Exit Through the Gift Shop

by: Scott Knopf

Modern street art and film have cooperated for decades now. Ever since people have been tagging walls, filmmakers have been there to chronicle their work. Graffiti documentaries such as Style Wars (1983) and Bomb It (2007) educate those who are interested in not only the artwork itself but also in the culture that produces this art. Narrative features such as Bomb the System (2002) illustrate the lifestyles of graffiti artists, often focusing on the rebelliousness and illegality of their art. Together, as a body of work, these films explore the global impact of graffiti and attempt to exemplify and validate the movement. As an addition to this canon, Exit Through the Gift Shop earns its place not only for the story it tells but also for who’s telling that story. Using one-of-a-kind hand-held footage and featuring exclusive interviews with the world’s most prolific and inexhaustible street artists, Gift Shop provides insights into the graffiti world like no other film before it. This first-person, undercover, sociologic, personal narrative not only provides an essential history of the movement but offers a unique perspective on a specific subset of that movement.

Exit Through the Gift Shop marks the directorial debut from prolific street artist Banksy. For those unfamiliar with Banksy, he hails from Britain and is responsible for countless iconographic art pieces around the world. His work includes stickers, murals, sculptures, and even installations. He often utilizes satirical imagery to speak on any number of topics from consumerism to living conditions to the idea of celebrity. Other than the work he produces, little is known about the mysterious artist. Banksy has gone to great lengths throughout his career to conceal his identity. A majority of his work is technically illegal as it’s constructed on public property and as street art laws continue to harshen, his decision to remain anonymous is easy to understand. His interviews in the film are done from behind shadows and through a voice-modification system. This is the first time Bansky has given video interviews for a film like this.

With his first feature-length documentary, Bansky decided to construct the project from the boxes of tapes stacked in his videographer’s garage. For years before Terry Guetta, an L.A. eccentric with a video camera permanently attached to his hand, began filming Banksy’s nighttime raids, he filmed a number of other infamous artists such as Shepard Fairey, Invader, and Ron English as they gave Los Angeles their own special brand of decoration. This massive collection of footage was originally turned into an “unwatchable” film (according to Banksy) called Life Remote Control. After realizing that this amazing footage shouldn’t go to such waste, he decided to make Gift Shop in an attempt to tell the story of a new age in street art through the life story of Guetta (a.k.a. Mr. Brainwash). The result is a must-see for anyone even remotely interested in art of any kind. It’ll be especially helpful for those wondering about Andre the Giant’s posse.

Directed by: Banksy
U.S./U.K., 87 min.

Blue Valentine

by: Scott Knopf

Blue Valentine is an affective film that uniquely tells a familiar Boy Meets Girl Then Loses Girl story. Director Derek Cianfrance (Brother Tied) supplies the viewer with two sections of his characters’ relationship: the hopeful beginnings and the beaten down endings. The years in the middle are left up to one’s imagination. At one time, Dean (Gosling) and Cindy (Williams) were a young, happy couple. As their lives progess, they aren’t as young and they definitely aren’t as happy. And so their story goes. The film cuts back and forth between two couples who, minus hairline recession and facial expressions, are seemingly the same people. But a lot has happened since the days of clever pickup lines and ukulele dance parties. Now there’s a child to raise, bills to pay, and a missing dog to find. Their bright eyes, the kind that are bron from naivety, are all but faded out by the time we meet up with them later on.

Both Gosling and Williams play their roles to perfection. Everything about their interactions, both physical and verbal, is completely believable. That's even more impressive considering that Dean and Cindy’s struggles are so relateable and painful that, for the viewer, poking holes in the performances might seem like a viable self-defense mechanism. But there aren’t any holes to poke. As conflicts arise, both characters continue to develop and their portrayals become well-rounded. The film’s nonlinear style is used to deliver new layers in Dean and Cindy and does so with effectively. Watching Dean's attempts at levity and Cindy's annoyed looks of disapproval is like a getting punched in the gut. Their actions never seem unnatural and that’s saying so much for a story whose content practically asks for melodrama.

Andrij Parekh’s (Half Nelson) cinematography is just as responsible as the writing and the performances for the frustration and agony illustrated onscreen. It’s easy to know which couple (past or present) is on screen just by paying attention to the use of contrasting colors. While it’d be simpler to say that Parekh uses brighter and happier colors during the couple’s brighter and happier years, that'd not only be inaccurate but also insulting to the work that went into creating Valentine’s visual makeup.

One of the film’s most insightful scenes takes place in a dingy, cheesy, science-fiction-themed hotel room. Parekh’s use of lighting and colors not only captures exactly what a room like that would look like but also comments on what would cause a good looking, non-trashy couple in their late-20s to book that room. The answer: desperation. Valentine seems to say that the hardest thing to fix is a marriage. And even with a clear image of what built that marriage’s foundation, it’s still difficult to see what should have been done differently.

Starring: Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams
Directed by: Derek Cianfrance
Written by: Derek Cianfrance, Joey Curtis, and Cami Delavigne
U.S.A., 120 min.

Sundance Film Festival Review: New Low

by Whitney Borup

This year the Sundance Film Festival included a category they called “Next.” The idea was to showcase some of the best films made with the lowest amount of money. Adam Bowers’ film “New Low” certainly qualifies as far as the budget is concerned. Shot on different pieces of borrowed equipment (whatever friend was around that day, he says), Bowers’ wrote, directed, and starred in the film. It’s hard not to root for a project like this. And, while Bowers as an actor is decent – his timing is always spot on, even if his performance gets a little repetitive – the rest of the film is dull in a predictable kind of way. If you’re going to the trouble of making a film for such a tiny amount of money, not knowing where it will end up, just for the love of filmmaking, it seems like you should try to do something a little bit different with the medium. “New Low” expands on the oft-repeated indie love triangle between a witty boy and the two very different girls that may or may not be interested in him. We’ve seen this before and we’ve seen it done better.

Wendell is balding, thin-lipped, and too skinny. Or, so says Vicky, his new girlfriend that derides him and then sleeps with him. Wendell would much rather be with Joanna, the environmentally conscious, Food Not Bombs organizing, volunteer that wants to shape Wendell into a better person. The problem is, does he deserve someone like Joanna? Or is he doomed to spend the rest of his life with assholes like Vicky.

All of the performances are much better than you’d expect from a plot like that. I especially enjoyed watching Jayme Ratzer manipulating Wendell at one moment and then being highly self-conscious the next. But, they needed more from the script to really break out in their roles. Bowers’ writing is full of funny one-liners, but everything in between is monotonously familiar. Small details, like the existence of a VHS rental store in 2009 are never addressed, and so come across as trendy anachronistic mistakes instead of adding texture to the story.

There have been a lot of historical films that have made the best of a tiny budget. Kevin Smith’s “Clerks” or Quentin Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs,” for example, created something new and different enough from the mainstream that they changed the way we think about independent film. When a film with a tiny budget attempts a very basic story like the one told in “New Low” without outstanding cinematography, style, or form, it just resonates as poorly made.

New Low
Directed and Written: Adam Bowers
Starring: Adam Bowers, Jayme Ratzer, Valerie Jones
USA, 82 min.

DVD Review: "An Englishman in New York"

Quality roles for John Hurt must be at a severe minimum if the greatly underutilized actor needs to revisit his 1975 triumph as gay icon Quentin Crisp in “The Naked Civil Servant.”

This much-belated and wholly unnecessary sequel follows Crisp’s relocation to New York in the early 1980s, where he established himself as a writer and the star in a popular Off-Broadway one-man show. Crisp’s gift for witty observations and his peerless command of the language secure him a cult following, although his popularity declines when he unwisely responds to early warnings of the AIDS pandemic by dismissing it as a “fad.” Eventually, he re-establishes his popularity as a public speaker and theatrical raconteur, and he even snags a film role playing Queen Elizabeth I.

Anyone who is familiar with Crisp’s life story will immediately recognize that “An Englishman in New York” severely abbreviates his later years, cutting out many of his accomplishments while overemphasizing the notion that he spent most of his New York years as a pariah among the gay community. Making matters worse are supporting actors who either try to steal the show through overacting (Swoosie Kurtz plays literary agent Connie Clausen as if she was channeling Ann Savage’s “Detour” character) or who underplay to the point of enervation (particularly Jonathan Tucker, in is excessively wistful interpretation of the AIDS-doomed artist Patrick Angus).

As for Hurt, he seems fairly bored to revisit the Crisp character, and most of the time it appears to rely on his campy wardrobe and heavy make-up to do his acting. This results in making Crisp something of an aphorism-spouting bore, which eventually makes the film a pointless exercise.

"An Englishman in New York"
2009, Drama, 75 minutes
Starring John Hurt, directed by Richard Laxton
Released by QC Cinema

The Perfect Host

by: Scott Knopf.

It’s wonderful when talented actors take roles in projects they really believe in rather than aiming for the biggest box office dollars or guaranteed Oscar nominations. Robin Williams has World’s Greatest Dad. Nicole Kidman has Birth. Even James Franco has “General Hospital.” When these world-famous celebrities and gifted performers take a chance on a smaller project (or a forty-seven-year-old soap), that’s when real film fans start to get excited. They get excited because they know that whatever these projects are, they must be special because convincing actors to turn down millions of dollars for a mainstream blockbuster can’t be easy.

And aside from the occasional disaster (Hounddog, anyone?), a lot of these projects turn out to be successes, some monetarily, others in fan and critic praise. But what they all do is remind the world that mainstream Hollywood isn’t the only moviemaking game in town, even if they are reminding us from the Wal-Mart bargain bin. Effective storytelling is what it’s all about and the last time I checked, it doesn’t take 20 million dollars to tell a story.

David Hyde Pierce, who is best known for his work on TV’s “Frasier” and more recently in Guillermo Del Toro’s Hellboy in which he performed the voice work for a blue, sea-dwelling creature named Abe Sapien, takes on a more intimate roll in Nick Tomnay’s The Perfect Host. Pierce plays Warwick Wilson, a mild-mannered L.A. resident who has his home invaded by John Taylor, a clever bank robber (Clayne Crawford).

Expecting guests for a dinner party, Warwick allows the fast-talking scam artist into his house only to find himself at the wrong end of a long knife. Without wanting to give anything away, it should just be said that of all films that are labeled as “psychological thrillers,” The Perfect Host is one of the most deserving. The film evolves into a clever cat-and-mouse game between Warick, his captor, and a police detective (Nathaniel Parker) who’s closing in on solving that bank robbery. Tomnay, who wrote and directed both this film and the short it was based on, really gets into his characters’ heads and brings the viewer along for the ride.

A unique twist on the home invasion genre, Host starts out and ends a little rocky but the movie’s delicious creamy center completely makes up for it. Warwick Wilson is not a character you’ll easily forget. From his distinctive walk to his unique friendships, Warwick illuminates the screen, even when he’s not on it. Sure to make a number of Cult Classics lists, The Perfect Host is the best kind of project for big-name actors looking for something different. Host is different and in all the best ways.

Winter's Bone

by: Scott Knopf.

Deep in the Ozark Mountains, there’s a culture that’s often misrepresented in film, if represented at all. Countless films feature Backwoods Hillbilly characters that are known more for their empty brains and chainsaw massacres than for anything that accurately represents the culture that they’re supposed to hail from. With Winter’s Bone, Debra Granik (Down to the Bone, 2004) set out to capture the people portrayed in Daniel Woodrell’s novel of the same name. Of Woodrell’s novel, Granik has been quoted as saying that “we had something really beautiful to start with.”

The film crew set up in Southern Missouri and immediately went to work getting to know the locals. They studied Ozark linguistics, music, dress, hunting techniques, food preparation, and other elements of their cultural composition. The result of their preparation is a vigorous film with many strengths and very few weaknesses. The portrayals of its subjects are well developed, balanced, and far from Backwoods Hillbilly. It’s clear that filmmakers paid attention to even the area’s smallest details and carefully molded each one into the film. If they started out with something beautiful, rest assured that they ended up with something even more beautiful.

Casting was held both locally and around the country until the production team decided a unique blend of professional and non-professional actors to make up the cast. Professional actress, Jennifer Lawrence, who will appear next in Jodie Foster’s The Beaver, landed the lead role of Ree Dolly, a seventeen-year-old who’s forced to take care of her mentally-ill mother and two younger siblings when her meth-baking father, Jessup, goes missing before his court date. Ree later finds out that her father has put up their house as bond collateral and that she’s got to find him before their home is taken away. Standing in Ree’s way is the community that surrounds her. In a population where everyone seems to know each one another, either through business or blood relation, lips remain sealed and tensions stay high when Ree starts asking all the questions that no one wants asked.

Ree’s determination serves as the film’s driving force and draws its strength from the intensity of the conflict. Lawrence’s performance as the unapologetic teen is undeniably forceful. Through her own determination, she encapsulates the multi-faceted character and seamlessly transforms back and forth between Caring Sister/Daughter and Relentless Woman on a Mission. The film features a number of noteworthy performances but another that really stands out is Dale Dickey’s (Domino) exceptional depiction of Merab, the female ringleader who warns Ree of the danger that comes from uprooting other people’s business. The scenes which Lawrence and Dickey share together are electrifying. All at once, these scenes highlight the strengths of Woodrell’s writing, Granik’s directing, and the capabilities of both actresses.

Winter’s Bone should not be missed. Just ask Parker Posey, who presented the Granik with the Sundance Grand Jury Prize for U.S. Dramatic Films. At the ceremony, Posey said, “If [Winter’s Bone] doesn’t get the respect it deserves, I’m going to stab myself.” So, if for no other reason than Parker Posey’s well-being, watch Winter’s Bone.

Directed by: Debra Granik
Written by: Debra Granik and Anna Rosellini
Adapted from: "Winter's Bone" by Daniel Woodrell
U.S.A., 100 min.

Sundance Film Festival Review: Space Tourists

by Whitney Borup

If you were born post-1969, it’s hard to imagine what all the hubbub surrounding space travel was about. These days information from NASA is rarely seen in the newspapers, much less the front page. Apparently we’re going to Mars….or have we been to Mars? Were there Martians there? In Christian Frei’s newest documentary, “Space Tourists” we are reintroduced to the excitement of space travel. Only this time he’s exploring the industry from the other side of the world, the side whose achievements we like to limit to Sputnik: The Soviet Union.

Anousheh Ansari is a rich woman with a dream: to go into space. And by paying $20 million she’s going to be the first female space tourist. Russian has been allowing space tourists to tag along on flights to the international space station as a way to fund their continued research. Ansari’s $20 million will cover over half the cost of the mission. She gets to spend 8 days in space, Russia gets to send rockets to their station; everyone wins. Even the people left on the ground, who you would think have nothing to do with astronautics, are able to benefit from the industry, collecting the scrap metal that falls from the sky after each launch. From the extremely rich, to the extremely poor, these missions can be beneficial to many people.

Frei uses Jonas Bendiksen, a Magnum photographer, as the glue to hold each side of the story together. Bendiksen travels around Kazakhstan photographing decrepit space stations and the futuristic art in the towns surrounding them. These cities that once thrived, are now ghost towns full of bricked up housing complexes and empty gas stations. Bendiksen captures the hope that once existed there in eerie, barren still photographs while narrating the history of the USSR’s space program.

The film manages to feel both whimsical and realistic as it darts between the stories of Ansari and the men who harvest scrap metal. At times absurd and at times very beautiful, we root for everyone in the film as they attempt to achieve their dreams. While the narrative gets a little muddled at times when Frei tries to incorporate other aspects of space travel (for example, he follows the X-Prize hopefuls as they try to get to the moon), its tone remains consistent. “Space Tourists” is an informative and hopeful documentary that might make you revert back to your 7-year-old self that dreamed of being an astronaut.

Space Tourists
Directed: Christian Frei
Switzerland, 98 min.

HIGH School

by: Scott Knopf


When a straight-A student named Henry (Matt Bush) smokes his first doobie only to find out that his school’s starting mandatory drug testing the next day, he’s left with only one choice: to get the entire school to fail that test.

When you go see a movie with a really ‘pitchable’ premise, you always run the risk of watching something that doesn’t live up to its potential. Perhaps the filmmaker just rested on his laurels or maybe investors paid for the film without bothering to read the script. I’m positive that most teen slasher flicks fall into this category. That’s why it was a relief when John Stalberg’s soon to be stoner-classic turned out to be funny, really funny.

According to the director, the script’s jokes were enough to hook Academy Award-winner Adrien Brody (The Pianist) to immediately sign on. Brody plays Psycho Ed, a tattoo-covered drug dealer who, along with his friends Hippie Dude and Paranoid, serves as one half of the film’s antagonistic force. I’m not giving anything away by saying that when you take something from Psycho Ed, Psycho Ed’s going to want it back.

The other half comes from Henry’s school principal, Mr. Gordon (who’s played by an almost unrecognizable Michael Chiklis), who instates the drug tests as a way to weed out the miscreants. So with a disgruntled drug dealer and a pissed off principal coming after him, Henry and Travis (Sean Marquette), his back-in-the-day buddy who gets him into this whole mess, have to act fast to avoid getting murdered, or even worse, expelled.

Stuffed with a talented ensemble cast (Julia Ling, Colin Hanks, and Andrew Wilson, just to name a few), HIGH School heads out of the gate at full speed with a Phucing funny opening scene and doesn’t stop making the audience laugh until half way through the ending credits. This movie isn’t rocket science. It isn’t even Rocket Science. It’s an over-the-top stoner comedy that would probably be even funnier after a few bong hits. I mean, come on, it’s called HIGH School.

Directed by: John Stalberg
Written by: John Stalberg, Erik Linthorst, and Stephen Susco
U.S.A.

Sundance Film Festival Review: Splice

by Whitney Borup

“There are some things you do not do!” This should be the tagline for “Splice,” director Vincenzo Natali’s genetic splicing sci-fi-horror film. Scientist couple Clive and Elsa never seem to accept any moral boundaries, though, and end up with an human hybrid on their hands that they don’t quite know what to do with. Or rather, they both have ideas about what to do with their new pet, and none of them are palatable.

After successfully splicing the genetics of a cluster of random animals, Elsa and Clive realize that they can go further with their new technology. Splicing the DNA of a human with God-knows what else, they make a creature they affectionately call “DREN.” Natali affectively uses both CGI and makeup to create a monstrous female, with equally monstrous desires. What exactly is DREN? What will she become? And how will her adoptive parents manage to control her??

“Splice” starts off strong. There are some fantastically gory moments early on that drag you into the plot and leave you suspended for the rest of the film. There are also some genuinely funny jokes early in the film delivered by Brody and Polley playing it deadpan. The problem is, the film only gets funnier…and I don’t know if it’s meant to. Things get too disturbing. Things get too insane. And whether or not Natali intended us to, the audience was rolling on the floor laughing during the most pivotal scenes.

This is a film that has to be seen to be believed. I think it might obtain instant cult status upon its release, despite – or maybe because – of the tone confusion. Whatever ideological problems the film possesses at its core (particularly, what it ultimately has to say about the inherent nature of gender), it’s quite an experience.

Splice

Directed: Vincenzo Natali

Written: Vincenzo Natali, Antoinette Terry Bryant and Doug Taylor

Starring: Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley

Canada, 100 min.

Sundance Film Festival Review: The Killer Inside Me

by Whitney Borup

Your enjoyment of “The Killer Inside Me” will probably largely depend on whether or not you’ve read the book. Apparently, the book reveals character traits and intricacies of Lou Ford (Casey Affleck) that can only be understood in the film when you have that previous experience with the subject. I wouldn’t know, because I haven’t read it. And after seeing this film, I don’t know if I could stomach revisiting the narrative.

Lou Ford is, on the surface, an honest, hardworking, congenial Texan working for the Sheriff’s department. But underneath his public demeanor, Lou is a violent, kinky, misogynist, murderous bastard, just waiting for a chance to act out. That chance comes in the form of a prostitute (Jessica Alba) and one of her clients. In short, Ford beats the shit out of her, shoots him a few times, and spends the rest of the movie trying to cover it up by committing a few more murders.

Affleck is perfect for this role. His calm, boyish good looks create an ironic cover to the insanity lurking just under the surface. Occasionally he’ll break out a creepy, sadistic smile that reminds you just how awful a human being Lou Ford is. And then he beats the shit out of the women he loves.

“The Killer Inside Me” is hard to watch. Not just because of the violence (which is appropriately realistic), but because of how muddled the narrative gets in a film oozing with style. From the opening titles, which scream film noir grind house flick, I wanted to love this film. The West Texas setting is bone-dry and unnerving, while the costumes are deliciously campy. But as the story gets under way, important character developments are lost in the confusion. Who is Lou Ford? What made him the way he is? The film, I think unintentionally, leaves a lot of questions unanswered.

And just when you think the film couldn’t get more confusing, Bill Pullman shows up as an outraged, tobacco-chewing lawyer with loads of metaphorical wisdom to impart.

As I said, I was ready to love this film. Affleck is one of my favorite actors, and I was excited to see Kate Hudson try something other than rom-com. Not to mention Michael Winterbottom, who excels in almost every diverse genre he attempts. Sadly, “The Killer Inside Me” seems unfinished, and despite the extreme violence and graphic sex: boring.

The Killer Inside Me

Directed: Michael Winterbottom

Written: Michael Winterbottom, John Curran, and Jim Thompson (novel)

Starring: Casey Affleck, Jessica Alba, Kate Hudson

USA

Short Film Review: "Brooklyn Force"

By: Jessica Baxter

So there’s this obscure series of sci-fi films with a bit of a cult following. It’s about a small faction of religious types who rise up against all odds to defeat an evil empire. It’s a six part-series. The first three are kind of terrible with really stiff acting, terrible dialogue, some irritating characters and too much of a focus on this silly little made-up religion. But then they get it together for the next three. The writing gets way better, the bad guy acts more badass, the special effects are less green-screen heavy and the actors are much more natural. One actor, who plays a smuggler initially caught up in the war by accident, is even pretty sexy. I heard he adlibbed several of his cooler lines. Anyway, you probably haven’t heard of these movies but they apparently heavily influenced a few filmmakers out there. People like Kevin Smith, Edgar Wright and Adam Bertocci.

Now Smith and Wright understood the obscurity of these films and therefore used a light touch when referencing them in their stories. But Bertocci, the writer, director, editor and star of “Brooklyn Force”, took it all the way. What’s the point of a light reference when you can make nearly all your dialogue into a paraphrase of “Star Wars”? I theorize that, when coming up with the idea for the film, his thought process was thus:

It could be like those quote-athons you have with your buddies, only recorded on film. You could make other people watch it and they would be super impressed with your powers of recollection. Better still, you could use all those light sabers you have laying around your studio apartment and show off your After Effects skills by making them look like real, working light sabers! All those “Star Wars” sound effects you’ve been storing on your hard drive could really come in handy here too. Now all we need is a plot…it doesn’t have to be a very strong plot. Just some good vs. evil story that will make it seem like the references are completely fitting and not just an excuse to show off how much you love “Star Wars”. Something about the gentrification of Williamsburg and an indie record store to give it some hipster cred. Also, you can ask that cute girl from work to be in it. Didn’t she say she was an actress? Maybe it will give you a chance to get to know her better.

I know there are things called “fan films” and that this probably falls into that category. But I guess I don’t see the point in the fan film. Look, I love Star Wars like every other cinephile born in the late seventies. But when I have a jones for it, I’ll watch the original movies. Not some nerd’s love letter to them. “Brooklyn Force” is a tedious little movie, even at a mere 13 minutes. Or maybe I’m just bitter because Bertocci’s film erroneously claims, “Episode 3 is underrated”.

Brooklyn Force (2008)
Written & Directed by Adam Bertocci
Cast: Carolyn Siegel, Adam Bertocci, Dana Silver, Lisa Snyder
13 min
Guy in His Basement Productions

Sundance Film Festival Review: Grown Up Movie Star

By Whitney Borup

The first thing we hear in the film “Grown Up Movie Star” is that Ruby is selfish. These words are spoken by her mother who is in the midst of running away to Hollywood, leaving her family behind because she doesn’t want to waste her life on motherhood. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. But, as Ruby, her little sister, Rose, and her dad try to make it through the next few months together, she does make some wildly selfish decisions. After all, she’s a teenager. Isn’t that was growing up is all about?

Ruby is obsessed with Hollywood and fame. She loves the United States and anyone from there. So it’s only natural that she develops a crush on Will, a boy from Colorado. She just doesn’t quite know what to do with that crush, and her father seems to be deathly afraid of anything having to do with sex. Maybe that’s because he’s dealing with his own sexual identity, which becomes obvious when Ruby catches him getting a blow j. from her male gym teacher.

“Grown Up Movie Star” is full of characters making bad decisions. Ruby is a lost adolescent without a confident parental figure to guide her. Her dad feels guilty and confused about being a father. And Rose is just struggling to stay afloat. Each conflicted character is portrayed with love and understanding and even as they falter, viewers will latch on to everyone in the film.

Tatiana Maslany is adorable. She captures the false confidence of her age perfectly. Her interactions with her family are perfectly scripted. It’s rare in the independent film world to find a young character depicted with realism. They are often either too shy or awkward to express themselves, or too quirky to function in normal society. Ruby is neither. She goes about her life in ways that everyone can relate to. You might have been like Ruby in Jr. high school, or else you’ll certainly remember girls that were.

“Grown Up Movie Star” was a complete delight. It’s small and contained, but seems professionally made. A Newfoundland winter complements the characters’ hard edges and brings out the seemingly hopelessness of their situations. It’s hard to believe that this is Adriana Maggs first film. I hope she has a long, long career ahead of her.

Grown Up Movie Star

Directed and Written: Adriana Maggs

Starring: Tatiana Maslany, Shawn Doyle, and Jonny Harris

Canada, 95 min.

Review: "Word Is Out"

“Word Is Out: Stories Of Some Of Our Lives” made an unusual impact when it was first released in 1978. This documentary, helmed by six directors working as Mariposa Film Group, consisted of interviews with 26 gay men and women about their respective experiences in a less-than-tolerant American society. As a milestone in LGBT cinema, the film made a positive impression on wider audiences that only knew of gay life through sourish films like “Boys in the Band” or “The Killing of Sister George.”


In its time, “Word Is Out” was remarkable in presenting a variety of successful, well-adjusted adults who spoke cogently about their homosexuality – no mean feat in an era when being openly gay was none too common.

But as with many breakthrough achievements that shook up the status quo of their day, “Word Is Out” did not age well. Its theatrical re-release in a newly restored edition finds a stodgy and often stagnant film that is difficult to endure for all the wrong reasons.

Quite frankly, the film runs far too long (133 minutes) and represents something of a low in bad filmmaking – an endless skein of poorly framed close-ups of individuals who are almost never allowed to identify themselves properly. The interviews crisscross each other recklessly – there is no rhyme or reason regarding who is going to talk or why, and after a while it is easy to forget the back story connected to the person on screen.

But even if one were to excuse the film’s style problems, there is also the question of substance. The quantity of input weighs down the emotional impact – not everyone here is a gifted raconteur and many of the life stories are, quite frankly, too similar. The fact that almost everyone in the film is blasé about their sexuality only serves to enhance the basic monotony of the presentation.

Admittedly, this is a very important piece of film history. “Word Is Out” emerged at a pause in the nascent gay rights movement – one decade after Stonewall, a few years before the first wave of AIDS devastation and during a brief period when the biggest foe to equal rights was orange juice shill Anita Bryant. The fact that 26 adults were able to appear on camera and speak frankly about their sex lives was a remarkable feat for its time.

Thus, “Word Is Out” occupies a curious niche: a landmark, but not a classic.

“Word Is Out: Stories Of Some Of Our Lives”
1978 (re-released in 2010), Documentary, 133 minutes
Directed by the Mariposa Film Group
Distributed by Millarium Zero

The Extra Man

by Scott Knopf.

Kevin Kline is one of Hollywood’s most talented actors and Paul Dano is on his way towards becoming one as well. Both of these statements are wholly supported by their performances in The Extra Man, an enthralling feature from co-directors Robert Pulcini and Shari Springer Bergman (American Splendor). Set in present day New York, the film centers around two men who seem out of place in their time periods. The first, Louis (Dano), is a young literature teacher and struggling writer who dreams of a life in the days of “The Great Gatsby” but copes with being stuck in the 21st century by throwing himself into books. Henry (Kline) is an unknown playwright and lower-level socialite who positions himself as Louis’ mentor when Louis rents a spare room in his apartment. His selfish motives are more than slightly obvious. While Henry gets along alright in the two-thousand-aughts, it’s his ideals which conflict with present day society. He’s an open sexist, racist, and classist whose opinions on just about everything, including literature, have been unpopular for decades.

Together, these two gentlemen impose themselves on New York’s upper class society, either by sneaking into the opera or performing favors in return for allowed attendance as gallery openings or fancy dinner parties. Henry teaches Louis about the life of an Extra Man (or “gigolo,” as they’re more commonly referred as) even though the young writer’s interests lie elsewhere, more specifically, in wearing women’s lingerie and dating an environmentalist (Katie Holmes).

The Extra Man certainly bears substance but where the film really stands out is in its style. It’s dripping in style; it oozes style, from the dress of the gentlemen to the bowl of shiny Christmas balls prominently displayed in their apartment’s living room. Everything to see in The Extra Man is a little bit different from everything you’ve ever seen before. The wallpaper, the city streets, they all contribute to this world where inhabitants are stuck between classes, stuck between ages, and at times, stuck in their own bodies. Even the film’s use of irises serves to speak to this notion of claustrophobia. And if the visuals weren’t enough, in keeping with his everyday struggle of not living within the pages of a classic novel, Louis has his very own narrator who dictates the inner thoughts of the film’s timid protagonist. Stylistically, Pulcini and Bergman left nothing up to chance and the result is a well-crafted film that’s thoroughly enjoyable and serves as a strong vehicle for the two exceptional performers.

Directed by: Robert Pulcini and Shari Springer Bergman
Written by: Robert Pulcini, Shari Springer Bergman, and Johnathan Ames
Starring: Kevin Kline, Paul Dano, John C. Reilly, and Katie Holmes
U.S.A., 108 min.

Cyrus

by Scott Knopf.
Unless you’ve been living under a rock (or just watching mainstream fare) for the past five years than name “Duplass” probably sounds familiar. Mark and Jay Duplass have spent the last half a decade directing and acting in high-quality films with rather low budgets. Involved in the mumblecore movement, their films The Puffy Chair (2005) and Baghead (2008) were shot on handheld digital cameras and featured non-actors who improvised most of their dialogue. Word quickly spread that the Duplass Brothers were two filmmakers to watch. Mark’s leading role in Lynn Shelton’s Humpday, which won a Special Jury Prize at Sundance, didn’t hurt their cause either. When word was released that The Duplass Brothers were making a film with John C. Riley and Jonah Hill, both of whom have a history in mainstream comedies such as Talladega Nights: The Story of Ricky Bobby and Superbad, respectively, the question as to whether the indie filmmakers would stay true to their low-budget aesthetic or would they transform their style into something mainstream audiences were used to seeing?

Cyrus tells the story of a man named John who’s still struggling with his 7-year divorce to Jamie (Catherine Keener) who recently announced that she’s getting remarried. And while she doesn’t want to be with John anymore, she does want him to be happy. So she forces him to put on pants (a chore for any depressed divorcee) and drags him to a party. There, he discovers Vodka and Red Bull, champions The Human League, and meets a beautiful 40-something named Molly (Marisa Tomei). Things heat up between John and Molly, as things often do in movies like this, and just as John’s world starts to look a little less bleak, Cyrus (Jonah Hill) enters the picture.

There’s nothing that’ll cramp a man’s style a 22-year-old kid still living at home. That’s exactly what John finds himself up against. Cyrus is a seemingly mature product of a broken home whose bond with his mother is not to be tested. As John tries to move things forward with Molly it becomes increasingly aware to John (and, of course, not to Molly who believes John’s imagining things, as characters often do in movies like these) that there are going to be problems getting past her kin.

So, with a mainstream premise, mainstream actors, and a mainstream budget (as least compared to their previous work), have the Duplass brothers created a “mainstream movie?” Are there any signs of the style, humor, and charm that made The Puffy Chair and Baghead must-see films for Indy Cine lovers? The answer to both questions is “yes.” They’ve done both. Each and every performance is wonderful. The comedy is spot-on. Even the handheld cinema-verite style is intact. As if by magic, the two writers/directors have done what so many independent filmmakers before them have tried to do: they’ve crossed over while maintaining exactly what made them unique. Wherever Mark and Jay are right now, be sure that they’re having their cake and eating it too, maybe literally.

While Cyrus has a lot of great aspects worth noting, one technique that’s sure to be “borrowed” for years to come is its voiceover/montage work. John and Molly fall in love on camera. They laugh, they cuddle, and they say all of the sappy things people say to one another when love happens to them. But instead of having to watch the actors declare these cheesy lines to one another (as audiences usually have to do when watching movies like this) the lucky viewers are treated to an engaging series of shots with overlying dialogue that’s much more effective than clichéd “close-up; overdramatic line delivery; reaction shot” formula. This technique is just one part of the most refreshing romantic comedy in years. And that’s exactly what Cyrus is, refreshing.

Directed by: Mark and Jay Duplass
Written by: Mark and Jay Duplass
Starring: John C. Reilly, Marisa Tomei, Jonah Hill, Catherine Keener
U.S.A., 92 min.

Sundance Film Festival Review: Howl

by Whitney Borup

In 1955, Allen Ginsberg wrote his most famous poem, “Howl,” about…well…there are a lot of differing opinions of what “Howl” is really about. Is it about homosexuality in 1950s America? Is it about the social disillusionment of the Beat culture? Or is it just about saying dirty words and talking about wieners? Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman’s film, Howl, uses this famous poem, Ginsberg’s recorded interviews, and the transcripts of an obscenity trial to explore the meaning of the poem. At times presented as a conventional bio-pic, and at other times coming across as a more obscure art film, Howl utilizes a lot of interesting approaches. But it never takes full advantage of its unique form.

While Ginsberg (James Franco) reads the poem, “Howl,” in its entirety, animated sequences illustrate the poem’s meaning. It is as though, because of its ability to depict what cannot be shown in live action, animation is the filmic form of poetry. There are no visual boundaries in animation, and the choice to use this form was appropriate. Unfortunately, the execution didn’t live up to the idea. The animation is conventional and boring. Epstein and Friedman use computer generated images when they should have branched out into other styles of animation that match Ginsberg’s original intentions. As it stands, the animated sequences are too sleek, too character driven, and too limited.

The obscenity trial that questioned whether the poem could be published for the general public was an interesting aspect of the film. Big character actors like Mary Louise Parker and Jeff Daniels make short appearances as narrow-minded literary critics. But there was also an emotional aspect to the trial that seemed forced. Without any character background of the key players (this trial did not concern Ginsberg directly) it’s hard to care about them, personally. By adding bio-pic characteristics (like newspaper headlines and a crawl at the end describing the future of everyone involved) the emotional distance the film creates comes across as a mistake.

Allen Ginsberg was quite a character. Which means that James Franco has a great subject to impersonate. As good looking as always (though a terrible fake beard hinders his babe-itude), Franco has the inflection and gestures of Ginsberg down pat. His reading of “Howl” is, at times, funny and at other times heartbreaking. He is confident and charming. It’s just too bad that the film he’s in doesn’t back him up.

Howl

Directed and Written: Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman

Starring: James Franco

USA, 90 min.

Waiting for Superman

by Scott Knopf.



Hollywood loves them some ghetto school movies. Ever since Blackboard Jungle introduced white American moviegoers to rock ‘n’ roll and urban education, they haven’t been able to get enough of either. Films like Dangerous Minds, Stand and Deliver, and Up the Down Staircase have celebrated the struggle and triumphs of inner city teachers dealing with all that the roughest cities have to offer. Many of these movies are based on real-life teachers and while it’s great that praise has been given to these select few, there are so many other great teachers waiting for any form of extolment from the school system hierarchy. The same lack of attention that good teachers must deal with is the same force that allows subpar teachers to stay in classrooms.

Davis Guggenheim (An Inconvenient Truth) has known about the country’s failing public schools system for a while now. In 2001, he directed a film named The First Year which followed five teachers for one school year. Each of these teachers were new to the field and all found out, firsthand, just what kinds of hardships both educators and their students have to deal with. Almost a decade later, Guggenheim returns to subject of public education in an attempt to get at the root of whatever it was that was turning schools into “dropout factories” and leaving many students without viable options for their futures.

Instead of following five teachers, the director follows five students as they and their parents fight to get them the best public education possible. And they definitely have to fight because there’s a lot standing in their way, especially for students from lower-income neighborhoods. The film sheds a lot of light on issues such as teacher unions, tenure, and how money and geography limit educational opportunities for students. The five young subjects are vying for spots in charter schools, which receive government money but are allowed to function outside of the unions that leave bad teachers immune from being fired. These charter schools have been proven to raise test scores in mathematics, reading, science, and every other subject but what keeps students like Anthony, Bianca, Daisy, Emily, and Francisco in failing schools is a limited number of spots in each program.

While the students certainly give a face to the statistics, Guggenheim spends a great deal of time with the statistics themselves. Waiting for Superman traces the problems plaguing public education from the bottom to the top. And while it’s possible to learn a lot from Guggenheim’s film, the film misses its mark by labeling its Lex Luthor (the unions) too soon and displaying a one-sided argument without letting the alleged supervillains tell their sides of the story. Then the film plays the sympathy card by spending its last twenty minutes covering charter school lottos in which the five children, whose stories we’ve been following up to this point, are assigned random numbers and watch as bingo balls decide their fate. The film ends on a down note, an uninspiring note, in fact, which plays off of the titular metaphor (one of the film’s many unnecessary metaphors) where America’s children are still waiting for someone to save them. And if Guggenheim’s conclusion is accurate, Superman’s not coming. A solution for public schools still hasn’t been found and finding one looks just as hopeless as the schools themselves. The only hope seems to be that if enough people begin to demand change, then maybe, someday, someone will figure out how to get change.

Directed by: Davis Guggenheim
Written by: Davis Guggenheim and Billy Kimball
U.S.A., 102 min.

Sundance Film Festival Review: Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil

by Whitney Borup

“Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil” has everything you could want in a good slasher film: gruesome deaths, insane back stories, hot blonde babes, and big boobies. But “Tucker and Dale” is a little more than a good, conventional slasher film; it’s also a hilarious comedy of errors.

Tucker and his best friend Dale are just a couple of hillbillies trying to have fun on vacation. Staying in their newly purchased summer home – which is a creepy, deteriorating cabin in the woods – they have the weekend mapped out for drinkin’ PBRs and fishin’. Unfortunately for Tucker and Dale, they’re not the only ones in these here woods. After a series of Moliere-style misunderstandings, Tucker and Dale become the victims of a bunch of college kids set on misguided revenge.

The clear villains in the film are the frat and sorority house douche bags who are quick to judge any country bumpkin they see. They dress for camping in the style we’re used to seeing in this kind of film: tiny white tank tops, short cutoffs, and muscle shirts. Of course one of them is named “Chad” and of course all the trouble starts when they decide to go skinny-dipping. As an audience, we are immediately aligned with the hillbillies, who, despite their dirty flannel and overalls, appear to be much smarter and are certainly much nicer to each other.

Every gruesome death scene is clever and delightful (and, don’t worry, they start off with a lot of college kids to kill off!), and in a film that could have easily gotten heavy-handed, “Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil” remains light hearted throughout. This isn’t a nail biter. You’re more likely to say “awwww” than “AHHH!” and that’s why it works as a great horror-comedy.

Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil

Directed and Written: Eli Craig

Starring: Tyler Labine, Alan Tudyk, Katrina Bowden

Canada, 86 min.

Kick in Iran

by Scott Knopf.



Sara Khoshjamal qualified to compete in the 2008 Summer Olympic Games. Her sport: kickboxing. Her country: Iran. Her “something extra”: she was the first to ever do it.

Following Khoshjamal from her training sessions until her post-Games homeland reception, this enlightening documentary says a lot about its subject and tries to give context as to her position within her country. The nineteen year old athlete follows the laws of her country and competes wearing her hijab (head scarf). Uniform regulations aren’t the only difference between Khoshjamal and her opponents. For example, in Iran, female athletes aren’t allowed male coaches, while in most other countries, most female kickboxers are trained by men. Khoshjamal’s trainer, who the girls respectively call “Master,” comes across as a stern yet knowledgeable coach. After the revolution, she and a small group of women were trained in Tae Kwon Do by male relatives (which is allowed) and once travelling abroad for sporting competitions was allowed, she pushed her pupils towards earning medals.

Making a documentary in Iran requires a lot of patience and even more paperwork. Getting permits and clearances to shoot Kick in Iran in its titular country would be an overwhelming job even for those experienced in the processes. That being said, one of the film’s major weaknesses is its incessant need to include unnatural scenes in which the subjects perform everyday tasks or have ordinary conversations which were clearly staged and performed for the rolling camera. Examples include Khoshjamal walking into the house and checking her answering machine to find that the only message is from an adorable little girl who would like to read her a message. Another sits the athlete and her coach in a collection of bright red chairs while they have a seemingly normal conversation about training schedules. These attempts at outside style are distracting and don’t make the film any more intriguing.

In the end, Kick in Iran is effective as a chronicle of Khoshjamal’s journey through her first Olympic Games but examinations of bigger picture issues in Iran trickle out past the first twenty minutes. The result is a simple documentary about a female pioneer. By the film’s end, Khoshjamal’s athletic career will be well documented but the treatment of Iran and its treatment of women will be lacking any substantial weight.

Directed and Written by: Fatima Geza Abdollahyan
Germany, 2009, 82 min.

Frozen

by Scott Knopf.



It’s hard to watch someone fight for something that you know is going to turn out badly. In Frozen, which hits theaters in February, three mid-twentians (handsome boy, hot girlfriend, and equally handsome best friend) bribe their way on a ski lift.

Before I get too far, there’s something I have to ask you, readers. Does it cost $250 dollars to ride a ski lift? That’s what they pay. Even split three ways, that’s far more than I’d ever pay to fall down a mountain. So either skiing prices have gone up since my last time on the slopes (which was never) or this was some special mountain that was actually covered with pure, Columbian nosecandy. Either way, they overpaid.

Back to my original point. Watching someone push, shove, sneak, overpay, or flirt their way into danger is borderline infuriating. That’s exactly what happens to these three. For those who haven’t seen the trailer, heard about the plot from a friend, or couldn’t picture what could possibly go wrong on a ski lift, they get stuck. For a week.

Minimalist thrillers like Open Water, The Blair Witch Project, and Open Water 2: Adrift have gained enough popularity over the last few years to pave the way for flicks like Frozen. This second generation (see also: Buried) have larger budgets, bigger stars, and in this film’s case, more gruesome deaths. What’s great about these lost/stuck thrillers is how their premises alone automatically get you thinking of how you’d get out were you to find yourself in that situation. And you speak with such confidence! I’d tie my clothes together and make a rope. I’d repel across the wire. I’d just jump. But don’t think for a minute that the filmmakers didn’t think of all of these options before principle photography began. That wire is sharp! That ski lift is high! They cover them all. And did I mention that there are wolves? Mean ones!

Being stuck on a ski lift in the middle of winter with no one coming to save you is a terrifying concept by itself. The wolves aren’t necessary and in Frozen they distract from just how messed up the situation is. If you jump down, the wolves will eat you. At least it’s quick. But what about jumping down, hurting yourself, and then dying slowly in the snow? That’s messed up.

Overall, the film serves its purpose. You won’t ever look at ski lifts in the same way. The dialogue is just as sloppy, clichéd, and poorly delivered as you’d expect it to be but the frostbite scenes are even grosser than you imagined. You know why you want to see Frozen. So go see Frozen.

Directed by: Adam Green
Written by: Adam Green
Starring: Shawn Ashmore, Emma Bell, and Kevin Zegers.
U.S.A., 93 min.

Jack Goes Boating

by Scott Knopf.



Philip Seymour Hoffman debuts his directing skills with a story about a limo driver whose life isn’t as prosperous as it should be. Hoffman also performs in the film’s lead role, the titular Jack. Jack doesn’t have a bad life but it’s obvious to everyone around him that it could be better. When he’s introduced to a peculiar but sweet woman named Connie (Amy Ryan), the drive he otherwise lacked gets put into motion. He learns how to swim, how to cook, and even how to date for her. And while he remains the same man he was before, by the end, he’s exactly what he set out to be: a better version of himself.

When every single character wishes Jack success and happiness in life, it’s hard not to want the same for him. His friends, his boss, strangers, acquaintances, and even his best friend’s enemy all do whatever they can to help Jack succeed. Somehow, this slovenly slug has formed a world around himself which, in every respect, wishes to help him out. However, what’s unclear is how Jack, with this colossal support system, ended up living in his uncle’s basement without ever learning how to swim, cook, or date. Did the world suddenly decide to go easy on Jack just because he meets a nice girl? What’s more probable is that Jack decided to go easy on himself, stepped out of his own way, and allowed himself to finally see the version of Jack that his friends had been seeing all along. The story’s been told before but where Boating really succeeds is in the characters the story is being told about.

Jack has two friends, Clyde and Lucy, a childless couple with a beat up marriage. Jack’s blooming connection with Connie is mirrored by their maturely fucked-up view of relationships. Clyde is also a limo driver whose persistent smile serves a shield for life’s shit. Clyde’s the leader of Jack’s morale boosters. Always willing to sacrifice his own wants and needs for his friend, Clyde does all he can to help his friend. While each performance in Boating is noteworthy, John Ortiz, who plays Clyde, steals the show each time he’s on screen. Ortiz emanates an energy and a likability that shines through his dreary surroundings and situations. Daphne-Rubin Vega holds her own as Lucy, a complex character who tries to prepare Jack for the less glamorous things that relationships will bring.

There are a lot of things to like about Jack Goes Boating. The performances are strong, the depiction of New York City shows a whole different New York than audiences will be used to seeing, and the music (mostly performed by indie rock group Grizzly Bear) holds all of the pieces together. Having performed in Bob Glaudini’s play, which Glaudini later adapted for the screen, Hoffman and his cohorts arrived to the film with a deep understanding of the material. This preparation is visible on-screen. Boating is a well-constructed film with a lot of heart. Its sympathetic characters and commanding performances make up for its worn-out story.

Directed: Philip Seymour Hoffman
Written: Bob Glaudini
Starring: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Amy Ryan, John Ortiz, Daphne Rubin-Vega
U.S.A., 89 min.

Retro Cinema: "Georgia O'Keeffe" (1977)

It is a major shame that Perry Miller Adato’s 1977 documentary “Georgia O’Keeffe” is no longer in circulation. An award magnet when it was first released – including a history-making Directors Guild of America Award for Adato, the first female filmmaker to win the honor – this production has yet to find its way onto DVD, although copies of a 2000 VHS issue can be located online.

“Georgia O’Keeffe” presents the iconic and iconoclastic artist in her own words. Her raconteur skills mirror her genius with the paintbrush – she is unpretentious, colorful, often playful and truly original in recalling her life and career. She speaks frankly and vividly about the unique environmental influences over the years, from the dusty Texas plains in her early work to the soaring metropolitan towers of her Manhattan residential years to the stunning New Mexico desert landscapes that ultimately defined her later life. She also casually reveals the very basic inspirations of her work: she began painting skulls, she explains, because there were no flowers to gather in the New Mexican desert, while she later explored floral shapes with intense magnification because she felt their beauty would be lost if they were painted as measured in their natural smallish sizes.

“Georgia O’Keeffe” has no narration, and the artist is occasionally prompted with cameras asked off-camera by Adato or Juan Hamilton, a sculptor who was her assistant in her later years. She is disarming in recalling critical consternation to her work. She calmly states that the animal skulls used in her work were never meant to symbolize death, and that she actually found their designs to be very lively. When inquired about the possibility that her floral paintings has sexual connotations, she barely conceals amusement in saying that people making such comments are talking about themselves and not her work.

O’Keeffe is also memorable in recalling her professional and personal relationship with Alfred Stieglitz. She notes that Stieglitz first put her work on display at his Fifth Avenue gallery without her knowledge (a friend who had possession to some of O’Keeffe’s drawings showed them to Stieglitz). O’Keeffe recalls that she wanted them removed, but was rebuffed. When asked by Adato why Stieglitz refused, she looks sternly at the filmmaker and replies, “You try arguing with him – and see where it gets you!”

O’Keeffe, who was pushing 90 when the film was shot, was a physical marvel on camera – at one point, she climbs a ladder to a rooftop. The film details her work in planning a book of her artwork, and the film is rich in offering as many of her classic paintings as possible.

Art critic Barbara Rose wisely points out that O’Keeffe represented the American spirit in her work – her paintings, with their bold approach to color and spatial perspective, have no stylistic precedent in any European school of art. Yet her personality is also fiercely American in the most positive concept of the American ideal – rugged, individualistic, focused, unpredictable and more than a little sexy. (Yes, even close to 90, O’Keeffe was more captivating and enchanting than women young enough to be her granddaughter.)

“Georgia O’Keeffe” is a wonderful documentary and it deserves to be revisited. Let’s hope some fine DVD label remembers this title and brings it back for another appearance.

“Georgia O’Keeffe”
1977, Documentary, 60 minutes
Directed by Perry Miller Adato

Sundance Film Festival Review: Bran Nue Day

by Whitney Borup

“Bran Nue Dae” might make for a great, campy musical, but it doesn’t translate to the big screen. The story centers on Willie, an aborigine living in Broome, Australia. Willie’s mother wants him to be a priest and sends him to Catholic boarding school (run by an insane priest played by Geoffrey Rush) but all Willie really wants to do with his life is shag his childhood friend Rosie. So, inspired by racist remarks made by the priest, Willie runs away from boarding school, back to Broome to be with the girl he loves. Along the way he runs into his Uncle Tadpole, two hippies, and a chubby horny lady. Despite setbacks, the group manages to sing and dance their way back to Broome to face the friends and family that await them.

While the music is delightfully catchy, “Bran Nue Dae” falls short in most other filmmaking categories. Using actors with beautiful voices (like Jessica Mauboy from “Australian Idol”) the film sacrifices the believability of performance that makes musicals work. The characters in this film seem to be acting on the surface, going through the motions but not the emotions. How can an audience be expected to swallow spontaneous song and dance numbers from a character whose feelings seem forced? The film relies on glossy close-ups and wind-blown hair to produce drama, rather than the real-life emotions we should see in the performances themselves.

But the film’s failures cannot be placed solely on the actors’ shoulders. They seem to be doing the best they can with a script that asks their characters to make radical changes within seconds. Why, for example, is the priest gregarious and magnanimous at one moment, only to beat children and deride their race at the next? The style of the film feels equally forced, with funky sound effects sporadically cropping up, and awkwardly mixed musical genres. Cheap jokes (the priest pooping on the side of the road) are paired with intense, racially charged jail scenes. Each scene feels like it could belong to a different film, with the sole connection being intense cheesiness.

It’s a shame that the filmmaking falls so short, because the setting is perfect for a musical. Full of color and drama, the Australian coast tries to make up for the lack of charm in any of the film’s characters, but never succeeds.

Bran Nue Dae

Directed: Rachel Perkins

Written: Rachel Perkins, Reg Cribb, Jimmy Chi

Starring: Geoffrey Rush, Jessica Mauboy, Rocky McKenzie, Ernie Dingo

Australia, 88 min.

Sundance Film Festival Review: Hesher

by Whitney Borup

Life has been pretty hard for T.J. Forney (Devin Brochu). He’s pushed around at school, ignored at home, gets into a whole slew of bike accidents, and, to top it all off, his mom was recently killed in a car crash. Then Hesher (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) enters the picture and things just get worse. A violent, calloused anarchist, Hesher decides to move into T.J.’s grandma’s house and there doesn’t seem to be anything anyone can do to stop him – not that they would even try. Ever since his wife’s death T.J.s dad (Rainn Wilson) has been slumped over on the couch, staring into space. We start to look to Hesher, the only active and charismatic person in the house, to pull this family together. But he just doesn’t give a shit.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt looks incredible as Hesher. He’s covered in crudely drawn tattoos, goes shirtless and pantless for most of the film, and sports long, tangled hair that menacingly falls in front of his face. His performance is equally charming. No matter how violent or unreasonable Hesher gets, he still seems like someone you’d like to know…from a distance. Excellently placed metal music emphasizes his every decisive action. His metaphoric stories are long and pointless, but when he snips your nose off with hedge trimmers, he’s short and to the point.

If only the magnetism of Hesher could expand to the other characters in the film. Because as sympathetic as a struggling Jr. Highschooler like T.J. is, he’s not all that interesting. It seems as though the script were written with little confidence in a child actor, who was, therefore, given very few lines to work with. T.J. bumbles and struggles along, and the only word he can find to express himself is “um…” While realistic to his age, T.J.’s ineffectualness competes with Hesher’s unique competence and as a result the movie feels uneven. Every scene without Hesher is a drag. Even Natalie Portman, playing an older grocery store clerk who befriends T.J., struggles with the material, which feels very scripted. The only character who can hold her own against Gordon-Levitt’s performance is Piper Laurie’s equally quirky aging grandmother, who also doesn’t get enough screen time.

As a character study, “Hesher” succeeds admirably. As a coming of age in a time of grief story, the film fails to connect to its main protagonist, forcing us to cheer for his nemesis.

Hesher

Directed and written: Spencer Susser

Starring: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Natalie Portman, Rainn Wilson, Piper Laurie, and Devin Brochu

100 min., USA