Siberia (2020) (Review) - London Film Festival

 

Marmite cinema has always inspired some of the most heated discussions amongst the film community and Siberia, the latest film from Abel Ferrara, will undoubtedly be the next film to underdo scrutiny from both sides. Ferrara is no stranger to this dichotomy, creating some of the medium's most provocative work to date. Unfortunately for me, and everyone else who values basic storytelling and a glimmer of realism to their films, Siberia is 92 of the most infuriating minutes of cinema in quite some time.

Infamous for his provocative contributions to cinema, Ferrara reunites with Willem Dafoe for their sixth collaboration to date. Co-written with Chris ZoisSiberia is an exasperatingly nonsensical picture that rejects normal filmmaking practises for something increasingly impenetrable and dumbfounding.  A plot involving hallucinations, dog-sledging and a cave that somehow allows Dafoe's Clint to confront his dream and memories, Siberia feels like the results of the drug-induced ramblings of a man who let his pen hit the paper, refused to stop, and then made whatever nonsense came out - and most of it is truly dire.

Dafoe has always been a compelling screen presence but even he becomes lost in the escalating chaos that swallows this film whole. He's tumbled through the tonally jarring plot that seeks to shock and discomfort above anything that could have delivered something worthwhile or even enjoyable from audiences, showcasing his ability to stretch himself but never really allowing us to connect with Clint in any way, unable to ground the madness that engulfs him. 

There's only so far lovely cinematography and sophisticated visuals can carry a film and this incoherent mumblefest is beyond salvageable. Siberia will delight as many people as it infuriates, its smorgasbord of weirdness compelling to those able to appreciate the abstract, but completely infuriating and - perhaps even more damning - utterly boring to the rest of us. If Ferrara and Dafoe continue collaborating, consider me not only uninterested but actively avoiding future efforts.