Iraq Doc: Brothers at War

After they screened Jake Rademacher’s debut documentary, Gary Sinise agreed to sign-on as an executive producer and John Ondrasik of Five for Fighting was inspired to write a song based on its central characters. Yet despite the considerable star-power bestowed on Rademacher’s very independent film, New York is not currently part of its planned opening weekend. Too bad for the deep blue City, because Rademacher’s Brothers at War (trailer here) is a deeply personal and humane examination of the Iraq War, as well as its impact on both the American soldiers fighting there and the families they left behind. It opens this Friday, largely in markets near large military bases.

With two younger brothers serving in Iraq, the political has become the personal for actor Jake Rademacher. Wanting to better understand their deliberate decision to serve in a time of war, Rademacher went to Iraq with a bare-bones camera crew to answer the Capra-esque question of why they fight. Yet, Brothers is first and foremost about family with all else being secondary.

Though his youngest brother Sgt. Joe Rademacher is home between deployments when the filmmaker Rademacher arrives in Iraq, the middle brother, Capt. Isaac Rademacher, is happy to embed him on missions that will give him a representative taste of the Iraqi War experience. If not directly in harm’s way, Rademacher was certainly within harm’s reach, eventually filming a live fire fight and an IED (Improvised Explosive Device) attack. When the Captain is unexpectedly transferred to the states for special training, Jake finds himself in the unlikely position of being the only Rademacher brother then in the war zone.

Rademacher’s film can honestly be called even-handed, resisting blanket assumptions about the state of Iraq and the men serving there. Some regions of the country are shown to still be quite dangerous, while others appear relatively safe. We see the Staff Sgt. in charge of training Iraqi troops express pride in their performance under fire, but ambushes and IEDs remain a fact of life.

Many soldiers do indeed express eloquent patriotism when asked about their mission, like Spc. Christopher Mackay, who tells Rademacher matter-of-factly: “I’d give my life for America any day. Wouldn’t think twice.” However, another enlisted man is more ambivalent on the mission and conflicted about his pending re-enlistment deadline. Still, he agrees with his father’s assessment that “the caliber of the person you’re going to be working with in the military is better than the caliber of the person you’re going to meet ninety percent of the time anywhere else in the work world.”

At times, Brothers packs a real emotional punch. Surprisingly, Rademacher’s most moving interview is not with a serviceman, but with Ali, an Iraqi translator working with the troops. He has lost family, including a brother, to the insurgents in retaliation for helping the American forces, but he still expresses idealism and hope for the future.

Brothers is neither rah-rah boosterism or propaganda of any stripe, but honest filmmaking. The men serving with the Rademachers are allowed to speak for themselves, unfiltered by any editorial preconceptions. Rademacher is also brutally honest depicting his own fraternal relations, showing the open tensions between him and his youngest brother. Throughout it all, viewers will become heavily invested in the Rademacher brothers as characters in a very human drama. Truthful and complex, Brothers is a very compelling documentary that should not be dismissed by partisans on either side of the war debate. It opens this Friday in select markets, including the Landmark E Street in Washington, D.C., expanding to more cities in successive weeks.

NYICFF: Azur & Asmar

There is something eternally compelling about the archetype of the two young rival princes that crosses cultural borders. French animated filmmaker Michel Ocelot is also one for crossing cultural divides, as he does with his latest film, mixing elements of Cain and Abel fraternal competition with the heroic quest of epic fantasy. Ocelot also adds a pronounced message of racial tolerance to Azur & Asmar (trailer here), which screened at this year’s New York International Children’s Film Festival, and is currently in limited release across the country.

Azur is white, Asmar is black, but they are both raised by the same woman. Azur calls her Nanny, Asmar calls her Mother. Together they sit enthralled by her stories of her native land (a fantastical realm modeled on North Africa) and the captive Djinn Fairy, until his absentee father suddenly sends him to boarding school, cruelly casting out Asmar and his mother.

When Azur completes his education, he spurns the world of his waspy father, setting off on a quest to Asmar’s native land, in hopes of freeing the Djinn Fairy and thereby restoring the kingdom’s spiritual health. However, after roughly landing on-shore, he finds himself despised by the locals for his “unlucky” blue eyes.

The racial discrimination endured by the blonde, blue-eyed Azur probably sounds more heavy-handed than it actually plays out on-screen. He does find a measure of social acceptance once he reunites with her former Nanny, now a respected pillar of the community. Of course his rivalry with Asmar has only deepened with time and will come to the fore as they both set off to liberate the Djinn Fairy.

Ocelot’s animation is quite distinctive, mixing both 2D and 3D techniques. His lush, Byzantine backgrounds are truly striking, but the facial features of his characters are essentially flat and inexpressive, which is a drawback. In fact, both princes are rather dull figures, though the fish-out-of-water Azur is fleshed out far more than the resentful Asmar. Easily the strongest personality to emerge from his fable is, in fact, the spirited young Princess Chamsous Sabah. Of course, such matters of characterization should only concern adults in the audience. A&A has more than enough exotic adventure and fantastical creatures to keep younger viewers thoroughly rapt. It even ends on an Aesopian note that gives the story a satisfying twist.

A&A is an elegantly crafted story with undeniably good intentions. While Ocelot takes the time to point out a mosque, church, and synagogue, peacefully coexisting under the night’s sky, in the reality the North Africa and Middle East which inspired him, such tolerance is largely as outlandish as his giant red lion. At least it looks beautiful on-screen, like the rest of his film. It is currently playing in San Francisco at the Landmark Opera and opens in Grand Rapids at the Urban Institute for Contemporary Arts this Friday.

NYICFF: Circus School

Gold Medalist He Kexin became the face of the 2008 Olympics when contradictory reports regarding her age raised doubts whether she was old enough to compete. Of course, the Olympic committee unquestioningly accepted China’s documentation at face value. Would the Chinese actually train girls so young for international competition? The answer is clearly yes, at least in the case of their acrobatic schools, like the one featured in Guo Jing and Ke Dingding’s documentary Circus School (trailer here), which screened at this year’s New York International Children’s Film Festival.

At least the Shanghai Circus School is not coy about their students’ ages. While most of the girls Guo and Ke follow are between nine and twelve, the youngest enrolled there are six. Most of those students are in Circus School because they have washed out of more prestigious training programs. At Shanghai, the pressure will only get worse for nine year-old trapeze student Xu Lu, who emerges as the tiny rooting interest of the documentary.

Cheng, the principal, selects the trapeze and triple handstand teams as the school’s best hopes in an upcoming acrobatic tournament, despite Xu Lu’s coach deriding her as a “disaster.” However, it is the triple hand-standers who meltdown in training, resulting in an old school Maoist public dressing-down for their disgraced coaching team. Nobody at the Shanghai Circus School seems to be having fun, especially including the faculty.

Against expectations, Xu and the trapeze team steadily improve, but it is a hard process to watch, as her small frame is thrown around and repeatedly dropped (into safety nets, but not without wear and tear). In a particularly painful episode, she is slammed against an iron handrail during the morning practice for the tournament pre-selection. “Such a little girl” one bystander remarks as she is carried out of the auditorium, crying in obvious pain. Yet that evening, she dutifully performs an understandably rocky routine.

At times, Circus School is frankly difficult to watch. The forced stretching the directors capture more closely resembles torture than healthy exercises. The sight of very young children crying is quite common in the documentary. One wonders if it might be too intense for younger viewers, even though they would readily identify with the young subjects.

Guo and Ke eschew narration and talking head interviews, simply filming events as they unfold, fly-on-the-wall style, and presenting the results to the audience unfiltered. Unless the filmmakers were consciously and deliberately biased in the editing process, the principal and faculty can only blame themselves for coming across as cruel taskmasters on-screen. While Circus School is destined for life on PBS, the longer festival cut really should be seen. While frequently wince-inducing, it opens an unforgettable window into the lives of its diminutive subjects.

NYICFF: Son of a Lion

Delivering a bag of bullets and a chunk of hashish to his grandfather is a typical errand for young Niaz. Both products are very definitely a fact of life in the Northwest Pashtun area of Pakistan, realistically rendered in Australian director Benjamin Gilmour’s Son of a Lion (trailer here), which screened at the New York International Children’s Film Festival, as part of this year’s special series: Children and War.

Niaz’s father, Sher Alam Afridi, is a former mujahideen fighter who needs little prompting to tell listeners he was one of only thirty fighters to survive a Soviet attack, out of a group of two hundred. He has specific plans for his son, which does not include a formal education. At least, he will learn an in-demand trade working in his father gun repair workshop.

Images of guns dominate Gilmour’s presentation of Pakistan, but the level of gun safety practiced would horrify any card-carrying member of the NRA. The shockingly irresponsible practice of test firing into the air is a common occurrence, with more thought given to collecting the spent cartridges than worrying about where the bullets might land. The grim reality that what goes up must come down eventually becomes painfully clear to Niaz’s clan.

Niaz Khan Shinwari, the child actor acting playing Niaz Afridi is quite convincing as a young man torn between family loyalty and ambition for a better life. Unlike the unfortunate young actor in The Kite Runner, nothing untoward happens to his character on-screen which might threaten his safety in real life (although he is propositioned by a sexual predator on the streets of Peshwar).

The Pakistan of Lion is a scary place, for some reasons younger audiences might not fully understand. Afridi and his colleagues traffic in the most virulent anti-American rumors and 9-11 conspiracy theories imaginable (which of course absolve Bin Laden, whom they then contradictorily praise for standing up to the Americans), without hearing any word of contradiction. However, they should be able to appreciate the central father-son conflict that lies at the heart of the film.

Though Gilmour singles out Pakistan’s gun culture for rebuke, it seems to be more of a symptom of deeper societal problems, which require real education—that which fosters genuine understanding and tolerance. Quite successful at transporting audiences to such an isolated corner of the world—physically and ideologically, Lion is worth screening should the opportunity arise. It was an interesting selection for the NYICFF, which is now in its second weekend and continues next Saturday with more family friendly afternoon screenings.

On-Stage: The Man in the Newspaper Hat

There can be no more problematic figure in American literature than Ezra Pound. In 1949, he became the inaugural recipient of the Bollingen Prize for poetry, administered by the Library of Congress. This proved understandably controversial at the time, given that Pound had been committed to St. Elizabeth’s mental hospital and still had a charge of treason hanging over his head. Not only was Pound unrepentant for his wartime broadcasts from Mussolini’s Italy, his work cited by the Bollingen judges contained undeniably anti-Semitic passages. Such was the vexing Pound that poet Elizabeth Bishop regularly called on as part of her unofficial duties with the Library of Congress, inspiring her poem “Visits to St. Elizabeth.” That poem in turn would inspire playwright Hayley Heaton’s The Man in the Newspaper Hat, currently running at the 45th Street Theatre.

Mad genius might be a reasonably fitting description of Pound. As the audience enters the theater, he is already on-stage working with a silent fervor that approaches the obsessive. His hospital room is clearly the product of a disordered mind, with papers strewn everywhere and writing cluttering the walls. Into this rat’s nest Bishop periodically ventures, hoping to see the latest output from one of America’s greatest modernist poets. What she usually gets is a barrage of anti-Semitic outbursts, sexually explicit insults, condescension, and paranoia.

In Heaton’s play there is no question Pound remains an unabashed Fascist sympathizer. He frequently uses hateful slurs for Jews, suggesting they are sub-human. However, the final scene paints him as a fundamentally lonely and possibly delusional man, probably humanizing him more than he deserves. He also benefits from Angus Hepburn’s riveting performance. While it is at times a showy role, Hepburn’s quiet moments fully flesh out the troublesome figure. He creates a portrait of a man of obvious intelligence, but whose idiosyncrasies have given way to obsession, perhaps even madness.

As Bishop, Anne Fizzard has a more thankless role, largely requiring her to be appalled and unnerved by Pound’s ugly rants. However, she ties it all together at the end with an effective reading of Bishop’s poem, illustrating how aptly Heaton picked up on the language and images of her verse:

“This is a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is there, is flat,
for the widowed Jew in the newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
waltzing the length of a weaving board
by the silent sailor
that hears his watch
that ticks the time
of the tedious man
that lies in the house of bedlam . . .”

While Newspaper hints at some remorse on Pound’s part, at least for his caustic treatment of Bishop, it is unlikely to radically alter opinions about the man of bedlam. He was an acknowledged giant of American letters, but that is appropriately difficult to hear in Heaton’s dialogue (of which the highly sensitive theater patrons should be strongly cautioned). Short but intense, Newspaper is a challenging look at a devilishly difficult man to take full stock of. Now open, it runs until April 1st.

On-Stage: Figaro/Figaro

Playwrights Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais and Ödön von Horváth both lived very eventful lives. After the French Revolution, de Beaumarchais would successfully endure a brief incarceration and several years in exile. The Austrian-Hungarian Horváth however, would die in Paris, an exile from his Nazi-dominated homeland. Both men also shared a literary character: Figaro, the Barber of Seville, created by de Beaumarchais. His three Figaro plays would become operas, including Mozart’s ever popular Marriage of Figaro. In the 1930’s, Horváth penned Figaro Gets a Divorce, a sequel which directly reflected the contemporary conditions in Europe. These products of radically different times are juxtaposed to interesting effect in Figaro/Figaro, Eric Overmyer’s adaptation and merger of de Beaumarchais’s Marriage and Horváth’s Divorce, now running on the New York stage in a (Re) Directions Theater Company production.

Opening with the earlier Marriage of Figaro, the former barber is back in the service of Count Almaviva. Figaro eagerly anticipates his marriage to Susanna, the maid-servant to the Countess. Unfortunately, Almaviva has grown bored with his wife and intends to invoke his lordly privileges with Susanna before her wedding night. A gifted schemer, Figaro is determined to foil his plans. As events unfold, there are a number of near misses as people run in and out of rooms, slam doors, and jump out of windows. The comedy is broad and energy is manic, but all’s well that ends well. Or does it?

As Act II opens, per Horváth, revolution has toppled Almaviva and the rest of the aristocracy. Figaro and Susanna lead their master and mistress across the border to relative safety, but it soon becomes clear they view the revolution from radically different perspectives. Figaro is inclined to forgive the excesses of the revolutionaries out of a feeling of class solidarity, whereas Susanna shares Almaviva’s Burkean revulsion at the reign of terror sweeping their country. This seems to be no mere difference of opinion, but a fundamental clash of values, threatening to permanently rupture their relationship.

In F/F, it certainly seems to be more fun to live under a feudal lord than in a modern world filled with isms. Though the more challenging second act offers some satirical laughs, they are nothing like the free-spirited romantic comedy of the first act (play). The difference in tone is also reflected in the incidental music, played on-stage in the style of John Doyle’s Sondheim revivals, by actors also featured in supporting roles. In the first act, they often quote from the Figaro related operas by Mozart, Rossini, and Massenet—sometimes quite humorously. In the second act, their themes are more influenced by jazz, the music of the 1930’s and modernism in general.

While each recurring character changes drastically from one act to the next, Ralph Petrarca’s terrific performance makes Almaviva’s transition from blustering heavy to tragically dispossessed nobleman a smoothly credible character arc. By contrast, the sudden manifestation of Figaro’s class consciousness is a bit jarring.

If the intriguing F/F does not literally have something for everyone, it certainly covers a lot of bases, including boudoir farce, political allegory, and some clever musical interludes courtesy of arranger/composer Tom Berger. Deliberately uneven in terms of style and tone, it is an odd, but fascinating combination, notably featuring a great performance from Petrarca. It plays at the 14th Street Y Theatre through March 22nd.

(Photo: Ryan Baxter)

NYICFF: New Boy

It is a film based on the work of Roddy Doyle, bestselling author of The Commitments, which many probably have not heard of, despite receiving an Academy Award nomination this year. That is because it is a dreaded short subject, one of those unheralded awards that are dispensed with early in the Oscar broadcast. New Yorkers now have another chance to see writer-director Steph Green’s New Boy, based on a Doyle short story, at the New York International Children’s Film Festival, as part of their second program of short films.

It is young Joseph’s first day in a new school and it is conspicuously obvious he is not Irish. Derisively called “Live Aid” by one of the school’s Hellions, he is clearly in for a long day. On the plus side, the feisty class brain, Hazel O’Hara, clearly takes a real shine to him. In between class-work and standing up to bullies, Joseph flashes back to his tragic final days in Africa, when the war and strife of the outside world roughly intrudes into the loving shelter of his school.

Olutunji Ebun-Cole and Sinead Maguire display enormous screen charisma, as Joseph and Hazel respectively. Spending an entire feature-length film with them might be enough to induce diabetes, but in New Boy’s brief but diverting eleven minutes, their charm is undeniable. While the characters of Joseph’s would-be tormentors and clueless new teacher are not nearly as sharply drawn, New Boy’s brevity probably necessitates a certain reliance on stock characters.

Cinematographer P.J. Dillon’s rich, warm visual style serves the heartfelt film quite well, particularly during the light saturated flashback scenes. Although the narrative does not really hold any earth-shattering surprises, the final payoff is reasonably satisfying. The real attraction in New Boy though is its winning lead performance from Ebun-Cole and Maguire’s effective supporting turn. If not as rich a film as Toyland¸ the 2009 Oscar winner for live-action short, New Boy is an entertaining little film, which screens at the NYICFF tomorrow, Sunday, and Saturday the 14th.

Maria Larsson’s Everlasting Moments

Were it not for Ingmar Bergman, Jan Troell would probably be celebrated as Sweden’s preeminent director, based on the multiple Academy Award nominations for The Immigrants and The New Land, his two picture epic often described as the Scandinavian Gone with the Wind. Troell’s films have a distinctly Swedish sensibility, telling sweeping historical stories with austerely reserved characters. Such is the case with his latest film, Everlasting Moments (trailer here), depicting a turn of the Twentieth Century Swedish woman who takes a measure solace in photography, which opens today in New York.

Maria Larsson’s husband Sigfrid is a brute. His hulking size often gets him work on the docks, but the local pub is more likely to see his wages than Maria. When complains, he responds with physical beatings, but her rigid father refuses to help her leave the abusive relationship. One day she wins a camera, which she promptly sets off to sell. However, Sebastian Pedersen, the genial owner of the nearest photography studio convinces her to experiment with it for a little while before selling it. When she returns with her first attempts, he is immediately impressed by her eye.

Over the course of Everlasting, the Larsson family suffers every trial and tribulation imaginable, with much of the trouble coming from their father, including serial philandering, chronic unemployment, military service, violent criminal activity with his radical trade union, and eventual incarceration. Sig Larsson might be irresponsible, but he is certainly potent, necessitating a mob of young actors to play the ever burgeoning Larsson brood over the years. At the center of the storm is Maria Larsson, played with dignified restraint by Maria Heiskanen, who implies much but says little.

Everlasting is best during the closely observed moments between Heiskanen and Jesper Christensen as Pedersen, capturing the furtive glances and incidental touches held slightly too long. Troell also deserves credit for not overplaying the clichéd feminist artist angle. In truth, Pedersen thinks far more of her talents than Larsson does. She is even able to put her camera away for years at a time, to concentrate on her family’s survival.

Clocking-in at well over two hours, Everlasting is quite deliberately paced, so audiences should be prepared to settle in for the long haul. Troell, who often serves as his own D.P., splits those duties with cinematographer Misha Gavrjusjov on Everlasting, creating a warm, earthy look for the film. Troell is a painterly filmmaker, whose own sense of composition matches that of his subject. Although it is often grimly naturalistic, Troell captures some moments of truth and beauty that linger in the memory. It opens today in New York at the Sunshine and Lincoln Plaza.

Three Directors, One City: Tokyo!

There must be something about the city of Tokyo. Some of the coolest people I know are Japanese musicians living in New York. Yet, Tokyo is often represented in pop culture as a lonely city. Indeed, it is portrayed by three up-and-coming international directors as a city of profound alienation in the fantastical new anthology film, Tokyo! (trailer here), which opens Friday in New York.

Like New York (except more so), real estate is an expensive nightmare in Tokyo. In “Interior Design,” directed by Michel Gondrey, of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind fame, the unemployed Hiroko and her filmmaker boyfriend Akira consider themselves fortunate to have a place to crash when they move to the city. However, sharing a confined space with Hiroko’s old school chum and her boyfriend quickly frays Hiroko’s relationship with Akira and her friendship with her host. While Akira takes satisfaction from his bizarre schlock, Hiroko lacks respectable ambition. Suddenly, her social alienation begins to manifest itself physically, in the tradition of Franz Kafka, which is frankly disturbing to watch on-screen. It is an unsettling start to the film, thanks to the vulnerability of Ayako Fujitani’s performance and the ambivalence of its conclusion.

In a sense, Leos Carax’s “Merde” is familiar territory for Japanese cinema: the monster movie, but with a difference. This is Godzilla re-written by Dostoevsky—a feral Notes from Underground. Merde is a disheveled madman living deep in the city’s sewers. A rabid misanthrope, when he terrorizes Tokyo’s streets, he targets the most vulnerable and least offensive: women, children, the elderly, and the handicapped. When finally captured, the French advocate Maître Voland mysteriously appears to defend him, bearing a strong resemblance to the accused wild man and supposedly speaking his savage tongue. Like a Ramsey Clark or Jacques Vergès, he defends a monster by turning his trial into a circus. Clever and compelling, Merde bears comparison to The Dark Knight’s Joker, both of whom just want to see the world burn.

If anyone personifies alienation, it is the so-called Hikikomori, young acutely withdrawn shut-ins thought to be a particularly Japanese phenomenon by some social scientists. "Shaking Tokyo," directed by Bong Joon-Ho (best known for the Korean horror film The Host), takes the audience into the closed world of a Hikikomori, who has almost no human contact whatsoever. He must have food delivered, but he steadfastly avoids eye contact when it arrives. However, when the pizza delivery girl (played by Yu Aoi) mysteriously collapses during an earthquake, he cannot help but take notice of her. Bong’s oblique camera angles and claustrophobic environment nicely convey the neurotic perspective of his protagonist. The extent of the Hikikomori’s anti-social compulsions and their seductiveness to those potentially sharing the inclination is actually quite frightening, but Bong wraps it all up on a slightly hopeful note, without sacrificing the integrity of his story.

Whether it is because they suffer from deep-seated emotional trauma or are running for their lives from wild-eyed Frenchmen, human connections are maddeningly difficult to forge in Tokyo! Often visually striking, there is also a unifying undercurrent of sadness to the picture that makes it one of the more consistent anthology films, both in terms of style and substance. It opens Friday in New York at the Sunshine Theater.

Carlos Saura’s Fados

In what might be called reverse cultural colonialism, many musicologists consider the Brazilian fado a product of Brazilian popular musical forms, re-imported back into Portugal, where it perhaps mixed with lingering Moorish influences. The traditional fado is often described with terms of wistful longing, telling stories of love and loss among the Portuguese working class. It is passionate music that captured the fascination of Spanish director Carlos Saura, ultimately inspiring Fados (trailer here), the third film of his triptych of musical performance documentaries (following Tango and Flamenco), which opens in New York this Friday.

Old school fados essentially consist of a vocalist (singing with eyes shut), while backed by a small ensemble, usually including a Portuguese guitar (resembling the oud) and a Spanish or Classical guitar. However, Saura defines fado broadly enough to cover some very diverse groups, even extending to the Hip Hop-oriented NBC, SP & Wilson. He also includes some purely instrumental performances, like “Variações,” a virtuoso duet between Ricardo Rocha and Jaime Santos, on Portuguese and Spanish guitars, respectively.

While firmly identifying the film with Portugal (specifically Lisbon), Saura assembles an international line-up, including probably the two greatest standouts of the film: Lila Downs of Mexico, and Mariza from the former Portuguese colony of Mozambique. On her solo feature, “Moçambique,” Mariza exudes charisma as her voice rings out clear as a bell. Downs (often breaking with the tradition of clenched eyes), passionately sings “Foi Na Travessa Da Palha,” featuring quite suggestive lyrics and some interesting instrumentation, including the harp and a tenor saxophonist, who even takes a brief but jazzy solo.

For fado novices, the biggest names in Saura’s film will be Chico Buarque and Caetano Veloso—two acknowledged giants of Brazilian music. In what is arguably the centerpiece of the film, Buarque performs “Fado Tropical” in front of archival video of the Carnation demonstrations, explicitly linking the Portuguese and Brazilian authoritarian experiences. For Veloso’s performance, Saura wisely keeps it simple, allowing the Brazilian legend to play his own guitar accompaniment as he sings “Extraña Forma de Vida,” a lament perfectly in keeping with the fado spirit.

While fado was divorced from dancing by the moral dictates of the old regime, Saura takes some liberties reconnecting the two, commissioning some striking choreography that occasionally threatens to overshadow the music. One of the best dance numbers is “Fado Batido,” is essentially an instrumental choreography showcase from the exuberant Brigada Victor Jara ensemble.

Saura and his cinematographers, José Luis López Linares and the frequent Claude Chabrol collaborator Eduardo Serra, create striking visuals through their dramatic use of warm, vibrant colors, reflected images, and light and shadow. There are no droning talking-heads to be heard, just musical performances, respectfully and artfully filmed by Saura. Oddly, its only shortcoming is that it is sometimes frustratingly difficult for the uninitiated to identify the lesser known artists and titles. (I suppose that is what the internet is for.) Elegantly crafted, Fados is a rich experience for eye and ear that ought to win converts for this uniquely Portuguese music. It opens Friday in New York at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema.

The Berimbau Blues

Delta Berimbau Blues
By Chuck Bernstein

It started with the late great Shelly Manne. When Chuck Bernstein heard his friend and fellow jazz drummer perform on the berimbau, a single-stringed traditional Brazilian instrument, he was immediately intrigued. Simply finding a berimbau proved to be quite a trick, but it was the epiphany linking the Brazilian instrument to its distant cousin, the so-called “diddley bows” or rudimentary bowed wires of early country blues that directly inspired Bernstein’s latest CD, Delta Berimbau Blues.

Bernstein is probably best known as the drummer in the Monk’s Music Trio (MMT), a Bay Area combo dedicated to interpreting the compositions of Thelonious Monk. While Bernstein once integrated the Berimbau into a MMT arrangement, with DBB he travels deep into the delta for a blues session, by way of Brazil and the African Diaspora. Through his special tuning and custom-treated bow, Bernstein proves the berimbau’s natural kinship with blues slide guitar, as on the downright spooky opening title track, recorded with guitarist Greg Douglass (formerly of the Steve Miller Band).

Such pairings of blues guitar with the drone-like sound of the berimbau make for the strongest tracks of DBB, like the gently melodic “All Your Desires,” featuring the lead guitar of Paul Ledo and the rhythm guitar of Brazilian Ricardo Peixoto. Particularly effective are “Drop D” and “Kelley Blues,” Bernstein’s eerie standout duets with “Sister” Debbie Spies.

While Bernstein’s solo tracks and duets with percussion certainly convey a primordial blues sensibility, they all have a somewhat similar raga-like sound and do not really stand out from each other. Here it just seems like the berimbau benefits from the presence of a strong foil. Jazz trombonist Roswell Rudd certainly qualifies as that, lending some gut-bucket to “Plunger in the Funk.” “Contenda” also has a pronounced jazz vibe, featuring the tenor saxophone of Robert Kyle, the longtime music director for blues singer Linda Hopkins, and seventeen year-old Brazilian guitarist Ian Farquini. DBB concludes with another Douglass duet on the appealingly relaxed “Flight of the Golden Dragon,” that is a surprisingly accessible track by any standard of measure.

It is always interested to hear a jazz musician take a fresh direction, and Bernstein certainly does that here. Overall the results are quite rewarding. While it might sound like a novelty recording for the Martin Denny set, many tracks—particularly the blues guitar collaborations—have an immediacy and vitality that is legitimately compelling.

Gene Tierney in Leave Her to Heaven

Gene Tierney was the ultimate Hollywood femme fatale. One glimpse of her portrait was enough to bewitch Dana Andrews’ hard-boiled police detective in Otto Preminger’s 1944 classic Laura. The next year, Cornel Wilde would fall for her hard during a chance encounter, but would soon rue that fateful day in John Stahl’s Leave Her to Heaven (trailer here), which opens this Friday at the Film Forum, in a newly restored 35M print.

When author Richard Harland notices the beautiful Ellen Berent reading his latest novel on a train to New Mexico, his attempts to charm her seem to fall woefully short. However, she sees a resemblance between him and her late father and before you can say “Sigmund Freund” Berent has dumped her fiancé and announced their engagement (much to Harland’s surprise). This would be the second film in which Gene Tierney breaks off an engagement to Vincent Price, but he takes it much harder here as District Attorney-candidate Russell Quinton, than as the social climbing adventurer Shelby Carpenter in Laura. In fact, Quinton remains under Ellen’s toxic spell, setting up a wildly over-the-top courtroom climax that frankly makes no legal sense, but comes far too late in the saga for viewers to be concerned with such trifling details.

It seems safe to say Berent has father issues. “There’s nothing wrong with Ellen,” her mother explains, “It’s just that she loves too much.” However, when Berent shifts the focus of her obsessive attention from her father to Harland, her jealousy starts to manifest itself in disturbing behavior. While outwardly angelic, she will sacrifice anyone who could conceivably come between her and Harland, most certainly including his endearing younger brother Danny, currently undergoing extensive physical rehabilitation for an unspecified disability.

At times, Leave is laugh out loud outrageous, approaching perilously close to camp, as Tierney unrepentantly chews the scenery, in the tradition of Bette Davis and Joan Crawford. She might be hot, but at heart, she is a stone-cold sociopath, whose manipulations are vastly entertaining. While the film boasts a great supporting cast, including Jeanne Crain as her pure-hearted adopted sister and Ray Collins (whose credits include Citizen Kane and Perry Mason) as the family lawyer, it is Tierney’s film. She is an amoral force of nature, but with a hint of vulnerability that nearly captures our rooting interest (considering how pathetic Harland turns out to be).

Leave has many critical champions, such as Martin Scorsese, but they are often at a loss to categorize its genre. Terms like “Technicolor Film Noir” are often bandied about, given its vibrant colors and wide open spaces. Indeed, Leon Shamroy’s cinematography gives it a big, bold look and the set design of the New Mexico ranch could be described as western baroque. More than anything, Leave is high melodrama that takes perverse glee in its scandals, carrying the audience along with it. Ultimately, the film is just great fun, having survived long enough as a guilty pleasure to now be considered a classic of Hollywood’s golden age. It screens at Film Forum for a week, starting this Friday (3/6).

12 (Angry Russian Men)

In 2006, Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya was assassinated in her apartment building in what was widely considered retribution for her investigative reporting on the human rights abuses committed by the Russian military and the Putin-backed authorities in Chechnya. Her killers have yet to be brought to justice. Such background is helpful to fully appreciate Nikita Mikhalkov’s Russian adaptation of Reginald Rose’s 12 Angry Men, in which a Chechen teenager is on trial for the murder of his step-father, a Russian military officer. One of last year’s Oscar nominees for best foreign language film, Mikhalkov’s 12 (trailer here), opens Wednesday in New York.

The trial has gone poorly for the accused Chechen and his fate now rests in the hands of twelve men, eleven of whom are anxious to simply be done with the matter. There is of course one holdout. The lone dissenting juror—the Henry Fonda character in Sidney Lumet’s classic 1957 film—is now a wealthy Russian engineer who initially claims to just be troubled by his fellow jurors’ undue haste to convict. However, as he begins sway fellow jurors, it becomes clear he harbors very specific doubts regarding the prosecution’s supposedly open-and-shut case.

The engineer’s main nemesis is a xenophobic and anti-Semitic cab driver who responds to the engineer’s reasonable objections with bullying tactics. This works with weaker jurors, but not with a Caucasusian surgeon, who schools the cabbie in the art of knife-wielding during a particularly riveting scene. Most jurors duly take the spotlight in turn for their moment of dramatic revelation. Some offer non-sequiturs that seem to only have meaning for their characters, while others are dramatically on-point, yet with considerable economy, Mikhalkov and his fellow screen-writers Alexander Novototsky-Vlasov and Vladimir Moisseenko fully flesh out at least ten of the twelve angry Russian men.

In addition to vaguely resembling Fonda, Sergey Makovetsky brings credible nuance to the role of the initial holdout juror. Sergei Garmash nicely captures both the rage and humanity of the antagonistic cabbie, while Sergei Gazarov delivers the film a jolt of energy as the surgeon. However, the real standout on the jury is Mikhalkov himself as the surprisingly shrewd foreman and the audience’s guide through the Russian legal system (which in reality is much worse for the accused than depicted in 12).

Though the audience probably has a general idea where the verdict is headed, Mikhalkov cannily maintains the tension through the nearly gothic environment of the decrepit school gymnasium the jury is forced to deliberate in and frequent straw votes to measure the shifts within their ranks. It is also clear that their verdict, whatever it might be, will have serious implications in the frankly sinister real world of Putin’s Russia. In fact, Mikhalkov, in truly Russian fashion, tosses the audience a third act curve-ball, which complicates their previous moral assumptions about the characters and the case. As a result, Mikhalkov makes it impossible to classify 12 with comforting terms like a “plea for tolerance” or a “paean to civic duty.” Contemporary Russia is simply too messy for such easy labels.

While Mikhalkov occasionally overdoes the symbolic flourishes, there is a gritty core to 12 that is very compelling. Well acted and briskly paced, it seems far shorter than its 159 minutes. A smart film that asks whether justice can be found in an unjust system, 12 opens Wednesday in New York at the Film Forum.

New Music from the Hot Clubs of the World

Bohemian Maestro: Django Reinhardt and the Impressionists
By the Hot Club of San Francisco

Django Music
By the Hot Club de Norvege

The Belgian Roma guitarist Django Reinhardt easily remains the most influential European artist in the history of jazz. His sessions with the original Quintette du Hot Club de Paris, with Stéphane Grappelli on violin and brother Joseph as one of two rhythm guitars, still inspires guitarists of all genres, resulting in the world-wide proliferation of “Hot Club” combos playing Reinhardt inspired jazz. There are Hot Clubs of Sweden, Hungary, New Orleans, Detroit, Las Vegas, and even Spokane. Some have developed international reputations through Django festival appearances and recordings, including The Hot Club of San Francisco and the Hot Club de Norvege (Norway), who have recently released Bohemian Maestro and Django Music respectively.

Very definitely on the Parisian scene during the Impressionist period, Django Reinhardt and the Hot Club often performed for and occasionally jammed with Maurice Ravel. Jumping off from that point, the Hot Club of San Francisco (HCSF) pays tribute to their inspiration with Bohemian Maestro, an ambitious program of Reinhardt’s influences, the contemporary sounds of his era, and the Roma maestro’s little known compositions that illustrate an affinity for classical, particularly Impressionist music.

Bohemian starts with two originals that channel the Django spirit, particularly the brief opener, “Le Surdoue,” which lead guitarist Paul Mehling pieced together from Reinhardt’s melodies and improvisations. In tribute to Ravel, the HCSF add classical pianist Jeffrey Kahane (music director for the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra and Colorado Symphony Orchestra) for a fleet rendition of Reinhardt’s “Vendredi 13,” as would befit a spontaneous club jam. Kahane also joins the HCSF on the more relaxed “Diminushing Blackness,” a tune Reinhardt once recorded under the title “Go Tell Mozart,” getting a chance to stretch out nicely with an elegant solo statement.

Reinhardt was eight years old when Claude Debussy died, so it is safe to assume they never jammed, but as a longtime resident of Paris, the HCSF reasonably assumed his familiarity with Debussy’s music, mixing into the program two brief but evocative extracts from “Pour L’Egyptienne” and a sensitive rendition of “Clair de Lune,” all which spotlight Evan Price’s expressive violin.

The HCSF expands the sonic range by adding the woodwinds of the Aeros Quintet for two Reinhardt compositions originally written for large ensembles. “Nympheas” was originally a big band piece, which the HCSF speculates may have been inspired by Monet’s “Water Lilies.” The woodwinds give it a warm lushness, while Mehling’s guitar solo is appropriately thoughtful. The Aeros Quintet is also featured front-and-center on “Messe,” Mehling’s transcription of the surviving overture from Reinhardt’s lost mass for the Roma, before segueing into Reinhardt’s so-called “Improvisation.” It is a lovely performance in a rich and inventive tribute.

The Hot Club de Norvege (HCN) has also recorded some more ambitious Reinhardt tributes, but in Django Music they largely return to the essentials of Djangology. After a “meh” of a vocal opener with “I Can’t Give You,” they settle into the Reinhardt repertoire with a swinging “Blue Drag.” “Nuages” and “Tears” are absolutely indispensible for any Django greatest hits collection, and the HCN does right by them both, with violinist Finn Hauge’s harmonica particularly effective capturing their sophisticated melancholy.

While more traditional than the Villa-Lobos and Poulenc of the HCSF’s Bohemian, the HCN still includes some adventurous tune selections, like the traditional Jewish songs, “Joseph, Joseph” and “David,” which give an idea how Reinhardt’s Hot Club might have approached the Benny Goodman hit “Bei Mir Bist Du Schoen.” However, their most inventive and rewarding Hot Clubbing of a tune is “Danse Norvegienne” from their homeland. After an exotic (almost Celtic sounding) opening dominated by Hauge’s violin, guitarist John Larsen brings it back to gypsy swing, soloing eloquently while Hague maintains the Scandinavian vibe.

Larsen, second guitarist Per Frydenlund, and bassist Svein Aabostad have been playing together since 1979 (with Hauge the relative newcomer, joining in 1985) so their rapport is well attuned at this point. Laying claim to the first Norwegian jazz to have digital life on CD with Swing de Paris, they also prove many Hot Clubs of the world are significantly more than mere cover bands. Both the HCSF and HCN demonstrate the lasting inspiration of Django Reinhardt, putting intriguing spins on his sophisticated Hot Club style.

A Hero Ain’t Nothin’ But a Sandwich

A Hero Ain’t Nothin’ But a Sandwich
Directed by Ralph Nelson
Koch Vision

Paul Winfield and Cicely Tyson were a very successful cinematic couple, with both earning Academy Award nominations for their work as the parents in 1972’s Sounder. Five years later, they paired together on-screen again, but this time Winfield played Butler, the prospective step-father to Tyson’s single mother. This is a crucial distinction for her son Benjie, the confused thirteen year-old protagonist of A Hero Ain’t Nothin’ but a Sandwich (trailer here), now available on DVD.

Benjie’s environment is less than ideal. Director Ralph Nelson shows us a smoggy, blighted Los Angeles in his opening shots, in which crime is increasingly a fact of life. Yet, Benjie has a loving mother and grandmother, as well as Butler, his mother’s live-in boyfriend, who earnestly tries to do right by the entire family. However, his father’s desertion has left Benjie in a state of denial, leading to resentment of Butler, despite his obvious potential as a father-figure.

This is most definitely the 1970’s, and institutions like Benjie’s George Washington Carver Junior High are in turmoil. His homeroom teacher prefers African-Nationalism to academics, whereas his English teacher is a holdout for standards. They clash over issues of curriculum and whether to deal openly with the school’s burgeoning drug problem. Unfortunately, Benjie will fall victim to neighborhood pushers, developing a nasty heroin habit, which leads him to steal from Butler and his grandmother, putting the proceeds up his arm.

Sandwich is a product of the 1970’s in a good way too, featuring a smoothly funky, flute-heavy soundtrack composed by Tom McIntosh and performed by flutist Hubert Laws group, including Victor Lewis on drums and Barry Finnerty on guitar. Musicians for the large ensemble arrangements also include the composer on trombone and jazz studio veterans like Plas Johnson on tenor and Victor Feldman on vibes.

Altogether, Sandwich is an interesting time-capsule of the late 1970’s, featuring an interesting cast, including Larry B. Scott (who would later attain some notoriety as one of the geeks in the Revenge of the Nerds franchise), as Benjie. The standout performance though comes from Paul Winfield as Butler. A former jazz musician forced to accept janitorial employment, Butler is still a proud man, who finds no shame in hard work. He is in fact, an excellent role model, but Benjie’s head is not in a place that would allow him to see Butler clearly. Nelson, the director of classics like Lilies of the Field and Charly, would end his career with a string of made-for-tv movies, and at times Sandwich has that kind of look. However, his use of still photo montages during Benjie’s dramatic stretch in rehab is surprisingly effective.

Based on the young adult novel by Alice Childress, who also wrote the screenplay, Sandwich is definitely an “issue” film, but the drama is substantial. Clearly, Sandwich is a product of its time, but is well worth revisiting on the strength of Winfield’s exceptional work and the cool tunes from McIntosh and Laws.

The Trouble with Indy Movie Romance

Hyatt Regency Century Plaza looks like a very nice hotel. In addition to their well-appointed rooms, they keep all their annoying guests on the same floor. At least it seems to work that way in Gene Rhee’s The Trouble with Romance (trailer here), an anthology film about four problematic couples staying in four different rooms in the Hyatt, which opens today in New York and is available from Warner Brothers On-Demand.

In room #1, Jill certainly looks healthy, but mentally she is a mess. During a one night stand, she starts hallucinating visions of her former boyfriend, much to the understandable alarm of her partner for the evening. Next door, a married couple checks-in, looking to spice things up with a romantic evening alone. Or so he thinks. Actually, the wife has very different plans, involving her attractive co-worker, Rachel.

The real trouble with romance in Rhee’s film is that there just is not very much of it to be found. Eventually, romance does show up (sort of) in the third story. James is clearly too immature for his girlfriend Stephanie. He is the kind of guy talks like Snoop Dog will be calling him to hang, while slaving over spreadsheets in his office cubicle. When he invites his “homies” over for some clubbing on the night of his anniversary, he finally gets the dumping he had coming. Unfortunately, he had been planning to propose later in the evening.

As Steph, Emily Liu seems way too smart and attractive for this knucklehead. At least she gets one of the best written scenes of the film with Judith Montgomery, who brings a much appreciated touch of class to the proceedings as an older and wiser woman, who advises Steph while both are stuck in an elevator.

While room #3 showed definite signs of improvement, the fourth is probably the strongest, thanks to the chemistry between Sheetal Sheth and Jordan Belfri, who play a prostitute and her john, respectively. Although their story and fleeting relationship does exactly break new ground, they just click together on-screen. Sheth is particularly effective as an unlikely defender of love as an ideal, and quite alluring in Rhee’s striking closing shot, accompanied by Gene Ammons’s big warm jazz tenor sax playing “Someone to Watch Over Me,” licensed from Prestige Records. Great way to end.

Trouble starts out as a train wreck, but Rhee pulls it together (to an extent) down the stretch. He elicits some good performances and sets some nice scenes in the final two stories, but in its entirety, the film remains too inconsistent and trifling to get excited about. It opens today in New York at the Quad. Scenes from Trouble will also be shown during the second program of the Korean American Film Festival New York, this Saturday (2/28) at 8:00.

Buddy Movie: Robert Blecker Wants Me Dead

Robert Blecker is an unusual liberal. A New York Law School professor, Blecker is one of the few academics dedicated to defending the politically incorrect position on the death penalty. He would find the most challenging intellectual sparring partner of his career in death-row inmate Daryl Holton. Surprisingly though, they seemed to share similar opinions on the death penalty. Both supported it as public policy and believed it should be applied to Holton himself. That strange common ground leads to an unlikely relationship that approaches friendship in Ted Schillinger’s documentary Robert Blecker Wants Me Dead (trailer here), which opens in New York this Friday.

Unlike most capitol punishment advocates, Blecker never shies away from the concept of retribution—in fact, it is central to his arguments. At times, his world-view sounds distinctly Biblical, as when he often quotes: “The voice of your brother's blood is crying to Me from the ground.” In a nutshell, Blecker’s supposedly radical position is that those who take life in particularly heinous fashion deserve to die, accordingly.

Schillinger is scrupulously fair to his primary subject, giving him sufficient time to adequately explain his positions. Though passionate to a fault, Blecker should not be written-off as a zealot. Early in the film, he unequivocally opposes death sentences for unpremeditated murders committed during arm robberies and the like, which make up the majority of American death row cases. His outrage is palpable when watching death-row inmates playing dominoes or lifers enjoying a friendly softball game, raising a legitimate point that the American justice system is preoccupied with duration, but ignores the question of intensity.

To bolster his case, Blecker started interviewing death-row inmates, which is how he met the disarmingly self-aware Holton. Though Blecker himself uses terms like smart and witty to describe Holton, the film never lets the audience forget the nature of his crimes. The Tennessee man lined-up his three sons and step-daughter (ages 4 to 12) and executed them with an assault rifle.

Blecker finds Holton refreshing because he readily admits his guilt and fights all attempts to appeal his sentence. Their major bone of contention is Holton’s motive. Blecker is driven to force Holton to admit he killed out of wrath or spite and not to save his children from a sinful upbringing in the hands of his morally bankrupt (according to Holton) ex-wife. Then as Holton’s execution is nearly at hand, he does the unthinkable. He files his own last minute appeal.

It might sound like an odd little story, but the saga of Blecker and Holton has some unexpectedly engrossing twists and turns. Blecker’s personality is a force of nature, pulling audiences through the film despite whatever preconceptions they might have entered with. Most documentaries claim to be even-handed and then proceed to exercise unconcealed favoritism. However, Schillinger is remarkably fair to all sides of the issue and never loses sight of the horrific nature of Holton’s crimes. As a result, Blecker compares quite favorably to At the Death House Door, another recent death penalty documentary which is much more of a stacked deck. It opens Friday in New York at the Cinema Village.

Back to Bossa with Eliane Elias

Bossa Nova Stories
By Eliane Elias
Blue Note Records

Throughout Calle 54, Fernando Trueba’s exceptional Latin jazz performance documentary, only one woman is seen on-screen. At least Eliane Elias made the most of her appearance, giving the film a power-shot of elegant glamour, as she leads her own trio in a performance of a Baden Powell tune. Now Elias unapologetically embraces that alluring image with her latest CD, Bossa Nova Stories, a set of romantic Bossa standards and arrangements, featuring lush strings and her own vocals.

Elias has dazzling technique at the piano, but this CD is more about flirtation and seduction, starting with the all-time Bossa classic, Antonio Carlos Jobim’s “The Girl from Ipanema.” While the string arrangements follow the style of Jobim’s 1970’s CTI sessions, Elias’s caressing vocals never let the song of unrequited love feel too melancholy. Growing up in a musical Brazilian family, Elias actually knew Jobim as a teenager, so it is not surprising he is well represented on Stories with three tunes. His nearly-as-famous “Desafinado” gets a similar orchestral treatment, but more space is allotted to Elias’s piano statements, while the gentle swinger “Chega de Saudade” features Elias and her trio of drummer Paulo Baraga and bassist (and husband) Marc Johnson (of Bill Evans Trio fame), along with Brazilian guitarist Oscar Castro-Neves.

In addition to Bossa standards, Elias also recasts a number of traditional jazz standards as Bossas. Harry Warren’s “The More I See You” might be her strongest vocal of the set, thanks to the nicely suggestive turn she gives to the lyrics. The Gershwins’ “They Can’t Take that Away from Me,” likewise has a pleasingly sultry Diana Krall-esque vibe.

Two prestigious musicians well versed in Brazilian musical idioms also lend their talents to Stories. Representing contemporary Brazilian music, Ivan Lins appears as a composer and guest vocalist (briefly) on the dreamy “I’m Not Alone (Who Loves You).” Though not the first jazz harmonica player, Toots Thielemans is certainly considered the greatest and in recent years he has frequently explored the possibilities of Brazilian music. His wistful sound is instantly recognizable on “Estate (Summer)” and Stevie Wonder’s “Superwoman,” given a legitimate jazz treatment by Elias and her group.

In more or less confining herself to the Bossa, Elias can only range so far in terms of tone and tempo here, but it makes for an effective mood-setter. Elias is a wonderful pianist and her vocals are surprisingly strong throughout the session. Recorded at London’s storied Abbey Road Studios, Stories is a well-crafted showcase for her talents that should prove popular with the Starbucks set, given its consistently warm and appealing sound.

(Photo Credit: Fernando Louza)

Nina Simone Live on Campus

Great Performances—Live College Concerts and Interviews
By Nina Simone
Orchard Music

Considering Billie Holiday’s sense of ownership of “Strange Fruit” and the song’s visceral lyrics, it remains a bold choice for vocalists. Of course, Nina Simone was not exactly a shrinking violet. As an artist who often sang socially conscious songs and deeply respected Holiday, it was in fact a logical choice or her repertoire. “Strange Fruit,” the grim protest song decrying lynching in Southern states, is indeed representative of Simone’s songs and philosophy, as recorded in Nina Simone: Great Performances—Live College Concerts and Interviews (trailer here), a previously unreleased treasury of Simone recorded live in 1968 at the University of Massachusetts and Morehouse College, now available exclusively on i-tunes, beginning today.

While Simone’s “My Baby Just Cares for Me,” remains one of the definitive versions of the jazz standard, it is not included on College Concerts. Instead, setting the tone is Simone’s funky “Revolution,” with lyrics like: “Yeah, your Constitution. Well, my friend, its gonna have to bend.” However, when a Simone interview track is played on top of the song, it is difficult to distinguish either. It eventually bleeds into the first of two version’s Simone’s distinctive take on “My Way,” reconfigured into an anthem of female empowerment. Other thematically-related songs Simone interprets include: “Black is the Color,” and indeed, “Strange Fruit” (accompanied by gruesome archival photos).

A classically trained pianist, Simone usually sings from the piano bench, but does switch off with a second pianist on the rousing “Ain’t Got No/I Got Life.” By 1968, Simone had refined her sound, seamlessly mixing jazz, pop, and folk, frequently backed by guitars and multiple percussionists. Her performances often had a stark, dramatic quality, like the particularly pronounced folk sound of “Suzanne.”

Simone was a close friend of Raison in the Sun playwright Lorraine Hansberry, whose work clearly inspired her music. Her rendition of the traditional “Take Me to the Water” is dedicated to the writer, and the title of her unfinished play directly inspired “To Be Young, Gifted, and Black,” co-written by Simone with her then music director, Weldon Irvine. In her 1968 performance, she dedicates it to the three hundred-some African-American students out of a student body of roughly fifteen-thousand, in what is probably the emotional high-point of either concert.

College Concerts collects some very deeply felt performances by Simone and also conveys a good sense of the time in which they were recorded. Like her 1976 Montreux set, her 1968 College Concerts is fascinating viewing both for the music it documents and what it reveals of her strong personality.

Best Oscar of the Night: Toyland

In his acceptance speech, Toyland director Jochen Alexander Freydank spoke of spending four years of his life on a fourteen minute film. As winner of the Academy Award for best live action short film, those efforts seem to have paid off. Though seen by relatively few, it is arguably the worthiest winner of the night, saying much in those fourteen minutes.

In Toyland (Spielzeugland), terms like Aryan and Jew mean little to two little boys, but have tragic wider implications in 1942 Germany. For a single Aryan mother, it is too difficult to explain to her son that his best friend will soon be transported with his family to a concentration camp, so she tells him they are leaving for Toyland. Naturally, her son wants to go to a place like Toyland too, as the mother’s white lie leads to complications she had not foreseen. It is difficult to write at length about Toyland without revealing too much of the story, given its brevity. However, it well earns the emotional payoff of its elegant conclusion that implies a lifetime of memories through its poetic closing image.

Toyland vividly captures a mother’s panic for a lost child, but also shows a moment of dramatic heroism. Months after screening the film, I still ponder the mother’s original intentions in that pivotal scene, but always come to the conclusion that it does not matter. It is truly a film with staying power.

To its credit, the Brooklyn International Film Festival programmed Toyland last summer. New Yorkers have also had an opportunity to see it as part of Academy screenings of this year’s nominated shorts. It was one of last year’s best films, of any length, and the best recipient of Oscar gold this year.