In slice-of-life films, half the battle is capturing a realistic setting and populating an often moderately financed project with actors who can bring presence and verisimilitude to the table. Success beyond that can be gauged by how much we learn about the characters, satisfying all that stirred-up, voyeuristic curiosity. Wim Wenders’ Perfect Days is an exquisite example of this.
Paradise Is Burning is an astonishingly rich, fiction feature debut from Sweden’s Mika Gustafson. It shares the vibes of Sean Baker’s The Florida Project in the way it movingly blurs the already sketchy line between the innocence of childhood and the world weariness of being an adult. It’s scrappy, surprisingly warm and features supernaturally good performances, both tough and vulnerable, magically coaxed out of all the young actors. This part of the winning formula is so strong that this exploration of femininity and family often reaches soaring heights, but a lack of character development and an abundance of ambiguity also weakens its subtle power.
The story revolves around three sisters: 16-year-old Laura (Bianca Delbravo), 12-year-old Mira (Dilvin Asaad) and 7-year-old Steffi (Safira Mossberg). They live without any kind of parental supervision in a working-class Swedish suburb. Every adult in the neighborhood seems to be going along with this dubious scenario with a sympathetic, unspoken understanding. The only real threat, as they’ve got stealing food and wrangling clothes down to a science, comes from social services. Officials have been put off for a while by the kids but are now closing in.
With its thoughtfully observant handheld camera gently peeking around naturally lit corners, this film focuses on where these three girls are in their journey as children. Laura, the oldest, likes to break into houses and pretend she lives in them. She’s struck up a friendship with an older woman who seems to have everything but is also strangely drawn to this feral teenager and all the illegal fun she seems to be having. Mira, the middle child, is stepping into adolescence and inexplicably trying to help the town drunk secure a win in an upcoming karaoke contest. Steffi, the youngest, is a wild child with a loose tooth who befriends a peer equally untethered by any sense of daily structure. Laura is on the verge of succumbing to the pressures of being the oldest, Mira is questioning all the authority her older sister wields, and Steffi is sick of being the helpless one.
It seems to be a world devoid of parents. Not in a surreal, alternate universe kind of way, but as if this reality is both common and mundane. The few adults we do see are not connected to these kids, or at the very least very reluctant to take any responsibility for them. The adults seem quite wayward themselves, as if they were also raised without any kind of proper guardianship.
This is all assumed, as nothing is ever explained. We don’t find out why the main characters’ parents are missing. We never even find out if social services does indeed come to check on them, even though that possibility is presented as a ticking clock fairly early on. Everything we do know about the three main girls we know right away, and it never seems to waver. As a result, even though the performances are indelible, and the matrix of history between characters in the town feels truly vivid, there is little to no major catharsis, as nothing ever really changes.
The one enduring, impactful refrain is a ceremonial ritual the local kids celebrate up on a hill whenever it’s time to mark a childhood milestone. Instead of a wholesome scene around a birthday cake, this is primal – Mira gargling red wine through gritted teeth after getting her period; Steffi swallowing her own recently freed tooth with a shot of liquor. Only these scenes are accompanied by music. The shots are also in slow motion and exhibit utter abandon. These fleeting moments offer poignant, revealing glimpses into what there is of a message. Without parents, things tend to go Lord of the Flies. The question is whether this is a good or bad thing. Maybe kids should be more resourceful. But throughout the film it’s evident these kids may be surviving but they’re definitely not thriving. The bad haircuts, the Pop-Tart-looking monstrosities and expired fish sticks they’re eating, the imagery of stray dogs, wild animals and constant injuries – these elements shout loud and clear: These kids deserve so much better.
Photo courtesy of Room 8 Films
The post Paradise Is Burning appeared first on Spectrum Culture.