Planet of Snail

“In the beginning there was darkness and silence, and the darkness and silence were with god. And when I arrived, they came to me.” So speaks Young-Chan, who has been deaf-blind since childhood. He occupies the ‘planet of snail’ where touch has replaced his missing senses. Along with his wife, Soon-Ho, he moves through the world at his own gentle pace, relying on his sense of touch and his wife’s love and care to get by. This amazingly tender documentary tells their tale.

Young-Chan and Soon-Ho are the most wonderful screen couple you could possibly imagine. Soon-Ho has her own disability and is barely waist high to her husband – a real problem when it comes to changing a light bulb. An early scene sees the pair do exactly that, working together to conquer their many impediments in a beautiful ballet of movement, communication and patient understanding. Their task is complicated by Young-Chan’s needing to reach his hands up to the bulb – for his hands are his chief means of communication.

Sign-language is no use to a deaf man who cannot see. Instead, Soon-Ho spells words out on the backs of his hands, tapping her fingers lightly over his in an intimate form of Braille. In this way, these two seemingly incomplete people become whole, accomplishing tasks which would otherwise be beyond them: learning Hebrew, writing and directing a play and sledging down a slope on inflated inner tubes.

Young-Chan’s sense of awe at the world’s beauty is transmitted elegantly through his dreamily poetic voiceover, but words are not that important here. Instead, his tactile engagement with trees, sand and, hilariously, fir cones reminds us that there are many things we take for granted. Sometimes, it takes someone like Young-Chan to remind us how lucky we are.

Planet of Snail can be streamed for £2.99 at www.dogwoof.com or from iTunes.

The Imposter

The rise of the documentary continues apace, with increasing numbers of factual films securing cinema releases. Outstanding distribution companies like Dogwoof continue to promote excellent films from across the world, British successes like Senna have drawn huge audiences and now, with a truly remarkable piece of work, Bart Layton has presented audiences with a story which truly is stranger than fiction. This true tale of deceit, mistaken identity and trickery could never have been made as traditional narrative cinema for one simple reason: the story is too far-fetched for an audience to buy it.

In 1994, a blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy of thirteen disappeared from San Antonio, Texas. He was Nicholas Barclay, who vanished without a trace on his way home from basketball practice. Astonishingly, more than three years later Spanish police in the small town of Linares reported that he had shown up there after a harrowing ordeal involving child abuse and paedophilia.

The sixteen year old child who returned from Spain was quite transformed from the one who had disappeared. But despite his dark hair, brown eyes and thick French accent, the Barclay family identified him as their own and took him into their home. Eventually, after five months, the mask slipped and ‘Nicholas’ was revealed to be an imposter: a 23 year old French Algerian who had spent his adolescence impersonating abandoned teenagers in order to milk the kindness of strangers – and the benefits system.

The imposter is the charismatic Frederick Bourdin – a man desperately in need of an identity who takes advantage of a series of extraordinary coincidences to dupe his way into the United States. But how could anyone fall for such a story? The simple answer is... they didn’t. Eventually Bourdin’s story begins to collapse under its own weight as he adds layer upon layer of deceit to his already tall tale. Soon he’s being investigated by the FBI – and a dogged Private Investigator named Charlie Parker.

But whilst Bourdin’s motives are understandable, others are more difficult to read. Did the Barclay family really believe that he was there son? Or are they playing an active role in their own deception? The film’s second act is devoted to uncovering the truths behind the lies – and Bourdin plays only a minimal role.

The Imposter can rely on an intriguing and shocking narrative to hold the audience’s attention, but it’s also a brilliantly crafted film. The widescreen vistas of arid Texan landscapes are beautifully shot and the documentary is skilfully edited: match-on-action and reaction shots of Bourdin add startling weight and emotional heft to proceedings. Director Bart Layton could easily have rested on his laurels here, trusting his story to be the star. Instead, he has created a dense and rich documentary and character study which will leave audiences puzzling long after the credits have rolled...

Dreams Of A Life

In a world of social media, mobile phones and private lives made public, it’s difficult to imagine someone disappearing unnoticed. But as recently as 2003, this is exactly what happened to Joyce Vincent, a woman whose dead body was found slumped on her sofa in front of the television – a position she’d remained in for over three years. Somehow, her death had escaped the notice of friends, family and the authorities until the grim day that Haringey Council officials broke down her door to investigate her rent arrears.

Having remained undiscovered for so long, it was impossible to determine the cause of Vincent’s death. It seems likely that she died of natural causes, but having spent time in a woman’s refuge it’s impossible to rule out foul play or suicide. Whatever the cause of her death, what is more troubling is that her demise raised no alarms. In Dreams of a Life, film-maker Carol Morley attempts to reconstruct Vincent’s life from the fragments of evidence which remain.

Taking a very traditional documentary form (talking heads, reconstructions and photographs), Morley weaves together an intriguing, dreamlike film. Her strength is in capturing the bewilderment of her subjects: those who knew Vincent are filmed at the points when they learned of their former friend’s tragic fate. Their emotions are impossible to conceal: disbelief and torment writ large across their faces. It’s a very effective method, ensuring their reactions and genuine and unrehearsed.

Former lovers, friends and colleagues are captured on camera, inter-cut with wordless re-enactments of scenes from Vincent’s life. They’re dreamy and wistful, with Zawe Ashton a striking presence in her role as Vincent. Watching the film in 2012, it’s impossible to comprehend that such a bright and vibrant young woman could simply have disappeared from public life. But her rootless and flighty nature, coupled with an abusive past conspired to create a character deeply flawed beneath her beautiful exterior.

There are no villains in this story, just hints at figures who carelessly used Vincent, a society which failed to care and a welfare state which overlooked her. It’s a deeply moving and thought provoking film which poses far more questions than can ever hope to be answer. In our busy, virtual lives it’s easy to forget how important genuine human contact is. Dreams of a Life reminds us.