots that often eschew computer-generated enhancement, they stand proud of a storyline that fails to grip and often struggles to integrate its themes, as Wéber seeks to paint a gloomy picture of Hungarian society and Europe's response to the migrant crisis.

She's entirely entitled to be evasive about the reasons for Jéger's gifts, but her fudging of the characterisation is less excusable. Nothing is said, for example, about why Jéger and his father are fleeing Homs or why they would be exploited by terrorists. Similarly, we learn little about Ninidze outside the opportunism he has been forced to develop since his fatal accident, while Cserhalmi is little more than a cipher whose hot-headed bigotry sets the plot's chase aspect in motion. But the most puzzlingly sketchy character is Balsai's nurse, who turns on Ninidze after sticking steadfastly by his side during his career-threatening ordeal.

In addition to Rév's startling camerawork and Márton Ágh's striking production design, Jed Kurzel also contributes a stirring score that reinforces Mundruczó's bid to give this intrepid (if occasionally derivative) hybrid some grandeur to go with its gravitas. But, for all its invention and sincerity, this never reaches the allegorical heights to which it aspires.

Avant-garde cinema is shamefully marginalised in this country, with even the most adventurous arthouse venues being reluctant to showcase works that prioritise creativity over commercialism. The Manchester-based contemporary arts centre, Home, is to be commended, therefore, for sponsoring the limited release of video artist Niles Atallah's Rey, which can be seen this week at The ICA in London. Inspired by the largely forgotten exploits of Orélie-Antoine de Tounens - a French lawyer who claimed in 1860 that the Mapuche Indians had elected him to rule the kingdom of Araucanía and Patagonia - this is less an historical reconstruction than a treatise on the fallibility of memory, the dependability of source material, the inevitability of decay and the pitfalls of technological progress.

Some eight years in the making, this is very much a labour of love, as Atallah spent considerable time tracking De Tounens before shooting some preliminary scenes on Super-8 and 16mm stock in 2011. This footage was then buried in Atallah's back garden to allow the elements to corrode the chemicals in the emulsion and produce an array of scratches, blotches and discolorations. During this period, Atallah and editor Benjamin Mirguet trawled through the archives of the EYE Filmmuseum in Amsterdam to find aged 35mm clips that could be juxtaposed with the digital sequences that would allow him experiment with masks, puppets and stop-motion animation in order to fashion what might be called `a decasia fantasia' that evokes the works of Stan Brakhage, Bill Morrison, Michael Snow and Jan Švankmajer.

An opening caption explains that Orélie-Antoine de Tounens landed in Chile in 1858 and ventured into the autonomous Wallmapu lands of the Mapuche nation. We see De Tounens (Rodrigo Lisboa) in a forest clearing proclaiming his special powers, as water cascades from his fingers into a pool. Next, he is shown approaching a small party of Mapuches camouflaged in straw and being crowned with a floral wreath, as the locals kneel in supplication and De Tounens raises his eyes to the heavens to give thanks for the recognition of his divine right to rule.

But, at the start of Chapter One: `The Captivity', De Tounens (now sporting a full facial mask) is arrested and brought before a masked Chilean army officer, who accuses the lawyer from Périgord of being a French spy with orders to provoke the indigenous peoples of Araucanía and Patagonia into rebellion. He makes no response to the charges and, as we see clips of old travelogues showing rugged terrain), he languishes in his cell with the conviction that it was his destiny to become king.

Confronted by a prosecutor in Chapter Two: `The Trial', De Tounens insists that he remained outside Chilean territory after being invited to pay a call on Chief Manil with his guide, Juan Bautista Rosales (Claudio Riveros). Having trekked on horseback through the jungle, however, they discover that Manil has died and that his bellicose son, Quilapan, is hostile to outsiders, who are known as `Winkas'. Rosales seems reluctant to go on and exploits the fact De Tounens can't speak any of the Indian languages to suggest a dignified retreat. But De Tounens insists on pressing on, even after they come across a horse's head suspended from a tree, which he deduces is not a black magic totem, as it has probably been placed there by the Chilean or Argentinian army in the hope of scaring the Mapuche.

Eventually, after seeming to pass the same volcano several times, the travellers meet an elderly couple living in a woodland cave. The man speaks Spanish and warns De Tounens that he is among unpredictable people. However, he gives him a mantle of white fur and (against a backdrop of antiquated footage of birds and a fox attacking a henhouse) he reveals that De Tounens is being accompanied on his journey by a large serpent and a red fox.

The scene reverts back to the spartan courtroom for Chapter Three: `The Betrayal', as Rosales takes the stand to discuss the nature of his relationship with De Tounens. He recalls seeing the Frenchman unfurl a pale blue and white banner and claim that it was the flag of his kingdom and Rosales was puzzled when De Tounens stated that he was in independent territory rather than Chile because he had crossed the Bio Bio river. The guide took De Tounens to meet Lemunao, who advised him to turn back because Quilpan was in mourning for his father. But, instead, De Tounens advanced and (in a fragment of garden-decayed footage) promised the locals that he would guarantee their independence and provide them with troops and warships.

As a loyal Chilean, however, Rosales became concerned that his client posed a threat to national security and led him to a place where he could be detained by soldiers reporting to Colonel Saavedra. Yet, as he awaits his trial at the start of Chapter Four: `The Fever', De Tounens asserts that he met Manil on a previous expedition and received an invitation to establish a kingdom. He had returned to Valparaiso to find willing volunteers, but had foolishly placed his faith in Rosales.

The prosecutor asks what happened when De Tounens encountered Quilpan and he recalls (via the distressed footage) how he was crowned through the intercession of two French merchants, Lachaise and Desfontaines, However, there are no records of these men ever entering Chile and the prosecutor notes that their names appear on documents pertaining to Manil and the Araucanía constitution. De Tounens protests that Rosales has been the only witness and, as the courtroom appears to become overgrown with leaves and branches, we see a flashback using deteriorated footage to show slight variations on the exchanges between De Tounens and Rosales that suggest each has unreliable recollections of their expedition.

The judge finds De Tounens guilty of treason against Chile and sentences him to permanent banishment. Over tinted footage of rough sea crossings, De Tounens reassures the Mapuche that he made repeated efforts to rejoin them, but that circumstances always conspired against him. In Chapter Five: `The Exile', he avers that he returns to Tierra del Fuego and is greeted by two men with horse heads. In his reverie, a party of people in white robes with rock-hewn faces welcome him back to his kingdom and, as choral music swells on the soundtrack, he releases a dove into the air to symbolise his peaceful intentions. The leader of the statue people bows low and smoke issues forth from a volcanic opening at the top of his skull and De Tounens accepts the gesture as a form of anointment, as the rock people dance.

Drinking nectar from the leaves of a talking tree, De Tounens extols the glories of his realm, as we see old footage of towering waterfalls, timelapsed plants blooming and various animals, insects and reptiles. But, he also pauses to see his masked reflection in a still pool, as he claims to be either an archangel or a corpse. He wanders deeper into the forest and sees a straw tent (which appears to have a face) and seeks refuge inside, as crackling footage shows a supernatural being called Negenechen invoking curses on him for trespassing on Mapuche land.

As De Tounens seems to burn inside his wicker sanctuary, we enter the Epilogue: `The Apocalypse' with a shot of him wearing Janus masks. His eyes and mouth are scratched out in degraded footage that is accompanied by whispering assertions that the animals and birds want De Tounens to remain their king. Sword in hand, he is superimposed on to clips of battle to suggest him exhorting his subjects to fight alongside him and resist the tyranny of the regimes that have repressed them.

As buildings topple and a volcano erupts, De Tounens is left to wander the desolate countryside alone. He continues to stake his claim to power in a voiceover that sounds increasingly desperate and demented before the film ends with a flamboyant animated sequence that emulates a top shot to show De Tounens's face forming the petals of an opening flower that is eventually subsumed into an ever-shifting kaleidoscopic pattern. A closing caption informs us that De Tounens died impoverished and alone in his hometown of Tourtoirac in 1878. Although he has a tombstone, nobody knows where his body is buried. But his kingdom continues in exile, with titles having been passed down for the last 140 years. During this same period, however, indigenous peoples like the Mapuche, Tehuelche, Selknam, Yagan and Kaweshkar have suffered brutal discrimination.

Boldly ambitious and boasting a Herzogian affinity for egotism, eccentricity and the landscape, this may not be an easy watch. But Atallah makes striking use of the new footage designed by Natalia Geisse and photographed by Benjamin Echazaretta with an astute sense of history, time and place. We learn few hard facts about De Tounens, but Rodrigo Lisboa conveys a tangible idea of his delusional commitment to a cause that very much remains active. Benjamin Mirguet's editing, Roberto Espinoza's sound design and Sebastián Jatz Rawicz's jarring score play their part. But this is very much Atallah's vision and his artistry is as readily evident as his audacity and patience.

Finally, Marc J. Francis and Max Pugh's Walk With Me chimes in nicely with this time of new leaves and resolutions, as it muses on the place of mindfulness in the modern world. Narrated by Benedict Cumberbatch from the writings contained in the diary of a soul, Fragrant Palm Leaves, this is partly a profile of Thich Nhat Hanh. But, having spent a three-year sojourn at the Plum Village monastery that the Vietnamese Zen Buddhist founded in south-west France in 1982, the British co-directors seem as interested in capturing the ambience and silence of this idyllic retreat as they are in understanding and examining the teachings of the mystic-cum-activist who was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize by Martin Luther King.

Following a series of magic hour shots showing the grounds of Plum Village in all their glory, Francis and Pugh follow Thich Nhat Hanh and his cowled acolytes on a walk through the woods. Snippets from Fragrant Palm Leaves reveal the ninetysomething Nhat Hanh's humility, as he acknowledges his personal failings and the doubts that he keeps combating with his conviction that there has to be a spiritual force beyond human comprehension. We see his flock share a communal meal and witness a group of novices having their heads shorn and shaved during a ceremony punctuating by prayers, chants and the chiming of bells.

As winter descends and Nhat Hanh draws strength from the way in which trees prepare for the bitter frosts that beset them, However, one young monk struggles to suppress a series of yawns as he kneels behind the master during a contemplation session. His inability to concentrate echoes Nhat Hanh's contention in a passage we see being translated by a nun that `suffering is enlightenment'. Amusingly, this pearl of wisdom appears before a shot of a monk studying in his room under the watchful gaze of the Yoda toy he keeps on his shelves, along with photographs of his family.

Spring comes with a carpet of daffodils in the woods and the nuns are reminded of their vows to eschew all forms of sexual contact. Following Nhat Hanh's recollection of the time he realised that he was as much a drifting cloud as a solid entity, we see him showing some followers the spartan wooden cabins in the `Monastic Area' of the compound and eavesdrop on a young monk watching a nun fry some tofu and greens and confiding that he sometimes gets bored and needs to get away from Plum Village to recharge his batteries. She also admits to sometimes finding it frustrating having to prepare meals, but both are aware that they are serving a special person, whose ideas have changed their lives.

Over a shot of dark thunder clouds, Cumberbatch relays Nhat Hanh's notion that life is only worthwhile if it is composed of little deaths that allow us to grow. He strolls in a downpour with a chosen few before he presides over a service for a group of pilgrims, who pay handsomely to sit at the feet of the master and get in touch with their deepest emotions during the singing of a hypnotic hymn. Nhat Hanh reassures a small girl grieving for her pet dog that it will take many forms to console her, just as a cloud becomes rain and water becomes tea. A mother apologises to her son for breaking up with his father and being too engrossed in her work, while a monk leads a meditation class and a string quartet breaks off playing to observe the silence that follows the ringing of the 15 Minute bell that regulates life in Plum Village.

A large group of pilgrims follows Nhat Hanh on a walk through the fields, with one middle-aged man filming with his phone rather than experiencing the moment. Addressing his disciples, he warns against wasting our lives by searching for fleeting benefits that prevent us from living in the here and now and the gathering ends with shots of children playing, grown-ups praying and everyone coming together to float candles on the stream in paper boats.

Leaving France, Nhat Hanh flies to New York and is amused by some laughing cuddly toys in the gift shop. A series of somewhat contrived images follows showing brown-robed monks walking serenely through busy crowds before the touring party meditates in the park close to a street preacher being taken to task by a young woman who objects to the way in which he dismisses all religions bar Christianity. One group pays a visit to a women's prison and answers questions about their faith and lifestyle, while an African-American nun drops in on her elderly father in an old people's home. As for Nhat Hanh, he appears at a venue used to hosting rock stars and an outdoor retreat. At one centre, a monk runs into an old work colleague, who thought he had died of cancer many years before, while a nun explains the purpose of sound to a believer curious about its relationship to silence.

Another monk calls on his parents and laughs at the life plan he set out in his journal when he was younger. The group have fun at a fairground and sing for the ticket collector on a merry-go-round. They also camp out under the stars, as Cumberbatch delivers with a rather hammy reverence Nhat Hanh's reflections on achieving the perfection of being alone without a single sad thought in his head and a mountain-like sense of certainty of being at one with Nature in the present.

Anyone seeking an insight into the mind and heart of Thich Nhat Hanh will have to look elsewhere, as this is a sketchy and occasionally superficial snapshot that falls a long way short of the standards set by Philip Gröning in his exceptional Carthusian study, Into Great Silence (2005). Serving as their own cameramen and editors, Francis and Pugh appear to have spent a few months with the community rather than three years, as they offer so little sense of Plum Village or its raison d'etre. But it's their reluctance to examine Nhat Hanh's theology in any depth and their seeming disinterest the hopes of those who attend his retreats that leaves this feeling so threadbare.

In striving to capture the atmosphere surrounding the Order of Interbeing in the Dordogne, Francis and Pugh frequently resort to soft-focus vistas that would not have been out of place on the Athena posters of yore, while Cumberbatch's awed narration often comes close to reducing Nhat Hanh's considered observations to New Age platitudes. No one can question the sincerity of the exercise and its bid to convey the thunderous nature of silence. But the execution leaves much to be desired.