There is No Evil is made to be provocative in both the story structure and the content. Each of the four stories contains a mystery: we have to ask who the main character is and what they have done? Revealing their identity and actions is provocative as it shows how they’re linked to capital punishment and mandatory military service. None of the characters are what they initially seem.

Likewise the content is provocative. As mentioned, each story is linked to the death penalty and mandatory military service. But not just one of the other, as often the mandatory military service requires you to enforce capital punishment. Regular citizens are expected to follow orders and pull the stool from under those citizens deemed worthy of death. The director focuses on this to show how encompassing authoritarian rule is in Iran, and how blindly some people follow it. By showing how the state forces you to commit the absolute highest crime for it’s benefit, the director reveals that there’s nothing some citizens wouldn’t do to facilitate the authoritarian government in Iran.

There is No Evil is split into four parts partly for political/logistical reasons. Director Mohammad Rasoulof is currently banned from filmmaking in Iran and breaking the film into shorts made it easier to hide his name from the permits and delegate. However, breaking the film up into four sections also helps to expand the perspective of the film. Instead of focusing on one family in one singular feature, the four parts show the range of people and lives the death penalty affects. We see those who resist and those that follow the law, as well as family members and friends who can’t escape it. It shows that everyone can be implicated.

Whilst it shows people from both sides, the film appears to favor those who resist. This is shown in the openness of the worlds in each short, especially when comparing the first short to the last. In the first, we follow a father governed by his routines. He follows rules and chastises his wife for forgetting to do things by the book. Despite being free to go wherever he wants, his world feels narrow and restricted. A lot of the time he’s inside either a car stuck in traffic, or in buildings, and he works in a windowless room far underground in artificial light. So whilst he’s not an outcast to society, his world feels limited and bleak. In contrast, the outcast in part four has escaped from Iranian society. He’s been forced to live off the land far from civilization because he resisted. But his world also feels more free for it. His story is full of natural light and wide expansive shots of the landscape. His world feels more free despite his political status because he stood up for what he believed in. His spiritual freedom is reflected in his bright world. In him, the director shows he favors those who resist.


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Nasir

This film portrays a day in the life of Nasir, a Muslim tailor in Tamil-Nadu, one of India’s Southern states. It doesn’t shy away from the mundane, as it takes time to show Nasir go about his everyday tasks. We see him wash, eat, sleep, chat, and work. The aim is to portray Nasir as an ordinary Indian man. Just like everyone else, he’s burdened by life’s necessities.

The only thing that might stand out about him is that he’s a bit of a poet. He makes up poetry in his head and recites it to his colleagues and is shot walking around with his inner thoughts voiced over in the narrative. There’s also a few long takes of Nasir’s face in close up as he’s resting by an aquarium. These long takes force us to notice him thinking or day dreaming, to add a thoughtfulness to his character. It further adds to the construction of Nasir as an ordinary nice guy, humbly living his life.

The director sets up Nasir’s humble life to contrast with the threatening rise of Hindu nationalism in the background. It’s first heard on the market loudspeakers when Nasir walks his wife to the bus station. Then we hear his boss talking about the upcoming Hindu festival and how they need to get rid of the Muslims. It’s clear the Islamophobic sentiment is getting stronger and becoming more outspoken. Nasir seems to be oblivious of this, partly because the director protects him from it with a much narrower aspect ratio than your standard widescreen. It keeps him and his humble life as the focus and keeps the threatening presence of Hindu nationalism out of the screen.

Nasir is a humble look at one person trying to live a humble life amidst rising nationalism.


Head to our AFI Fest Hub for more reviews and short films from AFI Fest 2020.

I Carry You With Me

I Carry You With Me is an epic cross generational, border crossing love story that hops between Puebla in Mexico and New York in the USA. It’s shot across three time periods: the present in NY, the past in Puebla, and the distant past reflected in childhood memories. The majority of the film takes place in the middle where Ivan and Gerardo meet. It contains the bulk of the film’s emotion and narrative. However, the cuts to the present imbue it with nostalgia by situating it in the past. It makes it feel like a dream period for the couple that contrasts with the uncertainty of their lives in the present.

The style also contributes to the dream like qualities of the middle period. Like Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood for Love, Heidi Ewing uses a lot of color filters to imbue warmth and feeling to I Carry You With Me. Instead of warm reds and oranges, there’s greens, oranges, and blues that create a world that feels unique and special. It captures the excitement of their romance. Also like In The Mood for Love, there’s food. A plate of Chile en Nogada replaces a bowl of hot steaming noodles. Chile en Nogada being one of Puebla and Mexico’s most iconic dishes and one that is notoriously hard to make. It both situates their romance and symbolizes their love.

The portrayal of Puebla also challenges the typical American Dream narrative presented in U.S.-Mexico films. It depicts a Mexican city full of warmth, beauty, and life to contrast with the lonely, bleak, coldness of New York. In this film, the U.S. is not the land of opportunity that it is often depicted to be. Instead of leaving to escape poverty, they leave for the opportunity to start a new life.

I Carry You With Me is not without it’s own cliches. There’s the gay guy with the female best friend and another who’s best friend is a flamboyant drag queen. Then there’s the haunting memories of the first time their fiercely patriarchal families put them down. Obviously not all families in Mexico are like this, and whilst I don’t doubt these events happened to the real Ivan and Gerardo, they feel like exploitative throw in scenes designed to evoke sympathy and emotion. However, despite the cliches,I Carry You With Me is a brilliantly romantic portrayal of generation and border crossing love.


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My Little Sister

My Little Sister starts with two protagonists: Lisa and Sven. They’re twins, and evidently very close. Even when they’re shot apart, as in the opening scene, they’re still connected – it’s a shot of Lisa giving blood followed by a shot of Sven sleeping alone in a sanitized hospital room. She’s giving her blood to help him fight cancer.

Over the first half of the movie, the camera follows Lisa and Sven equally. However, the narrative balance between them becomes more lopsided as the film progresses. Coinciding with Sven’s deteriorating health, Lisa takes up more and more screen time. The movie becomes less about how Sven copes with cancer and more about how Lisa deals with it. Whilst it confirms his physical end, her assumption of the film’s focus also represents her inheriting Sven’s spirit. She takes on Sven’s stage presence (he was known for being a charismatic stage actor) and assumes some of his characteristics. She becomes more independent and creative than she appears at the beginning of the film.

One example of Lisa’s change is in her marital relationship. After she takes Sven abroad to her home in Switzerland, she starts questioning her life with her husband Martin. He’s a symbol of the soft patriarchy that has frozen her in a place she doesn’t want to be. She has compromised her creative career to move to a remote Swiss town for his advancement, but got no support in return. Instead of considering a return to Berlin with Lisa, Martin mansplains that living as a housewife abroad is in Lisa’s best interests. Her role for him is to fulfill his ‘happy family’ image at work functions. Lisa’s revolt against his soft patriarchy is triggered by the arrival of Sven. He’s a reminder of her previous ambitions that have been forgotten in her nuclear family life abroad.

There’s no doubt that My Little Sister is a sad family drama. The only respite seems to come from the classical opera music that replaces diegetic sound in and following the most hopeless scenes. However, looking at it positively, we follow a character that inherits the freedom to become a more independent character. So if you can brave a film featuring an intimate relationship with a relative fighting cancer, you’ll be able to appreciate My Little Sister.


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The Intruder

The Intruder does a lot in the opening 15 minutes. It develops the character of Ines rapidly to set the tone for the rest of the movie. We see that she works as a voice actor helping to dub foreign movies and is a part time chorister. We also find out that she has a lot of nightmares and is terrified of a lot of things such as planes and bats. There’s also her annoying boyfriend who helps to define her as the more grounded and normal of the two. All of this is crammed into the opening without feeling rushed, so when a catastrophe happens, we’re already familiar with Ines and her world.

This opening gives us a grasp of what’s normal for Ines. So, after her traumatic event, we can see that her life seemingly returns to normal. She’s back in the recording studio doing dub tracks and she’s back singing with her choir. The only things that change are her voice and a rise in the number of her dreams. But neither thing feels that alarming or unusual at first. Plus, it’s at this point that her mum shows up to help her recover from her trauma and a organist appears to rekindle her love life. They both help to enforce the normalcy of Ines’ life by appearing in the mundanity of it. But something just doesn’t feel quite right. Her life feels a bit like uncanny valley.

The director, Natalia Meta uses Ines’ dreams to establish the dream world as another place that exists beside Ines’ reality. It’s so close to her reality that we slip between the two with ease. The transition between the two worlds are aided by the darkness of Ines’ life. She moves from her dark apartment to the dark studio recording rooms and artificially lit choir hall and is never spotted in daylight. As she’s inside for most of the film, it’s hard to know what time of day it is at any point. As a result, we lose track of time, and with it our hold on reality. It’s hard to pinpoint when she’s dreaming or awake. The darkness facilitates the creation of Ines’ dream world and it’s merging with her everyday reality.


Head to our AFI Fest Hub for more reviews and short films from AFI Fest 2020.