Télérama, october 13 2007
You may have walked past her in a corridor in the Paris métro.
Eastern European accent, a scarf over her hair, Stella is a beggar
at the Oberkampf station. In the evening, stooped and exhausted,
she trudges back toward her suburban shantytown, the caravan-hut
under a bridge between the railroad tracks and the motorway, in
which she lives with her husband Marcel and sister Gabi. Stella
came from Romania to get medical care for Marcel in France. Today,
Marcel is better - but now Stella is exhausted. She feels worn
out, has stopped hoping for a better future in France where, as
an illegal immigrant, she is “poorer and more miserable than in
Romania.” These snapshots of everyday life are presented free
of commentary, and Vanina Vignal gives us a very concrete experience
of an immigrant woman’s clandestine and precarious life - the
morning wash from a bucket, the laundry hung out over a dump,
the rough shantytown life. But also sewing sessions with girlfriends,
a quick brushing of hair in front of a mirror, bursts of laughter
in French classes… Gradually, through her sympathetic presence
and the trust she gains, the director succeeds in broadening the
scope of her documentary, which becomes an impressionist film
and goes beyond the simple observation of the condition of the
marginalized foreigner. For Stella is also the portrait of a woman;
an ordinary woman who dreams, sighs, hopes. “Stelutsa,” as Marcel
fondly calls her, is a lover with teenage passion, ready to sacrifice
everything for her man. It is also the story of a Romanian woman
disorientated by the fall of communism, though she hasn’t forgotten
the horrors of the Ceaucescu era. The fate of a stranded factory
worker who regrets her old life and job, even though it cost her
a finger. It is impossible not to become fond of Stella, so tired
yet so intense. Just as it is impossible, after seeing the film,
not to look at the anonymous figures in the métro with a different
perspective. Virginie Félix
Il était une fois le cinéma
The vocation of the documentaries shown during the Cinéma
du Réel festival is not only televisual, inasmuch as they
do not necessarily fit easily into programming standards, either
through their form or content. And so these films have their right
place in cinemas.
Today, “Stella” by Vanina Vignal. The eponymous character
is without working papers, has come from Romania to treat her
husband’s ill health, becoming ill herself whilst in France,
living in a shantytown squeezed between the motorway and a railway
line. She begs in Paris in order to survive, something she never
had to do in her own country. She’s waiting to finally go
home.
What is striking about this film is that it manages to see beyond
the misery, without making it its main subject but rather a circumstance
caught up in a singular fate, trying to humbly dissect the particular
circumstances. The style of writing and editing works by withholding
information: we are kept in suspense throughout the film, yet
we don’t feel frustrated as we become attached to this humane
adventure. The camera always stays at the right distance, respecting
Stella’s strength and dignity, a sad but noble strength.
A film without intentions and yet implicated (the director follows
her hero’s return journey home via a smuggler), Stella manages
to put into perspective prejudiced views and comments surrounding
a populace we know little about. François-Joseph Botbol (iletaitunefoislecinema.com)
Bonjour Bobigny
Stella begs in the Parisian metro in order to survive. In the
evening, this Romanian goes back to a Plain-Saint-Denis shantytown,
on the outskirts of Paris. Stella’s words, hopes, smiles
and combat to treat her sick husband... Vanina Vignal filmed them
all. This is a humble first documentary with the director sketching
the portrait of a strong yet fragile woman.
Supported by Bobigny during Périphérie’s structure
“Film-makers in Residence”, Stella begins her adventure
on the cinema screen with the Cinéma du Réel festival. Mariam Diop
