Sundance ’20: Lost Girls & Mole Agent

Hitchcock loved putting average everymen into breakneck thrillers. To a large extent, that is what happens to the three protagonists of three standout films for mystery thriller fans that premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival. They also happen to be stories grounded in reality, but the circumstances of each are vastly different.

One of the best films of any genre at this year’s Sundance was Dominic Cooke’s Ironbark, which featured the festival’s most classically Hitchcockian hero, Greville Wynne, the real-life British businessman who was recruited to make contact with a highly-placed Soviet mole, as an amateur spy, completely unaware of the greater stakes involved. Full review here.

Liz Garbus’s Lost Girls is also directly based on a true story, but rather than playing a grand game of espionage, Mari Gilbert finds herself in a harrowing nightmare when her daughter Shannan disappears, presumably because she is another victim of the Long Island Serial Killer (a.k.a. Craig’s List Killer). Based on Robert Kolker’s well-received true crime account, Lost Girls follows Gilbert’s campaign to shame the Suffolk County police in to conducting a more thorough investigation, as well as her own free-lance efforts.

The problem is the cops on the case are not particularly motivated to investigate the serial murder of prostitutes like Shannan, nor are they inclined to dig too deeply in the gated community where she was last seen. The fact that the victims came from families decidedly on the lower end of the socio-economic and educational spectrums does not help either. Mari Gilbert is the roughest of family-support group, but she is also the toughest. Police Commissioner Richard Dormer starts to grudgingly respect her, so he might even start pushing the investigation a little.

In many ways, the Craig’s List killings were similar to Robert Pickton’s prostitute murders depicted in Rachel Talay’s On the Farm, but at least the Vancouver serial killer was eventually brought to justice. The Long Island murders remain unsolved, which necessarily implies an unsatisfying conclusion for Lost Girls. Yet, Amy Ryan’s withering intensity as Gilbert and the world-weary sadness Gabriel Byrne brings to Dormer still make Lost Girls deeply compelling. In fact, screenwriter Michael Werwie manages to shape the material into a surprisingly suspenseful narrative, while Garbus nicely balances the socially conscious anger with gritty procedural elements.

Mr. Sergio is sort of a spy like Wynne, but he is even more ordinary than Gilbert. He also happens to be a spry 83-years-old, which makes him the perfect candidate to go undercover as a nursing home resident in Maite Alberdi’s Chilean documentary, The Mole Agent.

Sundance ’20: Regret & Bad Hair (Midnight shorts)

Horror can address human frailty better than any other genre. We make our own nightmares after all. For instance, two of the films included this year’s Sundance Midnight Shorts Program were made possible by vanity and denial. People do it to themselves in Oskar Lehemaa’s Bad Hair and Santiago Menghini’s Regret, which screened during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Lehemaa’s Bad Hair should not be confused with Justin Simien’s feature-length Bad Hair, which also screened as part of the midnight section at this year’s Sundance, even though they share some common themes. In the Estonian short, the follically-challenged Leo has ordered a decidedly suspicious hair-growth product. As part of the instructions, he shares his ratty looking remnants and almost stops there, struck by the improvement his bald head represents.

Unfortunately, he goes ahead applying the goop. What follows is some of the wildest, yell-out-loud body horror you will ever see. In fact, the big, destructive finale is sort of anti-climatic compared to the slimy stuff and the hairy chaos it wreaks. Sten Karpov is a heck of a good sport letting all that goey lunacy fall upon his head as part of his performance as Leo, but the real stars are the hair and makeup effects artists, including Hella Marats, Iris Muntel, wig-maker Kerli Laaberg, and “hair punchers” Liisi Roht and Arlin Saan.

In contrast, Menghini’s Quebec-set short is all about atmosphere. Wayne’s father has died, but he is not dealing with it—not one little bit. Instead, he is using a business trip as an excuse for his absence. However, his guilt will metastasize and manifest itself in semi-corporal form, literally haunting Wayne during his long night of the soul.

Sundance ’20: Max Richter’s Sleep

Brahms’ lullaby is three minutes long. Max Richter’s titular composition is eight hours. Yet, they both represent the same musical genre, sort of, kind of. Natalie Johns follows the composer as he prepares for another marathon concert of the minimalist classical work in Max Richter’s Sleep, which screened during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Frankly, it is hard to get a sense of Richter’s Sleep during Johns’ film, because listeners are meant to immerse themselves in it—and yes, let it lull them to sleep. Each ambitious performance is appointed with cots for the audience rather than the typical bucket seats. Obviously, this takes a lot of logistical and physical preparation, since Richter is on-stage at the piano for something like seven hours.

It would be interesting to know what the average deviance is for concert length. Do musicians ever say: “wow, seven-and-a-half hours, we really galloped through it.” Are they ever getting the universal “wrap it up quickly” circular hand gesture after eight-and-a-half hours? A lot of musicians and friends of musicians will probably have even more questions about the performance experience itself.

What we could do without are the shallow reflections from audience members, many of whom seem intent on making it a political rather than personal experience. At least Richter and his manager-wife have some intelligent things to say about the music and process.

Sundance ’20: Happy Happy Joy Joy

Roman Polanski is human garbage, but somehow that doesn’t spoil Chinatown or Rosemary’s Baby for most viewers. Animated franchises are somewhat different. We feel a more personal connection to the characters and therefore often project a kindly Geppetto image on their creators. That is why it is so disappointing when animation stars disgrace themselves. Sadly, John Kricfalusi, the man behind Ren & Stimpy, is a case in point. Ron Cicero & Kimo Easterwood chronicle the up-and-down history of the beloved show and its problematic creator in Happy Happy Joy Joy: The Ren & Stimpy Story, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Technically, The Simpsons predated Ren & Stimpy, but it was still one of the original prime time weekly cartoons that developed a popular following for its rude style of humor. It was a breakout hit for Nickelodeon, but success went to Kricfalusi’s head. Eventually, he made diva-like demands of the network, including complete creative control, even though they owned the property. Not surprisingly, Nickelodeon was forced to fire Kricfalusi, who subsequently gave his darker impulses free rein while mismanaging his own studio.

Frankly, the clear “hero” of HHJJ and by far the most sympathetic figure we hear from is former Nickelodeon executive Vanessa Coffey. She is the one who zeroed-in on the Ren and Stimpy characters during Kricfalusi’s very different initial pitch and asked him to develop a show around them. She was also the person who curbed his excesses, at least for a while. Throughout her interview segments, Coffey has nothing but affection for the characters and her comments on Kricfalusi are far more diplomatic and reflective than he has a right to expect.

A good chunk of the film is devoted up-front to a deep dive into the show’s world and its assorted characters. It might even be too deep for non-fans or even casual admirers. However, things start to get interesting about halfway through when Cicero & Easterwood provide a detailed blow-by-blow of Kricfalusi’s network conflict. Then they become uncomfortable.

Sundance ’20: The Father

At this year’s Sundance, Angelica Sakurada sniffed out the buzziest films, allowing us to focus on our specialties. First, she provided a voluntary supplemental review of Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari, which went on to win both the Audience and Jury Awards. She follows up with a brief look at The Father, which is already considered a potential Oscar contender for Sir Anthony Hopkins and Olivia Colman, provided below as a courtesy to our readers:

Most people have someone in their family or extended circles of relations who suffer with Alzheimer or other forms of dementia, so they understand how difficult it is to understand what happens inside that person’s mind and why they act the way they do. It is particularly hard (and many times miserable) to be the family member who is responsible for the care of the person suffering from such illness. That is a common, relatable experience that serves as the foundation for Florian Zeller’s The Father, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

This is a very intelligent adaptation of a play from stage to big screen that makes the viewer question if they really understood the film in the end (and eventually want to watch it again to confirm). The use of small changes in scenarios and the original time-looping technique, shows in a unique and creative way the confusion of the affected mind and the suffering and confusion that result for the afflicted person. It really puts you in their head.

Sundance ’20: Exam (short)

Kids should be able to be kids, but Sadaf never stood a chance. She feels pressure from both sides of the social spectrum: her severe Islamist school administrators and her loutish, drug dealing father. The last thing she needs from either of them is unnecessary stress on a test day, but that is what they give her in Sonia K. Hadad’s short film Exam, which won the Special Jury Award for Acting at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Sadaf’s father often uses her as a courier or his drug deals. It disgusts her, but she usually just acquiesces. This fateful morning, the old man has volunteers her services, without asking her first. Sadaf happens to have an important exam at school today and she is already running late. She is not happy about it, but she doesn’t have much choice. However, it is not the people making low-end drug transactions who represent a serious danger to Sadaf—it is the busybody moralizers who run her school.

Exam is a few seconds shy of 15 minutes, but it gets acutely tense, awfully quickly. It definitely follows in the tradition of Persian films that depict extreme moral dilemmas, so aptly demonstrated by the films of Asghar Farhadi and Massoud Bakhshi’s Yalda, a Night of Forgiveness, which also stars young Sadaf Asgari and screened at his year’s Sundance.

Sundance ’20: Amulet

This titular figurine is said to be either a harbinger of evil or a protection against it. Perhaps that makes it the perfect artifact to come into the possession of a philosophy post-grad like Tomaz. He could ponder its meaning and essence through several schools of thought, but he hasn’t pursued his studies in years. Instead, he lives in self-imposed hand-to-mouth exile on the mean streets of London. When he is suddenly offered permanent room-and-board, it comes with a sinister catch in Romola Garai’s Amulet, which screened during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Tomaz’s war is never explicitly identified, but it bears a strong resemblance to the Balkan War. Regardless, he suffers from some debilitating PTSD and is perhaps justly tormented by overwhelming guilt. Even though his is an egghead academic, Tomaz is surprisingly handy, so a rather chipper nun offers him a deal. He should stay with the socially stunted Magda and her unseen invalid mother, paying for his keep by fixing up the decrepit house.

Although Tomaz nearly leaves several times, concern for Magda’s well-being and a taste for her cooking keep him coming back. Although she keeps her dying mother out-of-sight, Tomaz can tell there is something profoundly off about her, judging from the bite marks on Magda and the sounds of violent altercations. She is more than your average mad woman in the attic.

Amulet is a seriously confounding film. Garai (the thesp best-known for classy historical dramas, like The Hour and Atonement) creates a vibe of creeping dread as well as anyone. This film has a real tactile, textured feel. You can practically smell the dry rot. However, when the big revelations come, instead of shock and awe they produce moments of “wait, what happened” befuddlement. Just when you think you understand the evil designs, she adds weird coda to re-obscure any sense of viewer clarity.

That is definitely a problem, especially considering how challenging it is to slog through the deliberately slow and excessively fragmented first act. Yes, it then comes together, only spin out into left field once again.

Nevertheless, Imelda Staunton still might be worth the price of admission as the flamboyant nun. She chews the scenery, swings for the fences, and generally upstages everyone and everything in this film. Seriously, it could very well be the best horror movie performance of the year, by the standards of both critics and fans alike.

Sundance ’20: Relic

Horror movies are usually about monsters, but in real life, nothing is scarier than family. That is particularly and tragically so when age and disease turn family members into strangers. Kay assumes her mother is succumbing to a conventional form of dementia, but there are uncanny forces at work in Natalie Erika James’ Relic, which screened during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Kay and her daughter Sam have rushed out to her mother’s home, after her neighbors called with their concerns. Old Edna has not been seen for days and she does answer their calls. It turns out she is legitimately missing rather than dead or incapacitated inside. In fact, she will suddenly turn up again, apparently oblivious to all the fuss she caused. That should be all fine and good, but Edna is acting a little weird. After her reappearance, she exhibits a bit of a mean streak. She also says some slightly unsettling things. In fact, some of her crazy talk suggests there is some sort of malevolent supernatural business going on in the house, which could well be the case, given the fact this is a horror movie.

In fact, the house itself turns out to be a spectacular work of genre set and production design, but it would be spoilery to explain how. In any event, Relic is quite thematically and stylistically compatible with James’ impressive short film Creswick, so hopefully some programmers will have the vision and latitude to pair them together. Clearly, both films demonstrate James talent for crafty a moody horror atmosphere, as well as her interest in telling more ambitious stories through the genre.

Sundance ’20: Tesla

Nikola Tesla is probably the only inventor to have a heavy metal band and an electric car named after him. His great rival Thomas Edison can’t say that. Fittingly, he now also has the idiosyncratic distinction of being the subject of a Michael Almereyda film. It is concretely based on Tesla’s life, but there is nothing conventional about the way it unfolds on screen in Almereyda’s Tesla, which won the Alfred P. Sloan Prize for use of science in cinema at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Yes, Almereyda covers all the major beats in Tesla’s life, including his early years in Croatia, his brief tenure at Edison’s workshop, his success developing alternating current, his difficult relationships with the Morgan family, and his iconic (or infamous) experiments in Colorado Springs and at Wardenclyffe Tower. However, this is about as far from straight biography as you can get. Instead, Almereyda starts with the approach of his fascinating Stanly Milgram film, Experimenter, cutting loose all narrative restraints and doubling down on surreal stylization.

This time around, he frequently utilizes similar rear-screen projections for disorienting effect, but he also employs the torch-carrying Anne Morgan as a wholly unreliable, fourth wall-puncturing narrator. The film freely skips around the Tesla timeline and often wistfully depicts long hoped-for incidents that never happened in life, much like the fantasy scenes in Annie Hall. The resulting spectacle resembles Milos Forman’s Ragtime if rewritten by Charlie Kaufman, but with a weird mix of mischievousness and wistfulness that is all Almereyda.

If you have seen Experimenter it will help prepare you for the sort of hyper-real effect Almereyda achieves throughout Tesla, even though the earlier profile-in-science was considerably more grounded. This is the sort of film you have to roll with, but if you can maintain your sea-legs and your bearings to any extent, Almereyda’s woozy kaleidoscope is absolutely dazzling to behold. Admittedly, Tesla’s third act crooning of Tears for Fears’ “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” is wacky bridge too far, but hey, who’s to tell Almereyda he should start holding back at that point?

Two of the major reasons Tesla works so well are Ethan Hawke and Kyle MacLachlan, who are perfectly cast as Tesla and Edison, in ways that best contrast their differences. Hawke’s Tesla is the king of all brooders, who has contempt for the success he chases. He is an introverted man, uncomfortable in his own skin, somewhat akin to the shy teen Hawke played in Dead Poets Society. In contrast, Edison is a brash American striver. Yet, MacLachlan conveys all his insecurities and fears of failure. He is a rival to Tesla, but not a villain.

Sundance ’20: Worth

Finally, someone aspired to create the Great American actuarial movie. Sadly, it was made possible by one of the worst human tragedies in American history—the horrific terrorist attacks of 9-11. In the short-term, most victims just wanted the terrorists and their enablers to pay, but trial lawyer Ken Feinberg knew some cash payouts would provide tangible help over the long-run. His stewardship of the September 11^th Victims Compensation Fund is the focus of Sara Colangelo’s Worth, which screens today during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Feinberg is the sort of colorfully cynical attorney who can lecture his law students on the art of putting a dollar figure to a human life and leave them impressed by his wit. Sitting down with the grieving victims of the World Trade Center, Pentagon, and hijacked airliner crashes will be a different matter. Nevertheless, he jumps in with both feet when the Federal government creates the fund as a way to indemnify the airlines against potentially bankrupting lawsuits. Here’s the tricky part: for the fund to stave off class action suits, it should have 80% participation by the filing deadline. No problem Feinberg thinks. Then he has his first informational session with victims, where he shoves both feet in his mouth, up to his knees.

Soon, Charles Wolf emerges as a leader of the families and the chief critic of Feinberg’s one-size-fits-all formula for compensation. Yet, the legal bean-counter insists on his methodology, despite the heart-breaking one-on-one meetings conducted by his chief lieutenants: partner Camille Biros and Priya Khundi, a new associate, whose previous firm was headquartered in the World Trade Center.

There are a number of problems with Worth, but they all boil down to the central truth: a film addressing an event like September 11^th really can’t make a mediocre job of it. This should be a serious, nonpartisan film, but Colangelo and screenwriter Max Borenstein just cannot resist depicting Pres. George W. Bush as a cartoon blowhard, which immediately cheapens the film. Yes, there are emotionally devastating moments when families discuss their loved ones, but the manipulation is glaringly obvious. Frankly, the real suspense of Worth is built around whether or not Feinberg will finally start to connect with people on a human level, before it is too late.

Sundance ’20: Run Sweetheart Run

You can’t hardly call horror films “date movies” anymore, because its like they’re trying to keep people apart. The horrors of blind dates are already pretty well established, but you’d think you could trust a fix-up from your boss, right? Sadly, Cherie will learn otherwise in Shana Feste’s Run Sweetheart Run, Blumhouse’s latest women vs. men horror production, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Cherie’s last boyfriend was such a violent thug, she has been a bit skittish to start dating again, so her boss fixes her up with a wealthy client, who owns a picturesque mission-style mansion in the middle of downtown LA. Of course, the well-heeled Ethan is profoundly bad news. The date is great, but the coffee-after at his place turns nightmarish. Suddenly, is on the run from her date-turned hunter, who confidently promises their “game” will end at sunrise, one way or another.

The cops won’t help (they’ve either been bought off or just don’t care) and the hookers and street people are too scared to get involved. The only helpful advice Cherie gets is to seek out the mysterious Blue Ivy. She is so desperate, Cherie even seeks refuge with her ex’s gun-wielding friends, but they are no match for Ethan. He has superhuman strength and can literally smell her blood. To make matters worse, it is a certain time of the month for Cherie, as the film establishes with a number of uncomfortable scenes. Ethan’s only weakness seems to be a fear of dogs.

Unlike Blumhouse’s Black Christmas remake, the gender politics of RSR do not drown out the blood or the fun of its fundamental horror business. However, there is a rather glaring credibility issue. It makes no sense for Cherie’s boss to pimp new victims for Ethan so close to home. Regardless, Feste builds the tension and exploits the generally creepiness of LA night life quite effectively. She also riffs on ancient monster legends in hip and clever ways.

Sundance ’20: Be Water

Bruce Lee is one of handful of movie stars who are just as popular now as they were at the height of their careers. He even spawned a cottage industry of films about his first great Wing Chun master Ip Man, targeted at fans hungry for more, because his family so tightly controls rights to his likeness. With their cooperation, Bao Nguyen chronicles his life through the words of those who knew him best in the ESPN-produced documentary Be Water, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Action fans already know the broad strokes of Lee’s story, as well as many of the finer details. Lee was a cocky kid who was sent to America to avoid trouble. Despite the hardships of life as an immigrant, he gained some notoriety as a Kung Fu instructor, but struggled to translate it into a Hollywood acting career. Instead, Lee returned to Hong Kong, where his martial arts films produced by Golden Harvest launched him into international superstardom. Yet, he would tragically die just as he was poised to attain crossover-Hollywood stardom. None of this will be spoilery for anyone interested in this film.

Frankly, Be Water largely revisits the same biographical ground covered in Pete McCormack’s I am Bruce Lee. In fact, both films are structured around the famous “Be water, my friend” interview with Pierre Berton, but Nguyen takes a dramatically different stylistic approach. There are no talking-head shots in Be Water (aside from interview footage of Lee himself). Instead, the disembodied voices of colleagues and family reminisce over photos and video of Lee. It should keep the focus squarely on the legendary subject, yet Nguyen feels compelled to constantly put Lee’s career in the context of the social movements of the 1960s and 1970s, as if he needs to justify our continuing interest. Seriously, he’s Bruce Lee—there’s no call for such defensiveness.

Sundance ’20: Nine Days

You’re being watched, so try to do something interesting. In this case, the surveillance isn’t dystopian. It’s cosmic. Someplace outside of existence, a lonely caretaker watches 25 lives unfold on POV TV screens, until he suddenly has a vacancy in LA-based Brazilian filmmaker Edson Oda’s revelatory feature debut, Nine Days, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

This little prairie house looks like could be a location in Fargo, but instead it is found on a plane beyond our own. It serves as Will’s headquarters, where he observes the 25 mortals he approved to be born into life. His only occasional contact is Kyo, he serves in some sort of coordinating capacity for a number of such outposts. He will be visiting more frequently while Will interviews prospective souls after the unexpected death of one of his 25 lives.

She was his pride and joy, but for some reason, the classical musician appears to have taken her own life. Maddeningly, the video is ambiguous, so Will obsessively reviews her archive, looking for clues. Regardless, he must choose her replacement, so he begins the nine-day process of elimination with the group of souls mysteriously summoned to the house. The top candidates seem to be the tough-talking Kane and the free-spirited Emma. For better or worse, the recent tragedy colors his selection, but his own experience weighs just as heavily. Unlike most of the characters existing in this space, Will was once alive, but it didn’t work out so well.

Clearly, Nine Days bears the influence of Kore-eda’s After Life, both thematically and stylistically. At the very least, you have to give Oda credit for ambition by picking such an incomparable film to pay tribute to. That makes it even more impressive when Nine Days steps out of its shadow and indelibly establishes its own identity. Be warned, Oda aims for a massive emotional crescendo and pulls it off with devastating impact. We are talking about the full “Captain, my Captain,” getting-choked-up-in-spite-of-yourself effect here.

Sundance ’20: Sergio

It was not exactly the United Nation’s finest hour when Turkey was tapped to co-chair the human rights committee that accredited NGO’s, despite its dismal record of press censorship and oppression of the Kurds. Hypocrisy and corruption have long been rife throughout the UN bureaucracy, especially during the days of Kofi Annan’s administration. The one shining exception was Brazilian diplomat Sergio Vieira de Mello. He had the unique distinction among his UN peers for actually brokering equitable peace deals, but he was tragically killed by the Al-Qaeda faction that evolved into ISIS. After chronicling Vieira de Mello’s story in documentary form, Greg Barker retells it as the Netflix-produced narrative feature Sergio, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Vieira de Mello opposed the Iraq War—a fact Barker and screenwriter Craig Borten clearly do not want us to forget. In fact, they revel in his disagreements with Paul Bremer, the Administrator of the Coalition Provisional Authority of Iraq. Alas, it is no spoiler to mention the titular diplomat was killed during his Baghdad posting, because Barker uses it as a narrative device, flashing backwards to happy times, while U.S. Sergeants Bill von Zehle and Andre Valentine, firemen in civilian-life, struggle to unearth Vieira de Mello and his colleague, Gil Loescher, from the precarious rubble. Obviously, the prognosis looks bad.

Those better days include Vieira de Mello’s tenure as the UN’s Transitional Administrator for East Timor, where he negotiated the new nation’s peaceful independence from Indonesia. East Timor is also where the divorced High Commissioner meets Carolina Larriera, a micro-finance expert, who becomes his lover and UN colleague. Unfortunately, such business leads Vieira de Mello to neglect his sons. Indeed, family time is rare and awkward for the diplomat (sadly, a big pot of delicious shrimp moqueca gets neglected during a short-lived family reunion).

Sergio’s biases are blatantly obvious, but they still probably could have been worse. Arguably, Bradley Whitford’s cartoonish portrayal of the nebbish Bremer as cynical villain is the most egregious aspect of the film. On the other hand, it forthrightly depicts the heroic efforts of von Zehle and Valentine to save Sergio and Loescher. It is worth noting von Zehle served as a technical advisor, which is a major reason why the rescue sequences are so tense and realistic.

Borten’s screenplay readily admits Vieira de Mello’s decision to evict the U.S. forces guarding the UN’s headquarters in Iraq left it directly vulnerable to terrorist attack. However, for some dubious reason, it omits al-Zarqawi’s cited motivation for the bombing in his statement of responsibility: the East Timor deal that result in a net loss of territory controlled by the Islamic Caliphate—in that case the Indonesian government.

As a film, Sergio moves along at a good place and convincingly recreates the major events of his time, even though Barker and lead actor Wagner Moura are transparently mindful of protecting Vieira de Mello’s reputation throughout the film. They show some self-doubt and human weakness, but just enough to provide an opportunity for redemption. Ana de Armas is pretty credible expressing frustration with his workaholism and commitment phobia, but the character is largely defined in relationship to him. 

Sundance ’20: Once Upon a Time in Venezuela

Who knew socialism could lead to such privation and poverty? Except maybe anyone who ever studied economics to any extent. In the case of Venezuela, there really is no excuse for the devastating effects of state command of the economy, because the nation is blessed with considerable oil reserves and was ruled by a dictator who was considered a folk hero by his famous international admirers. Nevertheless, viewers can see the devastating results of Chavism over a twelve-year period in Anabel Rodriguez Rios’s documentary, Once Upon a Time in Venezuela, which screens during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Congo Mirador is a small village on stilts that sits not far from Lake Maracaibo, the center of Venezuela’s oil industry. Its proximity should make it prosperous, but instead it is dying. In fact, it might not survive the film as a viable community. Pollution has devastated the water-bound town, but the Chavists only seem to care about them during election years. Even then, they just offer small tokens like cell-phones, rather than any long-term relief.

Indeed, Mrs. Tamara, the village’s hard-core Chavist political coordinator is so nakedly corrupt, she openly offers bribes to villagers in exchange for votes, but this year, even her friends are defiantly refusing to go along anymore. In contrast, the local school teacher, Natalia is not explicitly political, but her independent inclinations earn her the scorn of Tamara. She must also endure constant harassment from the regional school supervisor, who always looks for petty causes to reprimand the devoted teacher, such as the organization of the supply shelf (fully stocked with defective pens that do not write). Yet, Natalia is widely popular among her students and their parents, at least while they remain in the dying village.

Sundance ’20: Leap of Faith—William Friedkin on the Exorcist

William Peter Blatty paid extended tribute to the mother who had such a formative influence in Crazy, one of his final novels (which—disclosure—I helped market). It was shared experience William Friedkin could relate to and bond with Blatty over when they collaborated on the celebrated film adaptation of his most famous novel, especially in the scenes depicting Father Karras and his mother. That is the sort of in-depth commentary Firedkin offers throughout Alexandre O. Philippe’s Leap of Faith: William Friedkin on the Exorcist, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

It would be fair to think of Leap as the special Exorcist supplement to Francesco Zippel’s career-survey documentary, Friedkin Uncut, except the director is the only voice heard during Philippe’s film. Arguably, The Exorcist is the only genre film that is sufficiently intriguing and significant to support such a “director’s commentary track” approach, but it is the Exorcist, so it can. Needless to say, Friedkin’s candor and enthusiasm help tremendously.

Friedkin’s deep dive roughly follows the film’s narrative, with quite a bit of time devoted to the prologue in northern Iraq. Even today, some viewers do not get it, but it is what helps make the film so distinctive. During the course of his examination, Friedkin reveals the film almost had two jazz-related associations. Ken Nordine of Word Jazz fame was recruited to create the demon voice, but just couldn’t get it right. Similarly, Friedkin rejected a score composed by Lalo Schifrin, who reportedly was not at all happy about it.

Sundance ’20: La Llorona

In horror movies, if you hear the sound of weeping, it probably means you did something bad. There is also a good chance you’ll soon be the one doing the crying. According to legend and lore, the vengeful weeping spirit of La Llorona lures children to her death, after having done the same to her children in real life. She is sometimes associated La Malinche, Cortes’s indigenous mistress, who was betrayed by the conquistador. The legend gets reworked in a similar spirit for a contemporary Guatemalan context in Jayro Bustamante’s La Llorona, which screens again today at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

After decades of impunity, the old General is finally being prosecuted for his role in the mass murder of the indigenous people during the dirty Civil War. However, he still has the protection of powerful people. That outrageous the unwashed masses, who are loudly protesting in great numbers outside his stately home. All the help have abandoned ship, except Valeriana, the trusted family servant, who could very well be the General’s illegitimate daughter. She sends for new domestics, but only the quiet Alma answers the call.

Her arrival coincides with the start of the General’s erratic behavior. He starts sleep-walking and complaining her hears a woman sobbing. Even more awkwardly, the pretty Alma reawakens his old predatory Weinstein-esque impulses, even though he probably lacks the strength and virility to fully act on them. Still, it makes it harder for his massively in-denial wife to ignore the obvious. On the other hand, his daughter Natalia, a respected medical doctor, is already suspicious her former lover (and the father of the General’s cherished granddaughter) is among the disappeared.

Bustamante manages to straddle the horror and art cinema genres rather agilely throughout La Llorona, even though the didactic score-settling detracts from its effectiveness as either. Arguably, what Latin America really needs right now are more moderate democrats, but the film is not likely to de-radicalize anyone. Regardless, Bustamante earns credit for crafting the milieu of corrupt decay and the foreboding vibe.

Sundance ’20: Scare Me

There is a long tradition of telling scary stories, but getting well-paid for it is a relatively recent phenomenon. Seriously, can you imagine explaining to Poe and Lovecraft how much money Stephen King makes? That is the sort of success Fanny has achieved and Fred aspires to. Alas, he simply isn’t in her league when it comes to writing talent, but he manages to hang with her for a while when she challenges him to dueling campfire stories in Josh Ruben’s Scare Me, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Fred has checked into a remote cabin hoping to finally make headway on his first novel, so he is both excited and intimidated to discover Fanny is his nearest neighbor. Her zombie novel is a #1 bestseller, a fact she lords over him. Fanny loves to throw around jargon like patriarchy and “toxic masculinity,” so she takes sadistic pleasure in belittling Fred. He will take it up to a point, in the hope that some of her mojo will rub off on him. Reluctantly, he agrees to proposed night of improvised horror stories, despite her constant needling.

In a way, Scare Me is sort of an anthology film, in which Fred and Fanny act out their tales amid the simple but spooky cabin setting, with only some clever lighting and sound effects to augment the vocal performances and outrageous pantomiming. A bit of chemistry starts to develop, as the two vastly different writers egg each other on (getting a brief guest appearance from the pizza guy). Yet, there is always a looming sense that the sinister business of their stories could spill over into their reality at any time.

Sundance ’20: Possessor

Tasya Vos works for the corporate equivalent of brain controlling parasites, like the exotic “zombie ant” fungus. She’s the fungus, or in this case, an assassin who commits hits while controlling the body of an unwitting host. She is a lethal legend among the limited numbers aware of her company’s true specialty, but her next assignment will involve unexpected complications in Brandon Cronenberg’s Possessor, which screens during the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

The process is pretty simple—and sinister. Through some kind of cyber-punky procedure, Vos’s consciousness is inserted into the abducted host. She establishes a pattern of suspicious behavior over a few days, before killing her target. Then she blows the host’s brains out just as her handlers extract her. We can see pretty clearly from the opening hit how the process is supposed to work. It is also pretty easy to see Vos is increasingly troubled by lingering memories and flashbacks, even though she manages to conceal it from her employer, Girder.

She really should have more down time between possessions, but she agrees to do a priority rush job with little rest. Her next target will be John Parse, the CEO of a data-mining firm, who happens to be played by Sean Bean, which does not auger well for his potential survivability. The host will be his daughter’s low-life boyfriend, her former drug dealer, Colin. He doesn’t seem like much, but he manages to wrestle control of his body back from Vos, at least temporarily, after much damage has been done.

Cronenberg, a chip off the old block, balances scenes of intense violence with trippy surreal passages in a sleekly stylish package. Fans of his father should also eat this up with a big spoon. However, it should be duly noted there is a previous precedent for the body-jumping assassin: Jesse Atlas’s short film Let Them Die Like Lovers, which screened at the Tribeca Film Festival, so nobody should say it is completely unknown. To be sure, Cronenberg comes up with plenty of his own twists. Nobody is implying anything, just acknowledging Atlas.

Sundance ’20: Sylvie’s Love

Nobody ever said loving a jazz musician was easy. Sylvie Johnson can tell you about that. They are always on the road and they never get paid what their talents deserve, but they feel things very deeply. Johnson cannot help loving tenor titan Robert Holloway, but the world seems to conspire against their romance in Eugene Ashe’s Sylvie’s Love, which premiered at the 2020 Sundance Film Festival.

Johnson is the daughter of a prominent Harlem family. If truth be told, her mother the etiquette teacher is the prominent one, rather than her father, “Mr. Jay,” a former musician and owner of a hip record store. That is where Holloway first met her. He went in looking for the latest Monk record, Brilliant Corners (the Fantasy/Riverside/Contemporary catalog of labels get prime placement in the film), but he applies for a part-time position to woo Johnson. Rather inconveniently, she is engaged to the proper sort of man her mother approves of, but their mutual attraction is undeniable.

Somehow, despite the passion, they just don’t end up together in 1957. The pattern will repeat when they cross paths again in 1962. He is still a sideman in the Dickie Brewster Quartet. The band is having some success, but it is mainly the less talented leader who is benefiting. To a great extent, this is because he is sleeping with their manager, who is rather transparently and unfairly based on the Baroness Pannonica de Koenigswarter. He also owns all the publishing rights for the group’s tunes.

By this time, Johnson has married her respectable fiancé and they have a little girl they both adore, but her heart still belongs to Holloway. Her only real satisfaction comes from her work as a TV production assistant for a large New York affiliate, until Holloway reappears again (and again).

This is a wonderfully lush period production that perfectly captures the look and texture of an era when Howard Johnson’s was a Times Square landmark. It also gets the jazz right, starting with the lovely Nancy Wilson standard playing over the opening credits (if this film gets distributed relatively widely, it could very well put Wilson back on the charts). Even the jazz dialogue, especially Holloway and Johnson’s shop talk, sounds legit for the times. The original music composed by Fabrice Lecomte also sounds era-appropriate and swings quite nicely. You can definitely say the Brewster band can play, since their musical parts are supplied by musicians like Mark Turner on tenor and Uri Caine on piano.

The music is terrific, but the drama can get a little manipulative at times. Frankly, the contrivances keeping the two lovers are often clumsily forced. Be that as it may, Nnamdi Asomugha rises above it as the cool-on-the-outside, blue-and-sentimental-on-the-inside Holloway. He carries himself like a musician on the bandstand and slow burns with passion and pride when he is off. He also develops some deeply soulful chemistry with Tessa Thompson’s Johnson.