First Look ’26: I Fell in Love with a Z-Grade Director in Brooklyn

“Crummy Films” makes Troma look like Merchant-Ivory. It is about the only “studio” that would ever let a weirdo like Jack direct. Naturally, it is in Brooklyn. Legit Japanese movie star Shina Mizuhara is in for a serious case of culture shock when she finds herself stranded in one of the borough’s grungier neighborhoods. “Fortunately” for her, Jack needs an actress and he is in no position to nitpick minor details like English fluency. He doesn’t even know she can act, but, somehow, they click together creatively and perhaps in other ways too in director-screenwriter Kenichi Ugana’s I Fell in Love with a Z-Grade Director in Brooklyn, which screens today as part of MoMI’s First Look 2026.

Mizuhara worked hard to build her stardom, but burnout and entitlement made her toxic on the PR circuit and generally unpleasant to be around. She decided to take a break in New York with her boyfriend Ren, but her churlish behavior finally pushed him to break up with her. She took it badly. Awkwardly, he was still carrying her phone and wallet when she stormed off in a huff.

Fatefully, Mizuhara wandered into Jack’s dive bar. She needs a place to crash and he needs a replacement actress fast or his first film will get canceled before it even starts, so he extorts her to play the lead. Admittedly, it is a jerkweed thing to do, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Of course, Mizuhara has never worked on such a cheap, disreputable run-and-gun movie shoot before, but finds she enjoys the freedom. There also seems to be something percolating between her and Jack, but being an annoying Brooklyn wannabe hipster, he is fully capable of sabotaging it.

Clearly, Ugana conceived the film for the kind of cult movie fans who will be delighted to see Larry Fessenden playing Crummy Movies boss Rusty Festerson. It is not a tribute spoof in the tradition of One Cut of the Dead or Matinee, but it definitely wears its love for schlocky genre movies on its sleeve.

It is also a rather endearing rom-com for people who don’t ordinarily watch rom-coms, even though there is a great charm imbalance between the winning Ui Muhara and the relentlessly annoying Estevan Munoz, as Shina and Jack, respectively. Muhara portrays Mizuhara’s maturation and growth with sensitivity and credibility, whereas Jack’s motormouth mania induces more cringe than laughter.

BFF ’20: Snatchers

If soulless alien body-snatchers invaded ultra-hip Williamsburg, how could you tell? The brain-controlled drones would probably be less conformist than they are now. Todecky is the exception. He fondly remembers the Brooklyn nabe when it was edgy and gritty, but he will still fight to save the trendy enclave from extraterrestrial parasites in John Kingman’s Snatchers, which screens (virtually) as part of the (online) 2020 Brooklyn Film Festival.

Todecky is a Fed, but not for the FBI. He currently serves as an investigator for the FDA, but his heart and wardrobe are old school Bureau, all the way. Obviously, he does not fit in with the scenesters, including Brie, a supposedly aspiring documentarian, who once interviewed him for an aborted GMO doc. Now she claims to be working “undercover” as janitorial staff at a start-up, as part of a project about immigrants that will never happen. She had no contact with Todecky since ghosting him, but the two will be thrown together when mutant alien corn infects the local food truck circuit.

The corn in question came from fields cultivated by Mennonite farmers like Jeb. He could tell there was something wrong about those ears, harvested after a meteorite crashed nearby, so he returned to big sinful city to track them down. Todecky doesn’t want to hear his alien talk, but they still join forces, along with Brie and the two proprietors of a food truck that exclusively caters to fellow food truck employees.

Snatchers is a very funny send-up of Brooklyn hipster pretensions and body-snatcher genre conventions. Screenwriter Guy Patton must know the scene well to land so many direct hits, but he still has enough emotional distance to show no mercy. This is about as close as a freshly produced film is likely to come to politically incorrect spirit of vintage Mel Brooks. There is also a little bit of gross-out humor, but eye-popping practical effects were clearly not a priority.

What The!? ’19: Depraved

In 1930’s Universal movies, Transylvania is the homeland of monsters. In Larry Fessenden’s latest film, monsters come from Brooklyn, namely Gowanus. That is much more believable, isn’t it? In fact, this is could well be the grungiest, most realistic take on Mary Shelley’s classic characters yet. New sentient life will get sutured together, but it isn’t exactly grateful for the favor after it experiences the Brooklyn scene in Fessenden’s Depraved, which premiered as the opening night selection of the What The Fest!?.

Alex, an obnoxious Brooklynite, is about to be murdered, but he will be back—at least a piece of him will, as a ghostly remnant within the hulking body Dr. Henry (surname cagily not identified) has stitched together from body parts. Occasionally, the new life form dubbed “Adam” experiences flashes of Alex’s memory, but not enough to help him make sense of the world.

His name is not intended as a Biblical reference. Instead, it has more personal meaning for the former military doctor turned mad scientist. This Dr. Frankenstein is not as blinded by vainglory and hubris as his cinematic predecessors. His desire to conqueror death was kindled by his service performing battlefield triage. Unfortunately, he largely lost his sense of perspective in the process. Needless to say, his financial backer, the entitled hipster Polidori was not a constructive influence.

Depraved looks like it was filmed in a shuttered Gowanus industrial building, because it really was. The is definitely the grittiest, least tweedy Frankenstein riff that openly advertises itself as such (for the record, there is an even grimier film involving a Frankenstein-like mad doctor on the festival circuit, but its Modern Prometheus connections are supposed to come as a surprise revelation). Regardless, Fessenden’s film definitely feels like it came straight out of Gowanus, with all the attitude and industrial waste that implies.

As Adam, Alex Breaux brings to life (so to speak) one of the most doleful movie monsters since Universal’s glory years. With his awkward hesitancy and confusion, he resembles a more nebbish Lon Chaney Jr. Likewise, David Call’s portrayal of Henry is unusually morally conflicted by genre movie standards.

Joshua Leonard (returning to his Blair Witch horror movie roots) is abrasively annoying and convincingly petulant and immature as Polidori. Yet, Addison Timlin might be who genre fans remember most, combining humor and pathos in her all too brief appearance as Shelley, the Iggy Pop listener Adam kind of-sort of picks up in a hipster bar. It is a very well-written and well-played sequence that serves as an analog to the Karloff monster fatally throwing the little girl into the lake.

As viewers should be able to tell from many of the character names, Depraved often alludes to the original novel and traditionally gothic films in sly ways. In what will be a relief to many, the film is not at all as lectury as one might expect, despite Henry’s military background and the fundamental folly-of-playing-god-theme (especially compared to Fessenden’s The Last Winter). Altogether, it is a pretty impressive work of ultra-indie auteurist horror cinema. Highly recommended for Frankenstein and Fessenden fans, Depraved had its premiere last night, as part of this year’s What The Fest.

Sundance ’19: Abe

If only they had more fusion cuisine at Taba, maybe then there would be peace in the Middle East. Or perhaps not. A thirteen-year-old aspiring chef in Brooklyn tries to bring his mixed Israeli-Palestinian family together with food, but their divisions might be too deep for his culinary efforts to heal, despite some help from Brazil in Fernando Grostein Andrade’s Abe, which screens during the 2019 Sundance Film Festival.

Abe prefers “Abe,” but his family calls him Abraham, Avraham, Avi, or Ibrahim, depending on which side is doing the talking. His mother and her parents are Jewish Israeli, his paternal grandparents are Palestinian Muslims, and his father is a “plague on both your houses” atheist. As you might guess, family gatherings are super awkward. Frankly, they bicker so much, they never enjoy Abe’s cooking.

For a thirteen-year-old, Abe is pretty good at the basics (or so he thinks), but he needs a bit of coaching when it comes to more ambitious creations. Chico Catuaba is the chef he has in mind to mentor him. The Bahia native once had his own restaurant, but now sells his unique brand of Brazilian-Jamaican fusion cuisine in his pop-up kitchens throughout Brooklyn. Initially, Catuaba is suspicious of Abe and the potential child labor legal problems he might bring, but the young teen’s sincerity wins him over. However, he will make sure Abe pays his dues first, before giving him real kitchen responsibilities.

Andrade’s film boasts a lithe and lively Brazilian soundtrack, featuring co-star Seu Jorge on two tracks (“Imigrantes” and Veloso’s “Meia Lua Inteira”), Tulipa Ruiz on “Sal E Amor,” and musical supervisor Jaques Morelenbaum’s solo cello arrangements of Jobim’s “Brigas Numcas Mais” and “Samba de Uma Noto So.” It sounds fantastic and the food looks delicious, so it is easy to forgive the formulaic aspects of Lameece Issaq & Jacob Kader’s screenplay. In fact, Andrade executes the culinary coming-of-age tale with a light touch, dialing down the obvious clichés and potentially fraught politics as much as possible. Instead, he focuses on the diverse, likable ensemble of characters.

Noah Schnapp from Stranger Things is appealingly energetic and earnest as Abe. However, the perfectly cast Seu Jorge frequently steals the show as Catuaba. Anyone who has seen him perform knows he has serious charisma and a voice that could take work away from James Earl Jones, but he also wields a kitchen knife with authority. As Abe’s parents, Dagmara Dominczyk and Arian Moayed also convincingly look and sound like a loving couple, whose relationship is under strain and stress. As a bonus, the great character actor Mark Margolis adds some crusty flair as Abe’s Jewish grandfather, Benjamin.

Abe is a very nice little movie with a terrific soundtrack. The notion of refracting the Middle Eastern conflict through the microcosm of a Brooklyn family might sound like a ham-fisted, finger-wagging cinematic lecture, but Andrade mostly makes it work, by not forcing it too hard. Recommended for fans of foodie movies and Seu Jorge, Abe screens again today (2/2) in Park City, as part of this year’s Sundance Film Festival.

ND/NF ’18: Notes on an Appearance

This is a movie that is best watched with a finger on the pause button, yet it is only just starting its festival run. Hopefully, you read Vulcan-fast, because there is a lot of intriguing back-story that flashes across the screen in fictional news articles. Whether or not the mysterious disappearance of a recent college graduate has anything to do with the controversial life of the late political theorist Stephen Taubes is open to speculation, but the writer’s coy advocacy of ideological violence certainly seems to represent these divisive times. Look not for answers, but only more questions in Ricky D’Ambrose’s Notes on an Appearance (trailer here), which screens during this year’s New Directors/New Films.

After an extended period of slackery, David Hidell accepts a Brooklyn-based research assistant position with his former college friend, Todd, who is working on a definitive Taubes biography, thanks to a considerable grant. Despite his Ivy League pedigree, Taubes is no bourgeoisie James Q. Wilson. He is an avowed anarchist, who railed against capitalism and democracy. Rather awkwardly for his admirers, it has also come to light that he pseudonymously wrote for a Europe journal with a reputation for fascist and anti-Semitic leanings.

There is the tantalizing possibility Hidell was made to vanish because he discovered something embarrassing about Taubes, but D’Ambrose steadfastly refuses to indulge in crass mystery/thriller conventions. Frankly, he is more interested in epistolary forms, sort of like Eric Baudelaire’s hybrid doc Letters to Max, which also has authoritarian sympathies. When it comes to the drama, such that he allows, his approach is not unlike the deliberate artificiality of Eugène Green and the extreme distancing of For the Plasma, which makes sense, considering the crossover personnel it shares with Appearance.

There are times when it is hard to tell if Appearance is deliberately satirizing the hyper-pretentious Brooklyn literary scene, or so deeply immersed in it, it inadvertently launches into self-parody. That uncertainty is highly problematic. Regardless, D’Ambrose does not want you to get involved in the narrative—and you won’t. The cast does everything they are supposed to, scrupulously following his direction. Yet, what really captures our imagination is Nation magazine contributor, Russia apologist, and Trump-collusion denier Stephen F. Cohen lending an eerie voice to Taubes and his ideology of menace.

It is almost enough to make us wish another movie splintered off from Appearance. It only runs for a mere sixty minutes, but it is chocked full of frustration. Clearly, D’Ambrose understands how murky conspiracy theories have a deeply religious impact on the modern psyche (they are our new articles of faith), but again, he will not deliver the pay-off. Only for self-conscious Brooklyn hipsters, Notes on an Appearance screens this Friday (4/6) at the Walter Reade and Saturday (4/7) at MoMA, as part of ND/NF 2018.

FGBFF ’18: Lyle

You probably always suspected Brooklyn hipsters were evil. This film proves it. Unfortunately for Leah, it will do so by placing her and her unborn daughter in dire jeopardy—assuming she isn’t actually going crazy instead in Stewart Thorndike’s Lyle (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2018 Final Girls Berlin Film Festival.

Despite some reservations, Leah agreed to move into Brooklyn with her wife June and their toddler daughter Lyle. Obviously, that was her first mistake. For some reason, she is never comfortable in the BKLN brownstone. She assumes it is the creepy property manager, who seems to have some kind of unhealthy Munchausen pregnancy thing going on. Of course, her unease gets even worse after tragedy strikes. Rather conveniently, she is already pregnant with a spare, but she becomes even more alarmed when she learns the macabre history of the building.

Thorndike (she played one of the models in Eyes Wide Shut) takes mucho inspiration from a classic horror movie that shall remain nameless, but she gives the common premise several original twists. Reportedly, during production, Lyle nearly became a web-series before switching back to a feature. The indecision was probably due to the betwixt-and-between running time of just over one hour. However, it is nice to see a filmmaker create something so potent within such a manageable time-frame. It is also quite remarkable how she maintains a consistent tone and a steadily building sense of dread. Polanski is referenced six ways from Sunday, yet somehow the end product is very much itself and rather terrifying.

It seems like Gaby Hoffman has made a specialty of annoying hipster characters designed to alienated well-adjusted viewers, so the visceral power of her work here will surprise many. She falls apart spectacularly, in what might be her best screen performance to date. Ingrid Jungermann and Kim Allen nicely establish the two extreme poles in her imploding world: her increasingly distant partner June and her concerned supermodel neighbor Taylor (only in Brooklyn).

Lyle is much scarier than you will anticipate, especially since experienced horror fans will assume they know exactly where it is going. Credit is due to Thorndike, who already displays a skillful command of horror movie mechanics. Highly recommended, Lyle screens with the short Nothing a Little Soap and Water Can’t Fix at this year’s Final Girls Berlin Film Festival, showcasing horror hand-crafted by women filmmakers.

ADIFF ’17: Woven

About fifty people die every year from jumping or getting pushed onto New York subway tracks.  It represents an extremely low level of danger, but it is far more real than the lingering bogus Aspartame cancer scare. Eleni Tariku would know. Her brother met his death on the subway tracks, but how he got there is a mystery in Nagwa Ibrahim & Salome Mulugeta’s family drama Woven (trailer here), which screens during this year’s African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

Dr. Abell Tariku (“A.T.”) is called away from his mother’s birthday party, but he will never make it to the hospital. Of course, this would happen in the only five square foot area of New York not covered by security cameras. His death absolutely devastates his mother Smra, but in some ways, it falls even harder on Eleni. Nevertheless, she will try to get on with her life. That means returning to work as a school councilor and evading her mother’s efforts to fix her up.

Charley Thompson is her latest hard-case client. His unemployed father Logan and alcoholic nurse mother Mila fight like cats and dogs juiced up on steroids. Logan is the one Tariku knows, because he is the one who has time to attend school meetings. Charley’s frequent acting-out necessitates several such conferences, allowing an opportunity for a mutual attraction to grow between councilor and parent.

Of course, everything is connected in Woven, as the title and Gary Sinise in CSI NY would suggest. In fact, it is almost too neat and tidy, especially considering how many millions of people live and act suspiciously in de Blasio’s New York, especially in Brooklyn. Nevertheless, it is rather refreshing to see a healthy, loving sibling story on-screen, even if it is cut short during the first act. It is also quite novel to see the Ethiopian Orthodox Church portrayed in a favorable light, but it is certainly a welcome development.

Co-director Mulugeta is an absolutely radiant presence as Eleni Tariku. She also develops some potent chemistry with Ryan O’Nan’s scruffy but fiercely protective Logan Thompson. Frankly, he covers an impressive emotional range during the course of the film. Tibebe Solomon Borga also makes an impression in limited screen time as the ill-fated A.T.

Woven is a mature film about family and forgiveness, but it sometimes overindulges in melodramatic flourishes and coincidental contrivances. Still, it is set in Brooklyn, where contrived melodrama is hardly unusual. Recommended for inclusive, faith-and-family oriented viewers, Woven screens this Saturday (11/25) and Sunday the 5^th, as part of the 2017 ADIFF.

Brooklyn Horror ’16: Psychotic!

He is known as “The Party Killer” and he is a real Brooklyn slasher. In this case, he is both a killer of Brooklynites and a psycho-stalker who happens to be from Brooklyn. At least he deserves credit for killing some of the most annoying victims ever in Maxwell Frey & Derek Gibbons’ Psychotic! (trailer here), which screens during the inaugural Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

If you needed one more reason to avoid Bushwick, the Party Killer should certainly suffice. We will see exactly how he gets his name when he kills Shannon right smack in the middle of the birthday party she threw for her boyfriend Bill, the bass player in Stuart’s band. Since then, Bill has been a little uptight, whereas Stuart has always been ragingly insensitive. The inevitable conflict between them results in Stuart getting kicked out of the band he started.

Stuart’s square Craigslist roommate “Old Dog” Tim also wants him out, but fortunately he is preoccupied with stalking his old girlfriend. Stuart is quite smitten himself with sarcastic Roxy, but she is probably too cool for him. Unfortunately, he presumably left his wallet, keyboard, and weed at her place (but admittedly his memory is a little fuzzy on that score). As Stuart and Tim pursue their self-involved Seinfeld-esque lives, people in their social circles keep getting killed. Yet despite all the corpses, there never seem to be any cops around. This is indeed de Blasio’s New York.

Frey & Gibbons wear their Giallo love on their sleeves, but when it comes to satirizing the Italian horror genre, they can’t lay a patent leather glove on Astron-6’s The Editor. There is an awful lot of time devoted to the band and its internal discord, which might be very Brooklyn but tries our patience. Frankly, despite ostensibly tweaking BKLN hipster pretensions, Psychotic! often leaves us even more exasperated with Kings County denizens.

Still, Brian Stansfield’s woozy looking cinematography is absolutely spot-on. To their credit, Frey & Gibbons don’t hold back jack as Old Dog and Stuart, respectively. Kristen Martin also nicely boosts the energy and attitude as the mysterious Roxy. There is no question the Brooklyn Horror fest will be the perfect venue to watch Psychotic! with a like-minded audience, so if you are interested at all, see it there. However, it will be a more hit-or-miss viewing experience in other boroughs and other cities. It’s Brooklyn thing—screening this Saturday (10/15) at Throne Watches, as part of the first annual Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.

Creative Control: VR Finally Comes to Brooklyn

Brooklyn is home to the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Scott Baio, and Deborah “Debbie” Gibson. The borough just isn’t as cool as it thinks it is. That is probably not going to change in the near future. However, the technology of the supposedly edgy new Google Glass competitor a boutique Brooklyn ad agency starts handling is imperceptibly different from that of six months ago. Prepare for some whiny hipsters and naked VR constructs in Benjamin Dickinson’s Creative Control (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

In David’s echo chamber world, even working at an ultra-hip agency like Homunculus constitutes selling out. He hates himself for actually working an office job, but his fragile ego craves recognition. It seems his moment has arrived when he is given creative control of the Augmenta campaign. His first decision to recruit musician-comedian Reggie Watts as their spokesman goes over like gangbusters, because apparently broad based market penetration is not the client’s goal.

In contrast to his career upswing, David’s personal life is in shambles. He barely talks to his self-absorbed ragingly neurotic (even by Park Slope standards) live-in girl-friend Juliette, who occasionally works as a yoga instructor and blames all her failures on him because she might as well. David carries a torch for Sophie, the clueless girlfriend of his cheating dog fashion photographer best bud, but she politely discourages his guarded overtures. As a plan B, David programs a virtual Sophie in his Not-Google Glass, with whom he regularly has hot, sweaty assignations with at a W Hotel. In fact, David sees so much of his programmed Sophie, he starts to have trouble distinguishing her from the genuine article.

Maybe ten years ago, the idea of a man becoming emotionally involved with his virtual reality sex partner would have been edgy, but it is pretty old hat in a world where Joaquin Phoenix had a relatively healthy romance with his operating system. Seriously, is anyone flabbergasted by the idea of anti-social tool using technology for sexual purposes?

Still, there is no reason Creative couldn’t work to some extent if it were executed with wit and style. In fact, it has plenty of the latter, thanks to Adam Newport-Berra’s distinctive black-and-white cinematography. However, the only jokes that land come in a recurring gag regarding the campaign for a prescription anti-anxiety drug, but those bits would not be out of place in an episode of Bosom Buddies. For the most part, its alleged satire of hipster Brooklyn is toothless and its future speculation is behind the times.

Frankly, by casting himself in the lead role, Dickinson becomes his own worst enemy. Whatever the opposite of screen presence might be, he seems to have a lot of it. Nor does it help when Paul Manza, the hippy yoga instructor in Dickinson’s profoundly irritating First Winter turns up as a hippy yoga instructor once again.

With the admittedly lovely black-and-white look and classical music soundtrack, Dickinson is clearly striving for a Kings County analog of Woody Allen’s Manhattan. Unfortunately, he falls far short, even though swapping out the creepy underage relationship for autoerotic VR is definitely a wise trade. Honestly, this film would have been superfluous five years ago. Now it is just self-indulgent and tiresome. Not recommended, Creative Control opens today (3/11) in New York, at the Landmark Sunshine.

Julia: Revenge Gets Murky

What Julia Shames really needs is some firearms training from an old school vigilante like Death Wish’s Paul Kersey. Instead, the rape victim is recruited by a vaguely satanic, crypto-feminist cult. Sexual politics take a sinister turn, possibly even trumping revenge in Matthew A. Brown’s Julia (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in select cities.

This Julia should absolutely not be mistaken for the 1977 Lillian Hellman film, although she might approve of the later film’s sentiments. Mousy Shames (how’s that for a heavy-handed name?) is brutally raped and left for dead by a former co-worker and his three thuggish friends. However, she survives because the reluctant one feels a last minute pang of conscience. Walking through Brooklyn in a daze, she is quickly identified and recruited by Dr. Sgundud’s cult-like organization.

He promises empowerment and revenge against the testosterone-driven rape culture, but his rules are rigid. First and foremost, she more forgo personal vengeance, in favor of waging a broader campaign against aggressive and entitled men. During her probationary period, the mysterious Sadie will be her coach and minder. Soon, they are also lovers. However, Shames is about to break Sgundud’s cardinal rule, because what’s the point of revenge, if it isn’t personal?

By genre standards Julia is unusually stylish, particularly Frank Hall’s electro-minimalist score. Unfortunately, the film is an absolute traffic jam of half-baked revelations and awkwardly didactic plot points. Rather than thrilling or scaring, the most applicable adjective-verb is “frustrating.”

Right from the start, Brown makes it clear there will be no vicarious satisfaction allowed from Shames’ vengeance-taking, which is problematic for a revenge thriller (Reversal, now known as Bound to Vengeance is an example of how this is done right). Instead, there are horror movie trappings mixed with a hallucinatory psychological drama, overlaid by a lesbian co-dependent morality tale. Even more distracting, Brown opens a huge can of worms with Sgundud’s big reveal, without ever really dealing with the implications.

Frankly, this film often feels like it is at war with itself, which is a shame, because Human Centipede’s Ashley C. Williams really is quite good as Shames. Bergsteinn Björgúlfsson’s eerie urban cinematography is also quite effectively disorienting, like prime David Lynch or Fabrice du Welz’s Alleluia. Yet, Brown keeps pulling the audience out of the action, making a point of showing us exactly what Julia is not. Not really recommended despite its technical merit, Julia opens tomorrow (10/23) at the AMC Burbank Town Center 8.

Movement + Location: Lo-Fi Time Travel

Where would you rather live, a far future apocalyptic dystopia or Brooklyn today? A time traveler chose the latter, but she is having understandably mixed feelings about it. Yet, just as she starts to restart a life in our presence, her future past complicates matters in Alexis Boling’s Movement + Location (trailer here), which is now playing in New York.

Kim Getty is reluctant to make attachments, because she understands how awkwardly she fits in this era. Once she traveled back in time, there was no going back. Time travel technology only goes one way. Typically, people travel back by themselves, but Getty thought she had a way she and her husband could back the jump together. Somehow they were separated, but on the first day of each month she visits the arrival point, hoping he will finally appear.

Getty’s only real contact is with her coworker Marcel, with whom she does field work for a homeless outreach service. During their rounds, she notices a homeless fifteen year-old girl has the same markings of a future time traveler. Through a lot of fast talking she manages to get Rachel back to her place, but she found herself agreeing to a date with Rob, the earnest beat cop in the process. Amber, her BKLN party girl roommate is rather surprised to learn Getty has a “sister,” but Getty is just as surprised to find she might be falling for Rob. Unfortunately, Rachel’s teenaged naivety threatens to call attention to the deliberately low profile Getty, in precisely the wrong ways.

With its Brooklyn setting, you could almost think of M+L as mumblecore science fiction, but it is much more substantial than that. However, it is definitely a quiet, character-driven piece. There are no scenes of naked Terminators arriving through a portal of lightning bolts. Time travel just somehow happens off camera and we just need to accept it. Instead, screenwriter (and lead) Bodine Boling focuses on the psychological repercussions of such an extreme, irreversible situation.

Boling duly impresses as the brittle and reserved Getty. She also develops some refreshingly sweet romantic chemistry with Brendan Griffin’s Officer Goodguy. In fact, it is Griffin who really grounds the film and gives it heart. Likewise, the commanding screen presence of theoretical physicist Haile Owusu brings to the table as Marcel contributes further depth and integrity to the unusual character study.

There are times when you might forget M+L is a speculative fiction story. Still jazz musician Dan Tepfer’s evocative minimalist score gives it a vaguely disconcerting, science fiction vibe, while subtly underscoring the intimate dramatic action. Like so many genre films, the Bolings sort of lose control of the conclusion, but at least ninety-five percent of the film is remarkably assured, which is more than good enough for a high passing grade. Recommended for those receptive to a mature, emotionally realistic science fiction chamber drama, Movement + Location is currently playing in New York at the Cinema Village.

Five Star: Keeping it Sort of Real on the Streets of Brooklyn

A famous rapper or two might have pointed out to the rest of the naïve square world, you do not stop being a gang member just because you are suddenly famous. James “Primo” Grant certainly understands how that works. He is not famous yet, but he takes a big step in that direction with his film debut, playing a thinly fictionalized version of himself in Keith Miller’s Five Star (trailer here), which opens today in Los Angeles.

Primo is a Five Star, a senior member of the Bloods gang who can cut through the initiation rigmarole should he chose. That is indeed what he is offering John, the skinny, not-as-slick-as-he-thinks-he-is son of Melvin, the recently deceased elder statesmen among street gangs. John is eager to start making money, but it is not immediately clear whether he has the necessary discipline to survive the life. His mother suspects he is continuing down his father’s path and she is not happy about. However, it is difficult for her to object, given how much she ignored regarding the absentee husband she still loved.

In terms of narrative, Five Star is pretty simple, telegraphing what turns it takes quite far in advance. As a character piece though, it is pretty compelling. Without question, the death of John’s father is significant to many people in many ways. Naturally, it is especially so for John, yet it also reverberates for Primo, who already has four children, with a fifth on the way. He would like to get out of the gang for their sake, yet he fears he will not find another source for the respect and camaraderie he gets as a Five Star.

Grant is a quietly electric presence, who just seems to simmer on screen. There is no question he is a natural, delivering stone cold dialogue with a come-to-Jesus heaviness that would give Tarantino chills. Unfortunately, John Diaz lacks his power and depth, coming across as merely churlish and immature as his namesake. On the other hand, Wanda Nobles Colon is wonderfully forceful and earthy as John’s mother.

Miller is a talented filmmaker, who has a knack for narrative-documentary hybrids. Like his debut, Welcome to Pine Hill, Five Star is considerably more interesting and emotionally involving than a thumb nail description would suggest. He has clear affinities for Brooklyn neighborhoods and those marginalized by society, as well as a keen ear for dialogue.

Five Star is a small film, but it is uncomfortably intimate. Yet, even though it clocks in just under ninety minutes, Miller displays a bit of a tendency to meander now and then. Still, there is a real kick to the film when it connects. Recommended for those who admire DIY Brooklyn independent filmmaking, Five Star opens today (7/31) in LA at the Arena Cinema.

Sound and Chaos: Making Records in Brooklyn

Fans like to think there is something about the Muscles Shoals mud that makes those records sound so good. Maybe there is something about the Gowanus Canal that gives recordings at Martin Bisi’s BC Studio a similarly intangible quality. The unusual extent of his space is also a contributing factor. Bisi and the eclectic artists he waxed, taped, and now digitized tell studio stories in Ryan Douglass & Sara Leavitt’s Sound and Chaos: the Story of BC Studio (trailer here), which screens this Thursday at the Anthology Film Archives.

Bisi started in the music business as a roadie for Bill Laswell’s band, Material. It might sound like a humble beginning, but it involved enough face time with the band that Laswell appointed Bisi the task of opening an underground-friendly recording space. With the backing of Laswell and Roxie Music’s Brian Eno, BC was born. Despite their high profile patronage (and Bisi’s lack of experience), BC quickly developed its own identity.

The real fun of S&C comes from gawking at the roster of artists who have come through BC doors. While it is closely identified with No Wave, Post-Punk, and assorted Downtown artists, like avant-garde jazz and experimental composer John Zorn, the darnest sessions were laid down there. For instance, Herbie Hancock’s “Rock-It,” widely considered the first commercial single utilizing turntable and scratching techniques, was partially recorded at BC. Even more surprising, a then unknown singer named Whitney Houston recorded her lead vocal debut on a Material track there, also featuring free jazz legend Archie Shepp on tenor.

S&C works best as grungy nostalgia trip, but it loses some of its charm in the final quarter of an hour, when the talking heads get more political and Bisi starts fretting about the gentrifying effect of the new Whole Foods that opened right across the street from BC. Actually, it is sort of amusing when he reluctantly admits he is not so very different from the rest of the store’s clientele. Regardless, the simple truth is neighborhood either evolve or die.

Aside from the odd hipster BKLN excesses, S&C is mostly breezy fun. Douglass & Leavitt capture the atmosphere of the studio, as well as many sly interview segments with the likes of Laswell, Bob Bert formerly of Sonic Youth, and Michael Holman (Jean-Michel Basquiat’s bandmate in Gray). Recommended for Downtown music fans and Brooklyn loyalists, Sound and Chaos screens this Thursday (7/17) at the Anthology Archives in the East Village (which they say isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be).

Tribeca ’14: Summer of Blood

Honestly, Bushwick hipsters are horrifying enough. Adding a few vampires is almost redundant. There are all just life-sucking parasites. At least that is the impression one gets from Onur Tukel’s desperately unfunny comedy, Summer of Blood (trailer here), which inflicts its pain on the 2014 Tribeca Film Festival.

Erik Sparrow is a nauseatingly self-absorbed slacker who thinks the world owes him a living. After rejecting his career-oriented girlfriend’s marriage proposal out of commitment phobia, he discovers most single women are put off by his schlubby underachiever shtick. This so wounds his entitled ego, he willingly submits to vampire, who turns him rather than killing him. Suddenly, Sparrow is doing better with the ladies, but he also has that undead need to feed.

Apparently out of a misguided sense of BKLN solidarity, some critics have likened Blood to the vastly superior work of Woody Allen and Larry David, but those comparisons are way off the mark. At their best, Allen, David, and Seinfeld knowingly undercut their neurotic pretensions, but Tukel celebrates Sparrow’s narcissism, elevating it to heroic levels. That would be fine, if the comedy clicked to any extent. Take for instance his favorite punchline—“is this because I’m Turkish”—and imagine how well it works with multiple repetitions.

Similarly, about the second or third time Blood shows us Sparrow flying solo in a men’s room stall we start to realize just how much the film hates its potential audience. In fact, the smarmy vibe is well matched by the film’s dingy look, giving the impression it was shot with split pea soup smeared on the digital lens. The stilted performances do not help either, unless you dig the in-joke of indie directors such as Johnathan Coauette popping up in small cameos.

The last press screening I attended that was as stony silent as the Blood p&i was for Claude Lanzmann’s The Last of the Unjust. Obviously, the two films bear no comparison. The point is nobody could even generate a chuckle for the Brooklyn vampires. A thoroughly unpleasant failure by any rational aesthetic standard, Summer of Blood is absolutely not recommended when it screens again tomorrow (4/26) during this year’s Tribeca Film Festival. If you already have a ticket, scalp it in front of the theater. Instead, try to catch Slaying the Badger, Battered Bastards of Baseball, or Black Coal, Thin Ice, three great Tribeca selections also showing on Saturday.

Cut to Black: Brooklyn Get Noirish

Brooklyn: it’s just like Jake Gittes’ Chinatown, except more full of itself.  Finding a corrupt politician there certainly has never been a problem.  Ex-copper Bill Ivers knows all about that.  Despite his not so great judgment, he will accept a job offer from the councilman responsible for his disgrace in Dan Eberle’s Cut to Black (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

When we say “Dan Eberle’s Cut to Black” that is no exaggeration, considering he wrote, directed, co-produced, and stars in the film.  Frankly, it is not always such a bad thing to have more than one cook in the kitchen—like maybe here.  Regardless, Eberle plays the unflaggingly stoic Ivens, who basically just binge drinks when not reluctantly sleeping with his landlord’s wife. 

Much to his surprise, he is summoned by Councilman John Lord.  On the brink of declaring his candidacy for state wide office, Lord needs an under-the-radar guy to take care of some business.  His estranged love child stripper-daughter is being harassed by a stalker, but the local cops can’t do anything, because they never can.  Ivens is to handle it, preferably without Jessica ever catching wind of him.  However, it does not work out that way.  Instead, Ivens self-appoints himself her guardian angel.

Evidently, Black was a big hit at this year’s Brooklyn Film Festival, carrying home the audience award.  Maybe they were amused to see indieScreen masquerading as a high-end strip joint.  At least, the noir is suitable noir, stylishly shot in the darkest possible black-and-white by cinematographer James Parsons.  However, in terms of character and narrative, Black is rather middling at best.

Without question, Beau Allulli is the class of the cast, playing Gunther, a crooked officer from Ivens’ past, who harbors ambitions of becoming Lord’s press secretary, because you know how much cops like dealing with the media. He digs into Gunther’s villainy and his compulsive self-help shtick with admirable relish.  You could say Eberle’s Ivens is somewhat low key in comparison.

Black has the classic film noir look down cold, but it lacks the substance.  It might strike a chord with Brooklynites, but there is nothing special here for the rest of the city.  Surely, it will return to indieScreen at some point, but tomorrow (10/18) it opens in lower Manhattan at the Cinema Village.

Welcome to Pine Hill: Last Call in Brooklyn

Abu has all the irony he can take.  He works as a claims adjuster, but he is uninsured.  The former drug dealer has just recently straightened out his life, only to learn it will all soon end.  Resolutely, he settles unfinished business as best he can in Keith Miller’s Welcome to Pine Hill (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York at the IFC Center.

In the opening scene, lead actor Shannon Harper and writer-director Miller re-enact the real life incident that brought them together.  Their dispute over and lost-and-found pit bull puppy first became Miller’s short film Prince/William, expanded here into a full length feature.  It is a telling exchange between the gentrifier and the encroached.  However Harper’s Abu has more pressing concerns when his persistent stomach pains are diagnosed as a rare form of cancer.  With no real options available, Abu aims for some closure, or at least the settling of debts.

Pine might sound depressing because it is.  There is just no getting around it.  Yet, it is also completely hypnotic.  Harper holds viewers absolutely riveted with his quiet intensity, suggesting the crushing weight of all the remorse, regret, fear, and pain bearing down on him.  Recognizing the power and immediacy of his work, Miller focuses in on Harper, letting him carry the picture on his shoulders.

In fact, the film’s spell is only broken when Miller forces the action into what are clearly intended to be teaching moments.  We watch Abu moonlighting at a bar, where the white customers are nauseatingly condescending, only to witness the protagonist act similarly with immigrant cab drivers.  Okay, we get it.

Although certainly looking DIY-ish and improvisational, Pine should not be lumped in the rest of the aimless mumblecore field.  It is definitely headed someplace in particular (Upstate New York), while addressing some profoundly heavy themes—sort of like an Amour for Brooklyn hipsters.  Recommended largely on the strength of Harper’s breakout performance for those who follow the indie scene, Welcome to Pine Hill opens tomorrow (3/1) at the IFC Center.

Red Hook Summer: Bring Your iPad

For the final cut of Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino deleted a scene of Uma Thurman talking to John Travolta through the lens of a camcorder.  It was already too clichéd.  That was nearly twenty years ago.  In his latest film, Spike Lee heavily relies on a similar device, hoping the upgrade to an Apple iPad makes it seem fresher.  Such a strategy perfectly represents the tired blood of Red Hook Summer (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Colleen Royale can hardly stand her father, Enoch Rouse, introduced to viewers as “Da Good Bishop” of the Little Piece of Heaven church, or his old time religion.  Nonetheless, she deposits her anti-social suburban son Flik in her father’s Red Hook housing project apartment for the summer.  Like a little Spike Lee, Flik has a compulsive need to film the world around him, but no faith.  Thus begins a generational cold war, with the minister determined to bring the young cuss to Jesus.

Frankly, Hook’s first two sluggish acts are downright laborious, but grandfather and grandson seem to be building a relationship by meeting each other halfway.  That would be a worthy enough lesson we could all stand to be reminded of again, if the film followed through on it.  Instead, Lee foists one of the laziest, most obvious third act revelations on viewers, completely undermining any good will he might have built up thus far.  Remember Enoch Rouse is a man of the cloth.  Anyone who has seen a Hollywood film in the last twenty years should be able to guess the rest.

Yet, since Hook clearly implies Rouse’s daughter has a good idea what her father’s deep dark secret is, it is absolutely baffling why she would send her son to stay with him unsupervised, with only his annoying sense of entitlement for protection, unless she is just understandably sick of the sullen brat.  No matter, Lee is determined to pull Rouse through the gauntlet, which he does in punishing Grand Guignol style.

To be fair, Clarke Peters does his best to maintain Rouse’s basic humanity, working like his soul depends on it, but Lee stacks the deck against him.  Nonetheless, his performance stands head and shoulders above the rest of the cast.  That includes Lee himself, briefly appearing in the guise of Do the Right Thing’s Mr. Mookie, clearly hoping some of viewer’s enthusiasm for his defining film will rub off on this wan return to the County of Kings.

Hook is a bad movie, but it is not the fault of the musicians.  New Orleans’ Jonathan Batiste performs some stirring Hammond B-3 solos and brings some refreshing energy to film when appearing in character as “Da Organist” TK Hazelton.  Likewise, Bruce Hornsby draws on his jazz chops for a pleasing gospel influenced instrumental soundtrack.

Yes, Hook sounds great, but the paucity of originality is honestly depressing.  Perhaps it is time for Lee to follow Woody Allen’s lead and leave their beloved New York to make a psychological thriller with social climbing Londoners.  At least then he would not have the overpowering temptation to fall back on his predictable Spikisms.  Not recommended, Red Hook Summer will disappoint even Lee’s most dogged champions when it opens this Friday (8/10) in New York at the AMC Empire.

Brooklyn Story: Monogamy

A Brooklyn photographer’s new gig is sort of cool, but also kind of creepy. He calls himself the Gumshooter. For a reasonable fee, he discretely follows clients at a pre-arranged time and place, shooting surveillance style photographs. He also shoots weddings, which can also be unsettling for more conventional reasons. Unfortunately, he lets a mysterious client distract him from his own relationship in Dana Adam Shapiro’s Monogamy (trailer here), the winner of the best New York narrative award at the 2010 Tribeca Film Festival, which opens this Friday in the City.

Theo and Nat are a very Brooklyn couple. He scrapes by as a photographer, while she aspires to be a singer-songwriter. Happily engaged, neither is particularly keen on wedding planning details. Everything seems perfect between them until they suddenly hit a rough patch. When Nat is unexpectedly hospitalized after a seemingly pedestrian kitchen mishap, unsupervised Theo finds himself preoccupied to the point of obsession with Subgirl, an increasingly exhibitionist repeat Gumshoot client.

Those waiting for the great American Staph Infection movie will probably have to keep waiting. Much like its protagonist, Monogamy has a hard time committing, constantly vacillating between a psychological thriller and an intimate relationship drama. Frankly, at times it just feels like a lazy walk through Brooklyn’s parks.

Unquestionably, Monogamy’s greatest shortcoming is its weak protagonist. As written, Theo is immature and boring—generally not an engaging combination. Indeed, Chris Messina does not exactly breathe life into this underwritten character, coming across as rather shallow and whiny. As Nat, Rashida Jones (daughter of Quincy Jones and Peggy Lipton) brings a certain spark to the proceedings, but it is hard to understand what she sees in the underwhelming Theo.

Monogamy’s characterization might be problematic, but it knows the County of Kings. We see both its old neighborhood charm and hipster grunge in Theo’s endless rambles. Sensitively lensed by Doug Emmett, it really is a valentine to Brooklyn. Even the music, including contributions from avant-garde jazz-experimental crossover artist Jamie Saft and an original song from Jones, sounds borough appropriate.

There is definitely the germ of an original idea in Monogamy. Indeed, it has an impressive look and vibe. Unfortunately, it never really gets anywhere. Frankly, there simply were not a lot of films set in New York screening at Tribeca last year. Very so-so, it opens this Friday (3/11) at the Village East.