Brutalia: Days of Labour chronicles a dystopian society based on the hierarchical structure of bees. A documentary-style voiceover produces levity against the images of hard labor performed by the worker bees, women dressed in brown fatigues and wearing similar black wigs with bangs. The narration describes literal bee anatomy and activity, while the images suggest training or internment camps.

The movie continues juggling these uneasy and playful moods as we meet the drones, the rather useless men of the colony who wait around hoping to one day mate with the queen. Like all dystopias, Brutalia: Days of Labour reflects on our contemporary society, questioning hive mentality, while possibly offering a solution.

With its dark humor, Brutalia: Days of Labour feels unsettling like Brazil (1985) did when I first saw it as a kid. The film lands somewhere between Peter Greenaway's and Terry Gilliam’s work, not as dry as the former and without tipping into the zaniness of the latter.

(Shown at Film Maudit 2.0 as a double feature with Zeria.)

As the reviews continue from the Film Maudit 2.0 festival, you’ll see I’m a sucker for puppets. The variety of puppetry on offer in their curations is why I was initially interested in the festival.

Écorchée (Skinned) features conjoined twins who live near a river in which a small, empty boat occasionally floats by. The larger sister, covered in fluffy skin, continually hungers for the rabbits that they raise for food and fur. After dinner, she dances with her twin every night before passing out. The smaller sister, who lacks skin, yearnfully watches the boat as it passes knowing that her twin, happy with their routine, will never risk that boat ride. Since the sisters share a leg, the smaller one seems stuck in place, until she starts eyeing the scissors her sibling uses for sewing rabbit pelts.

The film is gloriously stop-motion animated, using many textures of yarn and other fabrics. I’m as guilty as anyone for throwing around the term surreal, but Écorchée feels truly dreamlike. The repetitions of the characters, the actions of trying to go somewhere and not being able to move, or of somehow being yourself and another at the same time, are all frequent personal dream experiences. Écorchée ponders identity, especially how our criticisms of others are often criticisms of ourselves.

(Shown at Film Maudit 2.0 as a double feature with Wild Bones.)