Side Shots Film Blog

Our City Dreams Really Can Come True, Right?

2009-10-23T08:54:00.000-07:00

Our City Dreams opens with an epigraph by Susan Sontag, a reasonably reliable authority on the female artistic experience: “I was not looking for my dreams to interpret my life, but rather for my life to interpret my dreams.” This whimsical sentiment is an appropriate indication of the documentary’s insistence that dreams can come true for contemporary female artists in New York City. The documentary, produced and directed by Chiara Clemente, is the latest in that filmmaker’s string of projects designed to examine the experience of being an artist. It profiles five women who represent diverse heritages, nationalities, and artistic mediums, but who share a current home address in New York City. Each boasts a unique degree of commercial success, but all enjoy a thriving professional career. Some play the role of up-and-coming trend-setters (i.e. Swoon and Ghada Amer) while others represent staples of the urban avant-garde (i.e. Nancy Spero, Kiki Smith, and Marina Abramovic), but all are trained, driven, and well-versed in the politics of making and selling art.

Clemente uses few flourishes, relying mainly on detailed images of the artists at work and of their most recent gallery openings to portray her subjects. There are no flashy graphics or didactic narration, only a simple, rhythmic soundtrack and a few brief journeys to exotic locales. As the artists chat with the interviewer during casual moments of artistic inspiration, the expected questions concerning family and motherhood are addressed in an unsentimental manner. Apprehensions about how each woman’s art is perceived (the value or burden of its institutional acceptance, its degree of contemporary relevance) emerge as more pressing preoccupations to both the artists and the audience, especially as Clemente traces the preparation of each woman’s landmark exhibition or performance.

While the film is certainly not lacking in thematic continuity, it does fall somewhat short of thoroughly exploring the ways in which each vignette speaks to the others. It’s edited so that each artist’s portrait stands alone, tucked neatly between the portraits that precede and follow it. Consequently, the documentary, as a whole, suffers from a lack of dynamism and of flow between ideas.

With the possible exception of Nancy Spero, who was forced to confront her colleagues’ fear of feminism in the 1960s, the film offers surprisingly little sense of artistic struggle. Its subjects are either at the top of their professional game or are enjoying renewed industry interest in their work. None seems to recall any great difficulty in the process of becoming an artist. I don’t refer exclusively to difficulties based on gender—the artists don’t discuss any major difficulties at all. Swoon, for example, catapults from child prodigy in her home town to selling six pieces to MoMA by the age of 30. The film glosses over the tough bits in between, highlighting images of Swoon crowd surfing at her solo show and frolicking with friends during the playful construction of her Mississippi River float. It almost seems as though interview questions aimed at exposing discrimination or disadvantage associated with being a female artist backfire as the five confident, well-established women acknowledge their gender as a fruitful element of their professional experience.

Where is the conflict? Where is the redemptive sense of overcoming we so expect from a documentary about successful minorities? Why do all these artists seem so well adjusted? As reassuring as this scenario is politically, it makes for rather flat cinema. Yes, it is lovely and inspiring to watch talented women engrossed in their craft. Yes, this film creates a positive image of the direction in which female art and artists are moving. But how does this reflect modern realities about the life of a New York City artist? Our City Dreams is about women who, to some extent, have already fulfilled them. After all, each artist is filmed at either her first or her latest high profile solo show. It is a very heartwarming, but exceedingly optimistic picture of what dreams can become in a city with millions of artists competing for a place in the public imagination.

Jazz Night 2009

2009-10-08T14:18:00.000-07:00

On behalf of Denise Louie Education Center and the Jazz Night Committee, we would like to thank our sponsors, donors, table captains, and attendees. It was a very successful event with over 320 guests in attendance. Everyone’s support and contribution was an important part of our success of earning over $84,000 this year, which benefits the children and families of Denise Louie Education Center.

Our following sponsors:
Boeing
Seattle Goodwill
Committee for Children
KeyBank Foundation
Washington Education Association
Puget Sound Energy
Seattle Children’s
Washington Dental Service Foundation
K&L Gates
Foundation for Early Learning
The Muckleshoot Indian Tribe

For photos, please go to: http://www.flickr.com/photos/43103867@N02/ or http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=34391&id=1067613145&l=11eb9520a2

Thank you again and we hope to see you at 2010 Jazz Night!

Macky Alston's "The Killer Within"

2009-09-14T20:30:00.000-07:00

Macky Alston's documentary "The Killer Within" is an unflinching exploration into the nature of guilt, told from the perspective of one man who must reveal a terrible secret to family, friends and colleagues in hopes of exonerating himself once and for all in the eyes of the world.

Bob and Bev Bechtel couldn't look more ordinary if they tried. Bob is a psychology professor at the University of Arizona and Bev is his wife. They've been happily married for many years and seem the picture of a contented and fulfilled partnership.

But Bob has a secret. And he's about to let the cat out of the bag.

In front of family and close friends (and Alston's camera), Bob reveals to his adoring family that, in 1955, he murdered a college classmate as a result of constant bullying. What follows is an honest, even-handed document of Bechtel's journey, most movingly through the eyes of his two adult daughters as they attempt to come to terms with their father's revelation.

Alston also gives screen time to the brother of the deceased classmate, John Strozier, who feels that Bechtel got off too easily in 1955 and wants him to answer for his actions on that fateful night in the Swarthmore College dorms. Bechtel leans heavily on Strozier's supposed bullying as the primary cause for his murderous action, blaming the deceased for stirring up a hornet's nest and absolving himself of any personal responsibility for what he ultimately did.

Alston refuses to make any judgments, preferring instead to let his camera tell Bechtel's story. In so doing, he creates a stark portrait of a man who may or may not have gotten away with murder, as well as the families who are left to pick up the pieces so many years after the act.

DVD Review: Know Your Mushrooms (2009 Sphynx Productions)

2009-08-14T15:21:00.000-07:00

Those expecting this documentary to be about the mind-expanding, space-travel inducing, true sacred portal to the gods types of mushrooms, you have to wait until the latter half of the film. The first part is about plain old yummy wild mushrooms, and the people who love them, hunt for them, and hold festivals in honor of them.

Written, produced and directed in whimsical fashion by Ron Mann (who includes several animated ‘shroom trivia questions, hosted by a small, bug-eyed pink mushroom), the film primarily is a documentary of the annual Telluride Mushroom Festival in Colorado. Our guides for this, er, trip, are Gary Lincoff and Larry Evans, edible fungus hunters, former (?) hippies, and general inner travelers. We follow them as they take festival goers on hunting ventures into the woods, cook their finds, and muse on the goodness of the fungi for everything from health to being the fuel for interstellar travel. Lincoff’s story of his first trip on the psilocybin variety is hilarious.

Other attendees are just as eccentric in their past and present mindsets, though there were more than a fair share of SUV-driving wannabes, who most likely cleared out when there was no expensive wine or celebrities hanging around.

Disembodied clips of John Cage and everyone’s favorite late ethnobotanist, Terrence McKenna, extol the possible origins of and primitive uses for the fungi: did speech develop from a really heavy dose? Did consciousness itself develop from a trip? Where mushrooms come from outer space, a sacred gift from the gods? How about this: John Allegro (who also appears in a bizarre clip), noted Dead Sea Scrolls scholar, write a book in the early 70s where he claimed that Jesus Christ WAS a mushroom, and that his followers tried to hide the secret of their holy stash by creating the story of Christ!

The Flaming Lips contribute some songs to the soundtrack, and are of course appropriate to the action. Other psych tunes as well keep things grooving, though this is mostly a talking head picture (no pun intended). In all the film is funny and kind, and is full of people you want to spend time with—well, maybe not the high 18 year old on the street talking slow and groovy like he was at Woodstock and not waiting for dad’s Lexus to swing by and get him after the trip to Whole Foods, but…

Know Your Mushrooms is a feel good movie, whether you are a daring foodie, a cosmic seeker, or one who wants to see aging hippies who didn’t either die, make bland corporate rock music, or sell out their hopeful, whimsical vision of how good the world can be.

The Wrestler: A Predictable Plot, Impressive Punch

2009-08-06T19:37:00.000-07:00

In Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler, the time-honored sports genre is reimagined, yielding a uniquely touching story about loneliness and second chances. The story is familiar, as are the friendly giants that represent the arguably outdated world of professional wrestling. It follows Randy “The Ram” Robinson (Mickey Rourke), a washed-up wrestler who peaked in the late ‘80s, but who keeps his passion for the sport alive by reviving “The Ram” at weekend matches. After suffering a heart attack, Randy is forced to give up the ring and decides to focus his attention on repairing his fractured personal life. The structure is predictable, but allows space for an unexpectedly careful, restrained depiction of life after fame.

Recreating the world of blue-collar middle America with highly-regarded Hollywood talent is no easy task, but the simplicity of Aronofsky’s dialogue and its rather dreary aesthetic make Randy’s world surprisingly believable. The first sequence borders on documentary as Randy is filmed making his way toward the exit of a neighborhood wrestling venue. His bleach-blonde locks pull the camera away from Randy’s face and give the distinct impression that the heroic athlete has more life behind him than he has ahead.

The great irony of this film is that it exploits the most artificial sport performed by the most physically artificial actor in Hollywood to achieve a rare level of sincerity. Fortunately, the effect is endearing. The sympathy with which Aronofsky traces his protagonist’s transformation doesn’t disguise Randy’s flaws, but celebrates his bond to the everyman.

One of the few ways in which the film falls short is in the unconvincing, yet admittedly moving relationship between Randy and his estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood). Randy’s attempt to repair their troubled relationship proves as predictable as it is sentimental in a film that prides itself on authenticity.

At its best, The Wrestler is a film about the desperate effort any great artist makes to escape the profound loneliness that accompanies a) his professional fall from grace, and b) the tediousness of an unfulfilling day job that leaves personalities as restless and robust as Randy’s wanting. The film reminds me in some ways of John Cassavettes’s intimate portrait of a mediocre strip club proprietor in The Killing of a Chinese Bookie. While The Wrestler is much cleaner and more conventional than most of Cassavettes’s work, both films are about the lengths to which men will go to defend their (rather unhealthy) dreams. They both portray extraordinarily passionate individuals and demonstrate the casual mercilessness with which artistic infatuation is fettered by practicality.

The film closes by capturing Randy at his most transcendent—bruised, bleeding, gasping for air as the evidence of his debilitating surgery glitters with perspiration. With his arms spread and his feet pressed together, Randy’s glorious final frame cannot help but recall Jesus. He’s kind, he’s misunderstood, and he makes the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of his loyal followers—the fans.

Mickey Rourke as a battler buying his time.

Book Review: The American International Pictures Video Guide by Gary A. Smith

2009-08-06T11:25:00.000-07:00

Shame on any film fan who doesn’t have a warm spot in their soul for AIP. American International Pictures was, if not consistently good, at least consistently inventive. From 1954 through the late 70s, the studio cranked out eccentric and sometimes brilliant B-movies, employing the likes of Roger Corman, Vincent Price, and Michael Landon, as well as then- youngsters Jack Nicholson, Bruce Dern and Diane Ladd. This motley crew, under the vision of producers James Nicholson and Samuel Arkoff, were responsible for some of AIP’s most famous genre movies, notably Edgar Allan Poe-related horror flicks, biker movies, and beach party extravaganzas. Its mix of camp and outrage has given us classics like I Was A Teenage Werewolf, The House on Haunted Hill, Satan’s Sadists, The Trip, The Pit & The Pendulum, The Amazing Colossal Man, The Brain That Wouldn’t Die, among other well known titles. No idea was ever really thrown out, especially if it could make a few bucks before the public actually saw the product. AIP was the first studio to tap into the growing teen market and to realize that pandering to the baser instincts of the public was always a sure thing.

Gary A. Smith’s breezy overview (from McFarland Press) is perfect for the topic. His entries on the films are a mix of loving care and snarky honesty. Smith’s love for these films is palpable, but he gives each a fair examination. When a film is so bad it’s bad, he is not afraid to say so. (The god-awful Screaming Skull, for instance). Though this guide does feature ancillary information like lists of the Double Feature campaigns AIP ran to a section of lobby cards and advertising, other books have explored the chronology of the studio in more detail. This frees up Smith to focus solely on the films themselves, though he does go into detail often on the promotion for the films, which many times was as important as the feature itself. Cataloged alphabetically and by decade, the selected films are not comprehensive, though representative and covering most of the goodies. The reader gets more than enough of the flavor of the studio’s output.

Also included are a brief discussion of the AIP’s disastrous attempt at television, and a list of unfilmed projects that is fun and leaves you hoping someone swipes these nutty but irresistible ideas. A lot of AIP films are available on DVD, and you can still find some VHS copies in bargain bins.

Oddly enough, the biggest moneymaker the studio had was 1980’s The Amityville Horror, a humorless, obvious bore-fest that in many ways can serve as the anti-AIP film. Shortly thereafter, what was left of AIP was sold to Filmways. The legend and influence of AIP is present still, though, in the hearts of every underground filmmaker and Madison Avenue huckster. The American International Pictures Video Guide is a great treat for B-movie and trash film fans, and should kindle a spark in lesser versed readers.

The American International Pictures Video Guide is available from McFarland Press.

Shame on You, Suburbia, for Smothering Another Couple of Outlaws: Restlessness and Resignation in Revolutionary Road

2009-07-15T16:03:00.000-07:00

Suburban malaise is well-worn territory in just about every realm of artistic expression, but Sam Mendes has breathed new life into what appear to be his pet themes: alienation and disappointment in middle-class America. Based on Richard Yates’ 1961 novel of the same title, Revolutionary Road follows the relationship between April (Kate Winslet) and Frank Wheeler (Leonardo DiCaprio), a self-purportedly “special” couple marooned in suburbia by what April deems an accidental pregnancy. This may seem a shallow excuse for the domestication of the couple’s beatnik dreams, but it in no way undermines the rather morbid allure of these characters. Their relationship with each other as well as with the dull group of neighbors and colleagues that surround them makes for an intriguing, if not entirely novel, portrait of middle-class resistance and resignation.

We are introduced to the couple as they dangle on the precipice of a major turning point. April forces her husband to confront his vague, but nagging, professional ambition by suggesting that the family move to Paris, a city she has never seen, but in which she invests all hope of realizing a fulfilling marriage.

In a rather provocative twist, the couple’s audacity is entirely bound up with their investment in traditional gender roles. More specifically, both partners share an acute fear of emasculating the resident head of household. April does not pitch Paris as Frank’s opportunity for self-discovery without reminding him, “It's what you are that's being denied and denied in this kind of life…You're the most beautiful and wonderful thing in the world. You're a man.” The only character that seems to appreciate this irony is John Givings (Michael Shannon), a troubled mathematician whose piercing insight into the Wheeler’s self-deception penetrates the smooth narrative of daring individualism that has fooled the rest of the neighborhood.

Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance relies heavily on desperate shrieks and squeals that lend him a petulant air of adolescent fervor. While unattractive, this technique appropriately highlights his character’s juvenile sense of entitlement to a life he is unwilling to pursue. Kate Winslet delivers a stronger performance as April, mainly because of her ability to transition so jarringly from rigid outlaw to appeasing housewife and back again. Her face consistently reveals a degree of bravery and defiance that contrast starkly with Mr. DiCaprio’s puffy punum.

While it never quite accomplishes sublime heights of aesthetic insight, the value of this film lies in its unflinching exploration of disappointment in its many shapes and forms. From the mundane jealousies of the housewife next door to more violent acts of suburban frustration, Mr. Mendes exposes the consequences of our thwarted desire for something inexplicably better than the life we’ve got. His style is chilly and more observational than it is probing, but Mr. Mendes is able to transform what would be nonthreatening, beige interiors into battlegrounds that produce extreme tension and occasionally even suspense.

By the end of the film, it becomes clear that April’s performance as a happy housewife is far more appealing to Frank than her restless ambition for a more exceptional way of life—an ambition that initially ties the couple together. Ultimately, Revolutionary Road can be read as a cautionary tale, but it warns less against the stifling sameness of suburban life than against submission to the circumstances of the lives we’ve created for ourselves.

DVD review: One Love: Words Sounds & Powah (1988/2009; MVD)

2009-07-08T14:08:00.000-07:00

In the late 1980s, documentary filmmaker Howard Johnson was given unprecedented access to the Rastafarian community in Britain, resulting in a 10 part series, Rockers Roadshow. Some of his wealth of material, shot in London and Nottingham, also was also collected in the One Love series, three short films that even today are riveting in their peek into the rich (and ritualistic) world of a religion mostly known through their music, Reggae, their sacrament, weed, and by hip caricatures of both.
The late Jah Bones, Rasta priest and historian, is the common guide throughout the series. His fiery preaching and righteous denunciation of Babylon show him to be a fiery and eloquent spokesman for the faith. In all three films, appearances by other devotees such as Jah Shepherd, Ras Anum Iyapo and Cosmo Ben Imhotep add color and depth to the running oral history presented.

The most fascinating of the three short films is the first, which gives us a rare front row seat at a Rasta prayer service. Nyabinghi Blood & Fire. Nyaginhi is a sacred drumming ritual that evokes the powers of nature, including blood and fire, to come and destroy the infidels of Babylon, and to raise up the faithful. Jah Bones’ chanting, rhythmic sermon, calling out the agents of evil by name (at the time, Reagan and Thatcher) and being elevated in his passion by the African percussion, is a hypnotic, visceral experience. This rare peek into a sacred ceremony was filmed at the Rastafari Universal Zion church in the Tottenham section of London.

More didactic and thus less gripping is Blues for Rastafari. Through historical photos, oral history and vintage footage of Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie’s mid-60s arrival in Jamaica, this film traces the lineage of Rastafari, from African’s exposure to Christianity during the slave trade, through the efforts at liberation by The Universal Negro Improvement Association of Marcus Garvey, to the more recently articulated vision of Rasta as the true faith, with Selassie as God in the flesh and Rastas as an ark in an evil sea. Here those who may be uncomfortable when trying to rationally wrap their head around some of the beliefs and cosmology may find rough going. Yet the same would happen with an overview of any other faith. In that sense, and for those whose interest in Rasta stems merely from music and dope, this short is an eye-opener into the grander meaning and claims of the religion.

Finally, Words Sounds Powah is a celebration of “Livity” the Rasta concept of humility and fearlessness, of harmony with the earth and rebellion against the powers of Babylon. Here that spirit is expressed in a concert by The Naturalites, whose smooth, optimistic reggae is s fitting end to the series. The music is the public face of a enigmatic and misunderstood religion that, like all faiths, of offers both gifts and curses to the world.

One Love: Words Sounds & Powah is a fascinating, riveting and vital look at a subculture that seems ubiquitous in pop culture, but remains oddly impenetrable. Howard Johnson spent a lot of his creative life trying to uncover some of that mystery, and his respectful but objective films entertain as much as they instruct.

DVD Review: Black Hollywood: Blaxploitation and Advancing an Independent Black Cinema

2009-07-08T14:07:00.000-07:00

This 1984 documentary manages to be both history lesson and an opportunity to revisit your assumptions of that history. While Black Hollywood covers much familiar ground, it also opens one’s eyes to some of the pivotal figures in the often exploited, but nevertheless defiant role of African-Americans in Hollywood.

A thumbnail sketch of that role is presented: from the early days of Blacks as buffoons or servants, or as sexually out of control beasts (a sobering and scathing parsing of Birth of a Nation is included) down through the Blaxploitation films of the late 60s, early 70s, a time when it seemed like Blacks were finally taking control of and generating their own cinema, when, in reality, white producers were again making a killing off of the crudest stereotypes. Time is also given over to African-American artists who were able to break the mold, appealing to white audiences and earning dignified roles. Sidney Poitier, Dorothy Dandridge, and Lorenzo Tucker (“The Black Valentino”) are given their due.

Lesser known history is just as frustrating and filled with false starts. Within Our Gates was a 1919 film directed by Oscar Micheaux, and was an immediate and contemporary rebuttal to D.W. Griffith’s ode to the Klan. Micheaux, one of the first Black filmmakers, certainly took a risk in using his opportunity to make such a bold racial and cultural statement. Birth of a Nation was still a blockbuster, but word was served that Black artists could create their own art, portray dignified roles for themselves if the larger white culture wouldn’t; Richard Pryor, Spike Lee and Russell Simmons can trace their fearlessness back to Oscar Micheaux.

Director Howard Johnson interviews then current stars such a comedian Paul Mooney, Rosalind Cash, who both talk of how Hollywood even in the 80s struggled, in many ways obscenely, to try and find vehicles for Blacks that did not involve drugs or prostitution. There are also generous clips, both of powerful and infuriating portrayals of Blacks through the years.

NFL legend and community activist Jim Brown is interviewed at length, discussing how Black filmmakers could take a cue from Blacks in the music industry, which got the word out through their own labels and radio stations, through word of mouth.

Today there are thousands of African-American owned film and record companies, and the opportunities to relate in art the true richness and creativity of Black culture have never been greater. But obviously some of the same old same old still exists. While Hip-Hop dominates as the most creative force of the past 30 years, what sells most are the same tired images: gangsta rap, big ass divas throwing tantrums, head-bobbers competing with idiot white meth-heads on talk shows and divorce courts. But all those images proliferate in Big Media. And who, yet again, is making a killing off of lowest common denominator images of Blacks?

Black Hollywood (MVD) isn’t so much a call to arms as a quiet, feisty wake-up call. Hollywood needs a sharper kick in the ass, though even when they have come, quick profits usually soften the blow.

Review: Renaissance Village (NTI Upstream; 85 minutes)

2009-07-02T12:15:00.000-07:00

The individual stories of those who lived through Hurricane Katrina get lost in the story of the event that has taken on a life of its own. Both sides of the political seesaw have used the tragic flooding of one of America’s great cities, and the subsequent displacement of its poorest residents, whether it be the Left’s seeing “Katrina” or “The People of New Orleans” as the prime example of Government indifference to the poor, or the Right’s blanket dismissal of the victims of the storm as those who were too lazy and stupid to seek higher ground.

Renaissance Village restores focus on the victims themselves - not as symbols, but as flawed, complex individuals, each trying to recover in their own fashion. The title refers to the name of one of the FEMA resettlement camps. FEMA had set up several areas where RV’s were supplied to residents, who would remain there, in theory, for a specific time until they got back on their feet. Renaissance Village was built in rural Baker, LA, just outside Baton Rouge, 91 miles from New Orleans. Federal guidelines in the Stafford Act mandate that groups must close after 18 months. Yet by 2007, 1700 of the original 3000 people still lived there. Most were African-American and from poorest wards of the damaged city.

Narrated by NO native Wendell Pierce and directed by Gabe Chasnoff, the film focuses on the frustrations and hopes of the residents, each in their own way trying to make sense of what was lost and to figure out how to rebuild from nothing. We meet the mechanic Paul, who is both disgusted by the government’s actions and by residents who feel sorry for themselves. Herbert sells candy and soda out of his trailer, since the nearest convenience store is miles away and few residents drive. He is later evicted from the Village for this activity.

There are also Thelma and Gwendolyn, who share with the film crew their common histories of food and racism. We watch as they cook and drink beer, each musing about plans to move out, plans that fall through. It is painful to see the women slowly lose some of their defiant hope as their options dwindle.

The star of the film, and the most powerful voice in the Village (aside from a foul-mouthed pre-teen who delivers some devastating lines at various points in the film) is Wilbert Ross, the de facto “President” of the Village Council. In addition to being the spiritual leader of the residents, exhorting them to stay strong and to unite against the increasing federal neglect, he also is a vibrant member of the card playing, drinking, dancing to Al Green heart of the small community.

Local lawyers and Catholic Charities do their best to help secure services, extensions of residency, job search and relocation. Even FEMA, rightly vilified as they are for their ineptitude during this whole crisis, tries to help, though it is obvious their representatives prefer the distance of trying to “help the people,” rather than hear the real needs of those people.

The film takes an unexpected turn when a resident dies from formaldehyde poisoning. Apparently the RV’s procured by FEMA had high levels of the poison, and since they weren’t meant to be lived in for so long, residents began getting sick. Also not helping was the fact that the heat and humidity was so oppressive in the summer months, many residents remained inside the trailers all day long, often with the doors and windows closed. Vain attempts at community organizing and public meetings produce only official grandstanding. Eventually each resident drifts away toward the next stage of their fate. The film leaves that fate open.

Shot over 13 months beginning in May 2007, Renaissance Village is a warts and all portrait of vulnerable but resilient folks, angered and traumatized by tragedy, who fight to rebound and reclaim a space they can call their own. This is as much a story of pride as it is about betrayal; in its light shed on the true lives of the victims of Hurricane Katrina (and its aftermath) it makes the invisible visible.

Book Review: The History of Independent Cinema by Phil Hall

2009-06-05T14:02:00.000-07:00

Even limiting the scope to American film, Phil Hall set for himself a daunting task in The History of Independent Cinema (Bear Manor Media). Despite the title, this is not so much an exhaustive, definitive look at films outside the studio system, as it is an entertaining read that covers the major players, recalls some artists we may have forgotten, and always reminds us that this is a subjective work.

One of the joys of surveys like this is that readers may be exposed to filmmakers they’ve never heard of, and will go searching on their own, and maybe make a connection. Another salacious joy is being able to argue with the book over obscure filmmakers left out—what, no Richard Kern? And, Gasp!—no Andy Milligan? Hall’s book in that sense is almost pure joy.

The book follows a more or less chronological account of Independent Cinema, from early attempts by Thomas Edison to set up his own outside-Hollywood monopoly, through Chaplin and Preminger, Warhol and Cassavettes, down to today’s variety of auteurs ranging from Michael Moore to Guy Maddin. The last quarter or so of the book provides brief overviews of subgenres like "Race Films,” Non-Theatrical films, Educational Films, Musical documentaries, the Cinema of Transgression, etc. Hall chose to focus his attention on the major players, those whose contributions made a significant impact on both filmmaking and the viability of Indie film. So no, no chapters on porn or exploitation flicks. He also reminds us of independent cinema’s role in breaking down racial and sexual taboos as well as in such technical advances as color film, wide-screen formats and sound.

It would have been nice to have had more discussion about the state of cinema as it stands now. Hall does talk briefly about both of the major developments impacting independent cinema in the 21st century—major studies making Indie-esque niche films, and the explosion of filmmaking made possible by cheap technology, viewer savvy and outlets like YouTube and MySpace. We are truly in an odd place where everyone can make a film and send it out to millions, but no one notices…because everyone can make a film.

Each chapter concludes with a Top 10 list by selected filmmakers and critics, who note their choices for the most influential independent films of all time. (Disclaimer: IDT film editor Matt Sorrento's list is included, though he had adsolutely no say over this review!) Such lists are bound to both overlap and contradict; while it is interesting to read about those choices, after awhile they begin to seem like filler. Again, part of the fun of books like this is to make your own lists, with the text as a guide to making your choices in context. While geared toward a general audience that may not be quite up on the history, film fanatics will also find much to chew on. Aside from sparking debate, there is obscure info sure to be fodder for trivia-questions.

Hall, contributing editor to Film Threat and author of other books that take the pulse of non-mainstream film, has taken a vast wealth of history and moments of daring and distilled them into a breezy narrative that gives the reader a detailed overview, one that leaves room for consideration about today’s indpendent work.

As Yogi Berra might have said, there are so many films out there now that no one sees any. Now more than ever, literally anyone can add their own visual paragraph to film history, though standing out among the thousands being shown right now on the web or available on DVD is a crapshoot.

Film historian Phil Hall, watching in the wee hours.

DVD Review: In The Realms of the Unreal: The Mystery of Henry Darger (2004; Fox Lorber)

2009-05-29T13:31:00.000-07:00

Henry Darger has become a celebrity of sorts within the last decade or so, providing dealers and collectors with another cash cow in the Outsider Art genre (a genre that used to mean work done by artists outside of the mainstream, but now is a genre where critics and curators hold the final say on who is really an “Outsider Artist”). He was a hidden genius and has also, like Kafka, given hope to those whose one last shot at an audience will have to come through a posthumous discovery.

In The Realms of the Unreal provides a brief overview of Darger’s life, from early childhood through to his death and, most importantly, post-mortem, when the true nature of the man and his life’s work was discovered. To all the world, Darger was a loner and most likely a loser. He spent a good deal of his childhood in a Catholic youth home, placed there by his father when he was no longer able to care for the boy. His mother had died shortly after childbirth. Ironically, Darger later spent time in the same nursing home where he placed his father as his health declined. A janitor at a Chicago Hospital, friendly but not very much so with the neighbors in his apartment building, Darger was probably invisible even when looking someone in the eye. That apartment was his refuge, a haven for delving into his deepest creative life. His neighbors, with whom he probably barely spoke, nonetheless looked after him; it was they who discovered his genius while cleaning out Darger’s apartment after his move to the nursing home. His interior life was a rich as it was obsessive and, quietly, that world produced a singular style of work centered around a single story, one that waited for strangers to show to the world, strangers responsible for his discovery, the same people who thought him odd, heard him talk at night to himself in various voices of both sexes.

His life’s work, the creatively staggering The Story of the Vivian Girls, in what is Known as The Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinnean War Storm, caused by the Child Slave Rebellion, was begun in 1940, and continued until his death in 1973. He incorporated fairy-tale, fantasy, military history, and his experiences as a youth into, literally, an entire new world, one that only he inhabited, one that might have died with him. With hundreds of battle scenes (each army with their own flags and uniforms, all created by Darger, and civil War buff) and odd watercolors of hermaphrodite children (there is some hint in the film that Darger was unaware of female anatomy), he also used his art to tell the story. It is this mixed media style, with its obvious innate sense of composition, that is truly staggering. Amazing too is his seemingly singular lifelong obsession with the story. He most likely spent his days on the menial job dreaming of the V-Girls; he may have even acted out their exploits once safely at home. Several former neighbors report in the film of having heard various male and female voices coming from Darger’s apartment, though he never received any visitors.

In addition to the hundreds of notebooks piled in his room containing The Story of the Vivian Girls, there were also several volumes, decades upon decade’s worth, or notebooks devoted to another passion: the daily weather. While on the outside, it seemed that Henry Darger was an inconsequential man shuffling through his days, on the inside he was bursting with stories and ideas that, though partially informed by whatever childhood trauma and mental challenges he faced, were as developed and executed as if by the hand of a master. In his way, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Written and Directed by Jessica Yu, the film moves amiably among chronological narration of Darger’s life, imagined sequences from The Vivian Girls, and interviews with his neighbors and landlords. Larry Pine serves as Darger’s voice, and Dakota Fanning has a duel role as narrator and Vivian Girl. The interview with landlord Kiyoko Lerner is especially revealing. Her obvious artistic temperament and curious eye was the crucial piece in Darger’s work not only being found, but appreciated enough as a unique effort worth preserving.

In The Realms of the Unreal fascinates and gives hope to all who secretly hoard their painting and writing. Maybe one of your neighbor’s kids will visit a yard sale some day and make you immortal.

DVD Review: Points on a Space Age (MVD video)

2009-05-29T13:28:00.000-07:00

Maybe the old bit about a prophet not being accepted in his own land could have been upended if the prophets had had decent musical chops. A hip sense of rhythm might make prophecy go down easier. At least that proved to the case with Sun Ra. Sun Ra and his Arkestra were more than an adventurous big band that from the 1950s on used space motifs with a blend of free jazz and bop to create some of the most mystical jazz. Of course there were many who couldn’t see past some of the trimmings of the band’s image—the costumes, the Space Age fixation and, most of all, Ra’s own claims of extraterrestrial origin. As is clear from this documentary, the remnants of the band show that they take the message quite seriously. The Arkestra was and is a way of life as well as a long term gig.

Directed by Ephrahaim Asili, who discovered the band for the first time in Philadephia in 1998—as the band left a festival stage during a rain shower to lead the crowd in an impromtu parade—Points on a Space Age is a 60-minute doc along the lines of the talking-head-intercut-with performance clips style. This works because of the interesting and passionate nature of the images of the band as well as of the audio, as the band attempts to articulate what Ra meant to them, and why they are keeping the flame alive. He “left the earth” for his next mission in 1993.
The remnants of the band include Marshall Allen, Ra’s greatest discliple as well as current bandleader and keeper of the flame. Now 86, Allen also serves as recruiter for new members, and potential converts of Sun Ra’s philosophy, once based on space travel and music as a tool for evolution into a new consciousness and tuning into holy vibrations.

The film follows the band as it rehearses, and plays small gigs in school auditoriums for what seems like family and friends. The intimacy of the shows are a nice contrast to the expansive, and at times outrageous, aura surrounding the band. The flowing teflon robes and Captain Video helmets are as outre as they were in 1959, though they may have lost a bit of visual value. Interviews with various members—unnamed in the film—serve to illustrate their commitment to the music and how Ra’s philosophy has guided their life. This is no joke: the members of the band are convinced they are on a spiritual quest, and they trust completely in instruments and in their guide.

The influence of Sun Ra is hard to calculate. He was there when some jazz musicians were beginning to drift off into tangents that embraced improvisation and the use of the music itself as a religious tool. There are echoes of Ra in late 60s Coltrane as well as in that era’s early Free Jazz players. Points on a Space Age does not ask Allen about the early days, and the band members interviewed talk more on how the experience effected them personally, rather than historically. The film does not place the band in a context that helps the viewer see any progression of Ra’s ideas. There are short vintage clips, but a quick scan of the web reveals a treasure trove of classic Arkestra footage. More here might have bene helpful. Overall, the film does a good job of showing not only the talent, but the friendship and solidarity of the band; old and new members clearly feel a part of some cosmic event whose power is still ongoing. Newcomers to the music and philosophy of Sun Ra and His Arkestra might need to fill in the gaps in their knowledge, but the film will surely give many the inspiration to do so.

Saving the Westmont: Interview with Theatre Historian/Activist Allen F. Hauss

2009-05-12T19:52:00.000-07:00

by Phil Hall (reprinted from Film Threat, April 18, 2009)

For the serious movie lover, there are few things more depressing than a theatre that is shut down. The rise of the conglomerate-owned multiplexes in the 1970s helped to speed the decline of many independently owned community theatres, and today many of the smaller venues exist only as memories or remain as locked, defunct structures awaiting restoration or the wrecking ball.

The Westmont Theatre in Haddon Township, N.J., is typical of the latter scenario. It first opened in 1927 with the Lon Chaney flick “The Unknown” on the big screen. Over the years, the theatre was southern New Jersey’s primary venue for first-run films, and one of its most dedicated patrons was a young Steven Spielberg, whose family lived in Haddon Township in the early 1950s. In 1973, the theatre was one of only 30 U.S. theaters to present the opening of “The Exorcist,” and in 1979 the Oscar-winner “Kramer vs. Kramer” was sneak previewed at the Westmont (Dustin Hoffman showed up for the test screening).

But 1979 was also the last peak year for the original Westmont. It was divided into a twin theater, then sold to the AMC. In 1986, AMC shut down the theatre. It was used by a local drama company in 1992, and in 1999 the local government of Haddon Township purchased the venue for $280,000. In 2007, filmmaker Brent J. Donaway made the theatre the subject of his documentary “The Grand Old Lady."

Allen F. Hauss, acting president of the volunteer advocacy group Neighbors Celebrating the Westmont and author of the book “South Jersey Movie Houses,” spoke with Film Threat on the push to restore The Westmont to its former glory.

Why is there a need to restore this old-time theatre?
Camden County, New Jersey, in its entirety and all of Haddon Township is severely lacking in the arts. Other than the small theatre at Rutgers University in Camden, the county is without a major performing arts building of the size or technical capabilities of the Westmont Theatre. The theatre's location, on Haddon Avenue, locates it on a main corridor serving Collingswood, Westmont, and Haddonfield with easy access by public transportation, including PATCO – and, as such would be the main anchor or "draw" for the entire corridor.

The theatre was designed by two important and well-known Philadelphia architects: David Supowitz and William H. Lee, and is the only surviving example of their work in Camden County. The Westmont Theatre is the last remaining vaudeville/film theatre in all of Camden County, and is a glorious representation of the "Golden Age of Film and of Movie Palaces."

What is the current state of the theatre?
A visual structural inspection report on the theatre was completed and issued on November 16, 2007, by Remington & Vernick Engineers, of Haddonfield, NJ. At that time, they suggested specific repairs in the amount of $66,000 to maintain the building's structural integrity. Even though this maintenance is a requirement in the lease of the building, and even though funds are set aside in a special account for this purpose, nothing has been done to maintain the building.

The interior lobbies are in excellent shape, as are the restrooms on all levels. The main auditorium was divided into two with an easily removed sheet-rock wall when the theatre was twinned in the 1980's. The original stage proscenium was removed when a large CinemaScope screen was installed, but could easily be rebuilt. The rest of the stage and fly-house is in excellent condition.

How much would it cost to restore The Westmont?
It would take approximately $8-9,000,000 to restore the theatre to what it once was. This funding would come from a variety of state, federal, and private sources, especially if a 501(c)3 non profit is organized to operate the facility as a true performing arts/film facility, and once it has been placed on the state and national historic registries. This model has performed with great success in hundreds of theatres throughout the United States.

What level of support/feedback from the New Jersey arts community and from the state’s historic preservationists are you receiving?
At this point, all support and feedback have been on an informal basis, as the non-profit has not been formed, and the application for the historic registries are still in progress. However, the Neighbors Celebrating the Westmont (NCW) has received much support from the community, including the local branch of TD Bank painting a mural of the theatre on an entire wall, and giving away free reproductions of that classic scene.

How can movie lovers can get involved in helping your effort?
People can get involved with the activities of the NCW by checking our blog (http://westmonttheatre.wordpress.com/) as well as the Haddon Township blog (http://haddontwp.wordpress.com//) and the site of the Haddon Township Historical Society. (http://www.haddontwphistoricalsociety.org/).

Jim Jarmusch Clips and Trailers: Coffee & Cigarettes, The Limits of Control

2009-05-08T06:58:00.000-07:00

Been thinking about the effects of coffee and saw this Jim Jarmusch clip (from Coffee and Cigarettes) on alternative medicine recently. Good stuff.

Jarmusch's The Limits of Control is out this month. Here's the trailer:

DVD Review: Helter Skelter

2009-04-23T12:48:00.000-07:00

Given that in August it will be the 40th anniversary of the shocking Tate-LaBianca murders, it is as good a time as any to revisit Helter Skelter, which, after almost thirty years, still holds up its suspense and power well. This is easily one of the best made-for-TV movies, created back when there was an art to such projects (Roots, Duel, Frankenstein, The Reincarnation of Peter Proud, etc).

The obvious reasons for the film’s continued resonance are the facts of the murders themselves, as well as the man behind them. A murder story that had Satanism, bikers, hippies, Armageddon, constant orgies, Hollywood start power and a guru claiming to be Christ was a gift from above to lurid media and its purveyors. Charles Manson not only continues to fascinate and intrigue; his mix of fairly solid borrowings from Buddhism, Scientology and the then-nascent Environmental movement with a grim vendetta against the world (mostly women) who he blamed for all his problems still attracts crime fans as well as pathetic would be hipsters who think he’s cool.

The film is a fairly straight take the 1974 book about the case by prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi and Curt Gentry. Originally, the film aired over two nights in 1976, and was a smash hit. At the time, the film also caused a bit of a shudder, since it ended with the warning that most of the Family sentenced to life (commuted from Death when California outlawed capital punishment in 1972) would be eligible for parole in 1978.

Sparing you the details of a story too often told, I will say that the cast is amazing, especially in the passion they bring to the various roles. While George DiCenzo, a dead ringer for Bugliosi, has a lot of face time as the hero who nabs the evil one, is convincing and solid, it is Steve Railsback as Manson that makes this film endure. His crazed but oddly wounded take on Charlie, complete with hypnotic eyes and gift for foaming at the mouth invective, is haunting. Nancy Wolfe’s Susan Atkins is a bit over the top, but that is relative in a case like this. Also worth noting is the actor who portrayed Paul Watkins, the Family member Manson entrusted with procuring him women—or, as he liked to say, “new love.” Watkins was the one who Bugliosi interviewed about Helter Skelter, and it was Watkins who provided insight into Manson’s connecting The Beatles with the Book of Revelation for his eschatological master plan. That scene is one of the most powerful in the film, and one of the most genuine.

Even before the book and film, some cracks in Bugliosi’s theory were showing. Former Fug Ed Sanders’ 1971 book The Family explored the idea of a drug burn as motive, and also made more of a connection between Manson and the satanic group The Process. Still, it is Bugliosi’s account that stands as the historical record, despite what Charlie might say when he is paraded out in front of the cameras for an interview or parole hearing, or, when news is slower, someone decides to point a microphone in the direction of at large and still True Believer Sandra Good.

In 1976, with the horrors of the murder still fresh in the national memory, Helter Skelter made for gripping, uneasy viewing. While that factor may no longer be part of the experience, there is a power to the film and is undeniable and lasting.

DVD Review: Storm (2005; Breidablick films; Danger After Dark)

2009-04-23T12:44:00.000-07:00

What is it lately with great movies that have bad titles? (I’m thinking specifically of Room of Death but there are others.) Anyway, make no mistake, Storm is a great movie, as must see, even. It is literate, raw, and in some cases, profound. Plus, as with the most of the truly profound, it is funny as hell.

The story begins with a red herring that only appears so. An action hero type woman is fending off some bald Goth bad guys in a tunnel, only to be overpowered and then confronted by their master, (played by Jonas Karlsson, the mysterious Man in the Black Suit), who demands the return of a small silver box she is holding. She escapes his torture, gives the box to another similarly dressed for battle woman, and runs back into the fray to fend off the baddies.

Storm was directed by Mars Marlind, who keeps the atmosphere dark and rainy, adding a noir-ish feel throughout. Most of the film was shot in Stockholm, Vanersborg and Trollhattan (sometimes known as “Trollywood”).

We are then suddenly jumped into the life of Danny (Eric Ericson), a perverse, sarcastic Swede, a dissolute journalist who likes to drink, jerk-off—to avoid relationships—and basically brood alone. We follow his jaundiced summary of his life, told in Tarantino-style with pop-art touches, until his paths cross with Lova (Eva Rose), who is still fighting, and whose battle has now entered the real life of Danny’s world. It soon becomes apparent, however, Lova is more than she seems—is she a ninja? An angel? A comic book hero come to life? It is also apparent that Danny is more than he thinks he is; we soon learn that the curious battle being fought is over him.

Without giving away the truly inventive and poignant action that ensues, suffice it to say that from that point on the film is a rush of spiritual warfare, complete with all sorts of choices that have eternal consequences—or do they? At least, they show that the past, is not gone and, in fact, as Faulkner said, it is not even past.

Storm is little gem of a film that deserves a wide audience, who will be blown away by the visuals, the writing, and the fresh take on an old but enduring meme. It is a quiet masterpiece of Magical Realism.

Short Film: The Grand Inquisitor

2009-04-17T11:27:00.000-07:00

The Grand Inquisitor, from Underground Film: "A film by Eddie Muller. Legendary blacklisted Hollywood actress Marsha Hunt makes a stunning return to the screen in this haunting short film that writer-director Eddie Muller describes as 'a noir fairy tale,' based on actual events. A young woman (Leah Dashe) discovers a cache of used books she believes hold clues..."

DVD Review: Un Chant D'Amour

2009-04-11T13:25:00.000-07:00

Long banned or heavily edited, this legendary transgressive short masterpiece is finally available in the States in its complete form. As the only film directed by poet, playwright, novelist, criminal and Saint Jean Genet, it naturally is saturated with images and emotions even his own overheated writing could rarely evoke. Un Chant D'Amour, first released to condemnation in France in 1950, is a dreamlike yet proud exploration of homosexuality and freedom, with both the body and the imagination as eternal vehicles for attaining that freedom.

Essentially this is a romance in hell. There are three characters. Two prisoners, in adjoining cells, alternately ignore one another and desperately try to connect. They try to swap flowers through the window; they blow cigarette smoke suggestively to each other through a glory hole in the wall. When not obsessed and aching for the other’s body, the men obsess over their own. Masturbation and fantasy are here acts of defiance and salvation. A later fantasy sequence still doesn’t establish that they were lovers prior to incarceration—maybe they have entered each other’s dream, or have come to share a single hope.

The third character is the prison guard, alternately voyeur and tormenter, yet always a self-hater. His shame and cowardice is exposed by the freedom with which the inmates express their sexuality; though caged, they are more liberated than he. His anguished, torn nature symbolizes many of the conflicts explored in the film: the prison as house of passion and pain; the secret as public; tenderness/brutality; tension and release, etc. his impotence is made manifest in one of the most famous scenes in underground cinema, in which he slowly inserts his pistol into a prisoner’s mouth, using his authority to act in a way his body will not or cannot.

While it has mostly been a movie more read about rather than actually seen unless in shredded form, Un Chant D'Amour certainly played a heavy role in the visual vocabulary of directors like Guy Maddin, early Todd Haynes (whose Poison referenced this film explicitly), and even the early ugly beauty of David Lynch. On the flip side, Genet owns quite a bit of stylistic props to that other defiant Gallic polymath, Jean Cocteau; the haunting, soft, poetic lighting and reliance on the small gesture in Cocteau’s films Beauty and The Beast and Blood of a Poet certainly influenced Genet here. It is a stunning, raw, uncomfortable visual message, one that has love and passion, the universal drives, as its core.
The DVD also comes with a documentary on Genet by Antoine Bourseiller, as well as an audio commentary feature by Kenneth Anger. The documentary, shot during Genet’s last days, finds him as defiant and holy as ever. The DVD is available from Cult Epics.

Tell No One on DVD this week

2009-04-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

Guillaume Canet's Tell No One, a French thriller based on a bestselling American novel by Harlan Coben, is out on DVD this week.

DVD Review: Kiss Napoleon Goodbye

2009-02-20T18:32:00.000-08:00

What if they opened the door for transgression and nobody came? This 1990 film borrows much from the NYC underground of the '80s, but holds back from delivering more than cut-out characters expressing tentative emotions. That this was written by Lydia Lunch, directed by Babeth and features music by Feotus is about the only thing shocking or visceral about the movie.

Lunch is in her alluring, predatory persona as Hedda, wife to Neal (writer Dan Bajema), who escapes to a mansion in the Netherlands to find some peace and maybe rekindle a little romance just before the birth of their first child. Hedda herself sabotages the venture by inviting over Jackson (Henry Rollins), an ex-boyfriend seething with as much rage and lust as, well, Rollins' normal persona. Therein lies the tale, as Hedda cozies up to both men who fight each other once in awhile in a tussle of jealousy and in odd sympathy for their slavery to the wiles of the woman of the house.

Allusions to the mansion having once been the scene of a disastrous love affair by Napoleon are made explicit in flashbacks and in somewhat silly period-piece scenes -- distraught specters of the past walk by a distraught Hedda. It all ends in something approaching a violent climax with poetic resolution, but not really.

Lunch, as usual, packs a wallop just standing there, but she seems subdued in her dialogue, not stirring much of the implied passion. Bajema is close to fully human, at least when he is being pathetic and sad. Rollins is as wooden and believable as a smoldering home wrecker as Fred Gwynne would have been. Nice tats, though.

Babeth's direction emphasizes the haunting possibilities of the mansion, and some shots of dusty, empty rooms are evocative. But the acting just sinks any concern the viewer might have in person or place. The rather incongruous shot of a bald guy sitting calmly in the bathroom while pushing a power drill into his skull reminds us of what Richard Kern might have done with this material.

The disc contains two featurettes. Paradoxia & a Predator's Dairy is a fifty minute documentary on Lydia Lunch, her spoken word performances, and her philosophy. The inherent dangers in choosing the rant as one's medium are obvious: the targets are easy, and there isn't much new insight to add, and, yes Mick, it does get kinda creepy to hear the over 50 set recount sexual prowess. Still, her passion and dead-on seriousness has always helped her rise above, and her contribution to the underground of the past 30 years is beyond debate. The interviews rehash ground already covered in her work, while it is always a treat to hear someone fearless throw down. A five minute, grainy bootleg snippet from 1989 called It's a Mad World isn't as successful, seeming no more than a pointless rant.

For its historical value and the Lunch extras, Kiss Napoleon Goodbye is desirable if you are of a certain age and still remember some of Nick Zedd's manifesto. Here's hoping there aren't many who will want it because it features that cool talk show host Henry and will wonder who are the other actors.

Kiss Napoleon Goodbye is available from Cult Epics.

Henry: angry again.

Book Review: Reading Brokeback Mountain: Essays on the Story and the Film

2009-01-21T23:01:00.000-08:00

Two years ago, while teaching a freshman college writing seminar on gender issues, I discussed The Crying Game with my students. (It was highlighted in Susan Bordo's text The Male Body, required reading for my class and, I'd say, for anyone who may be reading this.) One student asked how popular Neil Jordan's film was the year of its release, and I replied -- flatly, I now realize -- that it became a surprise hit, thanks to controversy. After more discussion, another student came to my aid: "It was like their Brokeback Mountain." I replied that, though the films are different in many ways -- lumping gays and transsexuals/-vestites together is always shifty -- The Crying Game's influence on the mainstream was quite similar.

Yet, Brokeback could easily side into cultural amnesia, as did The Crying Game. Its merits and importance aside, Brokeback's prominence in the 2005 awards season could makes it a thing of the past: think of other "issue-based" films, like A Beautiful Mind and Million Dollar Baby now in the $5.99 digital dustbins at SprawlMart.

Thankfully, unlike those simpler films of lesser quality, many dynamics to Brokeback are still unchartered. At its roots, the story/film is a classic romance, albeit one that highlights love most forbidden. The Crying Game, in comparison, avoided the vulnerability of a non-hetero romance by burying its love story within a thriller.

Brokeback is also an outright indictment of conservatism. While the idyllic unions between Jack and Ennis occur away from their homes, the men live in two versions of social repression. Ennis del Mar exists in a rural, lower-class Wyoming -- an undeveloped area where his family resides in a rather squalid apartment house, in essence rural and impoverished, less bucolic than it is a wasteland. Jack Twist works for a middle-class Texas business owned by his small-minded redneck father. (The Texas-Wyoming pairing may be a joke: in the Rough Guide to Westerns, Paul Simpson cleverly points out that Ennis and Jack are, respectively, from the homelands of No.s 1 and 2 in the Bush Jr. administration -- wink, wink.)

The lives of Jack and Ennis are hell, but ones they cannot abandon -- not so much because of their families, though society has programmed Ennis to rely on his wife as if she's a grown-man's mommy. These boys were born country and love just about everything the lifestyle provides, save its family-values-inspired gay holocaust. They are true cowboys who heard livestock as the real frontiersmen did years ago -- the real workers beneath the six-shooting archetypes that our storytelling tradition celebrates. So devout are they that they even agree to herd a less-romantic livestock, sheep, which requires no masculine show like roping and pinning horns to the ground.

To detail all of Brokeback's issues would require years of study from various perspectives, and hence a lead-off project, Reading Brokeback Mountain (from McFarland Press), collects a variety of perspectives on both the film and the original Annie Proulx story. Editor James Stacy offers a wide scope of scholarly approaches and some personal reactions, thus making for a text that's erudite in style but grounded in humanism.

Two opening essays investigate the film's pastoral traits to situate Brokeback as a new take on a classical form of escape. While the original idylls celebrated a peaceful respite -- and often opportunity for romantic love between men, let's not forget -- Brokeback creates a temporary sanctuary that eventually crumbles, as the conservative influence smothers Ennis and ultimately destroys their relationship. "[T]he story had already been written, over and over again, in the landscape of Proulx's American literary forebears, as well as their ancestors who were writing in the homoerotic pastoral tradition that had not yet included two cowboys." In Ennis and Jack's original meeting, the satanic figure of Aguirre watches while preparing to cast them out from their Eden; hence, their reunions at Brokeback over time are haunted by the knowledge of the exterior repressions.

"Mythical" readings are followed by John Kitterman's "Love and Death in the American Story," which contextualizes the Brokeback with Leslie Fielder's thesis of American literature: the strain that focuses on men's -- usually a pair, one of which is non-white -- escape from the establishment. Natty Bumpo and pals, Ismael and Queequeg, and Jim and Huck all found a way to escape feminized domesticity by heading outdoors. So too do Ennis and Jack, though their escape is less a flight from responsibility than a means to discover themselves, each other, their sexualities.

From here on, queer studies readings take over and make good on a variety of perspectives. Interestingly enough, Lisa Arellano argues that the story endorses "heteronormative" lifestyles, in that the film consumes any hope for a healthy gay life. While true in a literal sense, Arellano misreads by allowing moral imperatives to smother art. This reading assumes that a symbolic sacrifice, such as Ennis and Jack, is not worth the benefit of a greater understanding in its viewers.

Many obvious takes appear, likely because writers are treading on new grounds: arguably the first full-bodied, non-exploitive gay film to reach the American mainstream. A rewarding take comes from Charles Eliot Mehler, who covers the popular responses to Brokeback in a milieu that "encourages viewing the homosexual, as sensationalistic, the homosexual as exotic, the homosexual at a safe distance." There's certainly a lot to discuss here. On one end, we have Larry David's humorous New York Times opt-ed piece that, regardless of its simplicity, appears at once ironic and homophobic. The apex comes with Jack Nicholson's gasp of "Whoa!" before he announced the winner of Best Picture at the Oscars to be Crash, a moralistic film that plays like an after-school special on how not to be a racist. Nicholson's response may the purest critique of the mass-media's fear of alternate sexualities.

Surprisingly broad for its page length, this collection lays the groundwork for future study. Reading Brokeback Mountain may appear dense and scattered, but at this stage, such a collection would have to be. Three years after the film's release, we are still digesting its grandeur and cultural importance, even if it began in smaller circles years earlier, when the New Yorker published the original story. On Amazon.com's page for Close Range, in which Brokeback the story was first collected, a customer review by SEB "wurvous" begins: "Proulx will break your heart with that last story." This was written just before the film's premiere, and does it seem prophetic now.

Scholarship on Brokeback still has miles to go before it can settle. The journey begins here.

To order Reading Brokeback Mountain, visit http://www.mcfarlandpub.com/ or call 800-253-2187.

Ennis and Jack.

Review: What Just Happened?

2009-01-08T13:15:00.000-08:00

Based on a 2002 memoir by producer Art Linson (Fight Club, Into The Wild), What Just Happened? continues the line of self-obsessed Hollywood vehicles like The Player and Entourage, wherein the evils and shallowness of the business are brutally explored but nevertheless celebrated. Here, director Barry Levinson manages to get a good performance from Robert DeNiro (who has phoned in about a decade's worth of work) as Ben, the harried and ruthless producer who yet is always acquiescing to higher authorities. He is also still in love with his ex-wife (Robin Wright Penn), a sub-plot that seems added on to humanize but goes nowhere. Ben has to juggle appeasing a studio boss Lou (Catherine Keener) who is none too happy about the movie delivered by arty-director, Keith Richards wanna-be Jeremy (Michael Wincott). Jeremy has made a gritty Tarantino blood feast starring Sean Penn, complete with a graphic dog shooting in a gory, bathetic finale. Lou's basic reason for wanting the film re-edited, in addition to appalled reactions from test audiences, is that with the film re-cut she could lose a little less money on it.

The opportunity to explore such a cynical willingness to gut a film's meaning for the sake of a few extra dollars is wasted. Jeremy, convinced of his genius, is no more likeable than Lou; outrageous and unfounded narcissism is just as much a turn off as greed. Even his surprise re-edit of the film, revealed to all defiantly at Cannes (complete with self-serving speech by the "artist"), does not feel like a triumph. It merely seems like one asshole has upstaged another asshole. That certainly is part of the message of What Just Happened? But Levinson's lazy direction and archetypal caricatures weaken most of the punches. The viewer is left feeling as if what was shown was already known, already disliked.

Saving the film in certain moments, along with a low-key but smarmy turn by Sean Penn as himself, is a cameo by Bruce Willis. Also playing himself, he drives Ben to the brink by refusing to shave his ZZ Top beard and lose weight for a role, asserting his artistic freedom for what will most likely be another tepid, bloated Hollywood action film.

In all, though, the film is what it skewers, and there isn't enough bite to the satire to leave any teeth marks. Hollywood still loves itself, and What just Happened? more or less savors, rather than indicts, the excesses.

Review: Timecrimes (Spain, AKV Entertainment)

2009-01-08T13:11:00.000-08:00

One of the more odd theories to come out of recent speculation into multiple universes is the idea that there may be enough dimensions so that, somewhere, everything happens:

You took a left instead of a right, you became a famous novelist, you bought the good car instead of the shitty one, etc. That would take the pressure off decision-making, no?

Timecrimes is not about multiple dimensions, but it is about how, literally in this case, conflicts can between competing versions of the self can be as complicated and fraught with competition as those involving many people. One can be victim, hero, mastermind and fly in the ointment all at once.

Karra Elejalde plays Hector, an absent-minded everyman who moves into a new house in the Spanish countryside with his wife (Candela Fernandez). While unpacking, the phone rings, though no one has their number yet. Hector redials using caller ID, and is told by an automated voice that he has reached a private number and to not call again. Soon after, they sit out in the yard taking in the quiet. Hector does, however, have a pair of binoculars, through which he spots a naked woman in the woods behind the house. His wife leaves for the market, which gives Hector a chance to investigate. He finds the woman laying against a rock, but before he can get close enough to see if she is still alive, he is attacked by a man whose face is covered in bloody gauze. While on the run away from the scene, Hector chances upon a building which he breaks into for safety. He meets a young man (the film's writer and director, Nacho Vigalondo) who offers to help hide him--in an untested time machine. He emerges from the machine (covered vat filled with what looks like milk) seemingly within seconds. But there is now a problem. The man emerging from the time machine is not Hector: he is Hector 2. Soon we learn of a third Hector, all living in the same real time, but each about ten minutes apart from the actions of the day that threaten to upend Hector 1's life, unless he can outwit the other Hectors and eliminate them, leaving only a whole self.

This is a confusing, funny and poignant meditation on how we are our own worst enemies, and how events and lives are often a hair's length away from being totally different. Choices not taken may echo as long as those we do make.

With its mixture of sci-fi, madcap mystery and surrealism, Timecrimes packs quite a punch for a low-budget film. Vigalondo's direction keeps the story grounded and oddly, matter-of-factly plausible, even in its most outrageous twists and turns. To explain the plot fully would be to give the ending away. This is a great little gem that you need to see, and figure out, for yourself.

Nacho Vigalondo diagrams chaos.

The Phenomenology of Conspiracies: X-Files: I Want to Believe

2008-12-06T13:54:00.000-08:00

Mulder and Scully: (Not Quite) Together Again.

At its most compelling, the series The X-Files problematized the nature of objectivity and reason. In its near decade long run, the show contextualized logic as a source of conflict between the rationalism of science and the empiricism of psychology. These conflictual differences manifested in debates about what constituted evidence and proof -- which, then, created arguments about what defined knowledge and truth.

The show took these pragmatic and philosophical problems and hypothesized about a world composed of paranormal matter, a darkness that wasn't always defined in opposition but often in apposition to epistemic and scientific norms. This kind of metaphorical thinking served as a prelude for other debates, particularly about faith, ethics, secrets, and even about definitions of clarity.

Generating this epistemological ambiguity were two FBI agents, an Oxford-educated psychologist with a taste for Jungian theoretics, Fox Mulder (David Duchovny), and Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson), a forensic pathologist and physicist committed to her faith. Once paired, they searched the natural world to understand how human life was affected (even composed) by mutations, aberrations, and other kinds of biological irregularities, including extra-terrestrial life.

In their investigations, these companions were assisted by a coterie of lowly and highly placed operatives, ne'er-do-wells, and even sympathetic aliens. At the same time, their efforts were counterposed by soldiers and assassins employed by a league of lethal men in smoke-filled rooms. Unfortunately, the cost of their investigations was high, for their allies were subdued, silenced, murdered. Mulder and Scully sacrificed greatly. Their careers suffered. Family members were killed. Both nearly died. Sadly, their triumphs were few.

In the moral universe of TXF, villainy was unequivocally identified with the power of government, for well-placed government men conspired to conceal the alien presence from a slumbering world. For these conspirators, deception and murder became necessary principles, so people could govern human affairs without the knowledge of a pending invasion. But there's little need to summarize further the show's mythological arc because, from the very beginning, the series focused on Mulder and Scully, the roles they filled and the beliefs they embodied. Mulder, because of his experiences, believed in the probability of extra-terrestrial life; Scully, working within the security of science, was the mechanist.

Along the way, they developed an empathic understanding of each other, and their relationship changed. Indeed, the show emphasized their growth: the respect, the admiration, the love. As they immersed themselves in the phenomenology of conspiracies, they didn't surrender to the disfiguring deceptions of their enemies because they stood on common ground, pursuing virtue by trying to understand the shape and scope of paranormal matter in relation to the reach of the conspiracy. Despite their common pursuit, the show was largely about their differences. Their distance. Their dialectic. They examined phenomena from different premises to balance their competing perspectives. To their credit, their salvation depended on their intellectual curiosity, their yearning for discovery, and their search for truths.

In X-Files: I Want to Believe, the new big-screen continuation, the story begins six years after Mulder and Scully have left the FBI. After years of paying a heavy price for working in the shadows, Scully opts for meaningful work as a pediatric surgeon at Our Lady of Sorrows hospital while the seemingly unemployable Mulder marginalizes himself as a recluse. Although they are together, they are apart -- even somewhat fatigued. In this post-alien world, a desperate agent (Amanda Peet) consults with them on a missing agent. This context allows them to confront social problems from the zeitgeist -- pedophilia, stem cell research, and cloning (a recurring theme in the show) -- as a way to examine the questionable reach of human science. The director and co-writer Chris Carter and co-scenarist Frank Spotznitz reconceive the Frankenstein mythos to unveil a thematic and moral contrast, one that eventually defines Scully’s potentially radical medical work with that of a killer hunting for unwilling donors to recompose his dying lover.

Though the film shifts its philosophical battle away somewhat from the paranormal, the show's focus on pragmatic problems remains. TXF regularly contextualized Mulder and Scully's work against the limits of normative behaviors and conventional thinking. In the film, individual initiative is opposed by groupthink. Consensual thinking often mutes dissent because the bureaucracy -- even medical review boards -- spurns principled risks. Near the end of the film, Scully realizes that she must argue and behave in ethical ways that move her beyond accepted norms, so she can save the life of a dying patient. Predictably, Mulder returns to his familiar form pursuing the shifting thresholds of empiricism so he can find himself again. By this standard, both are willing to take risks, but they are, indeed, far apart because they are moving away from each other.

Critics, as well, have distanced themselves from the film. Some critics conceded that they were fans of the show but argued that the film lacked the ordinary dynamism of a regular episode. Some observed that Mulder and Scully spent too much time apart to really bring the film alive (were not quite sure if Mulder and Scully live together or where they live). Thus, the basic focus of the story is decentered. Of course, this decenteredness is the point. Their relationship requires distance if it is to work at all, so the film concludes with Scully mulling an important yet risky decision apart from Mulder. This recurring theme of distance has been a prevailing one of the show, a distance new viewers would not likely understand. Certainly, the film suffers from periodic plot problems, but this theme of being apart is not one of them.

With IWB, Carter and Spotnitz developed a stand alone project unlike the previous film, The X-Files: Fight the Future. Their thinking was that new audiences would better embrace a film that was not connected to any kind of alien-based theme. The problem with this approach is that the popular alien conspiracy was ancillary to the show's focus on Mulder and Scully, and new audiences will not quite understand their complicated history, for these two are incompatibly drawn to each other but cannot be together because of their differences.

Their lack of compromise becomes clear in IWB, so we're left with two endings, a thematic one, and the other, a fantasy. In the former, their distance is emphasized, an ending to which few have warmed. In the latter, shown after the credits, this distance is bridged. In the context of this joke, Carter argues that only in an appended fantasy can a more lasting union be formed, a resolution suggesting that broad poetic license and metaphorical thinking are ways to broaden the areas in which epistemic differences can reside.

X-Files: I Want to Believe is available from 20th Century Fox.