JESTHER ENTERTAINMENT

FILM REVIEW: AUGUSTINE

2013-05-18T20:20:00.001-07:00

Augustine (Soko) in Augustine.

Let us play master & servant

By Don Simpson

Augustine (Soko) is working as a kitchen servant when she has a convulsive fit that sends her to Paris’ Salpêtrière psychiatric hospital with one eye stuck shut and half of her body paralyzed. Determined to get out of the hospital as soon as possible, Augustine attracts the attention of the chief neurologist -- Dr. Jean-Martin Charcot (Vincent Lindon) -- when she has her next seizure. Charcot almost immediately identifies Augustine as his best chance to convince the Academy to provide him with more funding for Salpêtrière. After diagnosing Augustine with ovarian hysteria -- a catch-all diagnosis in 19th century France for women -- Charcot's best guess is that Augustine's hysteria is rooted in her brain. Augustine quickly becomes Charcot's pet patient because of her susceptibility to hypnosis. While hypnotized, Augustine's seizures can easily be triggered by Charcot...almost too easily. The theatricality of Charcot's presentations draws comparisons to Sarah Bernhardt's performances and evokes questions about the legitimacy of his research.

Strategically avoiding expository dialogue, writer-director Alice Winocour opts to let the audience contemplate the authenticity of Charcot's research and come to their own conclusions. We never know when the performance begins and when it ends, but skeptics of hypnotism will surmise fairly early on that Augustine is merely performing. Augustine is given plenty of motivations to do so. (Freud might suggest that Augustine is unconsciously trying to escape her job.) She is rewarded handsomely for her role as Charcot's prized subject with beautiful new dresses and a private room. Augustine knows that Charcot needs her for the continuance of his career; it is also obvious that Charcot craves Augustine sexually. Charcot is clearly trying to keep Augustine confined in Salpêtrière for as long as possible, and Augustine plays along with the charade for her own benefit. Although Augustine wants to be cured, that would most likely mean returning to a servant's position. It is in Augustine's best interest -- despite the tortuous Cronenbergian medical devices used on her -- to remain at Salpêtrière for as long as possible, but she also needs to maintain Charcot's undivided attention. The possibility that Charcot might discover another star patient is Augustine's greatest fear.

Augustine is able to make the best out of a horrible situation; she does so by identifying key ways to manipulate Charcot and turn the doctor-patient and male-female power dynamics upside-down. Augustine goes from being a servant to being served -- from puppet to puppeteer; a repressed and tortured woman to becoming a person of power and influence. Most importantly, Augustine does this in 19th century France, when women are either wives or servants. The 19th century was an time when wealthy, old, white men made important decisions about women's health issues behind closed doors -- this is something that would never, ever happen in the 21st century... Right, America?

FILM REVIEW: AN OVERSIMPLIFICATION OF HER BEAUTY

2013-05-17T07:32:00.000-07:00

Terence Nance in An Oversimplification of Her Beauty.

Some scenes the reflex does

By Don Simpson

There is nothing overly simple about Terence Nance's visualization of love and beauty; rather, An Oversimplification of Her Beauty is a complex form of poetry that requires images and music to complete it. Using the rhythmic repetition of narration and dialogue, Nance lulls the audience into a deep meditative state. The hope, of course, is that the film will have the same transcendental effect on Nance's love interest, Namik Minter.

While a film about a filmmaker making a film to convince a woman of their love for each other is not necessarily new territory, Nance's cerebral take on the genre is quite unique. Cleverly utilizing a second-person perspective of narration, Nance places "you" in his situation; then replays key events over and over again, continuously deconstructing and reconstructing them, until "you" have most of the pertinent details.

A meta-narrative in the most heady sense of the term, An Oversimplification of Her Beauty deals with the collection of memories and perspectives in an effort to ascertain the truth. By omnipotently manipulating the editing and structure of the film, Nance transports "you" into his headspace and convinces "you" to believe his version of the truth. Nance instantly becomes "your" overly emotional best friend who gushes incessantly about the woman he loves. As cute and energetic as a puppy, Nance sees precisely which toy he wants to play with, but he cannot understand why the answer is always "no." I doubt he will listen to "your" reasoning right now, so it is best to just sit back and let him ramble on.

Other than allowing Minter to have a voice via intertwined footage of her unfinished short film, Subtext, "you" never quite get to know Minter's side of the story. "You" can only guess that Nance is a bit too overbearing or overanxious (like that aforementioned puppy) for her tastes. Guess is the operative word there, since that is all "you" can do -- because as much as Nance replays the footage, the answer is not anywhere to be found.

"You" have probably replayed "your" past relationships over and over again, like fading home movies in "your" head, doing a scene-by-scene analysis to determine the precise reason for the eventual break-up. That is what An Oversimplification of Her Beauty is -- Nance's attempt to discover the real reason that Minter is not interested in him. Of course "you" must realize that the footage in An Oversimplification of Her Beauty is not real. It has all been reconstructed for "your" viewing pleasure. It may not even be based upon real events. "You" may assume that it is, because Nance seems so honest and forthcoming, but maybe that is all just part of the magnificent poetry of this story.

FILM REVIEW: THE GREAT GATSBY

2013-05-10T10:36:00.001-07:00

A scene from The Great Gatsby.

Egg on the system

By Don Simpson

Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby is manufactured in three dimensions of pure, unfiltered opulence. Taking its narrative cues from Fitzgerald’s novel, Luhrmann’s hyper-real universe is constructed by the storytelling devices of embellishment and exaggeration. Told entirely in flashback, Nick Carraway (Tobey Maguire) is a patient in a sanitarium as he begins to regurgitate his intoxicated recollections of the Summer of 1922. While telling his own story, Nick pieces together the personal history of his mysterious and eccentric neighbor, Jay Gatsby (Leonardo DiCaprio). In conveying Gatsby’s story, Nick delves into the unreliable narrative of a man who created his entire life out of nothing. No one truly knows Gatsby because his history is all just an infinitely elaborate ruse. Luhrmann luxuriates in Gatsby’s knack for re-imagining and re-constructing the past — as Gatsby weaves unreal tales about himself, filtered for our consumption through the flowery verbosity of Nick’s prose, the film soaks in the artifice of the unbridled extravagance.

Showcasing the unreliability of Nick’s memories and Gatsby’s tall tales, Luhrmann interjects easily identifiable untruths into the film, such as mixing pop culture reference points of our present with the cultural counterparts of the 1920s. In doing so, Luhrmann establishes clear associations between the pop culture of the 1920s and the present. Hot jazz is mashed-up with hip hop and electronic music; the sexually provocative dancing of the 1920s is blended with modern dance; even the drunken debauchery of 1920s petting parties is modernized and amped up to near-Spring Breakers proportions.

Of course, Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby functions as a critique of its characters’ overindulgence and gross decadence. It is a cautionary tale of becoming so engrossed in fantastical parties that reality all but fades away. Luhrmann, however, seems more interested in condemning the 1920s as the birth of the self-made man. Gatsby is very much a product of the capitalist free enterprise system which professes the concept that anyone can become rich. The stock market made it easy to get rich quick; so did bootlegging and other illegal enterprises. Traditionally wealthy families of East Egg such as Tom Buchanan’s (Joel Edgerton), who “earned” their money, looked down upon the new rich of West Egg like Gatsby, who lied and cheated their way into wealth.

The infinite levels of hyperactive falseness do not bode well for the dialogue and plot, which are mere afterthoughts for a man of style-over-substance such as Luhrmann. While most of Nick’s voiceover narrative does retain the literary fortitude of Fitzgerald’s poetic finesse, the dialogue seems overly-simplified and watered-down. The plot may hit most of the primary scenes of Fitzgerald’s novel, but Luhrmann seems much more comfortable conveying the themes of the story with visual allusions rather than words. This might have been a more interesting film if Luhrmann kept his actors silent, since they are often left spouting relatively pointless dialogue while having to rely upon pantomime to convey their character’s real emotions. On that note, DiCaprio and Carey Mulligan (who plays Daisy by way of flawlessly channeling Clara Bow) prove that they would have made fantastic silent film actors.

FILM REVIEW: POST TENEBRAS LUX

2013-05-09T18:49:00.000-07:00

Natalia (Nathalia Acevedo) in Post Tenebras Lux.

Enter the void

By Don Simpson

If there is one reason to watch Carlos Reygadas’ Post Tenebras Lux, it is the opening sequence. Guaranteed to emblazon itself on your mind — this is as unforgettable as cinematic images get — this one sequence reveals so much about Reygadas’ film. Assuming that these images actually belong to Juan (Adolfo Jiménez Castro), not his daughter Rut (Rut Reygadas), then this is the first example of Juan’s cripplingly pervasive guilt. As the safe and familiar rapidly evolve into potential aggressors, this idyllic childish dream dissolves into a horrible nightmare. Not only does Juan feel totally inept as a parent, due to his inability to provide safety and security for Rut, but it also suggests that Juan might be at the root of what frightens her.

The opening sequence establishes the heavily manipulated perspective of the film. The camera’s eye alternates from a first-person perspective to observational vantage points (alluding to the multiplicity of perspectives and realities throughout the film). The framing is purposefully boxed in, with an ever-present tunnel vision focus on the center of the screen (a suggestion that this film has a very specific focus and a purposeful manipulation of perception). Then, as the fisheye lens blurs and distorts the boundaries of the 1.375:1 frame, the surreal duplicity of any objects on the periphery of the screen gives the allusion that we are observing these images through beveled glass. In other words, we are all just Peeping Toms complacently watching as someone else atones for his horrible sins.

Juan is a man with violent tendencies; by his own admittance, he hurts the one’s he loves the most. Juan has relocated with his wife Natalia (Nathalia Acevedo) and their two kids, Rut and Eleazar (Eleazar Reygadas), to a remote region of Mexico. He might believe that his violent tendencies will be considered more “normal” in an economically devastated community that is riddled by violent and neglectful patriarchs, and plagued by alcoholism, thievery, murder and suicide.

Although Juan is a native Mexican, the surrounding population has a much darker skin tone than he does. Assuming that the footage of a rugby match at an English boys’ school refers to Juan’s past, it probably signifies his European education and life of privilege. Though his “white guilt” leads him to believe otherwise, Juan’s wealth, history and skin tone have constructed an impenetrable wall between him and the people native to the region. Juan can try to ingratiate himself all he wants, but in their eyes he will always be a rich gringo with a fancy new house.

Juan seems haunted by a Catholic guilt for being an overtly sexual creature. Feeling as though Natalia doesn’t give him enough sex, Juan confesses that his overindulgence of internet porn for masturbatory purposes is pushing the limits of perversion. In one sequence (which may or may not be a dream), Juan watches Natalia have sex with strangers in a sauna room titled the Duchamp Room (referencing Duchamp’s work “The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even”). A red demon with prominently dangling genitals and arrow-tipped tail makes two appearances — presented to us as Eleazar’s nightmares, this image is most likely derived from Juan’s fears that his own son perceives him to be a devilish sexual predator.

Juan is coming to terms with a guilty conscience that is literally killing him from the inside. As perceived realities, memories and dreams collide in Post Tenebras Lux, the free-flowing stream of seemingly unrelated scenes begin to congeal into what might just be Juan’s final act of penance.

FILM INTERVIEW: OLIVIER ASSAYAS

2013-05-02T13:38:00.000-07:00

A scene from Something in the Air.

Enough for Ahead

By Ed Rampell

Following the Boston Marathon bombing the new rightwing mantra is “radicalization.” French filmmaker Olivier Assayas’ new feature Something in the Airis about the process of radicalization -- but by revolution, not religion. Set shortly after France’s historic worker-student mass strike of May 1968 Something in the Air’s politicized protagonists encounter anarchists, Maoists, Trotskyists and the counterculture as the young militants come of age when, as Assayas says, “everything was political” and many of his generation felt that world revolution was imminent. With this film and his 2010 epic Carlos --about the Venezuelan terrorist known as “Carlo the Jackal” -- Assayas shows he is one of the planet’s top political directors. We interviewed Assayas at, of all places, Beverly Hills after an advance screening of Something in the Air.

JEsther Entertainment: Recently we’ve seen huge revolutionary upsurges in the Middle East, North Africa; here in America we had the Occupied movement and the indignant in Spain and Greek general strikes. Does part of you still dream and hope there could be a revolution?

Olivier Assayas: Yes. But as much as I believe in those political movements, as much as they give one hope, because it gives a notion that youth again believes that it can have a collective effect on society, the way they envision politics is very different from whatever the 1970s’ were. Because for good or bad the 1970s were utopian. The 1970s believed in the possibility of turning society upside down, of taking over. It was utopian, but then it had some sort of reality because at least in France we had a model, which was May ’68, which was like three years old, and it comes as close as it gets to being an actual revolution. So, yes, this dream of a revolution, it was utopian, but then it was also grounded into something that had actually happened, that had a solid reality. Today, people don’t think of a revolution. They think of adapting society, of making the hope of more fairness, more justice, more social justice, more generosity, which are old things -- the modern world has become so brutal that of course, you have to recognize and endorse. But in the 1970s it would have been called “reformist,”which was an insult.

JE: What role can cinema play in today’s politics?
OA: Cinema in general plays a very modest role in politics. Politics are connected to real life, to real struggle, to the actual pain of real life people, and movies are very, very minor compared to that in terms of the effect they can have. The only thing movies can do is, eventually, a movie like this is have some sort of dialogue with youths who would be attracted to some kind of involvement into politics. Because often, they idealize the 1970s and movies don’t really represent the 1970s. It’s a way of giving some kind of portrait to that period that can be understandable, can be some sort of reference point and which also could remind that they could be in a generation not so, so, so far from us. The conscience that a specific generation could change the world.

JE: Can you discuss some of the other specific rock songs used in your film and how they express the politics and other inner meaning you were getting cross, as a “layer of illustration,” as you put it?

OA: I wanted to use specifically, protest songs to be present. So I used this Phil Ochs' song ("Ballad of William Worthy") that Johnny Flynn sings, because it’s from another era. But it was still around. Wherever you were, some guy would pop up and he’d be playing a song that came from that history of protest songs. It was very present. The actual song is more a song of the early ’60s, mid-’60s at the latest. And we are six or seven years but still it was just part of, those songs carried in terms of politics, in terms of involvement in politics, and was something that was extremely important in those years, yes, that I needed. In terms of the way I use songs, they all have a specific meaning, so it would be long and tedious to go through every single one of them. Maybe one way of dealing with this would be saying it’s the difference between the party in this film and the party we created in my movie called Cold Water, which I made in the mid-’90s, where I use a completely different soundtrack. Which was also pretty much a soundtrack of the 1970s, but used big names, it used the songs, my whole generation could relate to, like Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Credence Clearwater Revival, so on and so forth. Here, it’s a completely different ambient. For instance, when I’m recreating the similar party scene in Something in the Air we are at this country house, villa, which belongs to this rich family, and they’re having this kind of hip, cool party. You would not have music like Credence Clearwater Revival, it would be just uncool, right? You could have Captain Beefheart -- Captain Beefheart was believable in that context. Or Soft Machine or Incredible String Band, because they were underground, they were this avante garde thing.

JE: What kind of music do you like to listen to today?
OA: I listen to a lot of indie rock. But the thing is now it’s everywhere. It’s in fashion shows, it’s in commercials, when you go to a washroom in a hotel, it’s what you listen to. It’s everywhere and it’s becoming problematic in many ways for me. In the sense that my love of music, was also because the music carries something that’s not exactly revolutionary but it’s about values that are not the values of society. The world I come from is a world that is defined by the relationship between art and politics in a certain way. I think that’s something that’s getting lost now and so I have difficulty adjusting to that…It has do with the innocence of youth which I think the modern means of communication, the obsession with consumption is erasing, is destroying in a certain way. One essential aspect is that there was a belief in the future. People trusted the future. There was this hate, dislike, suspicion of the present, of anything that had to do with the material value of the present in the name of something that would be coming in the history. That’s also why people were so obsessed with political history, because political history of the 20^thcentury told them the lessons that would make them be successful with the revolution that would obviously happen in the very near future. Again, hope means belief in the future, literally. Today it’s something that’s gone. Because this kind of despair or loss of faith because the world is not changing. When you are kids today who grow up listening to politicians on TV or on the radio or in the newspapers, saying how important they are, how they have no grasp on the big issues of the world, how are they going to believe in politics? How are they going to believe that they can do something and change the world for the better? It’s not surprising that they lose faith in that and they lose faith in the future.

JE: Does Gilles sell out at the end of the film?
OA: I don’t think he does. Gilles discovers his true path. He realizes that making movies in the industry is not for him, and eventually there’s an answer in something that has to do with experimental or independent cinema. Maybe I’m deluding myself, but the reason why I ended up making movies is because somehow movies are about some kind of collective utopia, something you do together. It’s collective; it’s art you can share with people from all parts of society. In the context of independent filmmaking, when you are on a film set you’re working with people who are there not because they’re doing a job, it’s because people love what they do, and they want to be part of something bigger than them. I found a way through cinema, through independent cinema, to find a way to pursue the hopes of the utopias of the ’70s.

JE: What’s next?
OA: Next for me is a movie I will be doing with Juliette Binoche. It’s not the ’70s again; it’s today, it’s contemporary. [Laughs.] …It’s about acting, it’s about the relationship between reality and acting. Juliette plays a stage actress.

DANCE REVIEW: ALVIN AILEY

2013-04-20T19:49:00.000-07:00

Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater's Antonio Douthit and Jacqueline Green.

Movement in parts

By Ed Rampell

What the Tuskegee Airmen did in aviation, the Harlem Globetrotters did in sports and Porgy and Bess did in opera, the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater accomplishes in choreography and dancing. Indeed, with the dancers’ aerial escapades which seem to defy gravity, propelled by a graceful athleticism with an operatic expressiveness, the ensemble combine elements of all three of these pioneering groups.

Founded in 1958 in Manhattan, this “all Negro” -- now primarily if not exclusively black -- troupe now numbering about 30 dancers has become synonymous with modern dance and expressing the African-American experience through movement. And, as the Alvin Ailey Dance Theater’s name indicates, there is a strong theatrical component to the artistic expression of this company, whose eponymous founder studied not only with Martha Graham, but with Stella Adler, that apostle of a version of Stanislavsky’s Method who, among many others, also taught Marlon Brando.

Ailey’s comets are soaring across the stage and illumining the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion through April 21 with three programs, all of them containing the iconic Revelations, created by Alvin Ailey himself in 1960. Drawing on his Southern roots, Ailey distilled Negro spirituals through the medium and rhythm of modern dance. Presented as part of Program A on opening night as the third and final act, Revelations opens like a freeze frame in a film, with amber-clad hoofers’ crouching, arms outstretched, spread to reveal their wingspan. The dancers then swing their extended arms like propellers, as if they are about to take off. Later in the piece women modestly attired in white ankle length gowns and broad brimmed bonnets twirl hand fans that appear to be woven from fronds and a parasol, as bare-chested males in ivory slacks join them. Somehow stools become part of the ensemble. The backdrops are simple yet effective, ranging from hellish flames to reddish and lavender sunrises to ribbons of bluish cloth suggesting a river in the piece set to Take Me to the Water, adapted and arranged by Howard A. Roberts. At times Revelations reminded me of a baptism or church social, evoking what W.E.B. DuBois called “the souls of Black folks.” Gyrating across the stage these spiritually moved and moving dancers are literally holy rollers.

And rockers, as Act II’s Minus 16, choreographed in 1999 by kibbutz-born Ohad Naharin, demonstrated, with movements and music ranging from the throbbing surf beat to cha cha to techno to mambo to the Israeli folk song "Hava Nagila" to Yip Harburg and Harold Arlen’s "Over the Rainbow." At some point during Minus 16 the dancers leapt offstage into the Chandler Pavilion, returning to trod and foxtrot the boards with male and female members of the audience of various ages, who raucously, impishly improvised along with the professionals, much to the crowd’s delight.

A spirited grey-haired ticket buyer unwittingly became the evening’s star, dancing along with her young male partner, proving, as the Soviet poet Vladimir Mayakovsky put it, “There’s no grey hair in my soul.” And, as that immortal philosopher Jimmy Durante astutely observed: “Everybody wants to get into the act!” I haven’t seen so much audience interaction at a public dance performance since my South Pacific days, when during their grand finales the Polynesian fire and hula dancers would grab spectators and refuse to let them go until they joined in on the hip shaking, hip-notizing merriment. The appreciative sold out crowd of Ailey fans at the Chandler was clearly predisposed to love the show and artistes.

The premiere opened on a more somber note with another religiously tinged composition called Grace, choreographed in 1999 by Ronald K. Brown. The score includes pieces by Duke Ellington and Fela Kuti’s Afro-Pop rhythms (the musical play Fela! makes a return engagement at the Ahmanson April 26). Spiritual yet sensuous, after the scrim lifts female dancers with white halter tops and bare midriffs, their gauzy material lit from above by bluish light, flow across the stage, kicking, splitting, leaping, twirling whirling dervishes, whirlwinds and windmills of poetry in motion.

Program A, Ailey Spirit, will be repeated on April 20 during the evening performance. Program B, 21^st Century Ailey, is being presented on April 18 and during the April 21 matinee, and includes: Another Night, Petite Mort and Strange Humors. Program C, Classic Ailey, takes place on the evening of April 19 and the April 20 matinee, consisting of selections from: Memoria, Night Creature, Phases, Opus McShann, Love Songs, For "Bird" - With Love, Hidden Rites and Cry, all choreographed by the namesake himself. The music may be taped but the choreo is always live, alive, lively and life affirming during Alvin Ailey’s extravaganzas.

The Alvin Ailey Dance Theater performs through April 21 at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave, Los Angeles. For tickets: (213)972-0711; www.musiccenter.org.

FILM REVIEW: IT'S A DISASTER

2013-04-12T20:19:00.000-07:00

A scene from It's a Disaster.

Flirting with terror

By Don Simpson

When everyone arrives at Emma (Erinn Hayes) and Pete's (Blaise Miller) house, they have absolutely no idea just how disastrous this Sunday brunch will become. First their cell phone reception goes dead, then the television goes to static. What? No UT football game? Now the shit gets serious! (Hook 'em!) Cut off from the rest of the world, the four couples are left with a table covered with food and wine, and good old fashioned conversation yet, in a captivating tip of the cap to Luis Buñuel, they never quite get to the food.

This is Tracy's (Julia Stiles) latest boyfriend, Glenn's (David Cross) first time meeting her friends. Glenn is not quite one of the guys, nonetheless Pete, Shane (Jeff Grace) and Buck (Kevin Brennan) try to accept him into their fold. As the outsider, Glenn is the first to get (or not) a hint of Emma and Pete's current dilemma. Glenn also falls prey to Lexi (Rachel Boston) and Buck's open and free relationship. Despite Lexi and Buck's eagerness to fuck anything that moves, their relationship is apparently the strongest of the bunch; even the prolonged engagement of Hedy (America Ferrera) and Shane is apparently at its wit's end.

It is not their disconnection from the outside world or the wail of sirens that rattles this bunch. Instead, it is a cameo by writer-director Todd Berger that kicks the tension into high gear. Each character's reaction to Berger's cleverly injected news represents a different stage of grief. When the shit hits the fan, we quickly learn what is more important: interpersonal relationships or survival instincts? For these self-involved thirtysomethings, it seems to be the former; well, except for Shane, the token paranoid conspiracy theory nut of the bunch.

It's a Disaster is an impeccably-written, dark-as-a-moonless-night satire that hearkens back to the glory days of classic comedy. Existing in the surreal ether somewhere between Preston Sturges and Woody Allen, Berger takes on disaster films as well as the trope of trapping characters in one location -- all the while, Berger and cinematographer Nancy Schreiber beautifully choreograph the on screen events to Altman-esque precision.

Berger's film is a sardonically-scribed social commentary on the priorities of privileged white thirtysomethings. By definition, terrorism incites terror; but, the characters of It's a Disaster diffuse the terror of terrorism by being so damn self-involved. Sure, in due time they all eventually react to the terror that surrounds them but, one thing can be certain, the characters of It's a Disaster do not initially react the way the terrorists had hoped. God bless America and god bless Todd Berger -- now just give me a sip of that god-damned Merlot.

FILM REVIEW: SIMON KILLER

2013-04-11T20:32:00.000-07:00

Simon (Brady Corbet) in Simon Killer.

More funny games

By Don Simpson

Simon (Brady Corbet) recently broke up with the girlfriend he has had since high school. Or, rather, she broke up with him. He arrives in Paris to escape, to forget about Michelle, to find someone else, to... Well, let's just move along... In high school, Simon studied French, and he does a fairly admirable job talking to the local Parisians, but he does encounter some difficulties in comprehending what they are saying to him. Oh, and while Simon was in college, he studied the relationship between the human eye and the brain. Or, so he says.

It quickly becomes apparent Simon is an unreliable source of information. His history is riddled with contradictions; his present is blurred by his keen knack for smoke screens. For example, Simon uses his perceived intelligence as a way to lure women in and gain their trust; besides, it is a really effective way to keep them from noticing his current lack of employment. Simon also knows how to use his boyish, fresh-out-of-university appearance to add to his presumed innocence. He certainly knows how to fumble around with his ability to speak and understand French at all the right times, too.

All the while, Simon prances around Paris with a false bravado, acting tough until he is actually confronted. He is overly aggressive with women but wants to be babied by them as well. So, what pray tell is Simon's objective while in Paris? As a voyeuristic predator, women are mere sex objects for Simon -- whether it be via online sex chats or brothels, he has orgasms by just looking at women. Simon also wants someone to take care of him. He seems scared of commitment yet simultaneously frightened of rejection. In other words, Simon wants everything and nothing.

Simon Killer -- qu'est-ce que c'est? So much about Simon is merely a facade. He is a product of perception -- what do women see when they look at him? What are women's eyes telling their brain? More importantly, what does the camera's eye tell us to think about Simon, as the observational -- practically cinéma vérité -- cinematography creates an even further allusion of truth. In many ways, Simon Killer plays like a deconstruction of perceived cinematic realism, picking away at its inherent layers of dishonesty.

FILM REVIEW: UPSTREAM COLOR

2013-04-05T04:15:00.000-07:00

Jeff (Shane Carruth) and Kris (Amy Seimetz) in Upstream Color.

Much ado about something

By Don Simpson

Writer-director Shane Carruth's Upstream Color is a fully immersing experience that questions the way in which we perceive the world. A head trip of sound and vision, the meanings and intentions of Upstream Color are impossibly oblique. There is only one thing that is for certain -- there is nothing absolute about Upstream Color, so what follows are merely my interpretations of the on-screen events.

Our transcendental journey begins at a nursery where pale, maggot-like insects are collected from the soil of orchids. The insects are carefully separated and dropped into jars depending on whether they are healthy or dead. Presumably bearing psychotropic characteristics, the healthy insects are soaked in a liquid which is then willingly consumed by a group of young test subjects. While under the powerful influence of the insects, the test subjects showcase superhuman reflexes and powers of mental telepathy.

What appears to be a research study is then escalated to the direct consumption of the insects. One such test subject, Kris (Amy Seimetz), is force-fed the creepy crawly insect by a kidnapper (Thiago Martins). The strange psychotropic qualities of the insect place Kris under a hypnotic haze which can be controlled by the kidnapper. When Kris finally becomes conscious again, she is left poor and jobless, suffering from PTSD.

Kris eventually meets Jeff (Carruth), with whom she seems to share a unique kinship. They both try to decipher their blurry pasts, slowly fitting the puzzle pieces of their memories together. Henry David Thoreau's Walden serves as the cornerstone of Kris' memories and an existential key for both of them.

Parallel to the story of Kris and Jeff is the tale of a rancher (Andrew Sensenig) whose pigs begin to develop strange qualities. This mysterious man is also somehow connected to the insect research and is seemingly able to transport himself -- via energy from his pigs -- like a ghost into the worlds of the unknowing subjects of the research. Presumably their memorization of Walden eventually leads the test subjects to this man's farm, where they learn to work collectively for the good of their community. Or something like that...

Upstream Color begs to be compared and contrasted with Thoreau's Walden. Both narratives evolve into social experiments, though they seem to have different opinions on individualism versus collectivism. Additionally, both stories revolve around the human connection with nature. Also the shedding of wealth and possessions to free oneself plays a major role in both Upstream Color and Walden, although in the former it is not by choice. Carruth's film also echoes the concepts of Buddhism, discussing the cycle of life and the inter-connectivity of all living creatures. Then, on another plane of existence, Upstream Color tells the story of the psychological turmoil resulting from a kidnapping and the overcoming of the resulting crippling stress and paranoia.

Functioning as writer, director, producer, actor, cinematographer, composer, and editor, Carruth is the epitome of the modern day auteur. No matter how confusing and frustrating Upstream Color may be, there is no denying the amazingly singular artistic vision that produced this film. Echoing the godlike control that is held over the film's test subjects, Carruth is the grand creator and chief inquisitor of this uniquely cinematic world.

THEATER REVIEW: CINDERELLA

2013-03-29T02:39:00.001-07:00

Cinderella (Kate Lindsay) in Cinderella.

Fairytale Marx a spot

By Ed Rampell

This L.A. Opera production of Gioachino Rossini’s Cinderella (La Cenerentola) is nothing short of a sheer delight. It ranks amongst the most enchanting of all of the operas I’ve ever seen. The music, conducted by James Conlon, is frothy, as lighthearted as the Wagnerian Flying Dutchman’s score and story are full of sturm und drang. Joan Guillen’s sets are inventive, while his costuming, along with the stellar cast -- including a charming quintet of mice -- are exceedingly magical. Mezzo-soprano Kate Lindsey fits the bill perfectly in the title role (Georgian mezzo-soprano Ketevan Kemoklidze plays Cinderella during the April performances) and Italian bass-baritone Vito Priante as Dandini steals scenes with a kleptomaniac’s gay abandon.

More on the stellar cast below, but what of the story? Rossini’s cheery concoction, with its libretto by Jacopo Ferretti, is of course a retelling of the vintage fairy tale first published in 1697 and subsequently re-published by the Grimm Brothers circa 1812. Fans beware: Rossini’s version is different from others with some dissimilar elements, which this plot-spoiler adverse reviewer won’t disclose. But the essential storyline remains the same.

In essence, poor little Cinderella is mercilessly exploited by her stepsisters Clorinda (soprano Stacey Tappan) and Tisbe (played, in a bit of unconventional if welcome casting -- despite a libretto line referring to her ivory white skin -- by the Black mezzo-soprano Ronnita Nicole Miller), and step-father, the wittily named Don Magnifico (Italian baritone Alessandro Corbelli). These three rascals dream of grandeur, but apparently live in a home that has seen better days, hence the cutest mice this side of the Mickey Mouse Club and the Mouseketeers in the household that is slavishly looked after by the downtrodden Cinderella. She is reduced in status and role to a mere scullery maid, a servant -- if not an outright slave -- by her step-siblings and stepfather, who are genuinely cruel to this impoverished but pretty young lady who sweeps the cinders and cooks their meals.

In the guise of a fairy tale Rossini and his librettist are clearly making reference to the exploitation of labor. Other scenes and characters reinforce a social critique composed a year before the birth of Karl Marx. In an expression of class solidarity as well as in a simple humane act of compassion, Cinderella surreptitiously gives a character she believes to be a beggar -- whom her haughty stepsisters with their pretensions towards superiority scorn -- food.

But this aspect of class conflict is further expressed by another character, and ladies and gentlemen, please allow me the pleasure of introducing you to the great Dandini. In Cinderella there’s a lot of mistaken and/or hidden identity -- an operatic convention -- and Dandini is actually the (not-so-)humble servant of dashing Don Ramiro (tenor Rene Barbera), although through a series of plot contrivances they trade places and switch roles. Dandini relishes playing the powerful prince and assumes this part, full of social status and stature, with gusto. He enjoys dressing for the part and is quite a dandy -- hence his rather hilariously apropos nomenclature. Priante plays the character with great panache, full of sparkling wit, in portraying the subservient flunky who yearns to be the top banana, but for the unfair societal pecking order he is, unfortunately, born into.

Rossini’s titular character in The Barber of Seville similarly chafes under these unfair class distinctions imposed upon Figaro, who is also the lead character in Mozart’s 18^th century The Marriage of Figaro. Through these class conscious characters in class conflict with their “betters” Mozart expressed nascent Enlightenment ideals while Rossini evoked the French Revolution’s principles of “Liberte, eqalite, fraternite.” One can easily imagine both Figaro and Dandini singing Tevye’s lament in Fiddler on the Roof: “Lord… Would it spoil some vast eternal plan, If I were a wealthy man?”

Although Rossini explores themes of class struggle in Cinderella, the war between the classes is resolved magically -- with a dose of Christian morality -- through the genre conventions of the fairytale, wherein all the characters live happily ever after (with the possible exception of that rapscallion Dandini, who is, alas, once again reduced to servitude). However, the Italian composer was also capable of positing a political solution to social injustice. Rossini’s final opera, William Tell, is an explicitly political tale about revolution, which celebrates Swiss resistance to the tyrannical Hapsburg dynasty. Interestingly, like Cinderella, this 1829 opera is also suggested by legend (if not fairytales per se). In it, Rossini renders rousing music of a revolutionary nature, of justice triumphing over oppression. As all good Lone Ranger fans know its brassy musical fanfare and theme literally trumpeting the arrival of righteousness is derived from the incomparable, galloping William Tell Overture.

But in Cinderella we have a more playful Rossini, his bel canto opera full of great comic performances by droll, grandiose stepsisters and a stepfather who never miss the opportunity to overstep their boundaries; those whimsical, cavorting acrobatic rodents; and the one, the only great Dandini. Cinderella touchingly sings, “Virtue is my splendor, love my wealth” and later, when the wrongs are righted and the last has become first, she warbles: “My revenge is forgiveness.”

What a great fable full of utopian sentiment, of commoners and royals united in a moral certitude and rectitude.

This opera is ideal for children of all ages.

Cinderella runs through April 7 at L.A. Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: 213/972-8001; www.laopera.com.

THEATER REVIEW: END OF THE RAINBOW

2013-03-26T06:49:00.001-07:00

Judy Garland (Tracie Bennet) in End of the Rainbow.

Live at Rainbow's End

By Ed Rampell

The star playing Judy Garland (Tracie Bennett), playwright (Peter Quilter) and director (Terry Johnson) of the Tony Award nominated End of the Rainbow are all Brits, and this Judy Garland bio-play is appropriately set in London.

After a series of show biz and personal setbacks, Garland sought a career reboot there in 1968. The action takes place in Garland’s suite -- which, the diva repeatedly gripes, is too munchkin sized -- at the Ritz Hotel and the Talk of the Town nightclub, with the sets convincingly designed by William Dudley. Although this is the sizzling sixties at the swinging London town of Sgt. Peppers and the Rolling Stones, Garland -- who’d become a movie star 30 years earlier in Love Finds Andy Hardy and The Wizard of Oz -- still commands a loyal following.

But offstage -- and sometimes on- -- the oft-married Garland is beset by personal demons, bedeviled by financial problems and relationship woes. Worst of all, Garland is in the grips of alcoholism and an addiction to amphetamines and barbiturates that greatly heighten her torment, whether performing in public before a nightclub or radio audience or in the privacy of her quarters.

The gay icon’s fifth husband to be, Mickey Deans (Erik Heiger), is a former club owner and jazz pianist who seeks to control Judy’s substance abuse -- and possibly the out-of-control Garland herself. It’s interesting that toward the end of her life Garland hooked up with a beau who bore the same first name as Mickey Rooney, her co-star in nine Andy Hardy movies. Was this handsome lounge singer a dozen years younger than Garland really in love with her or using Judy as his meal ticket?

The star’s gay pianist, Anthony (Michael Cumpsty), thinks so, and there is even an allusion to Mickey’s writing a book about Garland in order to cash in (indeed, Deans' co-authored 1972’s Weep No More, My Lady). As Anthony and Mickey duel over Garland’s well-being, performances and affections, there’s an exchange about Judy’s gay fans that’s brief but intriguing.

The self-absorbed Garland is alternately touching, lusty, witty, desperate and pathetic during the offstage scenes at the Ritz. While trodding the boards at the Talk of the Town, accompanied (when they can follow her!) by a live five piece band, the onetime superstar alternates between the commanding stage presence of a truly immense talent and a drug addled performer one step away from becoming a has been, as the years and decades of substance abuse catch up with her, along with an unfulfilled private life.

Bennett’s Garland is often salty; she slings some humorous zingers about her sex life (or lack of) with husband Vincent Minnelli, and more. (In the play there’s little if any mention of Liza Minnelli, the daughter she had with this director.) In the interests of full disclosure this reviewer/film historian should reveal he is no expert in all things Judy, but having said that it seems that Bennett does a superb job incarnating -- rather than merely “impersonating” -- a 46-ish year old Garland. Bennett, who’s the right age for the role, seems to capture and express Judy’s mannerisms and movements, minus any trace of Tracie’s English accent. The actress also looks remarkably like Garland, who in her post-Dorothy years was no conventional beauty. Most importantly, Bennett can belt out a tune worthy of the character she is inhabiting and depicting. Bennett’s portrayal is nothing short of uncanny.

However, End of the Rainbow shares a problem with other biopics/bioplays that portray the later years of actual historical personages, such as the 2000 film Pollock starring Ed Harris as action painter Jackson Pollock. The playwright does not provide enough back story for viewers unfamiliar with the subjects being depicted to explain their self destructive behavior. In Quilter’s script there is only a very brief allusion to Judy’s youth that explains where her drug habit began, but there needs to be a bit more info for the uninitiated and younger auds. After all, Garland became a star back in the 1930s and died more than 40 years ago.

Yip Harburg, who wrote the lyrics of Judy’s signature tune, “Over the Rainbow” and other songs in the beloved 1939 classic, The Wizard of Oz (a blockbuster spin off was just released), was a socialist who was later blacklisted. In that spirit, it would have been interesting to pursue the angle of Louis B. Mayer, MGM and even Judy’s mom mercilessly exploiting the labor of this phenomenal child artist, using uppers and downers to squeeze every drop of talent and sweat out of her during her waking moments. Indeed, this lifelong drug addiction enabled the studio powers that be to control the singer-actress part of her life, and arguably to ruin the rest. Although this aspect of exploitation is raised vis-à-vis the Mickey Deans character, and how he comes to cope with her addictions to love and substances, the playwright could have more fully explored this theme in End of the Rainbow.

I mean, how is a star of screen, clubs, live concerts, television and recordings reduced to avoiding a hotel manager in order to beat bills? As great as Bennett’s live numbers performed during the nightclub scenes are -- and her singing and hoofing is worthy of Garland in all her glory -- End of the Rainbow is a cautionary tale. Fame is no substitute for a rewarding personal life offstage and offscreen, with loving family, friends, lovers/spouses. For Garland, celebrity and adulation proved to be empty intoxicants: There was no man behind the curtain for troubled Judy. Like amphetamines, renown may give one a temporary perk and high, but being a legend cannot replace the need for flesh and blood true love.

Why is it that the happiness some artists give to so many eludes them? You’d have to be a Tin Man with no heart to not be moved by this dramatization of the last days of the late, not-so-great Judy Garland.

End of the Rainbow runs through April 21 at the Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave., Los Angeles, CA 90012. For more info: www.centertheatregroup.org/; 213/972-4400.

THEATER REVIEW: LA WOMEN'S THEATRE FESTIVAL

2013-03-24T14:25:00.001-07:00

Lee Meriwether in Spoon River Anthology.

The new twenty

By Ed Rampell

Spring is here and so is the annual Los Angeles Women’s Theatre Festival, which kicked off its 20^th anniversary Emerald celebration with a champagne reception, awards ceremony and performances on March 21 at the Los Angeles Gay & Lesbian Center. Actors Danny Glover and Hattie Winston co-hosted the gala for this fete that shines the spotlight on solo performances by females in front of the footlights. In addition to highlighting the female of the species, LAWTF shines a much deserved light on multi-cultural women who are often overlooked by the male dominated culture.

The two pieces presented at the LAWTF launch are prime examples of the one-woman show. Inside the Center’s spacious Renberg Theatre veteran actress and beauty queen Lee Meriwether incarnated a series of completely different women in her abbreviated presentation of a series of vignettes based on Edgar Lee Masters’ free-form poems in the Spoon River Anthology. Each character seemed to be depicted by a different actress, but no, every single Spoon River Anthology woman onstage was indeed expertly portrayed by the same thespian and former Miss America, as Meriwether demonstrated a whirlwind of versatility in doing so.

In Freda Sings Lena and Ella accomplished actress and singer Freda Payne assumed the personas of vocalists Ella Fitzgerald and Lena Horne, performing some of their better and lesser known numbers, accompanied on the keyboards by Eric Butler. The act included Payne bantering in character in between songs, providing intimate glimpses into the souls of those ladies who had sung the blues and much more.

Co-hosts Glover and Winston gave LAWTF’s awards to five outstanding women who have contributed to the performing arts. Choreographer/ dancer Dulce Capdocia received the Integrity Award. Hoofer Heidi Duckler was given the Maverick Award. The Rainbow Award for fostering multi-cultural theatre went to actress Lissa Reynolds, Managing and Co-Artistic Director of Fremont Centre Theatre. To honor her long stage and screen career, thespian Starletta DuPois was awarded the Eternity Award. In presenting this lifetime achievement accolade to his former co-star, co-host Glover quipped, “Eat your eggs, Walter Lee,” referring to a line DuPois had said to him in a theatrical production of A Raisin in the Sun.

All of the honorees delivered acceptance speeches, except for the late Lupe Ontiveros, posthumous recipient of the Infinity Award for exceptional achievements of a theatre talent. One of her sons received the award and spoke movingly on his mother’s behalf. Throughout the ceremony and performances co-host Glover was in fine form, and despite having flown in from the East Coast specifically for the occasion seemed to be immensely enjoying himself. LAWTF co-founder and President Adilah Barnes, looking sharp in a purple beret, was also in fine fettle as she joined her co-founder and board members on the boards to celebrate Festival’s Emerald Anniversary, making it the longest running annual solo festival geared for women in L.A.

LAWTF runs through March 27, when for one night only the Festival relocates from the Renberg Theatre to the Ivy Substation in Culver City, the Actors’ Gang’s usual lair. Some highlights include: Kim Coles presents an autobiographical chronicle of her life in show biz, Oh, But Wait, There’s More! Sandy Brown’s Oh, Yes She Did! wherein the comedian/actress portrays outstanding women of conscience and consciousness. In Sunday sessions devoted to the male of the thespian species, actor Roger Guenveur Smith (Do the Right Thing) depicts the abolitionist in Frederick Douglass Now. Mzuri Moyo brings another iconic activist alive in The Fannie Lou Hamer Story. LAWTF appropriately takes place during Women’s History Month, and in addition to great performances offers a number of relevant panels and workshops.

An annual theater highlight in L.A.’s stage scene, I’ve covered this Festival for a number of years. My favorite one-woman show remains Saria Idana’s bravura performance in her Homeless in Homeland, which boldly tackled the thorny topic of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict during the 2011 LAWTF. Here’s hoping for at least another 200 years for LAWTF.

The Los Angeles Women’s Theatre Festival runs through March 24 at the Los Angeles Gay & Lesbian Center, 1125 McCadden Place, Hollywood, CA, 90038. LAWF’s final performance is March 27 at the Actors’ Gang at the Ivy Substation Theatre, 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City, CA 90232. For more info: www.lawtf.com; 818/760-0408.

FILM REVIEW: THE WE AND THE I

2013-03-21T19:26:00.000-07:00

A scene from The We and the I.

Fame: bully for them, chilly for you

By Don Simpson

School is officially out for the summer as a bunch of high schoolers crowd onto a city bus. With no adult authority figures willing to keep the kids in line, the bus is quickly segregated into two distinct groups: the bullies and the bullied. Out-numbered and unwilling to take a stand against a gang of hood-rat brats, the adults opt to exit the bus — some more gracefully than others — until the bus driver is left with a bunch of unruly teens. The bus devolves into an urban The Lord of the Flies on wheels as the kids jockey for power by using mental and physical torture against each other. The meanest and the crudest claw their way to the top of the pile, leaving a trail of emotionally devastated victims in their wake, but rather than dissolving into a state of total anarchy, kids exit the bus at their respective stops and their diminishing numbers slowly alter the tone of the remaining group. What begins as a pack of feral wolves transforms into more civil pairings, initiating increasingly intimate conversations.

The We and the I is an interesting social experiment in which writer-director Michel Gondry casts a bunch of non-professional actors straight out of a Bronx high school and crams them into this mobile social boiling pot. In theory, Gondry just wants them to be themselves as he clinically observes the pack mentality of teenagers, then tests what happens when the numbers of the pack begins to dwindle and as the bus transports them farther from school and closer to home. In significant numbers, the bullies are invincible; they are both fearless and selfish. As individuals, however, they are totally different people. Some of them might even become nice, albeit still a bit self-centered. Of course there is no denying the presence of the video cameras and modest crew changes their reality. At the very least, these outside forces form a safety net to ensure that the seemingly immoral bullies won’t push things too far. Sure, there may not be any authority figure on screen, but there is no greater authority than the director behind the camera.

Regardless of their subtle personality adjustments, after suffering through their relentless bullying for so long, these characters can never become likable. These are bad people, constantly fighting, teasing and insulting each other; they wallow in this cesspool of hatred and anger, gossiping and gloating, bragging and bullying. The We and the I seems to just support the theory that our world is going to hell in a hand basket if these morally-deprived youth of today are any reflection of our future. This is the type of film that makes me glad that I do not have any kids because I would not want to subject anyone to the mental torture presented throughout The We and the I. It is worth noting, however, that Gondry remains merely a fly on the wall; placing any moralizing or condescension into the hands of the critics and audience.

FILM REVIEW: ON THE ROAD

2013-03-21T17:20:00.000-07:00

Marylou (Kristen Stewart) in On the Road.

The beat goes on

By Ed Rampell

In Jack Kerouac’s novel and director Walter Salles’ film adaptions thereof, Sal Paradise (Sam Riley), Dean Moriarty (Garrett Hedlund) and male friends with literary aspirations and sexy female companions careen about the continent in a car, driving like whirling dervishes from place to place, stopping long enough to have madcap misadventures from Denver to Louisiana, San Francisco to Manhattan.

Of course, this is a gross oversimplification. What makes the novel -- and movie -- riveting is its context and subtext, as a testament of youthful restlessness and rebellion in America’s postwar years. Listen closely, and you’ll hear fascistic Senator Joe McCarthy on the radio; watch intently, and you’ll see Tricky Dick Nixon on the tube. Kerouac rendered in literary form the cadence and tempo of be-bop music. Along with Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, On The Road is the seminal, iconic work of the Beat generation, a countercultural movement against the “American Way” of A-bombs, anti-communism, McCarthyism, materialism, uber-conformity, etc., in favor of a Bohemian quest for the meaning of life.

While the film has many attributes, one of the boldest aspects of this movie is its in-your-face homosexuality. It’s been about 20 or so years since I read On the Road, so memory may fail me, but I don’t remember the gay sex openly recounted in the published version of Kerouac’s text, which he self censored prior to Viking Press’ 1957 publication of the novel in those straighter, more straitlaced times. So if the filmmakers decided to inject this by actually making use of our greater freedoms of expression today, bravo.

However, I do recall what A. Robert Lee called “interracial love” in “Tongues Untied, Beat Ethnicities, Beat Multiculture” in the aforementioned The Philosophy of the Beats. Lee references “Sal’s campesina lover Terry”; Brazilian actress Alice Braga winsomely plays the character based on Bea Franco; Sal and Dean have an orgy with Mexican women and also befriend the African American jazz musician Walter (Terrence Howard). One can’t stress enough what a taboo it was for Kerouac to daringly depict inter-ethnic sex and friendships in America where apartheid was still widely practiced, as he also courageously did in other works, such as in 1958’s The Subterraneans. Progressives will also be moved by sequences of the migrant farm workers’ plight.

SXSW 2013: COMPUTER CHESS

2013-03-18T13:01:00.001-07:00

A scene from Computer Chess.

Slouching toward Alphaville

By Don Simpson

Andrew Bukalski’s Computer Chess is exactly what I would imagine an immersive documentary about computer chess programmers circa 1980 to look like. Modeled loosely as a first person — dare I say “found footage” — narrative, Bujalski’s film documents a computer chess tournament a few years before computers are expected to conquer humans…at least within the realm of the 64 squares of the chess board. As if these programmers learned nothing from 2001: A Space Odyssey or Battlestar Galactica, they teach their respective team’s computer to play a board game that was developed centuries ago by humans, for humans.

To win at chess, one must be able to predict his or her opponent’s future moves; presumably these programmers are on the cusp of developing code that will allow computers to do just that, anticipate the decisions that a human will make in the future. Imagine the possibilities in military, political, financial and marketing strategizing if computers could accurately predict human behavior. Essentially, these hyper-intelligent men -- and let’s not forget the one woman -- are laying the groundwork for Artificial Intelligence. You might call it a god complex, their desire to develop a form of consciousness purely out of circuitry and code. Bujalski, however, doesn’t present us with a heavy-handed diatribe about computer programmers with god complexes; these are just a bunch of nerds who can effortlessly ramble on and on and on about technology to eye-glazing — and eye-rolling — proportions. Carbray (James Curry) is the perfect example of a programmer who seems to speak in a language that indecipherable to anyone but himself. The meandering linguistic smokescreen befuddles whoever is listening to him, rendering them powerless in debating his oblique hypotheses. It is the Computer Chess ensemble’s propensity for philosophizing that reminds me of Richard Linklater’s Slacker but, whereas Linklater’s film ruminates upon the existential crises of humans, Bujalski’s film expounds upon the existential crises of synthetic consciousness.

Bujalski makes an interesting decision to juxtapose the technology-driven participants of the computer chess conference with the followers of a new age guru from Africa. The guru professes the significance of the human heart and soul, teaching his followers to be more open and loving to others. The computer chess teams are secretive and competitive. They are focused on exploring a mechanical consciousness rather than looking inward towards their own. This tactic may seem a bit too contrived -- that is until the two groups interact with each other, then Bujalski’s approach makes a lot more sense.

Winner of the Alfred P. Sloan at this year's Sundance Film Festival, Computer Chess carefully balances high-minded philosophy with comedy and pathos. All the while, Bujalski achieves an ultimate level of realism by enlisting a cast of computer savvy actors and non-actors who at least seem like they know what they’re rambling on about. The production design is the real show-stopper though; this is a masterfully stylized film saturated with authenticity.

SXSW 2013: A TEACHER

2013-03-18T12:19:00.000-07:00

A scene from A Teacher.

Sex education

By Don Simpson

Diana (Lindsay Burdge) is a high school teacher who is clandestinely carrying out an affair with one of her students, Eric (Will Brittain). The two of them rarely converse, except for whenever they are coordinating their next meet up. Their relationship seems to be purely sexual and mutually consensual: an attractive teacher enjoys the energy and stamina of a teenage boy, while a teenage boy enjoys the maturity and experience of a teacher who is probably the subject of many of his classmates’ sexual fantasies.

Fully understanding the risks of having an affair with a student, Diana continues to do so as means of shirking her adult responsibilities. She has become purposefully estranged from her brother (Jonny Mars) in order to avoid having to take care of their sick mother. Diana’s relationship with Eric is a way for her to latch onto immaturity and youth. Despite her authoritative position at work, Diana enjoys playing a submissive role with Eric, dutifully obeying his commands like a well-trained pet.

Writer-director Hannah Fidell’s A Teacher maintains an extremely high level of suspense as Diana takes bigger and bigger chances in order to be with Eric. Brian McOmber’s masterfully atonal and percussive score escalates the film’s tension with its disturbing alternation between droning and piercing sounds; and it is not long before we realize that McOmber is forcing us inside of Diana’s crazed head-space. Andrew Droz Palermo’s cinematography is equally unnerving as it places us directly within the personal space of the characters. By always placing Diana within or nearby the camera’s frame, we experience the world of A Teacher from her intimate perspective. As Diana’s perception of reality becomes increasingly skewed and confined, so does our view of the onscreen events.

Fidell’s film commendably avoids explaining anything. Beginning and ending in medias res, we never truly grasp Diana and Eric’s motivations; and by honing in on the carnal desires of their present, Fidell cleverly negates the significance of Diana and Eric’s past and future.

Burdge proves herself to truly be a force to be reckoned with in this breakout performance. Not to discredit Will Brittain’s impressive performance, but the effectiveness of A Teacher rests heavily upon the shoulders of Burdge. With the aforementioned assistance of the cinematography and score, Burdge utilizes her eyes and body movements to reveal Diana’s vulnerability, naiveté and desperation. We may have seen stories like Diana’s before, but Fidell and Burdge present Diana from a uniquely feminine perspective. Diana is never a monstrous sexual predator; she is just someone who is just looking for love in a socially unacceptable place.

THEATER REVIEW: THE FLYING DUTCHMAN

2013-03-14T18:04:00.002-07:00

Tomas Tomasson in The Flying Dutchman.

Pop Cultured

By Ed Rampell

There is a popular misconception regarding so-called “high art,” like plays by Shakespeare and operas are elitist, only able to be fully understood and appreciated by the hoity-toity. But is this reputation deserved? What is Hamlet other than a revenge tale worthy of Quentin Tarantino and a ghost story? And what is Richard Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman (Der Fliegende Holländer) if not a rip roaring ghost story, highly charged by greed, and lest we forget, sexual frisson?

The composer adapted his 1843 opera from 17^th century seafaring folklore, about a phantom ship roaming the high seas, never able to return to its home port. Only one thing can spare the ship’s captain -- the eponymous Dutchman (Icelandic baritone Tomas Tomasson) -- from his eternal nautical roaming: true love. Due to a storm off the coast of Norway the Dutchman encounters Daland (bass James Creswell), and they strike a sort of Faustian bargain: The Dutchman offers the Norwegian captain a treasure chest in exchange for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

Senta was to be played by Portuguese soprano Elisabete Matos, but according to L.A. Opera’s publicist, 12 minutes before the curtain was scheduled to rise on opening night, March 9, in a scene straight out of a 1930s Hollywood musical, Matos “had suddenly become indisposed, and would be unable to perform. Instead, soprano Julie Makerov would.

As the old saying puts it, “the show must go on!”, and boy, did it ever -- and marvelously so. Maerov flew right into The Flying Dutchman. Fortunately, according to her website bio, Makerov had previously played Senta at Canada and Salzburg, and she performed peerlessly at the premiere. Makerov brought the wronged Senta vividly to life with song and acting, as she tried to defend her honor and purity to two suitors: The Dutchman and the hunter Erik (American tenor Corey Bix). Senta’s sonorous, spirited self defense might even make a Shakespeare write “methinks the lady doth not protest too much.” Whether singing “Senta’s Ballad” or the famous duet with the nautical specter she is betrothed to, Makerov admirably rose to the occasion -- especially given her 12-minute notice to report for duty aboard the HMS Chandler.

The sets by Bavarian scenery designer Raimund Bauer, costumes by his fellow German Andrea Schmidt-Futterer and lighting design by Duane Schuler, strike the right imaginative, eerie chords in expressing this shadowy, supernatural saga. During the emotion laden 10-minute overture, a scrim of surging seas is accompanied by music that could best be called “Wagnerian,” conveying a sense of turbulent, crashing waves. Act I transports us out to sea aboard creatively evoked ships near a Norwegian harbor. Later in this three-acter the entire ensemble gathers at Daland’s Scandinavian village, and the mass mise-en-scene is quite impressive and at times appropriately ghoulish. During these scenes the work of choreographer Denni Sayers -- with some balletic moves -- and chorus director Grant Gershon especially shine.

As well it should be, the production is quite Germanic -- Schmidt-Futterer’s costumes are at times extremely suggestive of German silent cinema’s Expressionism, with period apparel reminiscent of the demonic title character of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and F.W. Murnau’s telling of the Dracula fable, Nosferatu. In other scenes the costuming reminded me of L.A. Opera’s highly stylized re-telling of Wagner’s Ring Cycle a few seasons back, with its pseudo-Star Wars panache.

And what of The Flying Dutchman’s music and of the librettist and composer, who about 30 years later would complete The Ring of the Nibelungen? The Flying Dutchman’s theme of exile would psychologically appeal to Wagner -- not only because he was a globetrotter himself, but in only five or so years after presenting The Flying Dutchman he would himself become a stateless wanderer due to his taking part in Europe’s 1848 workers revolution. Wagner was forced to flee Germany and live abroad in Switzerland for around 12 years. Like the Dutchman, Wagner would be “banished from his homeland.” The phantom mariner was the first of Wagner’s exile characters, and on a metaphorical, metaphysical level one can perceive that this genius would identify with the outcast. Wagner knew what it felt like to be a persona non grata. And given his tumultuous private life Wagner could presumably relate to the turmoil of the relationship between the Dutchman, Senta and Erik -- a rather messy ménage-a-trois, if ever there was one, with that fourth partner named “fate.”

The sonorous score, deftly conducted by James Conlon, is full of Wagner’s hallmark sonic sturm und drang: brassy refrains, drums, dramatic outbursts and the like, which some might consider to be bombastic. But the earnest music also conveys a powerful, transcendent sense of yearning and longing -- to belong, be loved and for home.

Please note: The two and a half hour-plus opera is performed sans intermission.

The Flying Dutchman runs through March 30 at L.A. Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: 213-972-8001; www.laopera.com.

SFF INDIEFEST 2013: BERBERIAN SOUND STUDIO

2013-02-12T07:53:00.000-08:00

A scene from Berberian Sound Studio.

Giallo figura magnifico

By Don Simpson

An extremely shy Englishman, Gilderoy (Toby Jones) has just arrived in Italy to essentially become a one-man sound team for The Equestrian Vortex, the latest film by Italian giallo maestro Santini (Antonio Mancino). Up until now, Gilderoy has only worked on English documentaries and children's programs; so Gilderoy approaches his surreal new position like a frightened mouse (an analogy that is visually hinted upon by the juxtaposition of Jones' height with his taller Italian counterparts). A foreigner in many senses of the word, Gilderoy's naiveté is showcased by his lack of understanding of the Italian language as well as his obliviousness to the cinematic language of the giallo genre. What Gilderoy does understand is sound recording, so as long as the perpetually angry Francesco (Cosimo Fusco) agrees to speak English to him, Gilderoy can timidly proceed with the task at hand. From here on out, Gilderoy devotes everything to his work in a fruitless attempt to forget about his homesickness.

As time wears on, Gilderoy’s constant exposure to extreme cinematic violence gnaws away at his psyche until he becomes fully immersed in the graphic images of the film. Berberian Sound Studio writer-director Peter Strickland cleverly ensures that we never see a single frame from The Equestrian Vortex -- other than the masterful title sequence designed by Julian House; we only ever hear brief audio descriptions of the on-screen scenarios and the over-dubbed dialogue and Foley sounds. This is a purposeful, and effective, statement by Strickland to stress the significance of sound in the giallo genre. With all of the sound recorded in post-production, this creates a very literal disconnection between the sound and image. The deconstruction of the signature giallo sounds is what Strickland cares about the most. For example, in a few absurdly comedic asides, Strickland shows Foley artists re-creating the spine-tingling sounds of stabs, slashes, squashes and splats with a produce market's variety of fruit and vegetables. (Oh, yes, Gallagher would most certainly be proud of these sound artisans!)

While the confoundingly subdued Berberian Sound Studio refuses to deliver much in the way of thrills or chills, it does offer a very poignant critique of the Italian giallo film industry. This is a film about the exploitation of actors and crew -- by directors and producers who wholeheartedly believe that the privilege of working on such fine pieces of cinematic “art” legitimize their sexual (and psychological) harassment -- as well as the stingy bureaucracy of low budget film productions. Strickland's film also embellishes upon the cultural and societal differences between machismo Italian men and navel-gazing Englishmen, because nobody else accepts this potent brand of psychological torture like a stuffy Englishman.

SF INDIEFEST 2013: THE INTERNATIONAL SIGN OF CHOKING

2013-02-11T10:43:00.001-08:00

A scene from The International Sign of Choking.

The Other opportunities

By Don Simpson

While Josh (Zach Weintraub) has presumably traveled to Buenos Aires to shoot an undefined video project, he seems much more interested in tracking down a woman named Martina. From what we can piece together, Josh has been to Buenos Aires at least once before and Martina is a woman with whom he enjoyed a fling or a crush or something. Then again, the past does not matter nearly as much as the present, which is essentially a collection of Josh’s failed attempts at tracking down Martina.

Enter Anna (Sophia Takal), another United States citizen who is staying in the same boarding house as Josh. Anna is not nearly as fluent in Spanish as Josh, thus establishing him as her a de facto translator. They begin to hang out more and more, but then Josh gets weird and pushes Anna away. It is incredibly fascinating to observe Josh’s on-again-off-again feelings towards Anna and how his wishy-washy, nonchalant attitude and overall indifference visibly makes Anna frustrated and upset. And who could blame her? Josh seems to be purposefully torturing Anna (as a consequence of his inability to track down Martina?), using her to quench his loneliness with sex one minute and pushing her away the next.

As a film that is essentially about the disassociation and loneliness of traveling alone to a foreign country, Weintraub’s The International Sign for Choking shows the passing-like-ships-in-the-night relationships that seem to go hand-in-hand with solo international treks. Foreign travel is often romanticized as an opportunity to enjoy love without attachment, but what happens when one is prone to becoming attached? We have no idea what Josh and Martina’s relationship was like, or how long ago it occurred, but it is fairly likely that it was similar to his relationship with Anna. Maybe Josh did not realize he liked Martina until after he left Buenos Aires, and by then it was too late? In which case, will he feel the same way about Anna in a few months (or years)? Will Anna be yet another missed opportunity, another woman whom Josh let slip through his fingers?

Weintraub creates two protagonists who are not typical American tourists — the kind that locals probably disdain (Josh and Anna meet some of those very types of tourists one night in a bar); instead, Josh and Anna strive to immerse themselves in Argentine culture, closely observing Argentine habits and idiosyncrasies. So, on one level, Josh might be an ideal tourist but, as far as relationships go, his inability to establish lasting connections is far from idealized.

FILM REVIEW: IDENTITY THIEF

2013-02-08T10:48:00.001-08:00

Diana (Jenny McCarthy) in Identity Thief.

Stolen vices

By Ed Rampell

The odiously unfunny Identity Thief is the latest installment in the “women behaving badly” cycle that has included the far funnier Bridesmaids and even Bad Teacher. Although for some reason the bland Jason Bateman gets top credit over Melissa McCarthy, who was Oscar nominated for the former, she stars as Diana in this flick that’s about as funny as McCarthyism. Diana (or whatever her name really is) assumes the name and identity of Sandy Bigelow Patterson (Bateman) and proceeds to live high off the hog, literally at his unwitting, unwilling expense.

Identity theft is a serious issue, but what the screenwriters Craig Mazen (who’s apparently extremely versatile, as the amazing Mazen also has credits for writing men behaving badly pix, including The Hangover II and III) and Jerry Eeten seem to have done is take a topical trendy subject that has a certain cachet and “brand name” appeal in order to attract attention to a movie that really deals with the title only about five percent or so of the time. The rest of the film is more of a road trip (but with On the Road and the upcoming Big Sur, I guess Jack Kerouac has that move market cornered) about the overweight 40-something McCarthy’s vulgar hijinks. We’re supposed to find sheer hilarity in a fat middle-aged woman’s masturbating, having sex, meting out and receiving physical punishment and, but of course, the McCarthy house specialty: foul mouthing.

But I was unamused and judging by the response of the Arclight audience, which -- like your beleaguered critic who puts himself into harm’s way by reviewing where fools fear to tread so you, dear viewer, don’t have to -- only laughed intermittently, so will the average moviegoer. This pic reminded me of Roseanne Barr’s unfortunate 1989 She-Devil, which she subsequently denounced. It is a sign of the appallingly low level of social discourse in an America in decline that the “women behaving badly” cycle is some sort of indication and even example of female empowerment. It’s like the “liberals” who believe that allowing women, gays and undocumented immigrants to fight for the U.S. military in combat is likewise some sort of manifestation of “equal rights.” Yes, you too can get your limbs blown off, have lifelong PTSD, even get killed, commit war crimes and atrocities invading Third World countries that never attacked us, by fighting for U.S. imperialism! Because we’re all equal pawns and cannon fodder now for the American Empire. In a similar way, “women behaving badly” poses the notion that “equality” means females adapting the same type of aggressive, belligerent, obnoxious behavior that is widespread among rude, crude dudes in our increasingly impolite, alienated society. (See Amy Alkon’s book, I See Rude People.)

Jon Favreau, John Cho and Amanda Peet are wasted in bit parts in Identity Thief. Modern Family’s Eric Stonestreet, however, is droll as Big Chuck in a sex scene that plays against type.

The most trenchant observation Identity Thief makes is that when the completely innocent Sandy encounters the police (Morris Chestnut is serviceable as Detective Reilly) regarding the theft of his identity resulting in thousands of dollars of overcharges he did not make, the pigs are completely unwilling and unable to help him. How typical: As Alfred Hitchcock shrewdly observed (and there’s a sequence in Psycho that specifically deals with this idea), the police are usually completely ineffectual. (Except when you go out on strike or protest or occupy -- then, but of course, they’re always there to beat you upside the head with their billy clubs, mace you, chase you or even worse.)

But the main thing that this ugly flick directed by Seth Gordon will steal is your time and money wasted purchasing tickets to see this unfunny waste of time.

SF INDIEFEST 2013: SIGHTSEERS

2013-02-06T18:20:00.001-08:00

Tina (Alice Lowe) in Sightseers.

Edgy comedy

By Don Simpson

Chris (Steve Oram) and Tina (Alice Lowe) have only been dating for a few months when Chris suggests that they drive across the rolling countryside of Britain for a week-long vacation. Chris wants to show Tina his “world,” which basically means taking her to various sites of historical significance that he holds dear to his heart. The trip will also whisk Tina away from her emotionally manipulative mother (Eileen Davies), who has kept Tina from doing much of anything with her life.

It is not long after they hitch up Chris’ Abbey Oxford Caravan and hit the road that their getaway takes on other connotations. It quickly becomes apparent that Chris has anger management issues, and Tina’s mental state is no less fragile. The claustrophobic space inside the caravan serves as a boiling pot for their emotions; either one of them can snap at any time.

Ben Wheatley’s Sightseers humorously observes masculine and feminine aggression, sticking with (and possibly satirizing) the gender stereotypes of men being overly-methodical and women being overly-emotional. Violence for each of the characters is triggered and unleashed much differently, and they both rationalize their violent acts in different ways as well. Whether it is purposeful or not, Wheatley’s film becomes an intriguing -- and comical -- social commentary on aggression; yet, simultaneously, the violence is totally rationalized by the characters’ irrationality. So by making the characters “crazy,” this differentiates them from “normal” society and fully explains their abnormal behavior. That, of course, also makes the violence much easier for us — the audience — to laugh at without any pesky moral dilemmas to burden us with guilt.

DANCE REVIEW: RITE OF SPRING

2013-02-02T16:20:00.000-08:00

A scene from Joffrey Ballet's Rite of Spring.

Without weapons

By Ed Rampell

L.A.’s Music Center is celebrating the 100^th anniversary of Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring) with performances of the work that rocked the classical dance world’s sense of decorum with a rendition by the renowned Joffrey Ballet that strives to reconstruct its May 29, 1913 contentious premiere at the Theatre des Champs-Elysees. That dazzling debut danced by Sergei Diaghilev’s Ballet Russes -- with music by Igor Stravinsky, choreography by Vaslav Nijinsky, scenario and designs by Nicholas Roerich -- rather infamously made a bewildered Parisian audience go wild in the seats, with a near riot and firing of apocryphal gunshots. After only a handful of performances, the controversial production was shutdown, and Le Sacre du Printemps was rarely presented as first seen and heard until the Joffrey’s 1987 reconstruction of the original.

The good news is that while the Angelenos filling the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion did not appear to be pistol-packing, Le Sacre du Printemps still packs a punch a century later. And while the seats might have been sold out, the creators’ artistic vision, which the Joffrey endeavors to faithfully recreate here, has not been sold out. With its primordial strong sexual undertones the story which the quartet (if you include Diaghilev) of collaborators sought to tell is suggested by the mythology and primitive pagan past of the fearsome foursome’s native Russia. In essence, it is the expression of an ancestral ancient fertility ritual and sacrificial offering through sound and sight, the latter in terms of choreography, costuming and painted backdrops. The finale hints at what may be a gang rape.

The ballet opens with the plaintive plea of a bassoon, but this serene solo swiftly explodes in Stravinsky’s score, which has more bars than Dublin. More woodwinds and strings join in, followed by brass and percussion as what appears to be shepherds, farmers, hunters and gatherers in a rural setting garbed in toga, Roman sandals, colorful peasant blouses and harlequin type costumes engage in a sort of convocation of the tribes. Together they dance the Augurs of Spring, expressing their adoration of the fertile, life-giving soil, giving thanks to Yarilo, the Slavic sun god of legend. As the 1913 program put it, “Everyone tramples the Earth with ecstasy.” Indeed.

As the often dissonant music builds, Nijinsky’s choreography ranges from the sublime to stamping and stomping, from the harmonious to the herky-jerky. In Act II, The Sacrifice, the menacing music, with much pounding of the sharkskins and trumpet blaring, almost seems to be announcing that the Polynesian Luana is going to be tossed into a volcano a la Bird of Paradise or that King Kong enters stage left. Indeed, in the second act, like those filmic vestal virgins Dolores del Rio or Fay Wray, a maiden (and presumably her maidenhead) is sacrificed to the heathen god, as she literally dances herself to death.

At least three of Roerich’s pastoral backdrops are reproduced here. All seemed to my eye to be in the Fauvist mode then in vogue with the European avant-garde, as typified by Henri Matisse. But Roerich’s expressionistic, mural-size paintings are far less joyous than Matisse’s canvases, and in all of them cumulus clouds gather ominously. Jack Mehler’s subtle lighting (after Thomas Skelton) changes the coloring of the clouds which, like the Joffrey’s whirling dervishes, are aswirl. This version’s costumes and decors are after Roerich, with scenic supervision and costumes executed by Robert Perdiola and Sally Ann Parsons.

The ballet’s heady mix of sex and violence can still cause 2013 spectators, like their Parisian forebears in 1913, to exclaim “Sacre bleu!” at Le Sacre du Printemps. (Indeed, a recent acid attack on the Bolshoi’s artistic director has caused the company’s 100^th anniversary performances of the ballet to be postponed. Apparently some still regard The Rite to be a bad acid trip.)

Interestingly, however, the sacred Le Sacre du Printemps didn’t score the evening’s biggest standing ovation. Also on the program preceding it were the ballets Age of Innocence, In the Middle, Somewhat Elevated and After the Rain. It was the second part of the latter which had the Chandler’s denizens leap to their feet hurling kudos and “bravos” at the male and female duet who tenderly danced a pas de deux containing more sensuousness and passion than any porn flick. With her exquisite extensions, if not precisely prim and proper, the pink leotard clad dancer put the prima into ballerina. She and her bare-chested partner danced to Spiegel im Spiegel, with the breathtakingly executed choreographed lovemaking wrought by Christopher Wheeldon and music composed by Estonian Arvo Pärt.

The Music Center’s presentation of The Rite of Spring launches L.A.’s Rite: Stravinsky, Innovation and Dance, a festival honoring the composer who became an émigré here in the City of the Angels during WWII. The festival will include the participation of longtime L.A. Phil conductor Esa-Pekka Salonen and intermittently take place through October 2013, the centennial year of Stravinsky’s most influential -- if only rarely glimpsed in its original sound and fury -- work. All one can say is: Rite on! All power to the ballerinas!

Le Sacre du Printemps (The Rite of Spring) runs tonight, 7:30 p.m.; Feb. 3 at 2:00 p.m. at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: (213)972-8555; www.musiccenter.org

SUNDANCE 2013: THE NECESSARY DEATH OF CHARLIE COUNTRYMAN

2013-01-25T17:14:00.000-08:00

Charlie (Shia Lebeouf) and Gabi (Evan Rachel Wood) in The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman.

Romance in Romania

By John Esther

Drugged and melancholic, Charlie Countryman (Shia LeBeouf), receives advice from his recently departed mother (Melissa Leo) that he should leave Chicago and go and visit Bucharest (she meant Budapest).

Upon arrival in Romania's capital, Charlie is thrust into a romantic adventure in a foreign land. Charlie meets the love of his life, Gabi (Evan Rachel Wood). In mourning, the cellist in the local symphony happens to be fluent in English, and would be perfect, except her estranged husband, Nigel (Mads Mikkelsen), a ruthless mobster, still wants her. Nigel also wants a highly incriminating tape floating around.

Directed by Frederik Bond, written by Matt Drake, narrated by John Hurt and consisting of a score composed by Moby, The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman has its moments, but essentially it is a sheepishly Hollywood film in indie clothing.

The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman builds itself up as some edgy, gritty love story where our hero, we are told, will die. Charlie keeps getting pummelled, chased by both cops and mobsters, before being shot at point blank range yet love conquers all. If Charlie had actually died for love that would have been made the film slightly subversive, but that is not, necessarily, the case. In fact, the film sets itself for a sequel as one very bad villain remains alive. LeBeouf in another franchise?

SUNDANCE 2013: THE FUTURE

2013-01-25T09:48:00.000-08:00

Maciste (Rutger Hauer) in The Future.

Looking ahead

By Don Simpson

The Future (Il Futuro) had me at the opening homage to Stanley Kubrick's The Shining, with a yellow Fiat taking the place of the iconic Volkswagen Beetle. As it turns out, that Fiat is the very vessel in which Bianca (Manuela Martelli) and Tomas' (Luigi Ciardo) parents die, leaving Bianca and Tomas to manage their
home in Rome.

Bianca is old enough to become Tomas' guardian and they are able to get money from their father's trust while their mother's funds are inexplicably tied up. Bianca is still forced to find a job to supplement the trust funds and Tomas willingly volunteers at the gym in exchange for being able to work out there. It is at the gym that Tomas meets two strange friends (Nicolas Vaporidis, Alessandro Giallocosta). Soon Bianca and Tomas are entwined in a risky scheme that involves a former Mr. Universe-cum-actor who goes by the name of his most famous character, Maciste (Rutger Hauer).

As Chilean director Alicia Scherson's title soon suggests, Bianca and Tomas' present is quite grim; it is only their future that holds promise. The Future exists in a surreal fugue state in which strange events are explained by the siblings' damaged psychological state after their parents' catastrophic accident. Time has become blurred and they see things much differently -- bright lights blast through their windows all night long and their parents' crushed yellow Fiat is now grey.

SUNDANCE 2013: THE STUART HALL PROJECT

2013-01-24T16:10:00.000-08:00

Stuart Hall in The Stuart Hall Project.

Left behind

By Don Simpson

I am not quite sure how I did not know of Stuart Hall's work until John Akonfrah's documentary, The Stuart Hall Project. As it turns out, the Jamaican-born, Oxford-educated cultural theorist is one of the founding figures in British Cultural Studies and co-founder of New Left Review. Hall was very involved in introducing discussions of class, race and gender into the realms of Media Studies and Cinema Studies. Hall was fascinated by the complexity of identity, and the notions of cultural acceptance and assimilation of immigrants and minorities.

This is precisely why I am shocked that I have never heard of him, because I consider myself to be fairly well-versed in British Cultural Studies and the New Left movement. So, you might say that the most important thing that I learned anything from The Stuart Hall Project is that I have a lot more learning to do.

Akonfrah impressively assembles an entire film about Hall utilizing only archival footage. Other than occasional inter-titles, there is nary a directorial stamp in this documentary. Most of the film is comprised of television interviews with Hall, allowing him to essentially serve as the narrator. We listen to Hall's various theories on race, class, gender and culture while observing relevant b-roll
footage. Consuming all of this footage decades after it was originally recorded opens the subject up to a more unbiased interpretation by the audience.

Other than an overtly reverential conclusion, The Stuart Hall Project respectfully avoids telling us what to think about Hall's theories and opinions; instead, we
are able to take in the information through our own lens in the present. Additionally, since Hall's favorite musician is Miles Davis, Akonfrah cleverly uses tracks from Davis's long and varied career to set the mood and tone for the images. It's quite an effective soundtrack that only falters on the rare occasions that Akonfrah confusingly uses filler music that has absolutely nothing to do with Davis.