AFI Fest Review: Fish & Cat

There's been a lot of buzz this year about the trick cinematography of Birdman, which makes the film appear as though the bulk of it were shot in a single take.  But Fish & Cat is a film that, like Russian Ark before it, is filmed as one long take, and considering that the film clocks in at more than two hours, the emphasis is on "long."

Iranian writer-director Shahram Mokri has made a film that is almost impossible to describe, at least well.  A group of kite-flying twenty-somethings set up camp around a lake, which also serves as home to a restaurant where human meat is on the menu, a common occurence according to the film's beginning title card.  The premise soudns like the basis for a juicy slasher, but Fish & Cat is anything but.  It's a meditative, meandering curio that makes us prisoners of the camera, and time, never showing us what we want to see, or what we think we deserve to see as movie-viewers.

The camera is almost always on the move, following characters through the woods, around the lake, or into tents.  With how much time we spend following behind characters walking to their next destination, the film's construction sometimes feels like a frustrating gimmick: why can't we cut and get to the next meaningful scene?  Fish & Cat tests the patience of its viewers, though it actually flies by, mostly because of the expectation of tension that never comes.

Mokri's daring technical "limitation" actually gives birth to an exciting new manipulation of time.  One would expect Fish & Cat to unfold in chronological order, and for blanks to be left as we jump from one character to another.  But Mokri's careful choreography rumples the film's chronology, actually incorporating flashbacks into its single take.  All of a sudden, the camera will arrive at a point where we've been before, and the lines will be familiar, and there we are, watching the same scene again.  Then, when the characters part, we go a different way, eager readers turning back the pages in a Choose Your Own Adventure Book to see what would've happened if we had chosen a different path.

Aside from its impressive staging, Fish & Cat can be a grating affair to sit through.  Ponderous voice-over provides moments of challenging intellect, but they are mere episodes in a larger test of viewer willpower.  Mentions of supernatural activity and bloody bags of remains signal horrific things to come, but the horror never comes, at least not in the way we want (or expect).  Perhaps the film, is part, a rebuke to American cinematic bloodlust, or a coutnerargument to the strengths of classical filmmaking.  Perhaps it really is just the desire of the cast and crew to see if they could actually pull it off, and they do.

There are certainly engaging moments and images in the film.  Even with the restless camera, there are come compositions that are especially striking, usually when the camera pulls close to one of its characters.  The acting is natural, sometimes stilted in its non-action.  And the script includes some surprisingly funny exchanges, such as when one of the restaurant owners lures an attractive female camper to accompany him deep into the woods, one of the film's most memorable scenes.  Watching Fish & Cat is akin to watching a pack of hungry animals circling their prey, trying to single one out to slaughter.  But in this case, the payoff isn't what we expect; we hear a song, not a scream.

Strangest of all: I'd like to see it again.