Campus Drama: Spinning Into Butter

If you do not get the reference in the title of director Mark Brokaw’s debut film, do not let it bother you. It alludes to Helen Bannerman’s racially stereotyped children’s book Little Black Sambo, first published in 1899. That story figures prominently in Mark Brokaw’s Spinning Into Butter (trailer here), a caustic examination of political correctness and racial relations on college campuses, opening this Friday in New York and other select markets.

Belmont College seems idyllic. It has a prestigious reputation and the skiing is good. However, there are tensions stirring beneath the surface of the sleepy Vermont campus, which ignite when African American freshman Simon Brick starts getting threatening racist notes. The administration finds itself in a precarious position, wanting to keep a lid on all the negative publicity, while also using the incident as a politically correct “teaching moment.” Charged with juggling their contradictory goals is Sarah Daniels, the relatively new Dean of Students, played by the ultra-waspy Sarah Jessica Parker.

Whether she likes it or not, Daniels is the administration point person on racial issues. Frankly, Daniels is not really cut out for the position, but since her previous job was at a predominantly African American college, the administration assumes she has special talent “managing diversity.” In fact, she seems to blunder into one P.C. minefield after another, as when she pressures a Nuyorican student to change his official ethnicity to Hispanic for the sake of a scholarship.

The all-campus meetings are a disaster, leaving African American students feeling patronized, white students angry for being categorically demonized as potential racist thugs, and the rest of the student body resenting their exclusion from the “dialogue.” Butter is at its best when skewering the hypocrisy and white liberal guilt of Belmont’s administration. Eventually, things actually do start to get real at those campus forums, when the so-called “affinity houses,” racially exclusive campus housing units, are vilified either as segregation by some minority students or affirmative action set-asides by white students. Even though it degenerates into a brawl, it does qualify as honest “dialogue.”

I have always found Parker to be a cold, charmless screen presence, and her work in Butter is not about to change that. She deserves some credit though for taking on the altogether unsympathetic character of Daniels. Aaron Carmichael, the local investigative reporter, might be the only character Butter lets off the hook, but at least Mykelti Williamson brings a smart, human dimension to the role. Also, character actor James Rebhorn (a fellow Wittenberg University alumnus), is always enjoyable when playing arrogant bureaucrats, like Belmont’s president Winston Garvey. The problem is Butter does so much hedging, it is not clear what it really wants to say about political correctness on campus, beyond “it’s complicated.”

Based on Rebecca Gilman’s Off-Broadway play of the same name, it is clearly doomed to be compared to David Mamet’s Oleanna. Like the earlier play and film, Butter is as confounding as it is intriguing. It opens Friday (3/27) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Over the Top Noir: The Perfect Sleep

What should audiences expect from a film which draws inspiration from Film Noir and Russian Literature? In the case of Jeremy Alter’s directorial debut, it results in one miserably angst-ridden protagonist, but at least he is filmed stylishly. After various producing gigs, including work on David Lynch’s Inland Empire, Alter cranks the Noir up to eleven in The Perfect Sleep (trailer here), which is now playing in Los Angeles and opens in New York this Friday.

Sleep’s narrator no longer has a name as such. Most who speak of him call him the “Mad Monk.” Ending a long self-imposed exile, he has returned to the un-named city of his youth (that seems to bear a strong resemblance to Los Angeles). Only one thing could lure him back to wherever: Porphyria, the woman he has sworn to protect.

The Monk and Porphyria grew up in the household of Nikolai, the Tsarist master of the underworld, living in a Summer Palace not completely dissimilar to Bradbury Building. Raised together in Nikolai’s home, even Porphyria and her protector are unsure of their exact relationship. She is the daughter of Nikolai’s brother Sergei and a woman presumably known but irrelevant to our story. He is the illegitimate son of Nikolai’s great love, whom Sergei corrupted out of fraternal spite. The father might be either brother or another person unknown. Regardless, the Monk’s feelings for Porphyria become such that he is compelled to banish himself to the wilderness.

Somehow, the Monk knows Porphyria needs his services, as old family resentments escalate into open warfare. Reluctantly he returns, immediately stepping into one of many beat-downs in store for him at the hands of Nikolai’s thugs. Yet, the Monk seems to have a superhuman ability to endure a pummeling, leaving a trail of dead henchmen in his wake. Is the Monk’s uncanny resilience something more than human and why is Porphyria named after a disease associated with vampires? Perhaps it is just coincidence, since Alter chooses not to belabor such questions. Shrewdly, whenever Sleep starts to stall, Alter throws the Monk into a violent melee—a strategy which has undeniable entertainment value.

Sleep is unapologetically over-the-top Noir to a deliberately ridiculous degree. At first, the Monk’s exaggerated hardboiled narration seems like it will get very old very fast, but it is so persistently outrageous, its sheer absurdity will win viewers over. This is definitely a film for those tired of boring character development. It is all about style, reflected in the perfect Film Noir visual sense of Alter and cinematographer Charles Papert. The greatest drawback is co-producer Anton Pardoe as the Monk. Yes, he is supposed to be stiff and emotionally withdrawn, but he lacks the menacing presence required by the character. Happily though, the supporting cast boasts a number of reliably intriguing character actors, like Patrick Bauchau, who brings to mind the great scenery-chewing Hammer Film villains as Nikolai. Also, Michael (Eddie and the Cruisers) Paré makes a welcome appearance as the somewhat corrupt Officer Pavlovich.

Like its protagonist, Sleep is at its best during fight scenes. When it gives the audience time to think, it starts to go awry. Still, its flashy style and take-no-prisoners attitude gives Alter’s film its own weird appeal that seems tailor-made for midnight movie screenings. (Also, check out the amusing anti-trailer for Sleep, featuring actor Gary Oldham, who previously collaborated with Alter on a music video.) It screens in Los Angeles through Thursday (3/26) at the Laemmle and opens at the Quad in New York this Friday (3/27).

CO Indy: Skills Like This

It seems like tempting fate when a film’s screenwriter also stars in the film, playing an undeniably awful writer. However, it must have gone over well at the SXSW Festival, considering Monty Miranda’s Skills Like This (trailer here) won the Audience Award there. It must have been the hair. Starring screenwriter Spencer Berger as the failed playwright with a gi-normous head of hair, Skills opens in New York today.

The Onion Dance, Max’s pretentious play, is so bad it sends his grandfather into cardiac arrest. Think of it as the stage equivalent of Magnolia, except it has onions falling from the sky, instead of frogs. Recognizing the painfully obvious, Max gives up writing altogether. While seeking the dubious consolation of his best friends, Dave the office drone and Tommy the unemployed quirky guy, Max gets a bolt of inspiration. He excuses himself to rob the bank across the street, relying solely on surprise and chutzpah. Suddenly, Max finds something he is good at: crime.

Max’s friends react differently to his big score. Tommy is totally down with it, while Dave nearly has a panic attack. They all agree on the need for drinks though, so it is off to the bar, where Max comes face-to-face with Lucy, the teller he held up earlier in the day. Though she is a bit alarmed at first, Max calms her down, and starts to win her over. Max proceeds to court her, when not dodging the cops or indulging his new-found criminal instincts, but eventually Lucy makes it clear she will not play Bonnie to his Clyde.

As Max, Berger really does have a winning screen presence, but his script is all over the place. One minute a goofball comedy, the next minute a serious drama, Skills suffers from drastic mood swings. Some of the comedy falls painfully flat, like Tommy’s search for “Gloria,” his stolen bike, which would be better suited to an adolescent girl than an ostensibly grown man. Particularly troublesome is a scene in which he seems to be hitting on a young school girl for supposedly comedic effect. Not at all funny, it is frankly creepy and nearly derails the entire film.

While uneven, Skills is best when it sticks with Max. The dramatic scenes at his grandfather’s deathbed are effective, thanks to the dignified presence of veteran character actor Ned Bellamy as Uncle Morris. Despite the unlikely circumstances, Max’s romantic scenes with Lucy (played by Kerry Knuppe) have nice chemistry, but again things are undone by the script’s erratic nature. Just when it seems like the characters will be forced to finally grow-up, the action suddenly spins off into Neverland.

Mercifully, Skills is not The Onion Dance. Miranda keeps it all moving along at a reasonably brisk pace, particularly the scenes of Max’s criminal development, but it is uneven in the extreme. Still, it is worth noting Skills holds the distinction of being the first theatrically distributed film, shot entirely in Colorado, solely by Coloradan filmmakers. So maybe the altitude had something to do with it. Skills begins its New York run today at the Angelika.

ACE Film Fest: Kill Kill Faster Faster

The ACE Film Festival began with a truncated discussion of the challenges facing independent filmmaking. In some respects, the indy film scene has been a victim of its own past success, with the influence of breakout hits, like Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction and Soderbergh’s Sex, Lies, and Videotape, becoming all too pervasive. Now, far from being “edgy” graphic violence and sex, as well as frank language about both, are more derivative than transgressive. A case in point is Kill Kill Faster Faster (trailer here), which screened at ACE.

Frustratingly, KKFF begins with the promise of fresh originality. Gil Bellows plays Joey One-Way, a convicted murderer released from prison through the intervention Markie Mann, a producer who has optioned the con’s confessional play White Man Black Hole. Mann and his vapid show business associates want to romanticize One-Way’s thug life as a paragon of artistic integrity and authenticity. However, One-Way, consumed with guilt for his wife’s murder, contrarily argues there is nothing to admire in his life of crime and addiction. It is the straight family man who upholds his commitments that gets One-Way’s props. A cutting rebuke of hipster values—that’s edgy.

However, things go downhill precipitously when One-Way meets Mann’s wife Fleur, leading to a series of depressingly graphic, but unsatisfying sexual encounters. These are not erotic scenes in the least, but more like exercises in mutual contempt and debasement. Unfortunately, they dominate the second act, making it near impossible to develop a rooting interest in any character.

As One-Way, Bellows has sullen down cold, but never hits any other notes. Esai Morales’s Markie is a basic stock character. Only Shaun Parkes as One-Way’s former cell-mate Clinique shows any screen presence, providing Cassandra-like commentary. Probably the most successful aspect of the film is the score composed by Mike Benn, a musician best known for his work with folk-soul-jazz vocalist Terry Callier (who is also heard on the soundtrack), which effectively mixes blues, crime-jazz, and soundtracky mood cues.

KKFF is based on a novel by Joel Rose, which may well be worth reading. Periodically, interesting ideas do peak out of the screenplay, before being overwhelmed by its indy film excesses. Had KKFF followed through on its early hints of being a morality play with a genuine sense of morality, it truly would be edgy and independent. Instead, it is only another explicit crime drama.