Mark Reviews Movies: APPLES

Apples, Cohen Media Group

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Review by Mark Dujsik | June 23, 2022

A pandemic is occurring in the world of Apples. There is no indication of how the affliction is spread. There is no cure for it. People do not suffer any obvious physical effects from whatever this disease or contagion might be. They do not become sick and die on account of it. Whatever is spreading, it causes amnesia, leaving those affected without any memory of who they are, what they do, whom they know, and knowledge of even basic things and activities.

All of this is established quickly and without much detail in co-writer/director Christos Nikou's film, his debut feature, which bypasses a sense of societal decay and disarray for a more intimate story. The only signs that some bigger, mysterious event is happening here come from the news on the radio, which speaks of the disease spreading enough that hospitals have started a new program to help the afflicted, and one scene of a man who causes a bit of traffic jam. He was driving down a narrow road when he lost his memory, so now, he just sits on the sidewalk, unaware that he has gotten out of his car, that the abandoned vehicle is his, and, for that matter, how to drive in the first place.

Otherwise, Nikou and Stavros Raptis' screenplay follows one man, dealing with the fallout of losing his memory. That's how it seems at first, at least, and as we observe Aris (Aris Servetalis)—as the credits refer to this man, despite the fact that we never learn his name—go through that program to ease people back into some kind of life, it gradually and, then, suddenly becomes clear that there's an entirely different story being told here.

Aris lives in an apartment in Athens, and an opening montage of seemingly conflicting images of the space are brief, unhelpful, and slightly confounding. That's the point. We see a mess in the living room, which suggests an untidy person occupying the apartment. Then, though, we also get a close-up of a woman's dress, hanging just so on a closet door, which contradicts that initial impression. As for Aris, he is banging his head against a wall upon his introduction, before sitting in silence on the bed with that dress just hanging there, waiting for someone or left behind or for some other reason.

Aris leaves his apartment. He pets the dog of a neighbor, who has just returned from walking it, and greets the canine by its name. Still walking, he passes that man who lost his memory while driving and stops to buy some flowers, and that is the full extent of what we learn about this man, his routines (if these even are his daily habits), and his life.

It's nothing, really, and that is both part of the mystery here and, in a way that only becomes clear much later, the entire point of this man's existence. Nikou's filmmaking is admirably subtle in this particular way—how it reveals so much information without giving away just how much is actually being revealed or how vital it is to our understanding.

Later that night, Aris is awoken on a bus that has reached the end of the line. He doesn't remember at which stop he was supposed depart or even his name. The driver calls for an ambulance, and at the hospital, the staff, dealing with a long line of people in a similar state, find a wallet on him only containing cash—no form of identification.

That eventually lands him in that new program, which tries to get amnesic people to begin a life, with new experiences and memories. Giving him an apartment, a pair of doctors (played by Anna Kalaitzidou and Argyris Bakirtzis) send Aris cassette tapes with instructions of tasks to accomplish—tasks that will give him a decent start to living again. They include things like riding a bike, driving a car, receiving a private dance at a strip club, going to the movies, attending a party, and otherwise trying to once again become part of society.

The rest of the story amounts to Aris doing those doctor-prescribed chores, which possess touches of both the absurd (Aris is also assigned to take a photo of him doing these things, which leads to an awkward moment with that dancer in the back room) and the melancholy. Much of the latter quality can be attributed directly to Servetalis, whose performance as the mostly reserved man of unknown and seemingly unknowable characteristics possesses a constant aura of just noticeable sorrow. At first, we might believe it has to do with Aris' situation—the curse of not knowing and remembering. Just as there are hints that this man's situation might not be as straightforward as the story's central gimmick presents, Servetalis offers his own variation of those clues in how, when, and why that sadness strikes this character the most.

Aris gets a partner in his tasks, too. She's Anna (Sofia Georgovassili), who's also part of the program and catches Aris' attention at the movies. They team up on occasion, and Georgovassili's blissful ignorance serves as fine counterpoint to Aris' mood, giving us a better understanding that there is definitely something different about our protagonist.

The specifics of that difference, obviously, won't be revealed here (There's a real boldness in how quick and mundane the scenario of its actual revelation is), but Nikou isn't exactly hiding it, either. We can figure it out by way of clues and the general feeling of Aris' disconnect from almost everything around him, just as Apples digs into the despairing idea that the only curse worse than forgetting might be remembering.

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