HFFNY: Innocent’s Night

The Havana Film Festival NY is based in New York and accepts films from throughout Latin America. Yet for some reason, the organizers chose to closely identify the festival with Cuban films. Be that as it may, hopefully it will be an opportunity to see some great cinema.

The festival opened last night with Innocent’s Night, which was an odd choice for the kick-off, probably selected for its Cuban pedigree. Innocent demonstrates that Cuba can indeed do Sundance-style quirkiness. It is a rainy December 28th night, and a severely beaten man in drag is admitted to the hospital. Soon family and friends gather around him to reveal the events of the night Rashomon-style. Piecing their stories together is Frank, a suspended cop forgoing his usual late night assignation with the duty nurse, in the hope that some on-spec police work can rehabilitate his career.

The film quickly assures us the beaten Federico is not really a transvestite—events simply conspired to force him into drag. It involves his attempts to win back a former girlfriend from a foreign businessman. There is little politics in Innocent, but it does hint at how drilled the Cubans are to present the right public face to foreigners. We do hear the businessman blame the American embargo for his financial woes, but he does not get a sympathetic response. We are also treated to a quick recap of the glorious history of Cuban Olympic boxing.

Most of the characters have been seen before, like a cold, career minded father and the mother who feels unappreciated. The young actress who plays the patient’s little sister should defect when Ellen Page gets too old to play those oh-so-insightful teenagers.

Innocent is dark quirky, not cutesy quirky, that is cleverest in its final scenes. It deserves credit for not wrapping things up in a compulsively happy ending, which gives the film some sense of integrity. Unfortunately, there is little chemistry between the Federico and his ex, which is problematic.

Interesting viewing, Innocent kicks off a line-up drawn from many countries. Look for more HFFNY in the coming week.

Yama-san’s Campaign

Coin and stamp dealers are not typically on the fast track for elected office. Truthfully, they could not do worse than the attorneys we have sent to Congress and City Hall. In 2005, Japan’s Liberal Democratic Party did in fact pluck an unknown coin dealer from obscurity to run in a special election for the Kawasaki City Council. That campaign is the subject of Kazuhiro Soda’s logically titled documentary, Campaign (Senkyo), playing at MoMA through the weekend (trailer here).

Kazuhiko “Yama-san” Yamauchi has no prior political experience, name recognition, or policy expertise. Frankly, he does not inspire much confidence on the stump. However, for this important special election, the LDP recruited Yamauchi from outside the city in place of the local candidates who sought the party endorsement. After seeing Yamauchi on the campaign trail, we can only imagine what the passed over candidates were like.

The vacant seat was formerly held by the LDP. If they hold it, the city council will remain evenly divided. If they lose it, the balance of power tips away from them. As odd a choice as Yamauchi appears, the stakes are not inconsequential.

Having spent a lot of time on campaigns, some things appear fairly universal. There is plenty of phone calling and envelope stuffing going on at headquarters. However, evidently Japanese campaigns, at least in Kawasaki, greatly rely on cars with high-powered speakers blasting the candidate and his surrogates through the very walls of his potential constituents’ homes. It makes robo-calling look unobtrusive.

The organization of local parties also appears much different, with most volunteers loyal to a particular candidate’s booster club, rather than the local party per se. Given the nature of the special, Yamauchi’s prospective council colleagues have loaned him their boosters, but it is made clear this is a one-time only deal.

No political genius, Yamauchi, at least comes across as a likeable sad sack. However, it is not appropriate to make him out to be a political Rocky, because the local establishment backs him all the way. Watching him take both abuse from voters on the street and condescension from party “senseis” can be down right uncomfortable.

As likeable as he might be, his wife shows the patience of a saint. She does lose her sense of humor when the party asks her to quit her job, sensibly reminding Yamauchi that she is currently the only one with a steady paycheck. “What if he loses?” she asks. “Don’t even think about losing,” the party tells her.

With no voiceovers or soundtrack, Soda’s vérité style is very straight forward. He captured some very cinematic episodes on the campaign trail, which unfortunately often place Yamauchi on the receiving end of some humiliation. Yet after a while, the scenes tend to blur together, as we see Yamauchi doing calisthenics in suit and tie or carrying shrines as befits which ever group he is courting. The film does end with some real suspense, after the twelve long days of official campaigning.

There definitely seems to be more hazing in J-Democracy than in the American version. Perhaps the Japanese are onto something. Maybe we should make our candidates sweat more before tossing them the keys to the treasury. Campaign runs at MoMA through the weekend and an edited version will broadcast on PBS’ POV July 29th.

Note: Yama-san has been seen pressing the flesh in-person after past MoMA screenings and he has an undeniable charm in person.

The Poetic Charles Lloyd

Rabo de Nube
Charles Lloyd Quartet
ECM Records

There seems to be something almost otherworldly about Charles Lloyd. Steeped in the primeval blues of Memphis and informed by Eastern music and philosophy, Lloyd always pursues his own alchemy. His latest, Rabo de Nube a live set released within days of his seventieth birthday, proves Lloyd’s powers remain undiminished with the passage of years.

U.S. Poet Laureate Charles Simic contributed original verse for the liner, in an appropriate fit between poet and musician. Simic’s work combines the very real, concrete details of our world with a surreal vision of what lurks around the corner, just out of sight. Lloyd has always been very much of this world, grounded in the blues. Yet he is able to step outside it, with his searching flights of exploration.

In “Two for Charles Lloyd” Simic contrasts the pastoral of the flute with the urban of the tenor saxophone. For tenor, Simic writes: “Late night talk/On a tenor/With the dead/And the shadows they cast.” The opener “Prometheus,” a tenor feature, is a turbulent piece that demonstrates why Lloyd was often categorized in the Coltrane school during the 1960’s. Skitterish and constantly changing, it indeed could be an eerie conversation with Trane.

Lloyd continues on tenor with “Migration of Spirit.” Starting with Reuben Rodgers’ unaccompanied bass prelude, it builds in intensity as the full quartet enters, ultimately reaching ecstatic crescendos as Lloyd swoops and soars above. Then the rhythm section locks in and brings it back to Earth for a swinging solo from Jason Moran.

JaMo is one of the most accomplished jazz artists to hit the scene in the last eight or nine years, and it is fascinating to hear him play with Lloyd. Moran has recently been exploring the music of Thelonius Monk (particularly the 1959 Town Hall concert) so he has a lot to say with Lloyd on the Monkish duet “La Colline de Monk.”

Simic associates the flute with nature—the Charles Lloyd pictured in Big Sur, gazing out into the far distance. He writes: “The sound of flute,/That purest of instruments,/Close to breath,/Close to wind in the leaves.” Yet the flute selection is the most boppish tune on Rabo, “Booker’s Garden,” an up-tempo tribute to Booker Little, that also features a funky, percussive solo from Moran.

The concluding title track is the only composition of the set not penned by Lloyd. It is a tune he is revisiting from Lift Every Voice, the powerful set of spirituals and other meaningful tunes Lloyd recorded in the immediate aftermath of September 11th. The version here is much less elegiac, with a relaxed lyricism perfectly suiting his tenor voice.

Lloyd is indeed a poetic jazz artist. He has long had a mysterious ability to invent brief little melodies (or stanzas) in his solos that seem to redefine the entire song. As evidenced by Rabo, he has lost none of his power.

Young & Restless in China

7-Up has come to China—the documentary concept, not the drink. In the spirit of Michael Apted’s 7-Up series, Sue Williams’s Young & Restless in China is the first installment of a projected five film documentary series, which will follow the lives of nine diverse Chinese Gen X’er’s and Y’er’s over four year intervals. The initial film, Young & Restless (trailer here), opens in New York and Los Angeles this Friday.

Olympic construction literally looms over the events of the lives average Chinese citizens, the consequences of which are decidedly mixed. Several of Restless’ main characters, like entrepreneurs Lu Dong and Ben Wu are returning expats looking for a piece of the action in China’s go-go economy. Others, like migrant worker Wei Zhanyan, seek more modest opportunities. While there is money to be made in China, Restless shines a light on some pretty severe quality challenges to the quality of life.

One character who deals directly with these issues is Zhang Jingjing, a lawyer who routinely takes on state enterprises in her cases, many of which are quite telling. We first meet her representing middle class neighbors challenging an environmentally suspect power line erected for the games. Restless shows us the middle class is growing economically, but their influence with the state does not seem to be increasing accordingly. One client complains: “We’ve become property owners. As citizens, the state should protect our private property.”

Given the nature of her fights, Jingjng appears to be in for a tough time. She is a product of the Tiananmen Square student demonstrations and seems to be the most directly affected by that event among those Restless follows. Others characters appear completely apolitical, like aspiring rapper Wang Xiaolei. Hand-to-mouth finances inform his hip-hop more than political issues. Music plays an important role in the film, often using Xiaolei’s raps, which are actually not terrible. (We even see a brief scene inside a jazz club, but we do not hear enough to make a judgment regarding the combo.)

Perhaps the most serious storyline involves housewife and migrant worker Yang Haiyan’s attempts to bring home her mother, who was lured into white slavery and sold to a farmer. She is hardly alone. The U.S. State Department estimates there are 10,000-20,000 such victims annually. Probably the most unexpected character arc is represented aspiring tycoon Lu Dong’s unexpected conversion to Christianity.

However, of all the characters the audience meets, Wei Zhanyan is easily the strongest rooting interest. We see her working eleven hours days, seven days a week, in a sweatshop-like factory to support an ungrateful family. Yet she carves out a small measure of independence and rebels against the arranged marriage pushed by her father. One really hopes things will work out for her over the course of the film and series.

Restless is incomplete by design. The story arcs do not have tidy conclusions, because life cannot be broken down into discrete four year periods. While the entire cast is not of uniformly equal interest, several of the leads are extremely compelling and will easily justify further viewer investment in the projected series.

While most effective on the personal level, Restless is also quite topical, complimenting recent press coverage of the Olympic torch relay protests by exposing the very real human domestic costs of the Beijing games. It opens Friday in New York Friday at the Cinema Village and in LA at the Laemmle. It is a promising start to what could be a very valuable documentary series.

Some Light Reading—a New Israeli Documentary Opens Wed.

What does a country’s pornography say about its people? That is one of the questions underlying, but never fully addressed by Ari Libsker’s new documentary Stalags: Holocaust and Pornography in Israel, opening in New York on Wednesday.

Stalags were dirty novels set in German POW camps (for which they came to be referred to), that were the rage on Israeli newsstands for a brief period in the early 1960’s. Featuring captured American or British officers tormented by corps of female guards, dressed in tight fitting uniforms with plunging necklines, they typically culminated with the protagonist turning the tables on his captors. According to on-screen experts, these novels were deliberately written in a style and syntax suggesting they had been translated from English.

Libsker’s film frames the stalag era between two high profile trials. The first trial was that of Adolf Eichmann, which is seen as corresponding with the rise of the genre’s popularity. The second was the obscenity trial of a particularly objectionable stalag, I Was Colonel Schultz’s Private Bitch, (which if you can’t figure out the nature of the complaint from the title, I can’t help you). Eventually Colonel Schultz was banned, bringing down the entire publishing program. Yet years later, Libsker evidently had no difficulty finding Israelis to fondly reminisce about the books (although at least one of them comes across pretty creepy).

Libsker treads on some delicate ground, as when Stalags associates the stalag genre with the writings of K. Tzetnik, a Holocaust survivor whose pseudonymous memoir’s accuracy has been questioned by many historians in recent years. The film makes vague comparisons between the subject matter of the stalags and scenes of sexual abuse in Tzetnik’s memoir, suggesting a possible source of inspiration.

Despite its subject matter, Stalags is not prurient and never features nudity (just some cleavage on book covers). While the film is quite provocative, at times linking pornography with responses to the horror of the Holocaust, it never ties it all together, or suggests what the phenomenon really meant. Obviously, an event like the Holocaust would have deep psychological ramifications, not just for survivors but also their children, who largely made up the stalag readership. It is probably safe to interpret the stalags in such a context, but the film never really pursues such questions.

At a running time of just over an hour, Stalags is preceded by Two Women and a Man, a thematically related short feature. A mock documentary about director Roee Rosen’s alter ego Justine Frank, it frankly lacks the sensitivity of Stalags. With Rosen appearing in drag as a Frank expert, it is just plain weird. Stalags is consistently interesting to watch, but its ultimate point remains unclear. It opens at Film Forum tomorrow.

Another Vermeer

As the architect of the Third Reich’s systematic looting operation, Hermann Goring confiscated many of Europe’s great artistic treasures, but his troops were not discriminating, filling enormous warehouses with art and furniture plundered from Jewish homes and museums (as seen in the documentary The Rape of Europa). He would have been susceptible to a con-artist like Han Van Meegeren offering him a crudely forged Vermeer. At least, that is what Van Meegeren must prove or face far worse punishment as a collaborator in Another Vermeer, Bruce J. Robinson’s new fact-based drama opening at the Abingdon last night.

The real life artist, dealer, and forger Van Meegeren did indeed face charges of collaborating and selling Dutch cultural property to the enemy. To prove his innocence of the more serious charges he must convince the court that he forged Goring’s Vermeer. To do so, he must now forge another Vermeer in his cell, as he hopes evidence of his past Vermeer forgeries will be discovered to buttress his case.

Austin Pendleton, the instantly recognizable character actor whose films includes A Beautiful Mind and Catch-22, plays the drug and absinthe addicted Van Meegeren, as he desperately paints his final work, Jesus Among the Doctors, while confined in his prison cell. As he struggles with his canvas and the reluctant guard assigned as his model, the forger sees visions of Vermeer, his teacher Bartus Korteling, and Dr. Abraham Bredius, his art critic-nemesis. He also labors under the intimidating inspections of Lt. Keller, the American officer assigned to the case.

Vermeer probably spends too much time on the courtship between Van Meegeren and his Dutch guard, and the early appearance of Vermeer is a bit awkward. However, when Van Meegeren spars with Lt. Keller and Dr. Bredius, the play seriously turns up the intensity. Van Meegeren is a small, deeply flawed man. Keller and Bredius, played by Christian Pedersen and Thom Christopher respectively, tower over him. Both are dominating physical presences, particularly in the Abingson’s Dorothy Strelsin Theatre.

Vermeer does not let Van Meegeren simply play the victim. In searing exchanges, the vision of his mentor (played by Dan Cordle) and Lt. Keller devastatingly critique his wasted talents and unfulfilled potential. Perhaps most effective though, is the arrival of Bredius in the flesh. Rather than merely portray him as the stock villainous critic, Robinson actually gives him some interesting points to make, including (perhaps shrewdly) a defense of criticism. All the while, Pendleton is quite compelling as the world-weary forger forced to come to terms with a life of regrets.

Staged in an intimate space as one continuous act, the production nicely conveys a sense of claustrophobia. It offers sharp observations about the nature of art and some strong performances by Pendleton, Christopher, Cordle, and Pedersen. It is an intellectually stimulating play, with a surprisingly honest emotional payoff. It opened Sunday the 6th and plays through the 20th.

Imagina

Imagina: Songs of Brasil
By Karrin Allyson
Concord Records

Karrin Allyson seems to have a facility for bilingual albums. In 1999’s From Paris to Rio alternated between French and Portuguese lyrics (as well as some English). Her latest, Imagina (Dummies translation here), concentrates on the songs of Brazil, but nicely blends the original Portuguese with both original and classic English translations.

If not fluent in Portuguese, she has no problem singing the authentic lyrics of classic Brazilian songs. She opens with the familiar Vinicius de Moraes lyrics to the instantly recognizable “A Felicidade” before segueing into Susannah McCorkle’s less familiar English lyrics. The bittersweet words seem to describe the late vocalist’s life all too aptly when Allyson sings: “Happiness must end, but sadness goes on and on.” McCorkle’s “Vivo Sonhando (Living on Dreams)” also takes on additional layers of tragic meaning, through lyrics like: “Everyone says that I’m crazy, but I can’t change.”

“Correnteza” is a much less recorded Jobim-Bonfa tune, as opposed to say, “Insensatez.” Allyson’s brief rendition is all Portuguese, with the attractive added textures of Gil Goldstein’s accordion and Steve Nelson’s vibes—a great combination of sounds.

Imagina features two songs with original English lyrics by Chris Caswell, “Medo de Amar (Surrender the Soul)” and “Pra Dizer Adeus (Time to Say Goodbye).” Both lead with the original lyrics and then shift to Caswell’s English. The vibe of elegant lament is heightened on both by Goldstein on accordion.

Allyson also covers the classic American jazz-bossa songbook, like Jon Hendricks’ gently upbeat “Desafinado (Slightly Out of Tune). All English, or some relaxed scat, it is the strongest all-around jazz cut, with swinging contributions from Nelson. For Gene Lees’ lyrics to “Double Rainbow,” it is back to the Portuguese then English format.

Allyson has assembled a talented band, many of whom often back her. Goldstein is ever eloquent, on both piano and accordion, and Allyson’s Kansas City associate Rod Fleeman solos with taste and style. Hearing him here suggests he ought to have a greater national reputation.

Imagina is quite a well produced album. Give credit for the unusual clarity of David Finck’s bass solo on “Sonhando” and the tasteful arrangements, most by Allyson alone, or in collaboration with band members. Despite some last minute changes to the program, the selected songs prove a good match for her expressive voice. Always respectful and at times dramatic, Allyson demonstrates a rich affinity for the songs of Brazil.

Papa Spain

Taking a day off in the City? Check out two vintage Spanish Civil War docs playing afternoons this week at the MoMA. You can come late too.

The first feature is Joris Ivens’s The Spanish Earth, best remembered for the commentary and narration by Ernest Hemingway. It takes it name from the arid stretch of land that might feed the embattled Madrid if brave Republican farmers can finish their irrigation project. Evidently, this is the plain in Spain where it never rains. Hemingway tells viewers “we” have always wanted to irrigate the land but “they” would not allow it.

Despite its reputation, Earth does not hold up well. Ivens, a recipient of the Lenin Peace Prize, was a doctrinaire Communist. For all the talk of human dignity in Earth, Ivens had no qualms about whitewashing slave labor when filming a documentary about a Soviet construction behemoth in 1931. Frankly, his visuals here are not particularly strong. While always completely earnest, many his scenes of peasants marching through the rocky fields cry out for Tom Servo and Crow T. Robot, as they resemble the technical films MST3K used to send-up.

Earth fails precisely for the reasons the writings on the same war by Orwell and Hemingway himself are timeless. Their books capture the chaos and ambiguity of the Civil War, with its frustrating in-fighting between the Communists and anarchists, and the atrocities committed by both sides, including the Republicans, especially against the Church (which is conspicuously absent in Earth). Frankly, the film is not particularly effective as propaganda either, employing class warfare rhetoric and a grating score by longtime Communist Marc Blitzstein (when trying to generate Spanish sympathy, why not try some flamenco?).

Conversely, Return to Life from celebrated photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson and leftist director Herbert Kline is much more successful, both as film and propaganda. As would be expected, it is visually much more striking, and the soundtrack effectively uses traditional Spanish folk music. Convincingly describing the war in terms of democracy under attack and focusing on the Republican medical corps, Return is essentially a Why We Fight for the Loyalist cause.

Interestingly, both films mention in passing the Moorish legions fighting with Franco’s Royalists and Mussolini’s fascists. It was a little remarked upon early case of cooperation between Islamists and fascists that has continued to develop, as explicated in Barbet Schroeder’s documentary Terror’s Advocate.

Earth has historical significance largely as vehicle to hear Hemingway’s voice. His words about the “good fight” are far richer in For Whom the Bell Tolls and his short stories. While it was certainly also produced for propaganda purposes, Return is a very watchable film, continuing to serve the historic interests of the Republican cause. Both films screen together at MoMA today and tomorrow.

Meet Ms. Jones Friday

Singers are stage performers, so one might expect them to be natural dramatic actors. Some, like Sinatra, certainly were. Others like Madonna, not so much. The jury is still out on Norah Jones, but she definitely surpasses expectations in Wong Kar Wai’s beautifully filmed My Blueberry Nights.

Wong seems to have set out to film a hipster vision of an Edward Hopper picture, with most of the action taking place in nocturnal haunts, like diners and bars. It starts with Jones’s heartsick Elizabeth looking for her soon to be ex-lover in his favorite diner, run by Jeremy, a British expat played by Jude Law. Much of their dialogue together sounds overly written, like a long exchange about the keys Jeremy holds on behalf of rejected lovers. However, Jones and Law do have on-screen chemistry. Their seemingly casual late nights spent over Jeremy’s underappreciated blueberry pies (hello title) prompt thoughts on the nature of time and attraction. How long does it take to really get to know someone and then to fall for them?

To work her ex out of her head, Elizabeth leaves New York and Jeremy’s diner, going on the road, where she works a series of waitressing jobs, meeting some very dysfunctional people. Particularly damaged is Arnie, a Memphis cop who doubles as the town drunk after his wife leaves him. In probably the film strongest performance, David Strathairn’s Arnie is both pathetic and unsettling in equal measure.

Eventually, Elizabeth’s wanderlust takes her to Nevada and another waitressing gig before joining forces with Leslie, a manipulative poker player. As Leslie, we see Natalie Portman acting all over the screen with little subtlety involved, but to be fair, her accent and flamboyance have an odd charm (not cloying like a Renee Zellweger in Cold Mountain).

The early festival reviews were not kind to Jones, but in truth she is pretty good in a challenging debut film. Wong’s style can be unforgiving for actors, shooting them in extended close-ups without dialogue and requiring them to emote as appropriate. Law and Strathairn easily turn in the film’s best work, while Jones keeps up reasonably well. Although not a perfect film debut, she shows real screen charm, if not exactly powerhouse chops. (She has certainly already surpassed Madonna’s acting talents, at least.) Evidently the film has been re-cut since Cannes and that might have helped.

Although never performing on screen, Jones’s music also plays a supportive role. “The Story” is a strong song and a perfectly fitting musical touchstone for the film. Ry Cooder’s themes and a licensed Cassandra Wilson recording also nicely contribute to the overall mood, and atmosphere is indeed where Blueberry is strongest. The real stars of the film might be the arresting colors and visuals of Wong and cinematographer Darrius Khondji. By it’s own admission (in a Jones voiceover), Blueberry takes a long, circuitous route to eventually get where it is going. Though flawed (particularly in a clunky script surprisingly co-written by mystery novelist Lawrence Block), Blueberry looks and sounds great. Ultimately, it has a certain romanticism that is compelling. It opens in New York at the Angelika this Friday.

Layers of Dapp

Layers of Chance
Dapp Theory
Contrology/ObliqSound

The jazz-hip-hop thing has been around a while now and no longer has an automatic novelty value. While Andy Milne’s Dapp Theory made its reputation for such hip-hop influenced jazz, it happily sounds like a legit working band on their long-awaited new CD, Layers of Chance (on-sale today), that does not need to rely on novelty.

The music of Dapp Theory is surprisingly melodic throughout Layers and the rap elements are not overplayed. In fact, some of the best tunes on the release are strictly instrumentals, like “If You Count It.” Milne’s composition is given an interesting treatment, starting as a bright, up-tempo acoustic bop piece showcasing reedman Loren Stillman on soprano, but concluding with a moody arco bass coda.

The ballad “Tracking the Page” is another instrumental also featuring some notable soprano work from Stillman (although the synthesized strings are a bit heavy). However, the crisp melody of “Bird Calls” proves to be a great vehicle for Milne’s jazz chops. “Monk Walk” has some of the loping, off-kilter rhythms of its apparent namesake, but it is a funkier, electric piece dominated by soprano and keyboards.

When Dapp Theory does include “percussive poetry” from John Moon, it often does so with more inventive arrangements than then standard rap-brief solo-rap-fade format now so familiar. For instance, the concluding “Déjà Vu,” sounds like some groovy jazz-funk, with a nice acoustic solo from Milne, until about the 4:40 mark, when Moon comes in.

The lyrics “Blackout” might be the most compelling and intimate of the percussive poetry tracks. Combined with Milne’s snaky melody, it deftly illustrates how effectively Dapp Theory can integrate hip-hop elements and jazz. Likewise, “Bodybag For Martin” nicely balances the musical and vocal, with Moon entering almost exactly at the track’s halfway point. However, the “social conscience” lyrics cover well-worn territory (bordering the clichéd) that could have come from any other rap track.

Milne has a knack for intriguing compositions and his band can play. What is interesting about Milne’s group is that they sound equally comfortable playing as a unit both with and without the percussive poetry. Layers is a shrewdly balanced session that never sounds forced. It might even open some ears beyond the Dapp fan-base for its melodic and rhythmic sense.

A Dead, But Theatrical Man’s Memoir

A Dead Man’s Memoir (A Theatrical Novel)
By Mikhail Bulgakov
Penguin Classics

Sergei Maksudov loves the Independent Theater, even though most of his colleagues there are vain, venal, and often quite mad. Welcome to the world of 1920’s and 30’s Moscow theater, as portrayed in Mikhail Bulgakov’s unfinished roman-a-clef, A Dead Man’s Memoir.

Bulgakov was associated with the unsuccessful Whites during the Civil War, so the period of Bolshevik consolidation was unpleasant for him. Stalin is considered the inspiration for the Devil in Bulgakov’s masterwork, The Master and Margarita. However, Keith Gessen explains in an informative introduction that for a time the future tyrant “would continue to display a keen and oddly friendly interest in his favorite anti-Bolshevik writer.” (p. xvi)

Maksudov, Bulgakov’s surrogate, is evidently not a very good writer. Yet after a dismal publishing experience, his stillborn novel is bought for stage adaptation by a venerable theater. The Independent’s creative director is Ivan Vasilievich, a transparent representation of Stanislavsky, who is broadly satirized. The neophyte playwright comes to the realization that Vasilievich’s exercises are counterproductive, confiding to readers:

“Ominous doubts had begun creeping into my heart at the end of the first week. By the end of the second week I already knew that this theory was not applicable to my play. Not only had [actor] Patrikeev not begun to present his bouquet, write his letter and make his declaration of love any better. Oh no! He had become forced and dry and not funny at all.” (p. 165)

Gessen argues that unlike other Bulgakov works, Memoir rarely touches on political concerns, except briefly issues of censorship, which were inescapable for the Soviet creative community. When describing the reaction to his novel, Bulgakov’s luckless narrator tells us: “As one man, all the listeners told me that my novel could not be printed for the simple reason that the censor would not let it pass.” (p. 9) However, it is tempting to interpret any description of arbitrary abuse of authority in Soviet Russia, such as the absurd whims of a theater director, in allegorical terms.

Through its framing device, we know Maksudov will eventually end in a suicide. Unfortunately, Bulgakov never finished Memoir, deferring work on it in favor of completing Master. He died shortly thereafter. As a result, we will never know what humiliation finally led to Maksudov’s demise, but we can probably assume it had something to do with a fateful scene Maksudov often expresses his emotional attachment to:

“I had wanted people to hear the terrible song of the accordion on the bridge as the patch of blood spread across the snow in the moonlight. I had wanted people to see my black snow.” (p. 158)

Despite all of Maksudov’s disappointments, Memoir is actually a love letter to theater, which ought to be stocked in the specialty bookstores in New York’s theater district. This new translation is particularly readable and the introduction and notes nicely clarify the historical context, well serving Stalin’s “favorite anti-Bolshevik writer.”

Remembering Chris Anderson

We throw around terms like “musician’s musician” all the time, but it really did apply to Chris Anderson. The inventive pianist, best known as an early teacher of Herbie Hancock, will be remembered at a memorial in St. Peter’s Monday night at 7:00.

St. Peter’s was the sight for a rather amazing performance by Anderson some years ago. It was a benefit concert for the ailing Billy Higgins, whom Anderson had played with on one of his all too rare recording dates. Anderson was blind and suffered from brittle bone disease, which limited his touring. Getting to hear him take flight was a treat that night, so his colleagues let him keep playing, throwing their schedule out the window.

Given the scarcity of his recordings, I never understood why Inverted Image on Riverside’s Jazzland label has yet to be reissued. With Philly Joe Jones and Walter Perkins sharing the drum chair and Bill Lee (father of Spike) on bass, it is a beautiful trio session that would probably sell well, at least among his many musician admirers.

Those friends include Barry Harris, Richard Wyands, Larry Willis, Harold Mabern, and George Coleman, who will celebrate Anderson’s life and music tomorrow night. There are some Anderson recordings available, which are definitely recommended. However, he was best heard live, so those who heard him that night at St. Peter’s and sometime later at the Jazz Gallery were indeed fortunate.

The Jazz Score: Odds Against Tomorrow

Two of director Robert Wise’s great “issue” movies feature great jazz soundtracks and will be screened during MoMA’s Jazz Score retrospective. The first is I Want to Live!, his capital punishment drama. The second is Odds Against Tomorrow, a grimly naturalistic film noir indictment of racism.

Ed Begley is Dave Burke, an ex-cop looking to make a quick score. To take down a sleepy upstate bank, he hires Earl Slater, a racist ex-con with anger management issues and Johnny Ingram, an African-American jazz musician deep in debt to the mob. Conflict will be unavoidable.

Robert Ryan plays Slater—exactly the kind of role he specialized in—a man bitter at a world he thinks owes him a living. Unable to hold a job, Slater’s girlfriend, played somewhat over the top by Shelley Winters, tries to control him through her purse strings, which only increases his resentment. Harry Belafonte is the suave, sophisticated Ingram, whose weakness for horses threatens the security of his estranged family. Due to their dire economic circumstances, they both agree to Burke’s caper. However, the perfectly planned score is needlessly undone by Slater’s fatal racism in a brilliantly realized climax.

Effectively supporting the film is a moody, dramatic score composed by pianist John Lewis, best known for his work with the Modern Jazz Quartet and his Third Stream jazz-classical innovations. There were actually two official Odds Against Tomorrow LPs, both involving John Lewis. The first was the actual soundtrack of Lewis’s jazz-flavored orchestral themes and cues. It was recorded by a large ensemble, including Jim Hall, Joe Wilder, and Lewis’s three colleagues from the MJQ (Milt Jackson, Percy Heath, and Connie Kay), with Bill Evans filling the piano chair.

The MJQ with Lewis on piano also recorded a full jazz album in which they stretch out and elaborate on some of his Odds themes. The soundtrack album is pleasant enough, but the MJQ record is an underappreciated classic, at times much more upbeat than its original source material (let’s hope for another reissue in the near future). Not appearing on either record is a brief vocal performance by Mae Barnes appropriately singing “All Men are Evil.”

Indeed, Odds paints a desperately grim picture of human nature. In a telling early scene, Ingram off-handedly mentions he has another bet down on a race because: “you can’t lose forever.” Burke responds: “you’d be surprised.” There are certainly no winners in Odds. Burke turns to crime having been punished for his honesty while on the force. Ingram is a loving father, but hopelessly weak. Slater is irredeemably racist and violent. Together they hurtle towards an inevitable end deftly directed by Wise. It screens at MoMA April 20th and 30th, along with I Want to Live!

Horne’s Blues

Shades of Blue
By Bill Moody
Poisoned Pen Press

The fictional jazz sleuth Evan Horne plays piano. His creator, novelist Bill Moody, is a drummer. Since the Horne mysteries are written in the first person, I have sort of inadvertently conflated the two, despite their different instruments. However, given the relentless personal drama befalling Horne in his latest installment, Shades of Blue, one hopes the series, or at least this particular entry, is not particularly autobiographical.

In past books, Horne has reluctantly solved historic mysteries related to the music, while rebuilding a once promising jazz career nearly cut short by an auto accident. Each has essentially stood alone, but Horne’s personal life has formed a continuous storyline throughout the series. At this point, I have lost track of Horne’s various former girlfriends. However, notably in the previous book, Looking for Chet Baker, Horne is betrayed by a close friend and recurring character, in a legitimately surprising plot point that Moody deserves credit for. As a result, trust issues hang over Shades and become more pronounced as events unfold.

Horne has a hard time in Shades. Calvin Hughes, his mentor, passes away, leaving his estate to his piano protégé. He also bequeaths Horne some family mysteries, including some hand-written lead sheets that hint that Hughes might have had a hand in writing tunes for the classic Miles Davis sessions, Kind of Blue and Birth of the Cool. Moody here takes inspiration from a real-life controversy (referenced in the novel) between Davis and Bill Evans over the authorship of “Blue in Green” from the former album. Unquestionably the most popular jazz album of all time, Kind of Blue is also a touchstone for Horne as well. Moody writes in his character’s voice:

“But there was something else about Kind of Blue, as if I’d heard this music before I’d even become aware of it. It has sounded familiar the first time I’d listened.” (p. 6)

Within the first few pages, Horne learns of Hughes’s death and his FBI agent girlfriend is wounded in the line of duty, but his trials and tribulations are just beginning. It is not all bad for the musician-sleuth though. He is unexpectedly offered a chance to record on Roy Haynes’ next album, with Ron Carter on bass, both of whom seem really cool in the novel. Moody is strongest when describing the act of creating jazz and his account of the Haynes session is a highlight of the book. Moody lovingly describes their studio time in near magical terms:

“Carter and Haynes poise for my cue and I begin the vamp. For a moment, I’m lost in the dream that Bill Evans played these exact same chords on Kind of Blue in 1959. I nod, feeling Haynes and Carter watching, and we go right into “Rhapsody.” I do three choruses, glance at Carter, who takes two, his beautiful tone singing through the headphones, then two choruses of eight bar exchanges with Haynes. He’s all over the drums but in such a melodic way, it’s always clear where he is in the tune, and more than demonstrating his nickname ‘snap crackle.’” (p. 130)

Moody is always spot-on when writing about the music itself. He has also improved as a crime novelist as the series has progressed. In Shades though, the actual criminal elements feel almost tacked on, as Moody seems much more preoccupied with family mysteries this time around. Those family secrets intersect with enough jazz history to hold the interest the series’ fans (in which I include myself). Evan Horne is a very likeable character, so let us hope he has less drama and more crime (preferably historical) to deal with in the next book.

Duke Jams

At the Côte D’Azur with Ella Fitzgerald and Joan Miró/Last Jam Sesson
Duke Ellington
Norman Granz Presents/Eagle Eye Media

Edward Kennedy Ellington was known as the Duke long before he led his famous band. Some people just know how to live and he was one of them. Jazz producer and impresario Norman Granz was another, so when they collaborated on a French Riviera concert film, good things were likely to happen. Granz later filmed an all-star quartet session that produced the Big Four album shortly before Ellington’s death. Collected together on a two DVD set with an unwieldy title, the Côte D’Azur and Last Jam Session films capture the inspiration of an American giant.

Of the two, the French sessions are probably the strongest, but both are historically significant. The Duke sets the scene with a recorded introduction extolling the virtues of the bikinis and gambling of the Riviera, as well as the modern art of the Maeght Foundation. We see Ellington tour the museum grounds with Joan Miró like two old friends. With bassist John Lamb and drummer Sam Woodyard, Ellington gives an intimate concert for Miró. Granz cleverly intersperses shots of the institute’s sculpture including that of Giacometti and Miró with that of Ellington’s trio in performance. “Kinda Dukish” reminds us of Ellington’s swinging attack on the piano, often overshadowed by his remarkable talent as a composer and bandleader. We also hear an impromptu creation “The Shepherd” and see it adapted for the full band at a later rehearsal.

The Antibes-Juan Les Pins concert is a nice mix of Ellingtonian classics like “Creole Love Call” and “The Mooche” as well as newer compositions like the majestic “Such Sweet Thunder.” Trains were a recurring motif in Ellington’s songs and “The Old Circus Train Turn-Around Blues” was a new example that ought to be more of a standard (it appears only Scott Hamilton has recorded it since).

The climax of the concert comes with Ella Fitzgerald’s entrance. She had just heard of her sister’s death earlier that day, but swings “Satin Doll” and “Things Ain’t What They Used To Be” hard. Her lovely rendition of Billy Strayhorn’s “Something to Live For” obviously takes on added meaning.

The Big Four session is captured on the second disk, featuring Ellington in an all-star quartet, with only one previous bandmember, drummer Louis Bellson, on hand. Together with Ray Brown (Ella Fitzgerald’s former bassist and husband) and Joe Pass on guitar, they play some great music and thoroughly enjoy themselves. Though recording in the studio, it has a late night jam session feeling—hence the title Duke: the Last Jam Session. It is fun, with some wonderful music, but a tad ragged at times (particularly early in the session), befitting the jam session moniker. The French sessions would be a better introduction for Ellington neophytes, whereas, established fans will enjoy watching the Duke talk and joke between takes as they listen to playbacks.

Ellington was a true American original and these sessions capture him still at the height of his powers. Both the creative longevity and prolificacy of the man are staggering. Associating Ellington with Miró is altogether fitting and proper, with Granz presenting the Duke in an elegant and respectful context. It is great to have this footage available.

Day Trip

Day Trip
Pat Metheny
Nonesuch Records

Pat Metheny has the most recognizable hair in jazz and a remarkable flexibility to excel within various styles and formats. With his latest release, Day Trip, he strips things down to a simple, straight-forward trio, for a relaxed, enjoyable set of Metheny originals.

Metheny’s newly reconstituted trio consists of the leader’s guitar, Antonio Sanchez on drums, and Christian McBride on bass, who play cohesively together throughout. McBride is proving to be the go-to bassist for powerhouse trios over the last year, performing with Sonny Rollins and Roy Haynes at Carnegie Hall and recording with Bruce Hornsby and Jack DeJohnette on the rock star’s jazz debut. Here, he meshes perfectly with Metheny and Sanchez.

Things lead off with the mid-tempo “Son of Thirteen,” enriched by Sanchez’s rhythms. It is followed by the contemplative “At Last You’re Here,” featuring some of session’s the strongest solo statements from the leader and McBride.

Indeed, it is the peaceful, introspective tunes like “At Last” that are the highlights of Day Trip. In fact, the session’s emotional climax comes with “Is This America (Katrina 2005),” a haunting elegy obviously inspired by current events, but sounding like a delicate, deeply personal statement, rather than a political broadside. (Yes, it can be done.) Metheny’s playing sounds truly inspired and McBride’s arco solo is perfectly fitting.

Day Trip is at its bluesiest with the strutting “Calvin’s Keys,” evidently a tribute to the under-recorded guitarist, Calvin Keys, a veteran of the Jimmy Smith trio. Metheny also changes things up a little by breaking out the guitar synth for a jazz-rock excursion on “The Red One."

Metheny is jazz’s current guitar hero and his return to the trio format is certainly well worth hearing. This Metheny Trio plays at a consistently high level throughout Day Trip, but the CD may actually suffer from high expectations set by the guitarist’s last several recordings, including collaborations with Brad Mehldau and the extended suite The Way Up. Metheny will probably be playing the instant classic “Is This America” for years to come, but his other originals here are not quite as distinct and compelling. Still, Day Trip rewards repeated listening with many moments of dynamic group interplay.

The Jazz Score on I Want to Live!

Great movies with great music. That is what the MoMA’s Jazz Score retrospective series will be offering. I have taught many of these pictures in my jazz film class and will be previewing most closer to their MoMA run, but in light of Eliot Spitzer’s legal problems, Robert Wise’s I Want to Live! (trailer here) is unexpectedly timely now. An early, pivotal scene of Live takes on added relevance for referencing the Mann Act, which prohibits trafficking women across state lines, as is now well known to New York State residents.

Based on the actual criminal case of Barbara Graham (a.k.a. “Bloody Babs”), Live is sanitized to strongly suggest her innocence of the crime that sent her to the gas chamber. It features a fantastic jazz score composed by Johnny Mandel and performances by an all-star combo of Gerry Mulligan on baritone, Art Farmer on trumpet, Pete Jolly on piano, Frank Rosolino on trombone, Bud Shank on alto, Red Mitchell on Bass, and Shelley Manne on drums, who are even listed in the opening credit sequence. (Different artists recorded Mandel’s large ensemble themes.) One tune, “Black Nightgown,” would later become part of the band book for Mulligan’s Concert Jazz Band.

Graham, euphemistically called things like a “goodtime girl,” is first seen on screen sitting up in bed after perhaps some exertion. It is a great shot—perhaps the best entrance since Harry Lime in The Third Man. Shortly thereafter, vice comes knocking. “Now c’mon, let’s not make a federal case out of it,” says her “friend.” “It is a federal case—ever hear of the Mann Act?” chastises the flatfoot. However, Graham has seen a picture of her client’s family in his wallet and takes the fall for him. She thereby establishes her credentials as a “you-know-what” with a heart of gold and earns her first stint behind bars.

Even though Live completely sides with Graham, she still comes across as a difficult person to embrace. Susan Hayward plays Graham with complete conviction, for which she received her only Academy Award. It also boasts great supporting work from decidedly unglamorous character actors, like Simon Oakland as Ed Montgomery, the journalist who first demonizes Graham and then rallies to her defense. A note signed by Montgomery at the beginning and end of the film claims the screenplay was based on his stories and other primary sources.

In a twist of fate, Gerry Mulligan was sentenced on a drug charge by the same judge who condemned Graham to death, Charles W. Fricke. In his Chet Baker biography, Deep in a Dream, James Gavin writes:

“Fricke treated Mulligan kindly. When the saxophonist testified that the household pot was all his, the judge leaned over and whispered, ‘Son, you don’t want to say that.’ He ended up ignoring the marijuana charge but gave Mulligan six months in prison for possession of heroin—a light penalty, given the harshness of L.A.’s drug laws.” (p. 72)

Live might have taken factual liberties to support its indictment of the death penalty, but it is compelling cinema—one of the best examples of vérité-style film noir, with great music throughout. The entire I Want to Live! experience does offer up two object lessons Client Nine would have benefited from. First, pick up your “goodtime girls” after you arrive on a trip and not before you leave. Secondly, if a judge tells you to shut up, you should stop talking. It screens at the MoMA April 20th and 30th.

Playing the Changes

Playing the Changes: Milt Hinton’s Life in Stories and Photographs
By Milt Hinton, David Berger, and Holly Maxson
Vanderbilt University Press

His photographs have graced the walls of the Smithsonian, the Corcoran, and the Denver Art Museum. His bass can be heard on classics recordings by giants like Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, and Cab Calloway. Few jazz artists were as recorded as the studio stalwart, and fewer still did as much to document the music as did this intrepid photographer and interviewer. Milt Hinton’s dual role as participant and documenter of jazz history is richly celebrated in Playing the Changes, a lavish combination of memoir and illustrated photography book.

Though too modest to say so outright in his memoir, Milt “the Judge” Hinton was absolutely beloved by his fellow jazz musicians, particularly bassists. Bassist-vocalist Jay Leonhart always pays tribute to Hinton in his one man show, The Bass Lesson. The Academy Award nominated A Great Day in Harlem relied almost entirely on the photos taken by Hinton and the 8mm footage shot by his wife Mona for its original source material. His photography would also be collected in books and displayed in prestigious museums and galleries. Hinton writes of his dawning realization of the historical importance of his hobby:

“Some of the pioneers like Chu [Berry] and Jimmy Blanton were already gone, and some of the other greats were well on their way to early deaths. For some reason, I felt strongly about using my camera to capture the people and events from the jazz world that I was lucky enough to see. I guess I realized I was actually living through jazz history.” (p. 313)

In Changes, Hinton covers many career highlights, like his early years touring with Cab Calloway and playing on Billie Holiday’s final recording session. He also toured the Middle East with Pearl Bailey and her husband Louis Bellson on behalf of the U.S. State Department. One particularly noteworthy foreign trip was a gig in the Soviet Union at the party of Ara Oztemel, an Armand Hammer-like businessman and one-time jazz musician. Spending ten days in the USSR for a forty minute gig, Hinton was sought out by the local underground jazz musicians in a hotel dollar bar. Through his fast friends Hinton came to understand the precarious position of jazz musicians in 1972’s USSR:

“The government seemed to control all the music. Some guys who worked in the hotels told me they’d have to submit a list of tunes they wanted to play and then wait for approval. Evidently, there was a great deal of concern about playing foreign music.” (p. 277)

As a photographer, Hinton was less concerned with composing a shot than simply being prepared for a moment worth immortalizing. For instance, there are great shots of his Calloway band-mates sleeping on trains and busses. His photographs are remarkable for the ease of his captured subjects. Obviously his colleagues were just used to having Hinton and his camera around, but their trust was warranted. While his photography may not have the expressive passion of Francis Wolff’s, Hinton always seems to convey the essential humanity of his subjects—his photos of Holiday’s final session being an excellent example.

Changes is probably the jazz book of the year. In addition, to the photos (many of which are published here for the first time) and Hinton’s memoir (expanded from a previous addition to cover the final years of his life) Changes comes with a CD of Hinton in words and music, which really does give one a fuller sense of the man. Lovingly assembled by his friends Berger and Maxson, it is a fitting tribute to an artist who supported the music in so many ways.

Love Songs

It’s a simple title, but Love Songs carries a good measure of irony. Featuring the songs—some original, some rewritten specifically for the film—by French pop-rock composer Alex Beaupain, director Christophe Honoré’s decidedly European movie musical is a frank examination of troubled relationships, opening in New York tomorrow (trailer here).

A Parisian couple, Ismaël and Julie, have opened up their relationship into a threesome with his coworker Alice, which (no surprise) leads to great stress between them. (Evidently Dr. Drew is not heard in Paris.) Musical numbers do indeed accompany scenes of Ismaël and Julie’s disintegrating union, performed convincingly by a cast with little prior musical background, much like the cast of Tim Burton’s Sweeney Todd.

If things were not dark enough, tragedy strikes in the second act. At the risk of being a spoiler, let’s just say the threesome has no future. What follows is truly an adult musical, involving bereavement, survivor guilt, sex, and an unexpected homosexual relationship, again all expressed in song.

Love Songs is an adult film in the sophisticated sense of the term. The scenes involving the threesome are not played for pruriency. Instead, they focus on the awkward logistical details. As a result, it is painfully clear throughout that this arrangement will only cause further pain and resentment between the original couple.

Beaupain’s score has a decidedly downbeat vibe that is understandable given the nature of the story. At their best, his songs have a catchy melody and uncomfortably pointed lyrics. A tune like “Je N’Aime Que Toi” makes Company sound like a bubblegum romance. Many of the arrangements were shrewdly tailored to the performers, like “Si Tard,” a beyond the grave lament given an almost speak-on-pitch treatment. Collectively though, the uniformity of theme and mood often blurs the distinction between many of the tunes.

The characters of Love Songs are most certainly human, but not particularly likeable. Clotilde Hesme’s Alice comes across as the smartest and perhaps the healthiest. Conversely, Louis Garrel’s Ismaël appears immature and frankly annoying. That his personal relationships could be troubled is more than believable. Ludivne Sagnier as the reserved Julie probably gets the most memorable song and acquits herself well.

There is no question Honoré is an able director. He deftly stages the musical numbers and uses contemporary Paris as an effective backdrop to the story. While tremendous talent went into Love Songs, its difficult characters and their painful decisions are hard to embrace. Ultimately, it is a great sounding, great looking musical, with a cold heart. It opens tomorrow in New York at the IFC Film Center.

Polonium Friday

“Who lost Russia?” That is a question that will soon be asked with increasing regularity. The appointment of Vladimir Putin as Prime Minister in 1999 essentially ended Russia’s experiment with democracy, which he soon replaced with a Stalinist personality cult. The assassination of dissident Russian intelligence officer Alexander Litvinenko, via a radioactive Polonium-210 mickey slipped into his tea, served as a wake-up call to many of the nature of the Putin regime and would inspire Andrei Nekrasov’s damning documentary Poisoned By Polonium (French trailer here), opening in New York this Friday.

Initially an interview subject, Litvinenko became Nekrasov’s friend. Both had something in common: conflict with Russian/Soviet intelligence services. As a student, Kekrasov had been persecuted and expelled for not informing on classmates to the KGB. Litvinenko was the dissident whistleblower who had publicly accused the succeeding FSB of widespread corruption. (In fact, the film explains the Soviet KGB simply morphed into the Russian FSB, with no distinction made in the history of the two on its official website.)

Much of Nekrasov’s footage of Litvinenko is intimate, to the point of eeriness. Early in Polonium, the dissident looks into the camera and says: “If anything should happen to me, I beg you to show this tape to the world.” While there was independent television in Russia, Litvinenko did appear on air to accuse the FSB of committing extortion and assassinations with the foreknowledge and consent of Putin. Using his late friend’s information as a starting point, Nekrasov connects the dots between Putin and SPAG, a shady German conglomerate with ties to the Russian mob, the Stasi, and the Columbian drug cartels. He also shines a light on the French government’s collaboration with the Putin regime—not exactly a shocker there.

However, the Russian war on Chechnya looms largest in Polonium’s catalogue of Kremlin crimes. We hear the former FSB Colonel and other critics, like journalist Anna Politkovskaya (who was conveniently executed in her apartment elevator mere weeks before the Polonium incident), pointedly accuse the government of complicity in the 1999 apartment bombing and the Nord-Ost Moscow Theater hostage crisis, which were used as provocations for military action against the breakaway republic.

In truth, one of the more awkward sequences of Polonium is an attempt to explain his deathbed conversion to Islam as a sort of ecumenical spiritual impulse, with Nekrasov taking great pains to distinguish Caucasus Islam from more virulent Middle Eastern variants. While we can never really know Litvinenko’s motivations during those excruciatingly painful final honors, it seems more plausible that his conversion was simply his final expression of solidarity with the Chechen people he had come to make common cause with.

If the occasion of Polonium were not so tragic—the death of a friend—one would argue Nekrasov was remarkably fortunate in the scenes he was able to document. After an interview, one of Litvinenko’s killers actually offers the filmmaker a cup of tea (thanks, but no thanks). Again, maybe not so fortunate but certainly effective, we see Nekrasov discover his home has been mysteriously ransacked after he starts Polonium.

Nekrasov seems to represent the left wing of Putin’s opposition, so he deserves credit for including a wide spectrum of criticism of the current regime. Particularly notable is some refreshingly insightful commentary from philosopher André Glucksmann, who cautions critics of Putin’s crony capitalism to give proper credit to the Russian capitalists also struggling for free expression and democracy.

Polonium is by necessity a mixed bag of footage, but Nekrasov cuts it together remarkably effectively. At times the film is flat-out chilling, as when Putin cold-bloodedly tells reporters: “Mr. Litvinenko is unfortunately not Lazarus.” Altogether it is a cold, hard, slap-in-the-face warning about the Putin’s neo-Soviet regime, yet highly watchable throughout. In his footage, Nekrasov shows an interesting visual sense and captures some extraordinarily telling moments on film. This is an important documentary, well worth seeking out. It opens Friday in New York at the Quad, hopefully rolling out to more cities soon thereafter.

(Thanks to La Russophobe for sharing this review with their readers.)