CINEMANIA:

2023-02-05T10:05:00.003-08:00

David Byrnes' American Utopia (Spike Lee, 2020, USA)

Ben Livant says:

James Brown meets the Blue Man Group as conducted by the love child of Mr. Spock and a king's jester.

I suppose the best way to praise this live music/dance/theatre performance-cinema is to state that it is legitimate to compare it to Stop Making Sense. It's not as good, of course, but it is still goddamn great!

And the excellence is not just due to nostalgia. Or if nostalgia is a prominent factor, it is not restricted to our generation's fans of Talking Heads. It pertains far and wide to pre-pandemic days, when this show was a hit on Broadway, with people still able to congregate in the building and bounce together in the aisles, not at all six feet apart.

That Byrne feels obligated to put out a positive, still-hopeful message I found truly uplifting. On the objective, analytical side, though, I could not help but notice that the crowd was approaching an absolute Caucasian concentration. I have to wish that the concert film will reach an African-American audience because it is a Spike Lee Joint.

2021-03-12T12:08:00.001-08:00

Gunda (USA/Russia, 2020, Viktor Kosakovskiy)

Ben Livant:

[1] Farm noir. Definitely on the level, though, ground level Bub, no Dutch angle about it The cows were too cowed to corroborate the crime, but the trip to the prison paid off anyway because one of the rosters crowed. That's what happens, sister! Hobble a cock and he'll squawk. That's the price for leaving him only one leg to walk. Guy's just lucky that murder most foul wasn't murder most fowl. Anyway, the bird was a rat and that was that. So, not in this barnyard, babe! How now killer sow? You don't get to stomp out one of your own and get away with it. Poor piglet. Them's the breaks baby cakes. But at least the strong arm of the law made sure none of your siblings had to go head to foot, take mom's trotter to the snout. Crime does not pay, ya dastardly dame! Those squealers are safe now, in the protective custody of the state. You can just pace the place all by yourself and await your fate to be meat on a plate.

[2] Artsy-fartsy vegan agit-prop. Well, vegetarian at least. An elementary school kid could get the message. While I reckon most professional pedagogues of the primary grades would regard the maternal execution of the runt of the litter too brutal for tender tots, they could condone the rest of the film for the curriculum. Should the shocking scene be censored, however, the wrenching heartbreak at the end would be emotionally available as so much Disney anthropomorphism, not the moment of ecological empathy it is meant to be and which is so crucial to generate against anthropocentricism today. As for the stark simplicity and paint-drying pace - the Bela Tarr aesthetic from the perspective of the animals instead of any identified humans - I believe young children need to be exposed to this formally just as much as to the content of the message. Get off your cell phone and regain an attention span, boys and girls.

[3] The type of animals whose perspective the film is at pains to subjuctivize without personifying is approached by Gunda

conceptually to strong ideological effect. The agricultural situation is re-conceptualized into a wild game preserve and the observational tracking takes on the tone of a safari conducted in a sanctuary. In this way, the viewer is compelled to stop looking at critters captive in the clutches of husbandry for the carnivorous consumption of people. In this way, the viewer is compelled to start seeing the antithesis of pre-pork, not-yet-beef, McNuggets-in-the-making. In this way, the statement is made as a synthesis of the environmental conservationism of any Planet Earth episode and a documentary such as Food Inc., which directedly confronts the global industrial food system.

[4] The sow is not a boar. Nor is she a bore. I was engaged by Gunda from start to finish; although I must admit, I am still not sure what I was supposed to bring to the bovines. The chickens, no confusion. They could not have been more obviously rescued from abuse. And of course, the pigs are adorable and it is truly disturbing to witness her anguish in the end. Perhaps a tad precocious, nevertheless, the film is undoubtedly moving and maybe just the sort of show to raise the consciousness of certain folks. As someone who is still a meat eater, I believe it would be hypocritically inappropriate for me to comment further.

2021-03-12T12:01:00.001-08:00

New Order (Mexico, 2020, Michel Franco)

Ben Livant:

Given our conversation beforehand, I misunderstood the scale of the situation. I thought the dramatic setting was strictly within the confines of a single private dwelling. After you told me that the servants rebel, I confirmed my (incorrect) understanding that the focus was within "the feudal manor;" again, on a solitary estate. Plus, since you criticized the film for failing to flesh out the characters of the rebellious slaves while attending more substantively to the masters, I was expecting New Order to be some sort of The Exterminating Angel and/or The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie; albeit no doubt, without Bunuel's properly proletarian radical point of view, (never mind satiric wit, surrealist artistry and overall cinematic auteur uniqueness).

So, I was taken aback by the totalizing perspective; i.e., the complete societal purchase of the piece. From from being restricted to local rebellion, the lens takes the much wider angle, looking at the nation as such and the violence is at the level of revolutionary insurrection. This being the case, yes, New Order is not a properly proletarian point of view. Furthermore, this general class issue intersects culturally with respect to race and indigeneity as per the concrete particulars of Mexico specifically. Yet, I do not think it would be right to dismiss the film as entirely misguided politically. It is not simply attending to aristocratic dread of the mob as nothing but lumpen proletarian criminality ,at bottom a reactionary pre-emptive strike against systemic change. Rather, the film means to make it plain to muddled petti-bourgeois consciousness that 'nasty' bourgeoise power will opt for fascism, whether 'nice' bourgeois power gets with the nasty program or not.

Institutionally, this comes down to the military assuming governmental authority in the state of emergency. On this topic, the film is at its most intense and insightful. Cartel kidnapping for ransom is a regular occurrence in Mexico. It is one of the main means for controlling politicians in office and corporate executives, and it has the added benefit of paying for itself as a reasonably profitably business sideline. New Order takes this existing fact and extrapolates it to the point that the military has assumed responsibility for this operation administratively. The Mafia business sideline has become its own ministerial mainline and what is more, this is just the tip of the direct fascist appropriation of the regime. I agree that the film is null and void when it comes to what the riotous looting vandals want beyond immediate revenge. At the same time, though, New Order is worthwhile insofar as it lays bare as hopelessly naïve, any sort of noblesse oblige charity and liberal reformism on the part of wealthy elites with a conscience.

Not a great film, by any means, but not just a reactionary piece of shit either. I give it one thumb, halfway up.

And Dan continues:

Yeah, I didn’t wanna tell you too much, so kept my description purposefully vague. We agree that the film has value, and I have said as much both in person, and in my brief written comments. I also found the film’s intensity ratchet up during the military’s fascist quelling of the uprisings particularly compelling and completely plausible. I just wanted to spend more time with the peasants. Do they have an end game? What sort of system do they imagine replacing the current one? What is their “New Order?”

Good, but feels like an incomplete film.

Then Ben:

Fair enough. And I figured as much. I realized once into it that you did not want to "spoil" the film for me.

The few peasants with whom we spend time are those still loyal to their master; either still on the job, or once having been, believing that their old boss will be a benevolent benefactor in their time of need.

But the aristocrats with whom we spend time are no less instrumental props for the narrative. All the characters are basically mannequins of sociological/ideological positions.

This hollow dramatic characterization is not the problem with New Order, perfectly entitled to adopt this formal strategy. The problem is the sociological/ideological vacancy of the peasantry very much no longer loyal to their masters.

2021-03-12T10:59:00.007-08:00

Black Bear (USA, Lawrence Michael Levine, 2020)

Ben Livant begins:

A bit of a head scratcher. I mean, in a very sweeping sort of way, I can take away that the exercise is a study in personal falsehood in the circumstance of professional (Part 2) or wannabe professional (Part 1) artistic creativity. You know, fabricating fiction as a vocation comes with its own occupational hazards. So, if making make-believe is how you mean to earn a living, might want to arm guards along the border of your actual identity to ensure that you don't bring your work home with you to ruin your domestic life. Easier said than done, it would appear Black Bear is out to show.

And with a demented sense of humour at that. Part 1 is pretty creepy and quite witty at the same time; as if Woody Allen wanted to make a serious psychological thriller, but just couldn't stop himself from writing dialogue with a dark comedic attitude. Part 2 departs from being vaguely ominous, the mental abuse is blatantly obvious. So blatant, in fact, the whole affair has the tone of lampoon. After all, the emotionally manipulative film director is a trope tried & true. Or is that tired & what's new? Black Bear is fully in touch with the latter perspective; which is to say, the whole business is ironic in the extreme.

Not that I found the film especially funny. It was for me oddly engaging, but overall, it struck me as yet another meta-reflexive cinematic self-observation. The back-to-me of it just a tad too much on the nose, eh.? The three leads were well cast and did good work, especially Aubrey Plaza, who definitely has a Morticia Addams quality that fit perfectly. And as I have already acknowledged, the movie is smart. But there's the rub. The thing is too cleaver by at least half. I comfortably get it that there is no direct connection between Part 1 and Part 2 beyond the faint suggestion that both are just script mock-ups jotted down by the character who is the kinda-protagonist. Even so, sigh, I also irritably get it that there is no deeper conceptual link between the two that makes the film coherent as a whole, Ursus americanus sightings notwithstanding . This non-comprehensiveness is methodological goodness itself according to po-mo but as you are all too aware, I regard the intentional abandonment of holistic thinking to be terribly misguided.

And Dan:

It reminded a little of some latter day Kiarostami, like Certified Copy, which is not my preferred Kiarostami as it too suffers too much from the disease of post modernism, but that said, I REALLY liked Plaza’s performance, enough so that I recommended the film to you knowing that it ain’t your cuppa tea. The film hits home for me as an exploration of the multiple dangers of using one’s personal life as fodder for one’s creative expression, with a dash of method actor-y meta-commentary added for flavor.

Still not sure what the black bear symbolizes.

2020-03-03T10:10:00.004-08:00

Family Obligations (Kenneth R. Frank, USA, 2019)

Variations on a theme: You can ghost your friends, but you can't disappear your family. Alternatively:
Everywhere you go, there they are. Family. Can't live with them, can't stuff them in a sack and throw them
in a river. Despite some technical struggles, Kenneth R. Frank's Family Obligations
is a quirky but life-affirming independent film that takes a close look at the burdens that family can
begrudgingly lead us to shoulder and the strength and new connections we can develop by doing so.

A sudden death in the family results in Peter Steele (Chris Mollica) being pulled back into a family dynamic he had thought he had escaped. In the process of tying up various loose ends, Peter re-connects with Uncle Frank (Frank Failla), whose health is in dire straits, as well as Melanie (Chandler Rosenthal) who is a neighbour of Frank's and a single mother struggling to keep her life together. These new relationships unleash long repressed complex emotions in all characters, and lead us to a hesitantly hopeful ending.

The story and themes the movie explores are familiar, but they are examined with enough nuance and eccentric charm to distinguish the film from others of this ilk. The score by Benjamin Morse is appealingly understated and melodic, while the cast is commendable, with Chandler Rosenthal, who offers a naturalistic and good-natured performance, standing out among her peers. If there is any meaningful critique to be made of the film it is the movie's many relatively minor technical glitches, such as out of synch audio, ragged editing and occasionally mismatched colour palettes, that are surely the result of the film's shoestring budget.

Despite these minor quibbles, Family Obligations is an endearing and sweet film about the ways family can seem a terrible weight, but ultimately is one of life's most meaningful rewards.

2019-12-26T16:24:00.002-08:00

Chameleon (Marcus Mizelle, USA, 2019)

Drawing on the conventions of crime/thriller genre, and deploying enough nifty plot shifts to keep the audience on its toes, Chameleon keeps us guessing until the final frame. In spite of its shoestring budget, the film has top end production values, and compelling performances from each of its leads. Chameleon is a fine piece of entertainment.

The film follows the struggles of a newly released ex-con named Patrick (Joel Hogan) as he tries to follow through on his promise to walk the straight and narrow upon his release. Unfortunately, this promise conflicts with another he made to his former cellmate and prison protector Dolph (Donald Prabatah). Upon his release, Dolph looks the young, handsome and dashing Patrick up so he can cash in on that promise. Together, they hatch a plan to separate wealthy older husbands from their money by aiming at their achilles heels, their trophy wives. The kidnapping plots get more elaborate, the money more enticing and the risks more nerve-wracking as the film progresses. Eventually, Patrick decides to pull the plug on their successful operation, but in typical crime/thriller convention, Dolph convinces him to target one last set of victims, Frank (Jeff Prater) and Rebecca (Alicia Leigh Willis). Of course, this is the one with both the greatest reward and highest level of risk.

Chameleon is a taut thriller that rewards an observant viewer. Writer/director Marcus Mizelle has a very good eye with the camera, and displays a fine touch in the editing room, as the film dances back and forth in time and space, encouraging (if not forcing) the audience to piece together the story and its various clues. Despite its short running time, the film develops plausible characters and places them in anxiety-riddled situations, which keeps the audience not just engaged in the moment, but invested in its outcome.

2019-12-23T15:47:00.000-08:00

Trauma Therapy (Tyler Graham Pavey, USA, 2019)

Trauma Therapy is a purported thriller wherein four people of various levels of dysfunction agree to spend a weekend with oh so cutely-named Tovin Maven, a self-help maven, in a remote cabin deep in the nameless woods. Maven, played capably by Tom Malloy, is clearly modelled on EST founder Werner Erhard, as he tolds seminars constructed to convince the attendees to face their primal fears and recognize that their main obstacle to a happy and successful is themselves.

In the film, four lucky strangers, Matt (Chase Coleman, easily the standout of the group) John (David Josh Lawrence) Danni (Luciana Faulhaber) and Beth (Emily Humble) are chosen for their specific and individual neuroses, and invited to spend the weekend with Maven in an experimental therapy aimed at righting their emotional wrongs. As the program progresses, the sessions become increasingly disturbing, as Maven pushes each member to challenge their greatest fears and traumas.

There are a number of problems with the film, first being the premise itself. What may have been relevant in the 1970s and 80s, when EST training was in its heyday, feels oddly out of synch with the times. Without any attempt to tie the plot to contemporary themes, the whole premise falls oddly flat. Further, the characters are either too dumb or damaged to recognize how they are being manipulated, which makes them increasingly difficult to empathize with. Finally, director Tyler Graham Pavey shows no flair for the genre, as he generates little tension in the therapeutic sessions, and fails to use the setting to create feelings of dread or claustrophobia. The aforementioned woods are as generic as the themes, storyline, and its characters.

2019-11-04T07:11:00.003-08:00

Anya (Okada and Taylor, USA, 2019)

On its surface, Anya is about that most topical of contemporary issues, genetic modification. Often films that engage that "ripped from the headlines" scenario have a sensationalist bent, as they are as much exploiting the issue as they are illuminating it.

Thankfully, Anya is not one of those films. Rather, Anya is a thoughtful and nuanced exploration of a complex and provocative contemporary issue. When a young couple, Libby (Ali Ahn) and Marco (Gil Perez-Abraham) is unable to have a child, they seek the help of geneticist Dr. Seymour Livingston (the name is a bit on the nose) to determine if the cause of their infertility is a curse passed down to Marco by his immigrant community to those who marry "outside the fold." When Livingston (Motell Gyn Foster) discovers Marco has a genetic anomaly that makes it impossible for he and Libby to have children, they are faced with the ethical dilemma of whether and how to resolve this problem.

Placing people at the forefront of the hot button topic is vital to the film's ability to engage the audience. We care about these people, so their struggle with the decision of what to do next is real, not some abstraction. The performances of the three key players, low key and naturalistic, are uniformly excellent. The approach of the filmmakers, led by real life couple Jacob Akira Okada and Carylanna Taylor, focuses on the human drama as much as the ethical one. Their decision to present this documentary style, as a slice of life, is wise, as the emotional impact on the audience is decidedly enhanced. Further deepening matters, the film operates as a cutting-edge study of the modern science splicing, but also functions effectively as an examination of the immigrant experience, and the emotional challenge of remaining unassimilated and feeling like an alien in your adopted home.

Anya's score is terrific, leading us through some of the film's occasional tonal shifts, for this is not a uniformly somber affair. Moments of humour and romance are allowed, and well-supported by the score.

Anya may be small in budget, but it is big in humanity, intelligence and emotional impact.

2019-10-21T11:52:00.002-07:00

Sunday Girl (USA, Peter Ambrosio, 2019)

At once familiar and refreshingly adept, Sunday Girl is a self-aware and clever examination of a day in the life of a young woman trying to get her romantic life back in order.

Natasha is at an important crossroads in her life. She is dating five men, but decides she wants to commit to only one, George (Brandon Stacy) so she embarks upon a one day mission to break up with the other four. Each boyfriend comes with a distinct set of emotional baggage, and at first the set up of the story feels schematic, as it looks like we will simply bounce from one lover to the next, bearing witness to their various and varied responses to the news of their relationships' end. Thankfully, writer/director Peter Ambrosio quickly breaks from this pattern, inserting flashbacks and the occasional colourful cameo by Natasha's friends and associates, fleshing out her back story and adding some emotional heft to her decision to zero in on
George as her man.

Ambrosio, who appears to have learned very much from the films of Wes Anderson, has a very good eye for symmetrical compositions and creative camera placement, as well as an astute sense of detail in the costumes and set design. He also gets some very good performances out of his actors. The above mentioned Stacy adds a note of seriousness and intensity to the tone a film that might otherwise come off as rather light weight.Noted podcaster Dasha Nekrasova's performance as Natasha is initially rather detached and monochromatic, but evolves into something approaching sympathetic by the film's midway point. By the end, Nekrasova, looking like Emma Stone's little sister, we feel that Natasha has if not earned, at least is deserving of her emotional catharsis. Finally, the score by Oscar Tetenbaum is a standout. Both playful and vibrant, Tetenbaum's score provides the film with just the right emotional notes throughout.

Writer/director Peter Ambrosio makes a very good first impression with his feature film debut.
.

Human Capital

2019-09-10T09:25:00.001-07:00

Human Capital (Marc Meyers, USA, 2019)

Mainstream films in America often struggle when it comes to portraying class divides, not because it is hard to do so, but because those in charge of getting films seen are loath to honestly examine how for most people the American dream is a total nightmare. They have determined that social truths that run counter to the Horatio Alger mythology are a real downer and won't put butts in the seats. So on those rare occasions when a studio film touches on issues of social class the chances are the key word will be "touches" rather than delves into.

Alas, I must report that such is the case with the Oren Moverman penned and Marc Meyers' directed Human Capital. Based loosely on a 2013 Italian film of the same name, the story follows characters from different social classes as their lives intertwine in unlikely and disastrous ways. Liev Shreiber is Drew Hagel, a realtor who represents the failing middle class. Drew, despite a history of gambling issues, finds a friendly banker who allows him to make a dubious investment in the volatile world of hedge funds. The funds in questions are run by the well-cast Peter Sarsgaard, who has made arrogance and smugness his calling card for a couple of decades. His depiction of the uber-wealthy Quint Manning will do little to alter that image. And on the periphery, representing the working class, is Ian (Alex Wolff, Hereditary), a thinly drawn character who acts primarily as a plot device.

While the film clearly boasts a first rate cast, Marisa Tomei as Quint's wife is wasted in cliched subplot of a bored wealthy woman trying to find meaning through art. On the other hand, Maya Hawke is terrific as Shannon, Drew Hagel's daughter, who is drawn into the central mystery when she comes to the aid of her former (closeted) boyfriend (Fred Hechlinger) who also happens to be Quint's son. Whatever "it" is, Hawke has it. Eventually, a late night accident wraps these character's stories around one another as we and the police try to solve the mystery of who caused the accident, as well as who will pay the price. The stories are told in a Rashomon-like way, as we witness the central events from three different perspectives. Unlike Rashomon, however, Human Capital offers no additional insight into the characters or the human condition through such an approach. Instead, the overlapping narratives drag the simple story out, making a relatively short 97 minute film feel like a bit of a slog.

Human Capital is a well-mounted, capably acted, mechanically-written and directed film that swims effortlessly in the mainstream, but offers little if any insight into the human condition.

2019-09-02T11:31:00.001-07:00

The Riot Act (USA, Devon Parks, 2018)

In The Riot Act, a murder in a small frontier town leads to the haunting of the murderer, town patriarch Dr. Willard Pearrow (Brett Cullen). Other than being the town doctor, Pearrow also owns the local Opera House, and it is in the meeting of the theatrical with the supernatural that the film finds some interesting ground to tread. Pearrow welcomes a troupe of progressive Vaudevillians from the East, and it is then that the film's ghostly narrative takes proper shape as a revenge tale.

Set in Oklahoma in 1901, The Riot Act's hybrid plot is ably applied to a period piece that shows fine attention to the necessary details allowing the audience to be transported to a different time and place. Writer/director of the film, Devon Parks,capably adapts a real-life story and delivers an entertaining if sometimes credulity stretching tale to the screen.

The attention to period detail, from set design to costumes, is impressive, immersing the audience in the film's setting. The performances, despite the curious casting of the slight-framed Connor Price as the town smithy, are solid, with Lauren Sweetser giving a plausible portrayal of the daughter of Dr. Pearrow and co-conspirator in the revenge plot against him. However, Brett Cullen is the standout as the villainous Pearrow. His Chris Cooper-ish middle America gravitas imbue Pearrow with plenty of menace and elevate what could be a two dimensional role into a compelling antagonist.

The film is thematically complex, taking on a variety of ideas and issues, including the clash of social classes, the Eastern establishment finding itself out of its element in the small western frontier town, the artifice of the theatrical world casting a long shadow across the veneer of polite reality, and the question of spiritual versus material reality. While there are a few narrative implausibilities, they never derail the story, and while the story takes on a bit more thematically then it can ultimately deliver, it is generally preferable that a film's reach exceeds its grasp than to play it safe and keep one's hands in one's pockets.

2019-08-01T10:57:00.002-07:00

The Iron Orchard

Legend has it that back in the day a young sports writer trying to come up with an angle for his interview with the great Mickey Mantle struck upon an idea. "Hey Mickey. When you walk up to the plate, do you ever just try to hit a home run?" "Every time, son," answered number seven, "every time."

The Iron Orchard is not Mickey Mantle.

While it has the same subject matter and setting as the larger than life There Will Be Blood and epic Giant, The Iron Orchard has more humble aspirations than those two great films. It follows the rags to riches to rags story of Jim McNeely (Lane Garrison) in mid-20th century Texas oil country. Motivated by his romantic rejection, McNeely aims to prove his worthy of the love he lost. And, in classic great man style, as McNeely gains the world, he loses his soul. His rise to the life of privilege and power is solidly contrasted with his well-deserved loss thereof.

Garrison is a capable and watchable lead. Some of the supporting characters are played a bit too broadly to be anything more than caricatures, but the central story is strong, and the film, well photographed and competently edited, is always interesting to look at. A toe-tapping score and well-paced narrative drive round out the film's many competencies.

Mickey Mantle played 18 seasons, had 9907 plate appearances and hit 536 home runs. He also struck out 1710 times. There is a price to be paid when you hit for the fences, but by any objective standards, Mantle is one of the best to play the game. There is also no shame in choking up and slapping a solid single when the situation demands it. Further, the game of baseball would be mighty dull if every hit was a homer. It is enriched and enlivened by a variety of approaches and styles. So too is cinema. A movie which has and meets its modest ambitions has value. The Iron Orchard is such a film.

2019-06-22T22:21:00.000-07:00

Ophelia (Claire McCarthy, UK, 2018)

Even for those who have never read Shakespeare's play, the story of Hamlet has seeped into the collective unconscious enough that the key plot points are at the very least familiar. A brooding Danish prince spends the better part of the play plagued by indecision. He suspects his father was murdered by his uncle Claudius, who in turn has quickly married Hamlet's mother and seized the throne. As he ruminates on his options, which include but are not limited to suicide and murder, Hamlet is for the longest time unable to do anything to anybody, until, in the end, he does everything to everybody.

Ophelia, adapted from a successful young adult novel of the same name by Lisa Klein, is a handsomely mounted production, with ample evidence that the filmmakers took great care in all aspects of the production design. Everything from costumes to set design, cinematography to editing speaks to this being a very professional piece of handiwork. As for the story, it is a reimagining of Shakespeare's tale, now told from the point of view of Hamlet's betrothed, a young lady in his family's court. Such a shift in point of view necessarily requires a fair bit of literary (and cinematic) license, in that Ophelia's character (played with pluck and spunk by Daisy Ridley, who I am told made a name for herself in one of the recent Star Wars films) is only sketched in the broadest terms in the play. To overgeneralize only slightly, Ophelia exists as a reference point to more important male figures in the play, namely as Hamlet's intended, Laertes' brother and Polonius' daughter, so for her to become the story's protagonist, she will need a life beyond that of the men around her, and in the opening reels of the film it looks as if she is going to be given just that. She is shown to be strong-willed, intelligent, curious and rebellious. The foundation is laid for the development of an intriguing character.

Unfortunately, the film doesn't follow through on the promise, as Ophelia soon becomes a peripheral figure who lurks in the film's shadows, bearing witness to unfolding events, but rarely initiating them. As a result, she loses the momentum that the film had initially built for her. Third act plot twists aside, which necessarily deviate mightily from the source material in order to make her a more modern figure in 14th Century guise, Ophelia remains more a victim than a protagonist. This is certainly in keeping with Shakespeare's intentions for her character, but it seems unlikely that it is what the filmmakers, who are clearly aiming this at a more woke audience, are shooting for.

It does not help the film that it is neither fish nor fowl. The Shakespeare crowd, small though vocal, will not be pleased with the liberties the story takes with the text. Nor will traditionalists be fond of this iteration of Hamlet (George MacKay), who is depicted as a randy young lad with none of the emotional or philosophical depth evident in the source material. Contemporary fans hoping for a lively feminist updating of the story will likewise find the film a bit of a slog, for reasons outlined above, while anyone looking for Bronte-esque tale of brooding romantic intensity will be disappointed by the lack of sizzle between MacKay and Ridley (or for that matter Naomi Watts and Clive Owen, who play Gertrude and Claudius).

Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is a decidedly post-modernist take on Shakespeare's most famous play, with its tongue planted firmly in its cheek, while director Claire MacCarthy is clearly aiming for a more earnestly feminist reimagining thereof. It is not entirely successful, but has enough going for it at the purely technical level that it may find an audience. I am not it, however.

2019-06-08T19:49:00.002-07:00

Ghost Light (John Stimpson, USA, 2018)

When Waiting for Guffman meets the curse of the Scottish Play, a comedy/horror film is born. Ghost Light is a wee trifle, a hybrid film that is not entirely successful, but just successful enough to recommend. The film follows a troop of nomadic actors whose latest stop takes them to Riverside Lodge and theatre in Massachusetts, where they are going to present their 51st version of William Shakespeare's classic tragedy, Macbeth. However, when one of the actors, the ambitious and arrogant Thomas (Tom Ingram) dares to speak the name of the play outside of rehearsal and performance, he invokes the play's curse.

It is then the fun really begins, as demons and ghosts, mysterious accidents and frightful hallucinations begin to afflict members of the cast, casting doubt on the viability of the production. While the horror tropes play out, the film invites comparison to the aforementioned Christopher Guest comedy, as it gently mocks the pretensions, limitations and assignations of the members of this theatrical traveling circus. Ghost Light is hurt by the comparison in that Guffman is a comedy masterpiece that would make most aspirants pale by comparison, but ultimately Ghost Light acquits itself well, despite not being as insightful or funny.

The cast is universally solid. Cary Elwes has particular fun with his role as the soap opera star in way over his head in the title role, while comedy veterans like Carol Kane, Robert Bart and Scott Adsit are comic gold throughout. Shannyn Sossoman is solid as she morphs into Lady Macbeth and the aforementioned Riley quite believable as the ambitious Thomas, a character so smug you'd love to see someone smack him in the face.

Ghost Light is entirely watchable, a success in a minor key, riffing on topics and themes that we have seen before, and sometimes better.

The Outsider

2019-06-01T21:00:00.002-07:00

The Outsider (Timothy Woodward Jr., USA, 2019)

"A man who desires revenge should dig two graves." (unknown)

Revenge flicks and westerns are a natural fit. Both play on the American myth of the lone wolf, both generally endorse the notion that violence in the service of justice is acceptable, and both usually involve one good man taking on many bad ones. The Outsider, written by Sean Ryan and directed by Timothy Woodward Jr., fits comfortably within these boundaries. Set in the 19th Century American west, as is case for most traditional westerns, it tells the story of a Chinese immigrant railroad labourer who seeks revenge for the brutal rape and murder of his wife at the hands of the son of a local Marshal (played capably by country star Trace Adkins).

The film boasts some solid performances, particularly from the three leads, Jon Foo as the the revenge-seeking railroad worker, Sean Patrick Flanery as a well past his best before date tracker and Kaiwi Lyman as a marshall's dirtbag son and object of Jiang's revenge. However, it also suffers from a lack of a single moment of narrative surprise or subtlety, as it follows the conventions of the genre slavishly. Suffused with a Road to Perdition-like orange and blue colour palette, The Outsider is at least at times interesting to watch. Even there, however, director Timothy Woodward Jr. and his cinematographer Pablo Diez waste some of the goodwill they've built with the audience by shooting too many of the action sequences at night, where the lack of lighting often makes deciphering what is going on nearly impossible. Given that Foo in particular is adept enough at martial arts to make his dispatching of a wealth of local cowpoke who dare stand in the way of his mission look plausible--convincing, even--it is something of a shame that we don't get a clearer view of all of his action sequences.

The Outsider's narrative is lean and well-paced, and does not overstay its welcome with an 86 minute running time. It's just a shame that the film doesn't provide a little bit more to chew on.

2019-05-17T11:40:00.001-07:00

Bull (Annie Silverstein, USA, 2019)

Bull riding is a competitive activity of incredibly compact narrative tension. The whole thing takes place in 8 seconds (or less, depending upon the skill of the rider and the rage of the bull), and in those precious seconds, an entire story plays out. The determination of the bull to buck its charge is contrasted with the attempt of the rider to anticipate the bull's violent movements and settle into a home on the bull's back for a few precious moments. The movie Bull offers a similar narrative movement, but played out over the course of a sometimes lax 100 minutes, as the two leads, former bull rider Abe and young rebellious teenager Kris, suss each other out, trying to settle into a friendship that could help each out.

Bull is set in a dessicated and drab Houston suburb, the sort of place that is, like its characters, on the outer edges of society. The movie, again, like its characters, just sort of meanders along for awhile as we get to know this run down and hollowed out world. Director Silverstein occasionally indulges her art house inclinations with symbolism-laden shots of pit bulls, chickens and bulls, but it rarely feels forced or artificial. If there is one complaint to make about the film, it is in its skeletal narrative, which makes the few moments that the story does make a false step all the more obvious, since there are not many strides in Bull's journey.

However, what the film lacks in narrative drive, it makes up for in nuanced character development and convincing performances.Rob Morgan shows impressive dynamic range as the taciturn, ageing rodeo clown Abe, whose days on the circuit are winding down. His injury-ravage body requires near constant self-medication, which is where Amber Havard, who is similarly solid as the troubled 14 year-old Kris, comes in. When Abe is out of town Kris sees Abe's stash of alcohol and painkillers and invites people she hopes to impress over for a party. When Kris is caught, it appears she may be following her mother's path into incarceration until Abe steps in and offers to drop the charges if Kris helps him out by doing chores around his house. It is an artificial Seinfeld-ian sort of set up, but the actors make it work. Both Morgan and Havard stay well within the demands of the realistic realm in which they operate, with none of the telegraphing or histrionics you might see in less accomplished work.

Bull could easily slide into sentiment, but maintains the course as a quiet, naturalistic film set in a dying corner of the country, involving characters on the outer periphery of society who participate in an industry that is in atrophy. As this represents a growing number of people in the so-called developed world these days, Bull, while somewhat slight on the storytelling side, is a significant contribution to our understanding of what life is like for people like this in our neck of the woods. These stories need to be told, and here is hoping filmmakers like Annie Silverstein continue to tell them.

2019-04-14T17:46:00.001-07:00

Tater Tot and Patton (Andrew Kightlinger, USA, 2017)

First things first. The weakest thing about this film is its title, which suggests a film redolent with saccharine pre-pubescent cutesy-pie charm, rather than the intelligent and nuanced character study that is actually the case. So, with that minor criticism out of the way, let's move on to the many things that this film does so very well.

Erwin (Bates Wilder) is a morose alcoholic. In a seemingly perpetual state of inebriation, he moves around his dilapidated house as if underwater. He "sleeps" on top of the sheets (when he does make it to his bed), which suggests each night ends with him passing out, rather than falling asleep, while each morning begins with a raw egg in a glass of beer. This is not a happy man.

Into his life is dropped his 20-something niece Andie (Jessica Rothe) from Los Angeles, who when given the choice between rehab and some time spent with her uncle on his South Dakota ranch, chooses the latter. Erwin is not keen on playing the part of caretaker (he can barely tend to his dog), and Andie is none too impressed that not only is there no wifi for her iPhone, but also that the meals for this vegetarian consist of hot dogs and pork and beans. This is not going to go well.

What works so well about Tater Tot and Patton can be distilled down to the realism of the story, the honesty of its treatment of the characters and the excellent performances of the two leads. It is refreshing to see a film set in rural America that is not riddled with ironic condescension towards its rustic inhabitants. It is laudable to note how the screenplay allows the conflicts between the characters to evolve and be resolved quietly and gradually over time, rather than in bursts of heightened drama. Finally, it is a treat to watch the two principal actors deliver powerful yet naturalistic performances. Bates Wilder is particularly impressive, delivering a soulful performance. His mournful eyes bespeak the pain he lives with every day. Jessica Rothe is similarly stellar in the less flashy role, revealing layers of sorrow that show she is much more than just a spoiled millennial.

Writer/director Kightlinger is to be commended for choosing a low-key approach suitable to the material, while guiding his actors to follow the lead of his script and direction. While the narrative moves to a somewhat predictable conclusion, it is the journey that will remain with the viewers long after they have viewed the final frame.

2019-03-11T20:51:00.004-07:00

Streaker (Peter Luisi, Switzerland, 2017)

Beat Shlaff plays Balthasar Naff, a teacher and single parent, who is a man with a dream. He wants to build a museum to honour Gottfried Keller, a (from most accounts) proficient if unexceptional chronicler of 19th Century bourgeois Swiss life, who was particularly beloved by his now-deceased wife. However, Balthasar makes a disastrous decision to abscond with school funds targeted for a FIFA level football pitch and bet them on a "sure thing" with the local bookie, only to learn that in the world of sports there are no such things as a sure thing. In order to raise the funds to pay the contractors of the school project and skim enough for himself to make the museum happen, Balthasar enters into a business arrangement with said bookie and hairdresser Kushtrim. Their sport of choice? Streaking. Betters guess how long the streakers will last on the pitch before security brings all their naked frolicking to a halt, and the criminal masterminds make money on the over/under trade.

You can be excused if your first thought is "Streaking? Isn't that so 1973?" Apparently, word has not reached the Swiss, for streaking is apparently still a thing in the famously neutral alpine nation. It does create a bit of cognitive dissonance for the non-European viewer, but to be fair the film has bigger problems than this. Primary among them is the utter predictability of the storyline. Once Naff decides to execute the scheme, we are subject to a series of far too familiar sequences, including the requisite recruitment and training montages where we are quickly introduced to Naff's streaker accomplices and forced to endure the utter tedium of not one, not two, but three sequences of the streakers learning how to ply their trade.

Nor does the story pick up any marks for introducing a love subplot between Naff and the policewoman who has been assigned to bring a halt to all the streaking and unmask the mastermind behind it. Long gone are the days when watching grown people running naked on a field of sport is very much fun, but this film manages to drain the last few drops out of that particular humour barrel. No cliche escapes deployment, no narrative twist underbaked. This Streaker needs to put on its clothes and go home.

2019-03-11T20:11:00.002-07:00

American Adrift (Christopher James Lopez, USA, 2016)

Often when a film's narrative has been "ripped from the headlines" the work suffers from an Afterschool special feel, with compromised production values and perfectly unremarkable performances at the service of a story aimed more at sensationalism than subtlety. Thankfully, American Adrift, which takes on the opioid crisis, is not afflicted with these issues. It is a well-mounted and acted story that has enough artistic flourishes in the editing and cinematography to escape such criticisms. In fact the first two acts of the film are very good. Unfortunately a lot of good will built up in those acts is squandered by a rushed and implausible third act.

The film centres around Cecilia Fernandez (Luna Lauren Velez), whose life has all the outward appearance of success. However, just as she and her husband William (Tony Playa) move with their sons into their new home in the Long Island suburbs, their youngest son Cameron (Angel Bismark Curiel) starts experimenting with drugs, eventually developing an addiction to heroin. The film documents the devastation this wreaks on the entire family, but it clearly impacts the life of Cecelia the most. She puts her job as a nearly-tenured professor at risk in order to take care of the various disasters his addiction precipitates, while William suffers a stroke trying to deal with the stress of having an addict in the house. Burgeoning writer and older brother Sam (Davi Santos) chronicles the story, eventually publishing his breakthrough first work based on the story.

As mentioned the performances are fine, with the underutilized Playa and the young Curiel (in a potential breakout role) doing particularly good work. The film employs an achronological stream of consciousness narrative; some of the choices of edits are particularly memorable. The imagery of water as a symbol for the addict's sense of being adrift is employed with enough subtlety so as not to feel too self-conscious. The real problem is in the third act, where Cecilia makes a number of decisions that seem decidedly out of character, and lead to a finale that is out of synch with much that has led up to it.

Writer/director/producer/editor Christopher James Lopez has taken a potentially familiar story and infused it with enough intelligence and directorial elan that it overcomes the narrative's major stumble in the third act.

2019-02-10T11:01:00.001-08:00

The Remarkable Life of John Weld (Gabe Torres, 2018)

The central figure in this documentary, John Weld, was a stuntman, journalist, screenplay writer, and memoirist ("Fly Away Home: Memoir of a Hollywood Stuntman") whose life was, as you might imagine from such a resume, filled with adventure and excitement. Unfortunately, despite having such rich material to work with, the filmmakers have been unable to craft this into a documentary that is either adventurous or exciting, and fails to capture the essence of the man.

The documentary's structure is pretty conventional, moving chronologically through Weld's life, from talking head to dramatic reenactment then back to talking head again, with voice over narration guiding us through the transitions. The reenactments are competently, if not memorably done, while Peter Coyote, with his distinctive timber and intonation, provides capable voice over narration. However, the film never elevates the material, and many times is unable to give us a clear understanding of it or the subject matter's importance.

Since the doc focuses on Weld's life from the 20s to the early 60s, most of the experts being called upon to provide background have only second hand knowledge of the man. They know OF him, they've hear ABOUT his exploits, but they never met him. So there is a lot of postulating, "He must have done/seen this" "He must have known about/seen this" which is problematic if you are trying to create a definitive statement about the significance of a person's life.

Ultimately, the key problem with the film is its lacks a thematic focus. While a lot of interesting things happened in Weld's life, there is no larger theme that provides his life with significance. He seems to have moved from job to job with no clear motivation--why did he become a journalist? why did he give up on being a screenplay writer?--and in the end we are left wondering what's it all about, Alfie?

2019-01-23T11:43:00.003-08:00

Stay Human (Michael Franti, 2018)

Michael Franti, musician, songwriter and social justice advocate, has long struggled with the problem of being critical of the many serious problems in the world, while trying to find the means to transcend them through community and connectedness. His album Stay Human, released in 2000, explored this territory, and has become the inspiration for the Franti-helmed 2018 documentary.

Franti offers details of his personal history and psychology to help us understand the forces that shaped him and the inspirations that have led him on his current journey. Franti’s honesty and frankness in these very personal moments of self-reflection lend the documentary an intimacy that illuminates the humanity that he chooses to highlight in his subject matter.

Franti travels around the planet to offer us stories of hope and courage, heartbreak and triumph. He seeks out people who have chosen to give of themselves for the betterment of others. He visits Robin Lim, a midwife in the Philippines who founded birthing centres there in the wake of the devastation left by a series of typhoons. She believes much of the pain we see in people is due to the way we are brought into the world, so Robin attempts to lessen or even eliminate trauma to the infant in the birthing process. One of the documentary’s most uplifting and heart rending stories Franti presents is that of Hope, a woman who has married Steve, a man with ALS, knowing that for most of their marriage she would be his nursemaid. Franti’s point of view is earnest and sincere, but there are a few moments of humour and joy to leaven the proceedings. Most of these revolve around his music, which blends hip hop, reggae, soul and funk into a world music entirely befitting his globe-trotting ways.

Stay Human is not a particularly interesting documentary on the stylistic or technical front; Franti is, after all, a relative neophyte whose only other work in this medium was the 2008 documentary on his peace mission in the Middle East, I Know I’m Not Alone. So the film is a little editorially clumsy from time to time. However, these technical flaws pale by comparison to the documentary’s guiding forces of hopefulness and humanity. Stay Human is an affecting and engaging document, and one that could not be more well-timed. What the world needs now is more people like Michael Franti.

2019-01-14T14:37:00.001-08:00

A Boy Called Sailboat (Cameron Nugent, 2018)

A Boy Called Sailboat is a wee fable whose ability to charm will be in direct correlation to one’s default cynicism setting. The more affable and hopeful one is, the more the film is likely to win one over. Set in an unnamed but dusty southwestern US locale, the film focuses on the story of the titular character (played with charm by Julian Sanchez, making his feature acting debut) a six year old Hispanic lad who is prone to speaking epigrammatically while moving through the world with a quiet dignity. In what appears to be a metaphor for the fragility of life, Sailboat’s family lives in a house that leans perilously to the right, and is held in place by a single well placed piece of wood. One day the young lad discovers a “little guitar” in a rubbish heap, and takes it as a sign that he must learn how to not only play it, but write a song on it for his beloved grandmother, who languishes in the local hospital. Once he starts playing his song for others, it has a mysterious transformative power on the audience that affects the listener profoundly.

The film is populated with an array of oddball characters straight out of a Tim Burton film, including a boy who cannot wink, and a teacher (Jake Busey) who plays with rattlesnakes like he was in a revival meeting. The film is anchored by some very good work by Sailboat’s parents, played affectingly by Noel Gugliemi and Elizabeth De Razzo. Visually, the film is indebted to the bold color schemes and symmetrical patterns of Wes Anderson, while the score is a note-perfect series of ukulele renditions of songs from the American songbook, folk music and classic rock and roll. Not everything works; for example, the connection between the boy and his obsession with a sailboat does not entirely payoff in anything but the most superficial way, but such complaints are minor and infrequent.

Australian-born writer/director Cameron Nugent, making his feature film debut after decades plying his trade as an actor, has clearly been paying attention and learned his vocation well. The film is in the hands of a capable craftsman, and it will be only the hard-hearted amongst us who is not ultimately won over by the charms of A Boy Called Sailboat.

The Florida Project (Sean Baker, 2017, USA)

2018-03-12T19:39:00.000-07:00

Ben Livant says:

So powerfully did The Florida Project affect my emotions, it is a challenge for me to give it an intellectual reflection. I attempt to do so now because I am just as much intensely sympathetic to the ideological substance of the film. Even though my selfish inclination is to avoid addressing this work of art analytically so I can just cherish the experience of having seen it, I mean here to promote TFP in no uncertain terms so I can help it receive the widest possible audience. Including children. Perhaps especially children.

When the title of the film became known to me, I misunderstood its meaning in a way that ultimately turned out to be even more correct. I took the word project to refer to an assigned task to undertake, a scheduled job to complete. I thought the scale of this would be relatively modest, however, possibly even limited to a meta-statement about the film-maker’s own intentions to make a movie in Florida for reasons that the movie would reveal.

In retrospect, I suppose it could be argued that this turned out to be the case. But the simple fact of the matter that I only learned from my wife after viewing TFP is that the title refers to the name that the Disney corporation used for the eastern Disneyland-on-steroids while it was under construction in the 1960s. It would be not just another land of Disney. It would be a whole world. A brand-new world. A brand-new world wholly under the same old brand. Disney solely. All-American holy.

Soon enough into the film, it becomes clear that it is set within spitting distance of Disney World. Close, so close. And yet so far. So very very far. The conceptual fulcrum of the film is the critical juxtaposition of the nearly immediate physical proximity of a motel to the amusement park and the vast social chasm that demarcates the two. The motel is called The Magic Castle, but it sure as shit ain’t the one just down the street. It is the home of residents who pay by the week and struggle to do so, an especially transient low-rent apartment block.

In short, a slum. Hence, I was quick and ultimately wrong to think that the title of the film was a comparison to a public housing “project” in the ghetto. The difference was between the inner-city and the suburbs. My error aside, the characters populating the motel are the most precariously employed among the working-class and the probability of them crossing over into the lumpen-proletariat is high.

Indeed, the mother of the protagonist barely supports herself and her six-year old daughter, hustling tourists by any means necessary, means that increasingly are illegal. The drama comes to a head when her prostitution induces the state to take custody of her kid. Tries to, that is. But enough plot spoilage. Prior to the climax, I was relieved that substance abuse and violence caused by it did not at all feature in the story. Point being, had they, it would have been completely credible. These people are seriously at risk.

This risk is not at all obvious initially and the way it grows steadily apparent over the course of the story-telling is remarkably subtle and brilliantly paced. Meanwhile, the profound compassion informing TFP shows us how the love between the mother and the daughter is genuine. Make no mistake. We are looking at so-called white trash. Their ignorance is sometimes difficult to tolerate and their conduct can be offensive. But just as much, we respect their deep bond and admire their resilient defiance.

Surrounding this central relationship, the all-to- temporary residents form particular friendships and generally interact with cordial neighborliness despite their itinerant instability. Crucial for this is the manager of the motel, who has a heart of gold without being a push-over or even more vital for the realism of the film, a miracle-worker. What is fundamental to TFP is the depiction of destitute people with dignity. The film glamorizes no virtues just as strictly as it does not sensationalize vices, but the main message is that so-called white trash is not trash and the color of poverty is irrelevant for the class consciousness of the story.

What oxygenates the blood of the film is the protagonist. Just like the tree tipped over but still growing that she admires, she is a feisty survivor. She makes the most of how ice cream tastes when she can get it and she has no shame in how she gets it. But it is the power of her imagination that is her special strength. A few cows in a field are for her the great African beasts to witness on safari. An abandoned building going to ruin is in her mind a haunted house to enter for the thrill of it. She sees her own extra-aesthetic significance in a real rainbow. She moves in her world as if it is an amusement park, like she is living in the happiest place on earth.

Whoa! Sorry about that. Don’t want to get sued for trespassing on privately owned conceptual property. The Happiest Place on Earth™. The Happiest Place on Earth®. The Happiest Place on Earth©. Once upon a time, the magic kingdom was promised by religion. Turns out it belongs to The Walt Disney Company. Visitors are more than welcome, of course. As long as visitors have the money. Trespassers will be prosecuted.

TFP allows childhood to trespass all over the totalitarian Disney cosmos. This is even literally so, for a poetic moment, in a shot that was taken by actually trespassing photographically on the corporate real estate; an artistic effort that of itself constitutes a political act. That this act was absolutely necessary for the achievement of the film as a whole, there can be no questioning. To witness the brief image is to find the film’s radical critique of escapism inescapable, at the very least. At most, it is to regard the whole film as a provocation to expropriate the expropriators, take back from Disney the cultural life-world that it has colonized from our minds.

The pathos of the film proves to be gut-wrenching. So profoundly does it smash the fact of Kissimmee Florida up against the narcotic mythology sold mere minutes away. So deeply does it demonstrate a terribly vulnerable human being subject to socioeconomic degradation and junk culture indoctrination, seeking sanctuary from the very source of her suffering. It is this source not just symbolically. It is so actually, as the capitalist enterprise dominating everything for miles around.

TFP is a masterpiece that demands to be appreciated in relation to the Italian neo-realism that came out of WWII. The use of non-professional actors performing for the first time in a number of roles is the most basic commonality. The narrative is tightly story-boarded but the dialogue is not precisely scripted, especially from the child actors. The naturalism is also facilitated by the shortness of most scenes, which I suspect reflects judicious editing of takes that were allowed to meander organically. At the same time, the brevity of scenes corresponds convincingly to the attention span of a little kid and this is further reinforced by shots taken close to the ground that give the perspective of being short down there.

TFP is no exercise in cinéma vérité, however, particularly of the old b/w documentarian sort. Because it is indirectly out to challenge critically the ethos of Disney, it counters with an overtly stylistic sensibility that deconstructs what is signified by color itself. The motel and all of the other buildings in the area are garish. Ostensibly guarantees of grand entertainment by the businesses sporting the commercial plumage, the film clandestinely exposes them to be false fronts covering insecure accommodations and soul-deadening occupations that underpin the phony enchantment of the entire zone. This film was not commissioned by the local chamber of commerce.

The chief concession of neo-realism is an aspect of melodrama. They are Italians after all. TFP has not one iota of it. It never goes for high, impassioned theatrics underscored with music. Well, until it does. But when it does, TFP does not adopt a melodramatic strategy. It employs rather a concentrated tactic of metaphor, of which the artistic efficacy is staggering. To say more about this truly would be to spoil the picture.

Sean Baker’s previous offering, Tangerine (2015), impressed me very much; simply by the choice of its subject matter and penetrating empathy for its transgendered main character, as well as for the low-budget, populist-tech way he made that movie. TFP is in another category altogether. It is art that anyone can get and everyone should. It is an important work that I honestly believe will help make America great again. It is that rare film that is delivered unto you when you wish upon a star, when you wish upon a star.

And Dan responds:

The Florida Project blew me away.

First off, I want to talk about the performances, especially by the kids. Especially by The Kid, Brooklynn Prince, who played Moonee. So much of the film's effectiveness rests on her slight seven year-old shoulders, and she is a veritable titan. Child performers generally give me the shivers because they don't know how to act. Or, more to the point, all they know how to do is Act. They are performing, rather than being, and it is often distracting. Not Ms. Prince. She is Moonee. No sense of artifice here. A completely natural and authentic performance. As you note, some of the credit could be given to editor, but in the end, there needs to be a there there to salvage, and there is so much there here that I was left a quivering mess by film's end.

Perhaps equally important are the performances of Bria Vinaite as Moonee's mother Halley and Willem Dafoe as the manager of the slum motel they all inhabit. Vinaite is a revelation in this career-making role. This is a young woman in way over her head, raising a child as a child, with all the skills one might expect. But Halley is not one to be cowed or intimidated; she is a survivor, a terrier, bearing her teeth and snarling in the face of the forces that try to bully her and remind her of her place. As a marginal authority figure, Dafoe is reliably terrific, finding just the right notes of concern, kindness and sternness that the part demands. He bears daily witness to the lives of these down-and-outers and does his job without losing sight of their (or his) essential humanity. That he is ultimately ineffectual and must stand by helplessly while the shit hits the proverbial fan is not his failure, but testament to the larger forces at work which are far beyond his control.

As to the rest, your excellent essay says it all. The juxtaposition of Disney World's phony promise of great happiness and the grim reality of the itinerant poor who live in the decrepit and gaudy buildings quite literally next door packs one hell of a punch. The vacant development down the street (given the age of the buildings I'm guessing a victim of the 2008 global economic crash) is a constant reminder of how close everyone in this world is to homelessness, and how economic downturns always hurt most those with the least.

The scenes where the kids go out into this world, not only fearlessly, but with determination, imagination and joy, are the film's best. Director Sean Baker has a great eye, capturing this gaudy reality in all its glory (the sunsets invariably match the various building's colours) while framing compositions that leave the viewer agape (you mentioned my favourites.) All this, and not a moment of manipulative sentimentality to be found. Between this and his previous effort Tangerine, Baker is shaping up to be on a very short list of my favourite working directors.

ps: what was up with all the helicopters? Were they also near a military base? Loved how Halley gave them the finger the first time they appeared.

Then Ben:

Thank you for asking about the helicopters. Or maybe it is just one helicopter that appears and reappears a number of times. When it first appeared, I wondered if it was a police helicopter, comparable to the surveillance so notorious in LA. I interpreted Halley giving it the finger to be a signal to the audience that the character has a troubled history with the local law enforcement officers. The latter is subsequently revealed to be the case when Halley - fleeing from a confrontation with a security guard - explains to Moonee in tow that she cannot afford to get arrested again.

The helicopter, however, does not have any police markings on it, at least as far as I could see. It is without any marking at all, again, as far as I could make out. Moreover, it is army green. Halley giving the finger to the military is less easy to interpret, however, both for the character herself specifically and the film in general. If you can generate a plausible interpretation that is intrinsic to the work and not an extraneous imposition of notions, I would appreciate hearing it because I cannot. I reckon it would be over-reach to hold that the film has a critique of the military-industrial complex, however subdued.

That said, with respect to your corollary inquiry which is empirical, the internet informs me that there is an army reserve base in Kissimmee itself as well as another army reserve base, a US army national guard base and a Florida army national guard base between it an Orlando, just a bit more than 20 miles to the north. Welcome to America. On guard to protect the world from everything but Disney.

So, then I threw a Hail Mary pass into the blogosphere and hit a running back instantaneously.

Seems the helicopter is that of a tourist service, yet another aspect of the commodified recreational realm that determines everything in those parts.

I did not read in detail the interpretation accompanying this feature of the film beyond noticing the suggestion that the actual helicopter metaphorically represents "helicopter parenting," and it is this over-protective control policy that Halley gives the finger. I find this quite weak. Nevertheless, it is not incompatible with Halley countering authority in general, the sort with omniscient aspirations especially.

The character herself would be acutely aware, of course, that the helicopter is a tourist service. If it is precisely this that she purposely gives the finger, then it is reasonable to attribute to her anarcho-libertarian behavior some degree of anarcho-libertarian political consciousness that might even be critical of the whole commodified recreational realm that determines everything in those parts.

And Dan concludes:

Well that totally makes sense, and I dig the idea that Halley is flipping these touristas the bird. Certainly in character. But can you imagine what a hell hole that place must be? Fucking choppers lifting off all day long and Disney World around the corner? Dante's Inferno's got nothing on this place.

Another thing about the film that makes it so wonderful is the depiction of children at play with NO ADULTS AROUND to direct their play. Jesus I miss seeing that. Most of my childhood was spent away from my parents, not with them, and we decided what we wanted to do, not them. Does this even happen anymore?

2016-01-10T11:52:00.003-08:00

Diner (Barry Levinson, USA, 1982)

This talk-heavy comedy, set in 1950s Baltimore, marked Barry Levinson's directorial debut. Filled with excellent dialogue (the screenplay was nominated for an Academy Award) and star-making performances, the largely-unknown-at-the-time cast includes Kevin Bacon, Daniel Stern, Mickey Rourke, Paul Reiser, and Ellen Barkin (it marked the big screen debuts of the latter two performers).

The rampant immaturity of the male quintet of friends is amusingly lampooned in Levinson's clever and cutting script, a refreshingly honest depiction of an era often bathed in sepia-toned nostalgia. The male bonding rituals that tie together these aimless protagonists are presented as both childish and endearing, allowing the audience to laugh both with and at the protagonists. The setting is an immaculate and loving recreation of Levinson's childhood haunts, and the wonderful soundtrack makes the retro-experience complete and fulfilling.

Diner was the first of Levinson's so-called Baltimore trilogy, which includes Tin Men (1987) and Avalon (1990). His television series of the mid-1990's, Homicide, was likewise set in his beloved Baltimore.

2016-01-10T11:32:00.004-08:00

City Lights (Charlie Chaplin, USA, 1931)

Many critics consider City Lights to be Charles Chaplin's finest film, no small accomplishment considering his long string of great films.

The film is a Chaplin tour-de-force, as he has his hand in almost every aspect of its production. He co-wrote, produced, directed, scored and edited the film. Unwilling to bend to the winds of change, which saw the introduction of the spoken word in movies three years earlier, Chaplin's is a silent film. However, he does use music and sound effects cleverly throughout, even employing them pointedly to satirize "the talkies." Other familiar targets are the hypocrisy, prissiness, and arrogance of wealthy "polite society" and cruelty to society's less fortunate, lovable outcasts like The Little Tramp himself.

Of course, Chaplin's physical comedy is riotously funny. He dances along the highwire between hilarity and disaster with aplomb. All the while, Chaplin's Little Tramp maintains his dignity and sense of fair play. City Lights's parallel plot lines unfold effectively, as the storyline involving The Little Tramp and the suicidal millionaire presages themes developed more fully in Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life. The pathos-ridden love story with the blind flower girl plays on universal themes, such as the intoxicating blindness of love and the rejuvenating power of selflessness. A graceful, athletic artist of pantomime, Chaplin's Little Tramp moves effortlessly between figures of destitution and wealth, aiding and abetting all around him. City Lights is a paean to our best impulses, a plea for humanitarianism and justice. Most important, it is the work of a master craftsman, in full control of his craft.