How Sherlock Changed the World: The Literary Godfather of All CSIs

We think of Sherlock Holmes stories as classic mysteries, but they were practically science fiction when they were first released.  Such was the state of forensic science at the time—it simply did not exist.  Various forensic fans pay their respects to the consulting detective in the two-part, one-night special How Sherlock Changed the World (trailer here), which premieres this Tuesday on most PBS stations nationwide.

The first Holmes story came out during the Jack the Ripper investigation, when most of London had concluded most of the city’s coppers were just a pack of dumb thugs—and not without justification.  Crime scenes were not preserved and nobody bothered to give them the once-over for telling information.  Instead, it was round-up the usuals and beat out a confession—a strategy doomed to fail with a serial killer.

The fact that the fictional Holmes served as a catalyst for smarter investigative techniques makes perfect sense, considering how science fiction has always inspired technological breakthroughs.  In the early segments, producer-director Paul Bernays and his expert witnesses make a strong case for Sherlock’s influence on the pioneers of forensic investigation, particularly Edmond Locard, a French Holmes fan who assembled the first legitimate crime lab in 1910.

Eventually, HSCTW settles into a familiar pattern, introducing an investigative avenue prefigured in Doyle’s stories (like toxicology, ballistics, and hair and fiber analysis) and then demonstrating real world applications from the case files of its talking heads, including the sometimes controversial Dr. Henry Lee, probably best known for his work on the notorious “Woodchipper Murder.” Initially a bit of a revelation, the Sherlock tribute largely becomes reasonably diverting comfort viewing for true crime fans.

Obviously, HSCTW was shrewdly programmed to stoke viewer enthusiasm for the upcoming third season of PBS’s Sherlock.  We do indeed see clips from the Cumberbatch show, but most of the points are illustrated with original recreations of Holmes at work.  Granted, clearances can be tricky, but the HSCTW cast lacks the distinctive presence of the many classic screen Holmeses, such as Basil Rathbone, Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Jeremy Brett, Patrick Macnee, Tom Baker, Christopher Plummer, or even Ronald Howard.

HSCTW is television viewers can safely dip in and out of.  Nonetheless, it makes a compelling case on behalf of the contributions made to criminal justice by Holmes, as well as his creator, Arthur Conan Doyle.  In fact, it leads one to believe Doyle’s stock is rather undervalued given his post-Sherlock endeavors.  While it has a fair amount of filler, How Sherlock Changed the World also provides some intriguing cultural history.  Recommended as a pleasant distraction for Holmes and CSI fans eagerly anticipating the new season of Sherlock, it airs this Tuesday (12/17) on most PBS affiliates nationwide.

AIA’s Practical Utopias: The Bird’s Nest

Beijing National Stadium is the symbol of China’s Olympic PR triumph, but it was designed and built by two Swiss architects and a dissident artist.  Perhaps not surprisingly, the construction was almost as dramatic as the soaring finished structure.  Christoph Schaub & Michael Schindhelm follow the complicated process in their documentary, Bird’s Nest: Herzog & de Meuron in China (trailer here), which screened as part of the Practical Utopias programming at AIA New York’s Center for Architecture.

Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron had prospective projects in China fall through before, but they clearly did not let that inhibit their ambition.  In addition to the iconic Olympic venue, the architects were also planning an ambitious mixed-use urban development for the Jinhua district.  Five years later, the Bird’s Nest would be completed, but the Jinhua project still exists only on the drawing board. Frankly though, the Swiss architects did rather well for themselves, given the eccentricities of the Chinese bureaucracy.  For one thing, they carried on without ever having one of those whatamacalits: a contract.

Shrewdly, the Swiss architects recruited a prestigious team of local collaborators and advisors, most notably including Ai Weiwei, demonstrating their good taste if not exactly a determination to curry favor with Party apparatchiks.  For the establishment, they also called on the counsel of Dr. Uli Sigg, the former Swiss Ambassador, and several other academics and architects.

Happily, Ai Weiwei is his irrepressible self throughout, expressing rather mixed feelings about the whole Olympic appeal to “nationalism.”  It is too bad he is not around more. There are many telling encounters with state corruption, incompetence, and rampant CYA-ing in the film, but Schaub & Schindhelm show a pronounced editorial preference for scrupulously sober, academic moments.

Still, in many ways, Bird’s Nest offers an intriguing perspective on China’s go-go development.  At one point, the Swiss partners attend the opening of Architecture Park, a public park conceived by Ai Weiwei to showcase small creations of prominent world architects, including de Meuron.  It was envisioned to serve the residents of the as yet undeveloped Jinhua development, but instead it is a surreal Dahli World in the middle of nowhere.

The Center’s post-screening discussion also added helpful context on the issues involved, including post-Olympic development in host nations.  According to Thomas K. Fridstein, Executive Director of the Cunningham Group China, the Bird’s Nest has seen little use since the 2008 Games, aside from drawing a bit of tourist traffic.  However, it still looks great despite the lack of upkeep and will probably remain as it is, because of its tremendous symbolic value to the regime. 

Those contemplating a Chinese co-venture will probably find Bird’s Nest instructive and any screen time devoted to Teacher Ai is always worthwhile.  Recommended for those fascinated by the subject matter rather than general interest doc watchers, Schaub & Schindhelm’s Bird’s Nest is distributed by Icarus Films, so keep an eye on their website for future nonprofit screenings.

Abel Ferrara’s Ms .45: Back to Clean Up New York Again

You know any film that gives a shout out to the Guardian Angels in its closing credits is the product of a very specific time and place.  Obviously, this is New York, but not just pre-Giuliani. It is also pre-Dinkins during the first Koch administration.  Things are pretty rotten, but they will improve a bit, only to get considerably worse before America’s Mayor turned the city around.  However, one violent crime victim does not have twelve years to wait for the City to become livable again.  She is determined to clean the town up, one male predator at a time, in Abel Ferrara’s exploitation favorite, Ms .45 (trailer here), which Drafthouse Films re-releases tonight in New York at the IFC Center.

Thana is an apparently mute seamstress who simply wants to be left alone to live her modest dormouse existence.  Then one night after work, she is sexually assaulted on two separate occasions.  The second was a home invader, whom she successfully fights off.  He will now be leaving her apartment in pieces.  She also takes possession of his gun and its seemingly endless supply of bullets.  The first time she uses it out of panic, but killing lowlife scum soon gets to be a compulsion for her.

Right, so let the body count begin.  Frankly, it is easy to see both why critics initially loathed Ms .45 and how it subsequently developed a rabid cult appreciation.  The film shows Ferrara’s gritty street level aesthetic at its absolute rawest, he also displays a surprisingly keen eye for visual composition.  The concluding conflagration’s Texas-sized Freudian imagery is especially bold.

Ostensibly, Ms .45 functions as a feminist-empowerment vigilante exercise, yet the film’s gender politics are rather slippery on closer examination.  Always a little off, the increasingly agitated Thana begins to conflate any innocent expression of male sexuality with violent sexual aggression, which holds potentially horrific implications.  It is tempting to interpret her choice of Halloween costume—a nun’s habit—as a commentary on feminist Puritanism.  Or perhaps Ferrara was just trying to offend Catholics.  Regardless, you have to respect a film with something to appall everybody.

Ferrara’s future Bad Lieutenant co-writer Zoë Tamerlis Lund fits the part of Thana disturbingly well (especially given her sadly premature end). She projects all kinds of vulnerability but is simultaneously spooky as all get out. Despite the film’s deliberate sleaziness, there are fine dramatic moments in 45, particularly Lund’s tragically ironic scene with a bar patron played by Jack Thibeau.

When watching Ms .45, it is hard to shake the uneasy feeling we are looking two years into the future of the de Blasio administration.  At least the music is funky, featuring some first class studio cats, like Artie Kaplan. Amusingly, the instrumentation heard on the soundtrack does not always match the musicians seen on-screen, but so be it.  This is not the sort of film where one should obsess over small details.  Instead, it is opportunity to see Ferrara truly in his element, serving up the vicarious guilty pleasures of street justice.  Recommended for cult film connoisseurs, the lovingly restored Ms .45 screens this weekend (12/13 & 12/14) midnight-ish at the IFC Center in New York and a tad earlier at the Alamo Drafthouse in Yonkers.

Friend 2: The Legacy—Back in the Family Business

Gangsters have a strong sense of history, probably because the past is constantly coming to bite them.  Lee Joon-seok is a case in point.  He will have all sorts of unfinished business on his hands after serving his seventeen year prison sentence in Kwak Kyung-taek’s Friend 2: the Legacy (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Lee is doing time for ordering the hit on a rival gang leader, who was once his childhood best friend.  The turncoat was sort of asking for it, but it still bothers Lee from time to time.  Shortly before his release, Lee is visited by a casual social acquaintance from his youth. Her son Choi Seong-hoon is a fellow prisoner, who has been marked for death after crossing Lee’s outfit.  Much to his surprise, Lee extends his protection to the young thug, eventually taking him on as a protégé when they are both released.

They will be busy.  Lee finds the syndicate his father first organized has been largely hijacked by Eun-gi, a cold-blooded boardroom gangster who exploited the vacuum left by Lee’s incarceration and the failing health of their Chairman.  Obviously, Lee is not about to let this stand, even when a fairly obvious revelation threatens to undermine his relationship with the volatile Choi.

Friend 2 probably has four or five flashbacks too many, periodically revisiting not just Lee and Choi’s tumultuous backstories, but also giving viewers the highlights of the gang’s formative days under Lee’s enterprising father.  The latter are almost superfluously tangential, but they are executed with a good deal of style and provide a lot of gangster genre goodies, so its worth going along with them, even if the confuse the narrative thread.

Regardless, Yoo Oh-seong is unquestionably Friend 2’s steely MVP.  He is all hardnosed business as Lee, yet he still suggests hints of that troubled conscious buried somewhere deep within him. Kim Woo-bin is certainly convincingly erratic as Choi.  Frankly, Friend 2 is not a great showcase for women’s roles, but the always reliable Jang Yeong-nam works wonders as Choi’s still attractive and resilient mother.

The gangster themes of family, loyalty, and betrayal are pretty standard stuff by now, but Friend 2’s executes them with energy and conviction.  The hits and brawls are always quite cinematic and the period scenes are nicely crafted.  Propelled by Yoo’s serious-as-a-heart attack performance, Friend 2 is a solidly entertaining (if not exactly game-changing) crime epic, recommended for those who appreciate the specific genre and Korean cinema in general.  It opens tomorrow (12/13) in New York at the AMC Empire.

Here Comes the Devil: There’s Something Wrong with Kids this Quiet

It starts with a gratuitous sex scene, closely followed by a generous helping of gratuitous violence. Obviously, there is no call for subtlety here.  Whether or not it really is Old Scratch stirring up mischief or the demonic spirit of a notorious serial killer hardly matters.  Either way there will be big trouble in Adrián García Bogliano’s Here Comes the Devil (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

In time, the prologue will make more sense, as is often the case with good prologues. For the time being, our story revolves around Sol and Félix, two reasonably humdrum parents on holiday with their adolescent son and daughter.  To squeeze in some adult quality time, they let Sara and Adolfo go explore a nearby craggy hill.  When they are not back by the appointed time, panic and recriminations replace passion. Making matters worse, this particular corner of northern Mexico seems to have some sort of sinister history.

When the kids suddenly turn up the next morning, everything seems to be okay. Yet, they now seem strangely distant.  Initially, Sol and Félix fear something might have happened with the slow-witted man they caught suspiciously eying Sara at the gas station at the foot of the hill. However, it becomes increasingly difficult to rationalize away all the uncanny incidents occurring around the house.

Devil is sort of like a throwback to 1980’s horror films, but with a taste for post-2000 excess.  Ironically, it probably has more sex than blood, but it still definitely is not for the squeamish.  Regardless, Bogliano creates a profoundly creepy atmosphere, nicely building off the somewhat confused but still intriguing backstory.

Mexican pop idol Laura Caro makes a surprisingly strong horror movie mom and Francisco Barreiro (also seen in the original We Are What We Are) is at least sufficient to the task as the more passive Felix.  Befitting its genre status, Devil also features several small but memorably colorful supporting turns, such as Enrique Saint Martin as the severe-looking gas station manager, who might know only too well just what is going on here.

Devil’s midsection actually boasts some rather inspired developments that definitely set it apart from the field.  Bogliano makes the most of his ominous yet seemingly everyday locales (filmed in Tijuana and neighboring Tecate), maintaining the effectively portentous vibe.  Well crafted by horror industry standards, Here Comes the Devil is recommended for mature genre fans when it opens this Friday (12/13) in New York at the Cinema Village, just in time to help us get in the holiday spirit.

Nuclear Nation: Refugees from Fukushima

It is not as if Japan had not taken precautions. However, the combination of the earthquake, tsunami, and the reactor malfunctions in Fukushima created a uniquely tragic set of circumstances that amplified each other.  For instance, there were storm walls responsibly placed to protect coastal communities, but the tectonic activity lowered them below the level of the incoming storm surge.  Yet, for many of the evacuated citizens of Futaba, concerns about the power plant that once provided their livelihood trump fears of future natural disasters.  Atsushi Funahashi documents the Futaba refugees as they cope with post-disaster realities with dignity and resilience in Nuclear Nation (trailer here), which opens today at Film Forum.

Thanks to Mayor Katsutaka Igogawa’s decisive early evacuation, the town of Futaba has a high survival rate.  Still, he carries a heavy burden.  The events of March 2011 left most of his citizens destitute, with questionable prospects for the future.  Nevertheless, as Funahashi documents the months they spend in their makeshift shelter, a converted high school outside of Tokyo, residents slowly but surely move into to more permanent quarters and haltingly pursue closure.

Once reliant on the Tokyo Electric Power Company’s plant, Igogawa has since turned against Japan’s nuclear policies.  Futaba’s relationship with Tepco was already complex.  Once flush with nuclear subsidies, the small town embarked binged on ambitious public works projects, but has fallen deeply into arrears in recent years (just how this is the fault of the power company or the national government is never exactly explained).  To get back in the black, Futaba agreed to host two more reactors, but those will never come to pass now.

Nation is strong on human interest and weak on energy policy.  The experiences of survivors, like the father and teen-aged son mourning his lost mother, are quite moving.  There are a host of small, touching moments in the film, as when a class of early elementary school girls ask the Mayor when they can go home. 

However, Japan’s decision to largely turn off the nuclear switch (which Funahashi obviously agrees with, given his editorial choices) has cost it mightily in terms of its international balance of payments and energy dependency.  A small country like Japan simply does not have a lot of coal stockpiled, so it now imports massive quantities of fossil fuels, thereby increasing global carbon emissions. Despite sensationalistic headlines regarding radiation readings inside the plant, it is a different story outside the containment walls.  In fact, Funahashi includes several ostensibly ironic scenes of the green bucolic countryside throughout the Fukushima district.

Although Funahashi clearly gained intimate access to the daily lives of the Futaba survivors, Nation never feels voyeuristic or exploitative, which is a neat trick to pull off.  It is also a timely reminder that much rebuilding remains to be done (it is also worth noting the Japan Society is still accepting donations for its recovery fund).  Recommended for its humanity rather than its policy advocacy, Nuclear Nation opens today (12/11) at New York’s Film Forum.

The Crash Reel: It Happened in Park City

If they are smart, organized snowboarding and other extreme sports will get proactive about preventing serious brain trauma, like that suffered by Olympic prospect Kevin Pearce. Or they can just bury their heads in the sand like the NFL. Anyone care to lay odds on which course they take?  Perhaps Oscar nominated filmmaker Lucy Walker will shift the needle a bit with her HBO produced documentary profile of Pearce, The Crash Reel (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Pearce was sort of the Zenned-Out Natural, who generated jaw-dropping amplitude on his runs.  His friend-turned-rival Shaun White is depicted as the Ice-Man of snowboarding, who never made a mistake, but lacked Pearce’s indefinable X-factor.  While White was a driven lone wolf (or so he appears), Pearce led a free-spirited group of competitive snowboarders known as the “Frends,” because there is no “i” in there.  Then during a fateful training run in Park City (a town which holds continuing significance throughout the film), Pearce took a fall that is truly sickening to watch.

Obviously, this changes everything.  It is a slow process, but Pearce begins to the recover physically and mentally.  However, several individuals tangentially related to Pearce are not so fortunate.  In fact, their sad intersecting stories provide some of Reel’s most poignant moments. Yet, despite these tragic examples and the objections of his family, Pearce remains determined to make his competitive return.

Walker is a talented filmmaker, who really should have taken home the Oscar for The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossom.  She skillfully broadens the Reel’s focus, without turning it into an outright advocacy PSA.  Walker and her team also culled through a remarkable wealth of archival and privately recorded video clips. Say what you will about extreme sports athletes, but they certainly document themselves thoroughly.  Unfortunately, they are not always wildly interesting as interview subjects.  Ironically, White is probably the most engaging on-camera presence, aside perhaps from another extreme skiing colleague, whose appearances take on tragic implications in the third act.

As fate would have it, Walker first met Pearce at an unrelated Sundance event and eventually premiered Reel at this year’s festival.  Yet, one wonders how the Park City snow sports industry will appreciate their unflattering role in the film.  Granted, the road-back section drags a bit from time to time, but there is clearly a reason why every scene was included.  Indeed, it would make an effective (if somewhat depressing) double feature with Steve James’ Head Games. Recommended for fans and critics of snowboarding and related sports, The Crash Reel opens theatrically this Friday (12/13) at the IFC Center.

Saving General Yang: Seven Brothers vs. the Khitan Army

The story of the Yang Family Generals and their noble sacrifices has been told on film before, including twice by the Shaw Brothers. Still, Ronny Yu finds and his co-screenwriters, Edmund Wong and Scarlett Liu, give it a fresh twist and an English title obviously intended to evoke Spielberg’s post-D-Day blockbuster. They certainly have plenty of tragedy and bloody warfighting to work with.  Death comes swiftly but the stain of dishonor is eternal in Yu’s Saving General Yang (trailer here), which releases today on DVD and BluRay from Well Go USA.

Nobody is more celebrated throughout the Song Dynasty for keeping the Khitan at bay than General Yang Ye. That also means he has made plenty of enemies, the fiercest being Yelü Yuan, the Khitan commander, who blames Yang for his father’s death in battle.  However, Yang’s more politically astute rival Lord Pan poses a greater snake-in-the-grass danger.  Despite Yang’s proved military leadership, the emperor appoints Pan as supreme commander of the Imperial Army, essentially demoting Yang to frontline general.  He will regret that decision.

Of course, the first chance Pan gets, he retreats, leaving General Yang in the lurch.  Rather than moving in for the kill, Yelü allows the wounded Yang to regroup on Wolf Mountain, fully expecting the Yang Brothers will try to rescue their besieged father. It is not just war for him, it is personal.

Obviously, the Yang clan is in for a lot of mourning, but at least the brothers die spectacular deaths.  Yu and action Stephen Tung Wai know how to stage a battle scene, emphasizing brutal realism instead of super human heroics.  These might be some of the roughest, least exaggerated action sequences you will see in a year of wuxia films. On the other hand, when it comes to romance, Saving largely punts.  At the least we briefly meet Ady Ang as Princess Chai, who definitely seems like the sort of Imperial royalty you would consider taking home to meet your parents. (Unfortunately, both Yang and Pan have a son who had that same idea, which is how most of this trouble starts in the first place.)

As the titular general, veteran HK actor Adam Cheng is aces at projecting a commanding presence.  Likewise, Young & Dangerous franchise alumnus Ekin Cheng is appropriately steely as the first Yang son, Yang Yanping.  However, numbers two through seven are largely indistinguishable from each other.  All we really know about Vic Chou’s Yang Sanlang (#3) is his prowess with bow-and-arrow, but frankly that’s good enough, considering his role in a massive third act archery duel with Yelü’s chief lieutenant.

Saving’s big battle set pieces are quite impressive, with set designer Kenneth Mak and cinematographer Chan Chi-ying crafting a first class period production with epic sweep and down-and-dirty grit. If you like hot-blooded war films circa 986 AD, this one delivers.  Just don’t ask for any extraneous characterization or whatnot.  Recommended as red meat for genre fans, especially those who appreciate the enduring story of the honorable Yangs, Saving General Yang is now available for home viewing from Well Go USA.

What’s in a Name: So How was Dinner?

It is a question Shakespeare and Asimov asked, in very different contexts. A group of family and friends will wrestle with it anew during the sort of dinner party you might find in the work of Yasmina Reza. In fact, the name game hysterics unleashed by an expectant father also have their roots on the French stage.  After dominating the French box office, co-writer-co-directors Alexandre de La Patellière & Matthieu Delaporte's screen adaptation of their play What’s in a Name (trailer here) now opens this Friday in New York.

Even though it comes fairly early in the first act, you really have to hear for yourselves what Vincent Larchet plans to name his son.  Everybody is rather stunned by the news, particularly his brother-in-law Pierre Garraud, a popular literature professor who wears a lot of corduroy.  He might be the most vocal in his disapproval, but Larchet’s sister Elizabeth (a.k.a. “Babu”) and childhood chum Calude Gatignol are rather taken a back as well.  Just as emotions start to settle, Larchet’s very pregnant yet still compulsively late wife Anna Caravatti arrives to kick things up again.

Arguably, Name really is a lot like Carnage, except it has considerably more warmth (which is admittedly an easy bar to clear).  The initial round of bickering is wickedly funny, even though you have to wonder how any parent could propose doing that to their child.  Of course, the heated argument duly dislodges other closely held secrets and resentments, making it quite a dramatic night.

If you like talky movies (in the best sense) than Name is where you want to be.  Even in translated subtitles, de La Patellière & Delaporte’s dialogue is deliciously sharp and punchy.  Featuring most of the original stage cast, the ensemble’s crisp delivery would pass muster with Howard Hawks and his stop-watch.  There are also some rather politically incorrect moments, particularly with everyone’s assumptions regarding Gatignol, a suspiciously sensitive trombone player in the Radio France Orchestra.

The Fab Five are all quite strong, but Patrick Bruel really puts his stamp on the film, displaying comedic chops American audiences probably will not expect from his excellent work in A Secret and O Jerusalem.  Even though they all get their quirks, Charles Berring’s Garraud becomes what passes for an anchor of stability in this bedlam, yet the newcomer still has some fine moments losing his cool with Bruel.  Frankly, Valérie Benguigui’s frumpy martyr act as Garraud-Larchet gets a bit tiresome, but Judith El Zein brings notable grit and verve to bear as the late-coming Caravatti.

Even though Name is essentially still a five character one set affair, de La Patellière & Delaporte open it up enough so it does not feel distractingly claustrophobic.  It never drags either.  Infused with attitude yet ultimately forgiving of all its characters’ shortcomings, What’s in a Name is smart entertainment, recommended for Francophiles and those who appreciate literate comedy when it opens this Friday (12/13) in New York at the Cinema Village and will also be available on itunes. (If you're in Ogden the week of 1/17-1/23 and can't get fest tickets, it will also be playing at the Arthouse Cinema 502.)

Big Time: Filipino Indie Caper Chaos

A few days ago, the Japan Society emailed donors, updating them on their most recent round of Fukushima recovery grants. That shows why we can give to them with a high degree of trust and confidence.  It is also a timely reminder reconstruction is a long term process—one that is only just beginning in the Philippines. 

Before the typhoon, Filipino films were appearing with increasing frequency on the film festival circuit, including a special Filipino focus at this year’s NYAFF. However, Filipino releases do not seem to be comparatively represented in the American DVD market. Nonetheless, viewers can check out the Filipino indie filmmaking scene in all its ragged scrappiness with Mario Cornejo’s Big Time (trailer here), co-written, co-produced, and co-edited with his creative partner Monster Jimenez, which is indeed available on DVD from Pathfinder Entertainment.

Danny and Jonas are such small time crooks, they are frankly just unemployed losers.  Their latest job involved a jar of Choconuts.  Oh, but they have ambitious plans to change things: kidnapping.  Their target is Melody, a teen-aged beauty queen who harbors dreams of movie stardom.  There are just two things complicating the caper.  For one thing, Melody is secretly dating Wilson, the entitled son of underworld kingpin, Don Manolo.  Secondly, Danny and Jonas both happen to be idiots.

Naturally, Wilson comes along in time to foil the abduction, but the spoiled thug is not exactly thinking about justice. Resentful his father would not loan him the seed money to start up his own drug smuggling operation, Wilson uses the dim-witted duo to stage his own kidnapping, along with Melody. Of course, there is no question who is calling the shots and holding the gun. He promises everyone a cut, but we know better than that.

There is plenty of goofy wackiness in Big Time, but there is also a fair amount of blood and angst.  It pretty much covers the indie waterfront, peaking with an ending that is both ironic and sentimental. Separately, either could be annoying, but the combo is quite a feat.

As Danny and Jonas, Winston Elizalde and Nor Domingo certainly are not afraid of a little physical comedy.  They might not exactly light up the screen, but they have believable buddy rapport.  On the other hand, it is hard to fathom why anyone would date Jamie Wilson’s beefy namesake, or pay good money to ransom him.  At least Michael De Mesa takes care of hardnosed business as the fierce but taciturn Don Manolo.

Big Time admittedly treads some familiar Taratino-blazed trails, but it brings a distinctly Filipino sensibility to the tragic-comic caper genre, including tons of local celebrity references that will be lost on those who do not regular watch the Filipino version of Entertainment Tonight.  Regardless, its energy level is impressive.  Recommended for fans of indie gangster films, Big Time is now available on DVD. 

While there is not an equivalent to the Japan Society responding to the typhoon with the same degree of local expertise and stature, the Red Cross always a safe choice for first response efforts around the globe.  You can support their efforts in the Philippines here.

Lenny Cooke: From Number One to Total Zero

There are always more prospective players in the NBA draft than available roster spots. Most have some sort of reputation from college, yet the Knicks have a history of blind-siding us with baffling picks. Yes, the Frederic Weis debacle was fourteen years ago, but we’re still not ready to let it go. The point is, many players who have always been told how special they are still find themselves out of the money every year.  Lenny Cooke is exhibit A.  Although once the number one ranked high school player in the country, his NBA career never happened.  Viewers will see his hoop dreams implode in Josh & Bennie Safdie’s Lenny Cooke (trailer here), which is now playing in New York.

Even before his senior year of high school, everyone assumed Cooke was bound for NBA glory. Cooke had even moved out of his urban neighborhood into the home of an exurban patron, to protect his future greatness. (That right there begs a host of questions, like why open your home to an athlete everyone predicts will soon be wealthy, instead of an exceptional young scholar or a gifted musician? Just hold those thoughts for now.) Regardless, Cooke’s pro career was considered predestined, especially by Cooke.

Around the time Cooke was seriously considering his options (college versus heading straight into the NBA draft), Adam Shopkorn was allowed intimate access to Cooke for a documentary about the future superstar in the making.  He was there to capture the moment when Cooke and friends watched a record number of high school students get snapped up high in the draft.  He was also there for what in retrospect becomes the turning point in Cooke’s life.  At one of the more high profile high school showcase tournaments, Cooke basically stinks up the joint, but not a certain future NBA all-star.

If you are having trouble understanding why you should care about someone who probably could have had a full ride scholarship to any Division I school but got burned trying to take a shortcut to the pros, don’t expect me to convince you otherwise.  Cooke’s story is not a tragedy, it is a cautionary tale.  The long and the short of it is he believed his own hype.  Granted, he had some terrible advice from people who did not have his best interests at heart, but that is so blatantly obvious, you have to wonder what he was thinking.  Timing was not on his side either, entering the draft amidst the backlash against high school players.  Yet, Cooke fully realizes, perhaps even more than the Safdie Brothers, he is fully responsible for his bad decisions.

Potentially, there is a lot of drama and pathos to this story.  The problem is, both the young entitled Cooke and the older disillusioned and out of shape Cooke are rather passive, inarticulate presences on-screen.  Despite all the humiliations the audience witnesses, they never get much of a sense of his personality.  The Safdies try to open up his head in the gimmicky final scene, in which today’s Cooke tries to give his younger self a good talking to through the magic of digital post, but it just means he is self-aware regarding his flaws and mistakes.

Throughout the film, fans will catch glimpses of the young LeBron James and Carmelo Anthony, but some of the footage is a bit draggy.  The take-away for hotly recruited high school standouts should be clear. Great athletic skills are not as unique as people around you say they are.  After all, the Safdies clearly suggest James replaced Cooke as the star of their generation. Frankly, Linsanity is a far more compelling documentary, following the underdog success of Jeremy Lin, a player with strong religious faith and family support, as well as a degree from Harvard to fall back on.  Basically on par with a lower-profile ESPN documentary, Lenny Cooke is mostly just recommended for those who wonder whatever happened to Lenny Cooke. It is now showing at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center in New York.

SAIFF ’13: I.D.

It is called Mumbai now, but Charu is living the Bombay Dream.  Young and attractive, the middle class college grad already has potentially lucrative job interviews lined up and shares a swanky pad with her hipster roommate.  However, when an odd jobs laborer collapses in their apartment, she finds herself with a mystery on her hands and a nagging problem for her conscience in Kamal K.M.’s I.D. (trailer here), which screens during the 2013 South Asian International Film Festival in New York.

When the painter arrives a day later than expected, Charu is so annoyed she does not even catch his name.  Then she hears a crashing noise.  Ill-equipped to deal with a crisis, she rushes about the building looking for someone to take charge.  Eventually, she ferries him to a hospital herself, paying to have him admitted.  He does not make it.

Much to Charu’s frustration, nobody is particularly interested in tracking down the nameless man’s family or whatever he might have.  Obviously, he has no I.D. (hence the ironic title) and his cell phone has been deactivated due to lack of payment.  Her friends do not want her to get involved, the cops do not want any extra work, and the contractor who recruited the house painter wants to avoid unwanted scrutiny of his dodgy dealings.  Yet, Charu tries to do the right thing anyway.

Class conscious and scrupulously naturalistic, I.D. is sort of like a Romanian New Wave film with a rational running time and a better sense of pacing.  Through Charu’s eyes, I.D. gives viewers an unvarnished tour of the shantytown, in all its cramped, teeming glory.  Obviously, K.M. has some points to make about the have-nots left out of India’s go-go economy, but the bitterly ironic conclusion calls out human nature in general.

While it would be an exaggeration to say I.D. depicts the awakening of Charu’s social conscience, there is something very compelling about her desperate effort to hold onto the anonymous man’s humanity.  Former model Geetanjali Thapa is quite remarkable as the entitled to disillusioned Charu.  On-screen nearly every second, her nuanced, understated performance easily withstands cinematographer Madhu Neelakandan’s intimate focus.

K.M. is hardly subtle when it comes to I.D.’s message, but he maintains a lingering vibe of ominous uncertainty to keep the audience engaged.  An effective showcase for both director and star, I.D. is recommended for patrons of Indian Parallel Cinema when it screens tomorrow (12/7) at the NYIT auditorium as part of this year’s SAIFF.

Live at the Foxes Den: The Crooning Counselor

In Nat Hentoff’s excellent 1960’s YA novel Jazz Country a white teen-aged aspiring musician resolves to become a civil rights attorney after spending time with African American jazz musicians.  Although sadly out-of-print at this time, one has to wonder of its spirit inspired a new dramedy about a crooning lawyer.  While lacking Hentoff’s depth and authority, there are the odd moments in Michael Kristoff’s Live at the Foxes Den (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Michael Kelly always wanted to be a lawyer, but he is too honest and disorganized to cut it in his big corporate firm.  The only thing saving him is his relationship the senior partner’s daughter.  She is delusional and controlling, but frankly he could probably do worse.  After a long day of getting chewing out, Kelly and his fellow associates stop in at the Foxes Den for a drink or six.  As proprietor Earl Stein, often clarifies: “it’s a lounge, not a bar.”  Acting on instinct, Kelly sings a number with the boozy cocktail pianist and something just clicks.

Soon, he has chucked in his associate’s gig in order to croon full time at the once swanky lounge.  Not soon enough though.  Kelly’s scenes of white collar alienation are a particularly tiresome assemblage of clichés.  Of course, once installed at the lounge, he starts to get involved in the lives of the regulars and staff.  However, his accompanist, the independently wealthy but self-destructive Chad Barrows, is a tough nut to crack.

There is a lot of painting by numbers in Den, but its affection for the Great American Songbook and piano bars like the Foxes Den (kind of like Brandy’s here in the City, but without the rep amongst those in the know) keeps it afloat.  If you dig standards it is hard not to like Den, even if most of the performances are more lounge than jazz.  Be that as it may, composer-co-star Jack Holmes’ original “Pour Me Another Dream” is easily as good as any of the tunes that will be nominated for best song at the upcoming Oscars.  Den also features the appealingly swinging sounds of a jazz quartet led by the tragically late Austin Peralta (with Tony Austin on drums, Ryan McGillicuddy on bass, and Will Artrope on trumpet).

In fact, Holmes is quite strong both musically and dramatically as Barrows.  Jackson Rathbone (perhaps best known for a vampire franchise called something like Dusk or some such) has a strong voice, but his delivery often sounds forced, as if he is never really comfortable with the repertoire.  Still, his golly-gee-ness works well enough for Kelly’s straight scenes.  Playing against type, Bob Gunton has some nice moments as Foxes regular Tony O’Hara.  Unfortunately, if you blink, you might miss Caity Lotz as Susan Hudson, the co-worker Kelly ought to be romancing.

Den can be pretty cringy when its going through the motions (Kelly guilelessly letting the truth slip out on a conference call or haltingly flirting with Hudson), but Holmes often kicks starts its momentum behind the piano or with his acerbic dialogue.  For jazz on the big screen, Ellington’s Sophisticated Ladies is your best bet this week, if you can find it, but Den still has good intentions and some nice sounds. Recommended for fans of Michael Feinstein and Steve Tyrell, Live at the Foxes Den opens tomorrow (12/6) in New York at the Quad Cinema.

SAIFF ’13: Good Morning Karachi

Perhaps the only job Arif would allow his fiancée Rafina to take might be Prime Minister.  He is an ardent supporter of the exiled Benazir Bhutto, because her party pays him to be.  With little education or prospects, he clings to his chauvinism when Rafina finds unlikely success in the Pakistani fashion industry. Despite Bhutto’s example, Rafina will have to overcome constant opposition to pursue her modeling career in Sabiha Sumar’s Good Morning Karachi (trailer here), the centerpiece selection of this year’s South Asian International Film Festival in New York.

The very notion of a Pakistani Models Inc. sounds like a healthy step in the right direction, but Sumar and her co-writers, Malia Scotch Marmo and Samhita Arni, are not exactly overflowing with optimism.  Set in the days leading up to Bhutto’s assassination, Karachi will obviously intersect with tragedy sometime in the third act.  However, it resists the temptation to completely intertwine the fate of its characters with that of real world figures. Arguably, Bhutto’s shadow is more of a reality check than a dramatic device.

Yearning for relative independence, Rafina convinces Rosie, a close friend of the family, to find her a spot with her employer: Radiance, an exclusive beauty salon operated by a modeling agency.  Of course, Rafina will not have to labor long before her unspoiled beauty lands her in front of a camera.  As it happens, she has the perfect look for a difficult client.  Naturally, Arif feels betrayed by her success and Rafina’s mother worries about the sort of attention she might attract. She is not being unduly concerned, given the film starts in media res, as masses of Islamist protestors set fire to fashion billboards.

As fashion model melodramas go, Karachi is a pretty good one, especially considering the general state of Pakistani society.  Shrewdly, Sumar does not over venerate Rafina’s virtues.  She makes mistakes and sometimes passively accepts the easier but not necessarily best course of action.  She is human and therefore has a right to live her life as she sees fit, which she rather steadfastly does her best to do.  However, the film’s attitude towards Bhutto is much more ambivalent, clearly questioning why her administration did so little to improve the outlook for forward thinking women like Rafina.

As Rafina, Amna Ilyes commands the screen, conveying the runway ingénue’s naiveté, without coming across nauseatingly immature.  Beo Raana Zafar also adds mountains of dignity as her beloved auntie Rosie. The rest of the cast is a bit spotty, with Yasir Aqueel perhaps being the spottiest as the flyweight Arif.  Still, everybody earns some props for appearing in a film that seriously addresses gender issues in Pakistan.

Sumar’s aesthetic restraint and artistic honesty keeps Karachi on course and even keeled the whole way through, while cinematographer Claire Pijman works wonders wonders with Rafina’s lower middle class neighborhood, making it glow suggestively.  Sure, to some extent you grade on a curve to encourage a film like this, but Karachi will keep just about any viewer focused on and invested in its business on-screen.  Recommended for those interested in women’s issues and/or Middle Eastern-South Asian cinema, Good Morning Karachi screens this Friday (12/6) as the centerpiece of the 2013 SAIFF.

Crave: A Violent Imagination

This freelance crime photographer certainly lacks the endearing personality and slightly ribald history of the great Weegee (a.k.a. Arthur Fellig). He is also a bit challenged in the mental health department as well. His violent fantasies threaten to erupt into his real life during Charles de Lauzirika’s Crave (trailer here), which opens in select theaters later in the week.

Aiden is constantly thinking of what he might do to stand up the rampant crime around him, if he only had the guts.  Typically, his fantasies involve some bloody form of payback, followed by an expression of appreciation from an attractive bystander.  Photographing crime scenes has probably warped his perspective on humanity.  At least he still has one friend: Pete, a cop and fellow AA member.

Against all odds, Aiden commences a halting romantic relationship with Virginia, the neighbor he has long carried a torch for.  However, his extreme social awkwardness and simmering anger predictably pushes her away, just about the time he pockets a discarded hand gun from a crime scene.  These developments will not have a positive effect on his general stability.

Few genre-ish films are as uncompromisingly gritty and pessimistic as the ill-titled Crave.  Set in a pointedly crime-infested Detroit, things start out thoroughly crummy and head swiftly downhill from there.  The Walter Mitty sequences are a bit cartoonish, but Lauzirika never stints on the gore.  Yet, it is the mental implications for Aiden that are truly disturbing.

As problematic as Aiden undeniably is, Josh Lawson still manages to connect with audiences on a human level.  Light years beyond nebbish, his self-defeating and delusional behavior is absolutely excruciating to behold.  This is a hard film to watch, precisely because of acute embarrassment we frequently experience on his behalf.  Still, Crave certainly makes you feel more than a month of quirky indies.

Fortunately, the extreme pathos and lurking creepiness of Lawson’s work is occasionally leavened by Ron Perlman doing his thing as Pete.  Holding his shtick in check, he wisecracks within reason, while giving the film a down-to-earth anchor.  Emma Lung’s Virginia comes across as a rather bland, lightweight object for obsession (and her intuition is obviously substandard), but perhaps that is sort of the point.

Known for producing deluxe DVD boxed sets, Lauzirika won the AMD Next Wave Best Director Award at last year’s Fantastic Fest and one can see why.  His approach is stylish, but he keeps the visual madness tightly under control.  Despite Aiden’s tenuous connection to the world around him, ostensive reality is always easy to determine throughout the film.

Lauzirika maintains the courage of his convictions throughout Crave, which is impressive, but frankly it is easy to wish he had punked out a little bit.  Not really a horror film or a vigilante thriller, but mindful of both cinematic traditions, Crave is a distinctive downer, recommended for those who looking for something bold.  It screens this Thursday night (12/5) at the NoHo Laemmle in Los Angeles and opens in limited release on Friday (12/6),  also launching on VOD via itunes the same day.

Last Days on Mars: Dying to Leave the Red Planet

They were gypped out of those long promised canals, but there might just be some form of bacterial life on the Angry Red Planet.  Of course, that turns out to be a very bad thing in Ruairí Robinson’s The Last Days on Mars (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The first manned mission to Mars is about to head home, destined more for footnote status rather than lasting fame. However, at the eleventh hour, the ambitious Marco Petrovich thinks he may have unearthed the brass ring—bacterial life.  Unfortunately, a freak accident causes his death and leads to the apparent disappearance of another crew member. Yet much to everyone’s surprise, Petrovich and his colleague return to base a short time later.  Of course, they are not really alive—they are undead and spreading their infection the way zombies do.

Hoping to hold out until the scheduled arrival of their transport ship, the crew of the Tantalus Base applies their scientific expertise to the contagion, but it turns out to be a distinctly slippery biological agent.  Human nature also takes an ugly turn as the situation deteriorates. 

Right, so first contact is kind of rough.  Zombies on Mars might sound distinctly pulpy, but Robinson’s distinguished cast sells it with conviction.  Liev Schreiber brings instant credibility as the grizzled but psychologically damaged chief engineer Vincent Campbell.  Likewise, Romola Garai classes up the proceedings as his medic lover, Rebecca Lane.  Johnny Harris (from BBC America’s The Fades) has a natural talent for getting all panicky and twitchy on-screen.  Still, Olivia Williams overwhelms them all as the unrepentantly undiplomatic senior science officer, Kim Aldrich.

In a sense, Last Days is the more stylish and competent version of Roger Christian’s klutzy B-movie, Stranded.  Both achieve an effectively claustrophobic vibe, but the former is a vastly more polished package overall.  Cinematographer Robbie Ryan (probably best known for his work with Andrea Arnold) gives everything an appropriately dark, crimson-hued look, while production designer Jon Henson’s team creates a convincing near future, other worldly environment.

Last Day’s thematic predecessors are many in number and vary considerably in quality.  Nevertheless, the combination of Mars, zombies, and some first class British characters actors guarantees a certain level of genre entertainment.  What screenwriter Clive Dawson’s adaptation of Sydney J. Bounds’ short story lacks in originality is largely made up for through Robinson’s slick execution.  Recommended for horror flavored science fiction (and vice versa), Last Days on Mars opens this Friday (12/6) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

SAIFF ’13: Anima State

Life is cheap in Pakistan.  Toting a gun will not raise any eyebrows, but a camera will quickly attract suspicion. This grimly ironic reality provided the initial germ of inspiration for Hammad Khan’s defiantly outraged Anima State (trailer here), which will have its world premiere at the 2013 South Asian International Film Festival.

His face is bandaged like the Invisible Man.  Do not bother asking the Stranger’s name or backstory.  What matters is that he is angry and armed. He is about to embark on a killing spree, but it will not raise much of a fuss. Unsatisfied with his mounting body count, he resolves to commit suicide if he can find a large enough audience.  An anchor for a nakedly propagandistic news network is happy to oblige.  However, the ostensive journalist’s leading questions about America, Britain, and India are not taking the opening interview where the Stranger wants it to go.

Perhaps none of that really happened.  Maybe the Stranger was really the product of an unnamed filmmaker’s subconscious.  While the cops were content to let his armed-and-dangerous alter ego walk about freely, they instinctively clamp down on someone apparently engaged in either art or journalism.

If you see an angrier film than Anima State this year, it certainly was not because Khan lacked conviction.  Time and again, he calls out contemporary Pakistani culture for normalizing violence and misogyny.  Frankly, the film inspires real world concerns, particularly for Malika Zafar, the bold actress playing the “Archetypes of Woman,” including a battered wife and a prostitute, whose sexual confidence causes the Stranger no end of angst.

There is no getting around Anima’s ragged edges, but there is power in its grunginess.  Produced with the revenue generated by Khan’s relatively apolitical Slackistan (which was banned in Pakistan nonetheless), Anima represents independent filmmaking at its most independent.  Khan has a lot to say about the nexus between the government and the media and how they scapegoat youtube videos and the like.  He clearly admonishes Pakistan to look inside rather than outside for the source of its woes, which is never a well received message.

The mere fact that Khan successfully followed through on the concept of Anima is a tribute to him and his cast and crew.  If at times it is a bit confusing or overindulges in the surrealist vibe, then so be it.  A bracing indictment of institutionalized intolerance, Anima State is a must-see for anyone concerned about the future of cinema in Pakistan and the wider Islamic world.  Recommended for those who can handle its rough aesthetic and truth-telling essence, it premieres this Wednesday (12/4) at the SVA Theatre as part of this year’s SAIFF.

Swerve: Australian Noir

The whole honesty thing does not seem to be working out for an Australian veteran driving cross country for a job interview.  He tries to do the right thing with the briefcase full of cash he finds at the site of an accident, but the local cop is a bit on the dodgy side.  It turns out he has issues, largely revolving around his wife Jina in Craig Lahiff’s Swerve (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Jina will walk away from the crash unscathed, but the other party will be leaving feet first.  Considering he had just pulled off his own murder-double cross, karma certainly came back around for the drug dealer quickly.  However, it is a safe bet someone will come looking for the case of dirty money Colin, the innocent bystander, turns over to Frank, the local law, after driving the strangely composed Jina home.  As a fellow veteran, Frank insists on putting Colin up at his place, which leads to the awkward realization Jina is the copper’s wife.

Needless to say, it is not a happy marriage.  Both husband and wife appear to be hatching schemes against each other that will start to involve the stash of cash in Frank’s jail cell. Colin will try to avoid getting entangled in their drama, but yeah right, good luck with that.

Anyone who has seen Body Heat or The Postman Always Rings Twice will have a pretty idea what twists and turns lay ahead, except Lahiff’s screenplay is relatively demur by the standards of sexually charged thrillers.  In fact, it is a modest film in many ways, seemingly mindful it has not reinvented any cinematic conventions.  Yet, its thriller mechanics are pretty solid and all three sides of the central noir triangle have above average presence. 

While the entire cast (even the smaller supporting figures) is well known in Australia, Jason Clarke will be the most recognizable to American audiences from Zero Dark Thirty.  He does the swaggering small town crooked cop well, playing his problematic nature more in terms of erratic recklessness than outright evil. Emma Booth looks more like a girl next door than a femme fatale, but she vamps it up in style.  Rounding out the trio, David Lyons makes a reasonably credible everyman and a refreshingly sympathetic on-screen portrayal of an Iraq War veteran (even if Clarke’s Frank is considerably less so).

As if in observance of film noir tradition, Swerve culminates on a night train headed out of town.  Trains might not automatically come to mind when you think of Australia, but they have them. It’s a big country, after all.  Regardless, Lahiff hits all of the chamber thriller bases, usually with a fair degree of authority.  Swerve is the sort of film most viewers will say is “pretty good,” which is not bad at all, considering the rubbish that gets released.  It could well have been acquired with the home viewing market in mind, which is exactly where it should have a long and prosperous life.  Recommended accordingly (particularly for those who follow Australian cinema), Swerve opens this Friday (12/6) in New York at the AMC Loews Village 7.