‘100 Seasons’: Transilvania Review

Dir:  Giovanni Bucchieri. Sweden. 2023. 104mins

Filmmaking is both a defiant creative act and an unflinching therapy session in 100 Seasons, the auto fiction debut feature of dancer/musician Giovanni Bucchieri which scrutinises the Fellini-esque carnival of his current life and the contrasts found in extensive home movies capturing a cherished first love. The possibility of self-indulgence looms large but is mostly avoided due to the heartfelt emotions and sincerity of a story which offers poignant reflections on the unpredictability of life, the passage of time and the power of love. A special mention at the Transylvania Film Festival is the latest recognition for a film that should continue to enjoy an extensive festival run. 

Ambitious, playful, deeply personal filmmaking that touches on universal emotions

Bucchieri begins by establishing the glories of his days as a performer with the Royal Swedish Ballet, with a recording of a performance marked by his energy and daring. The contrast comes as Bucchieri, now in his late 40s, twirls and stumbles around a cluttered apartment trying to replicate what once seemed so effortless. There is almost a Norma Desmond quality as he is enthralled by the images of his younger self projected onto a white sheet casually strung from the wall. The room is a shrine, and such poignant juxtapositions are at the heart of a film layered with meeting points between the past and the present.

The film does not shy away from an honest-seeming account of how Bucchieri lives now. Popping pills to regulate his bipolar disorder, curled up on the sofa and talking to himself in mirrors, he seems isolated and vulnerable. He is a very different person to the handsome young man in old home movies who confidently declares that he is never going to die. One aspect of the story is the way Bucchieri grabs at the lifeline of an offer of work. The possibility of a music gig offered by an old friend has him fired up and embarking on a fitness regime. It also provokes the decision to dispense with his medications, leading to increasingly manic episodes.

Whilst Bucchieri embraces hope, we learn more of Louise, his fellow dancer and sweetheart 25 years earlier. Decades after her dancing career and life with Bucchieri,  she is now a successful  theatre director, rehearsing a bold version of ’Romeo And Juliet’ that has placed her in continual conflict with a mutinous cast. At home, there is also conflict with her teenage daughter. We never learn why Bucchieri and Peterhoff grew apart, but there is a loneliness in her life that matches the emptiness that Bucchieri feels.

At its best, 100 Seasons is about trying to understand how we become the people we are. The home movies with Bucchieri and Peterhoff are suffused with a sense of youthful exuberance, giddy romance and a feeling of invincibility. They are deftly edited and shrewdly deployed throughout the narrative that Bucchieri and Peterhoff have constructed about a melancholy search for lost times and a belief in the concept of soulmates.

Bucchieri is, however, often guilty of giving himself a little too much rope. At his most manic, he struts the streets, dressed as Michael Jackson, performing Jackson’s trademark gyrations and moonwalk for the delight of a growing crowd. He then strips naked, and what once seemed charmingly eccentric becomes alarming. Later scenes in which Bucchieri and Peterhoff are reunited take the form of a French period drama. “Why does everything have to be so dramatic with you?” she asks in exasperation.

The pair play versions of themselves that are touching, and Peterhoff is such a fierce, compelling performer that you could watch an entire film about her ‘character’ and her side of this story. There are some lovely moments with Karin Bertling, who plays Bucchieri’s elderly friend Anita; a woman he surprises with an 85th birthday present of a Roberto Cavalli dress and a champagne breakfast.

100 Seasons often feels quite random and indulgent but succeeds as ambitious, playful, deeply personal filmmaking that touches on universal emotions. When Bucchieri wistfully sings ’Everything’s Gonna Be Alright’, you want to believe him.