BHFF: Nightguards

Those who work the graveyard shift live in a different world from their neighbors. Aside from family, most of the people they interact with are also nocturnal and many are a little strange. It can be somewhat alienating, but work is work. Mahir and Brizla just want to get through their nights without incident as the titular protagonists of Namik Kabil’s Nightguards (trailer here), which screened at the sixth annual Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival.

It will be a long night for Mahir. Something is ailing him, frequently sidelining him from his duties. Usually, his nights are uneventful, spent quietly watching over the model showrooms of a large furniture store. His Ralph Kramden-esque friend Brizla works next door in the bath department, where he reads dated self-help books throughout his shift. Concerned by his younger colleague’s malady, Brizla diagnoses it as a psycho-somatic reaction to dredged up memories of the 1990’s war, evidently a widespread phenomenon he heard about in recent news reports.

On one level, Nightguards asks how pervasive are the lingering effects of recent Bosnian history? Is Mahir’s intestinal suffering rooted in the 1990’s, or is he just sick? However, it is most successful conveying the strange twilight existence they live, dealing with fellow nights owls, like the all-night baker, the cop on the nightshift, and the crank who lives across the street. Yet, Mahir and Brizla’s late-night environment is even more surreal, consisting of artificial scenes of domestic luxury.

The perpetually dark showrooms are part of an excellent looking production designed by Sanja Dzeba that really takes viewers into their late-night world. Kabil is a sensitive director with obvious affection for his working-class characters. His leads are also quite likable, particularly the engaging Vahid Piralic as the queasy Mahir. Milan Pavlovic nicely counter-balances him physically, with his sloppier look and Gabe Kaplan hair. Together they have a nice on-screen rapport and should prove easy for international audiences to relate to.

Since it largely takes place during the Mahir and Brizla’s late shift, Nightguards is a very dark film in a literal sense, but it actually ends on an optimistic note. It is a quiet, evocative film that was an appropriate conclusion to this year’s BHFF.

After the Nightguards screening, BHFF bestowed its audience awards to Slobodan Maksimović’s AgapE for Best Short or Feature Film and to Enes Zlatar’s Diagnosis S.B.H. for Best Documentary. For more information on the award winners and all the films BHFF screened this year, visit their website here.

BHFF: It’s Hard to Be Nice

The war has been over for more than ten years, but Sarajevo is still a dangerous city, where criminals operate with near impunity. Fudo ought to know, since he happens to be one. However, he is trying to go straight in Srđan Vuletić’s It’s Hard to Be Nice (trailer here), Bosnia and Herzegovina’s official selection for the Best Foreign Language Film of the 2008 Academy Awards, which screened last night at this year’s Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival.

As a cab driver, Fudo is a creature of the night, rubbing shoulders with some unsavory customers. Not only does he sell valuable information to criminal gangs, he has even been known to run errands of a dubious nature himself. After a botched job earns Fudo a beat-down and black eye, his wife Azra temporarily moves out. To win his family back, Fudo agrees to go straight, but it proves more challenging than he expected (as the title suggests). His old criminal associate Sejo is determined to scare him crooked again, but a series of events convinces him of the necessity of virtue.

In a series of sharply written scenes, Fudo hires his new Renault minivan out to a group of Japanese tourists, allowing him an opportunity to see Sarajevo through the eyes of outsiders. He has no good answer when asked why his countrymen do not seem to value their own history. It pains him to see bullet holes defacing the sites of the 1984 Winter Olympics, a time he still remembers fondly. He also genuinely likes his guileless Japanese customers and bitterly resents it when the villainous Sejo tries to take advantage of them.

In the early scenes of Nice, Fudo commits just about every unseemly deed possible, while still maintaining the audience’s rooting interest. He might even alienate some viewers with his behavior, but he does come to a heart-felt conversion, which is the real point of the film. Sasa Petrovic brings a virile charisma to the deeply flawed Fudo, and his scenes with the Japanese tourists have a surprising depth of feeling, which makes the evolution of his character completely believable.

Vuletić’s screenplay is too street-smart to be called “feel good,” recognizing the costs involved in standing up to corruption in contemporary Bosnian society. He effectively uses the city of Sarajevo as a backdrop, capitalizing on its scarred beauty for dramatic effect. The on-screen action is perfectly complemented by a moving score composed by Saša Lošić, a popular Bosnian pop-rock figure, and Bosnian-born Srdan Krupjel, who has scored several British film and television projects.

Though at times rather dark, Nice is in fact a realistically hopeful film. That cautious optimism and Petrovic’s excellent performance are ultimately quite satisfying, making Vuletić’s film an excellent representative of Bosnia and Herzegovina’s cinema, well-suited to the BHFF’s mission.

BHFF: Man Still Goes to the Moon (Short)

The Moon has long been associated with madness in traditional folklore and contemporary psychology. It literally haunts the protagonist of Dragan Rokvić’s Man Still Goes to the Moon, an animated short that made its American premiere at the 2009 Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival last night.

The year is 2096, one hundred and one years after the formal end of the Bosnian War, but the residents of Sarajevo are still fighting and dying. However, the war is now on the Moon and the enemy is never explicitly identified. The protagonist has returned to a future version of the city, evidently shell-shocked from his war experiences.

Rokvić’s stylized black-and-white animation turns out to be an excellent vehicle to illustrate the horrors of war in a science fiction setting. His visuals are quite memorable, particularly the sight of faceless soldiers encased in spacesuits and helmets, slowly drifting into cannon fire. It is a cold way to die, but as the narrator says: “It is always cold on the Moon.”

Approximately ten minutes long, Moon’s ghostly atmosphere is more important than the actual twist of its tale. The somewhat abstract animation is striking and his portrayal of war’s futile carnage comes across as a universal critique, rather than a specific political statement, which should generate enthusiastic audience reactions as it travels further on the film festival circuit.

On-Stage: Go-Go Killers

It was a time when women were women and the men were girly. Actually, that time is ten years in the future, as envisioned through the prism of 1960’s exploitation film. Inspired by the work of soft-core auteur Russ Meyer, as well as more PG-rated girl gang fare, Go-Go Killers (trailer here) is an extravaganza of dancing, fighting, and male emasculation, now running at the Sage Theater, appropriately located in Times Square, the historic home of grindhouse cinema.

Of course, Times Square is respectable now, so the halter tops and hot pants stay safely donned. Go-Go is more about dancing and attitude than that other stuff. In 2019, the Tri-State area is largely a wasteland, except for Manhattan, where real estate prices never seem to fall. The rich get richer, but one by one, they are being assassinated by roving girl gangs. (In the exploitation tradition, the politics are kept simplistic to the point of self-parody.) Marietta falls in with one such gang, the Furies, after being violently cast aside by her jealous ex-fiancé Eugene St. Ives, the petulant son of the fourth richest man in the country.

As fortune would have it, Marietta quickly has the opportunity for some payback. The Furies have a mission to take out #4, and kidnap the ineffectual son Eugene as well as Nelson, their creepy family friend, who also happens to have a place on the top 50 list. Let the class warfare man-bashing begin, and dig that crazy beat.

Logically, the biggest attraction of Go-Go is the spirited go-go dancing, choreographed by director Rachel Klein. She stages the dance numbers with a high energy, groovy “boots-were-made-for-walking” retro charm. There are also some great dancers in the surprisingly large troupe, consisting of the Furies, their rival Gorgons, and distinct Gold and Silver Go-Gos. Elizabeth Stewart is a particular standout as Electra, the leader of the Furies, who whips her pony tail menacingly around, like a medieval morning-star.

It is safe to say dramatic realism is not really Go-Go’s goal, but there are definitely some charismatic performers on-stage, particularly Stewart, Jillaine Gill, and Reagan Wilson as Electra, Godiva, and Pandora, the original Furies. Although Go-Go is really about as risqué as Chicago playing right across Times Square, it embraces the subversive spirit of Meyer’s cult classics. More Roger Corman than Russ Meyer, it might sound like a guilty pleasure, but it is really more of a groovy nostalgia trip. Good clean camp, Go-Go runs Fridays and Saturdays through May 30th.

Photo credit: Lisa Soverino

Great Night 2009

It is not a great time to ask for money, so it was heartening to see a full house for the Jazz Foundation of America’s annual Great Night in Harlem at the Apollo Theater. As usual, some of the biggest names in music came out to support a truly worthy cause.

For twenty years, JFA has been a lifeline for jazz and blues musicians in desperate financial need—artists without insurance, pensions, or even proper royalty accounting. JFA has been there to prevent evictions and to provide emergency medical treatment with their partners at the Englewood Hospital and Medical Center. Always overworked, their caseload exploded during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. According to their multi-talented Executive Director Wendy Oxenhorn, ten years ago, they were working with 35 musicians, all based in New York. Last year, the Jazz Foundation had 1,600 clients around the world.

The Great Night concerts usually feature several celebrity co-hosts, but last minute illnesses sidelined board-member Danny Glover and longtime supporter Chevy Chase, so their duties were left to the Sopranos’s Michael Imperioli, Wendy Oxenhorn, and pinch hitter Dick Parsons. Chairman of Citicorp. Of course, it is nice to see famous figures show their support for JFA, but the music is the real attraction at their Apollo galas.

This year’s concert was billed as a “tribute to the blues,” which they broadly defined, in a departure from the all-star jazz jams that characterized their earlier Apollo shows.
Even before the show formally started, there was a relaxed pre-concert set from Piedmont bluesman John Dee Holeman, consisting of variations on blues classics like “Mojo Hand” and “Hoochie Coochie Man.”

Of course, there was still a healthy amount of jazz, including a guitar trio led by Dr. Frank Forte, the Englewood physician who has treated thousands of JFA referrals pro bono. He can play too, leading accomplished jazz guitarists Gene Bertoncini and Bucky Pizzarelli through an enjoyable rendition of “If I Had You.” Jazz pianist Eric Lewis also played a hypnotic power solo rendition of his “(Here) In Your Arms,” complete with rock-star lighting effects, sounding radically different from his stint with the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra.

JFA will probably forever be associated with New Orleans, so naturally there were several performances by NOLA musicians. An all-star group including R&B vocalist Irma Thomas and contemporary blues piano-man Dr. John paid tribute to the late great funky pianist-vocalist Eddie Bo (Bocage). Happily, everyone seemed perfectly in-synch, which is often not the case for all-star blowing sessions. Thomas dug deep into the blues bag on “You can Have My Husband but Don’t Mess with My Man,” inspiring a Chuck Berry-style duckwalk from R&B guitarist Deacon John Moore.

NOLA blues were also represented in the person of Henry Butler, arguably heir to Professor Longhair’s throne as king of the funky New Orleans piano-players. His blues-drenched cover of the Otis Redding standard “Dock of the Bay,” was an obvious audience pleaser. Perhaps the most recognizable musician of the evening was the penultimate Lou Reed, who also got in on the blues act with a medley that included Blind Lemon Jefferson’s “See That My Grave is Kept Clean” as well as the Velvet Underground favorite “Romeo Had Juliet.”

In keeping with JFA tradition, this year’s Great Night closed with Sweet Georgia Brown belting out “Stormy Monday” and “Let the Good Times Roll,” the former featuring Wendy’s eagerly anticipated harmonica solo, nearly sabotaged this year by a faulty harp. Fortunately, a replacement was found, and she killed the crowd, as usual.

Wendy and the Foundation do amazing work on behalf of the musicians who have made jazz the great American art-form. Just because you play jazz or the blues, doesn’t mean you should the blues if you ever get sick or injured. That is where the staff of the Foundation has been coming in for twenty years. The concert might be over, but you can still hear it tomorrow and next Thursday on Sirius Radio. You can also still donate online or by mailing a check to:

Jazz Foundation of America
322 W. 48th St., 6th Floor
New York, NY 10036

German Love Triangle: Jerichow

Jerichow is not exactly Paris. Hardly a romantic locale, the East German city and surrounding region remains about as depressed as it was during the Communist regime. It might be a drab place for a love triangle, but that is where the three central characters find themselves in Christian Petzold’s Jerichow (trailer here), opening tomorrow in New York.

As a dishonorably discharged veteran on the dole, Thomas might not sound like much of a temptation to a married woman. However, Ali the abusive Turkish immigrant is not much of a husband to Laura. Ali also has trouble holding his booze, which finally costs him his license. This presents a serious problem since Ali must constantly visit the dozens of snack stands he owns and operates, so he hires Thomas as his driver.

Uncharacteristically, the mercurial Ali takes an immediate liking to the taciturn Thomas, but Laura treats him with apparent contempt. Of course, as soon as they are finally alone, their secret mutual attraction overwhelms them. From there, complications arise, inexorably leading to an illicit lovers’ conspiracy. Yet, despite their considerable differences, both men have similar goals, literally trying to build homes for themselves in this rather unpromising region of Germany—with the same woman.

Definitely the strong silent type, Benno Fürmann’s Thomas radiates a dangerous physicality. As we watch him make the rounds with Ali, he is clearly not without compassion. Yet he carries some unspeakable history with him, which is mysteriously kept off-camera and undisclosed. As Laura, Nina Hoss’s frozen reserve seems appropriately Germanic, if not particularly seductive. The film’s real spark though comes from Hilmi Sözer as the mass of contradictions known as Ali. He is cruel, jealous, and unpredictable, but also disconcertingly human.

Jerichow bears a strong stylistic resemblance to Götz Spielmann’s Revanche, following the film noir template, but de-emphasizing the thriller aspects. Realistically grungy, Jerichow is also an ironic commentary on the new Europe, where ambitious immigrants prosper, supporting and thereby dominating the less entrepreneurial native Europeans. Like the city they live in, the three sides of Petzold’s love triangle are not particularly glamorous, but they have a raw earthiness that makes their dramatic conflicts quite absorbing. It opens tomorrow in New York at the Film Forum.

Assayas’s Summer Hours

French death taxes are a killer. They force the Berthier family to sell off their country home and the tasteful fine art collection it housed following the death of their beloved mother. Yet, their estate sale has much deeper meaning than the mere liquidation of assets in Olivier Assayas’s Summer Hours (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Hélène Berthier’s far-flung family has reunited for what will be her final birthday. Since the death of her husband, she has dedicated herself to preserving the memory of her uncle Paul, a highly regarded artist, and his valuable art collection, largely acquired from colleagues early in their careers. However, she harbors no illusions about its fate once she passes on. It is the eldest brother Frédéric who has trouble emotionally letting go of the family legacy, particularly two Corot landscapes, despite the harsh financial realities of French estate taxes.

Evidently, his siblings do not seem to share his sentimental attachments. After all, they hardly see the place. Sister Adrienne lives in New York with her younger boyfriend (played by jazz musician Kyle Eastwood, son of director Clint), while brother Jéremié will soon be moving to China to manage a sweatshop. The sale of the Berthier assets exposes the radically different ideals of the siblings. In fact, without their mother and the country house to come home to, their future cohesion as a family is possibly in doubt.

With its atmosphere of elegant fatalism, Sumimer Hours is a quintessentially French film. It is also directly connected to the French artistic tradition it honors. It is one of two feature films that developed out of a proposed series of shorts that would have been produced to celebrate the Musée D’Orsay’s twentieth anniversary. While the original project failed to materialize, the museum supported Summer Hours, supplying works from their collection and allowing Assayas to film throughout their premises. Appropriately, Eric Gauthier’s vibrant cinematography shows the Berthier collection and the surrounding countryside in a bright, sparkling light that emphasizes their beauty.

Summer Hours is wistfully elegiac, but not tragic. This is not King Lear. Family differences are settled as best they can be amongst mature adults who really do care about each other. They clearly have years of history together, which the three central actors do a nice job of evoking. Juliette Binoche is a smart, luminous presence as Adrienne. (Notably, she also co-starred in the previous film to evolve out of the Musée D’Orsay project, Hou Hsiao Hsien’s lovely Flight of the Red Balloon.) Jéremié Renier is also quite credible as the underachieving brother Jéremié. However, frequent Assayas collaborator Charles Berling’s finely nuanced performance supplies the film’s soul as Frédéric, the sentimental intellectual, struggling with an array of disappointments in life.

Assayas’s Summer Hours is an artfully crafted, subtly rewarding film, with many legitimately touching moments. It might sound deceptively small in scope, but themes like the value of family and the permanence of art are pretty deep and universal. It opens in New York on Friday (5/15) at the IFC Film Center.

Salsa Cinema: Big Shot-Caller

While deeply rooted in the cultural environment of 1970’s El Barrio, salsa music has developed a truly international appeal. It also has a passionate rhythmic drive perfect for dancing that directly appeals to the awkward protagonist of Marlene Rhein’s salsa-flavored indie drama, The Big Shot Caller (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

For protagonist Jaime Lessor, salsa simply represents freedom, passion, and a brief respite from being an uptight white guy. However, his unfortunate eye condition (Nystagmus) leads him to bury his dancing ambitions, instead immersing himself in wage-slave drudgery. Lessor’s family ties are also severely frayed. He rarely visits a father who only cares about his next poker game, and he is doggedly avoiding his estranged sister Lianne, who ran away from home fifteen years ago.

Initially, Lessor only agrees to see Lianne to get advice about a rare romantic prospect, Elissa, an Upper Manhattan party girl. It is pretty clear Lessor and Elissa are not going to work, but she is a woman giving him attention, so he falls hard. When the inevitable happens, it sends him into a personal tailspin. Depressed and suddenly unemployed, he turns to the only one who will take him in: his wayward hipster sister. At first, the ungrateful loser is miserable to be around, but slowly he and Lianne re-establish their relationship.

At its heart, Caller is a sibling story more than anything else. Music does play a significant role, but it never eclipses the personal drama. The big dance comes and goes, but life goes on. Salsa fans might be a bit disappointed the music is not more prominent in the film, but they will enjoy hearing up-and-coming salsa band La Excelencia perform two tunes.

Jaime and Lianne Lessor are played by real-life brother-and-sister David Rhein and writer-director Marlene Rhein. They are indeed convincing in the roles, as one would expect. Marlene Rhein, a former music video director who worked with the likes of 2Pac Shakur and Amy Winehouse, helms with considerable sensitivity and uses New York locations to excellent effect. As a screenwriter, she steers clear of easy sentiment and delivers some of the film’s best lines as the sarcastic but vulnerable Lianne.

At times Caller is painfully believable—life can be that way. It is strong feature debut for the Rheins, nicely enhanced by the salsa flavor and New York attitude. A favorite at last year’s New York Latino and ACE Film Festivals, Caller starts its regular theatrical run Friday(5/15) in New York at the Quad Cinema.

Loznitsa at AFA: Revue

Much of the old school 1950’s Soviet propaganda could be called timeless, because it is as convincing today as when it was first broadcast—not very. Yet, it had a distinct aesthetic which continues to inspire misguided alternative rock bands to this day. Russian documentary filmmaker Sergei Loznitsa returned to the vaults for his latest film, Revue, which cannily juxtaposes clips of Soviet-era propaganda films, while prompting little nostalgia for the system that produced them. This shrewd window into the age of glorious five-year plans begins its premiere New York run this Wednesday as part of the Anthology Film Archive’s Loznitsa retrospective.

Like Loznitsa’s previous film Blockade, Revue avoids telling viewers what to think through either narration or talking head interviews, striving instead to recreate the milieu of a certain historical experience. While Blockade might have had a troubling moment or two, it is in fact a respectful portrayal of the conditions endured by the people of St. Petersburg, who unquestionably suffered and died during the War. In contrast, Revue is much more subversive in its approach, evoking the experience of consuming images scrupulously selected and carefully refracted through a political prism to serve the interests of the Party.

Loznitsa’s editorial decisions clearly illustrate the fleeting and contradictory nature of these party-line films. Obviously, the official imprimatur would expire for comrade Khrushchev’s address shortly after it was filmed. At different times, we also hear of two recognized community leaders both described as take-charge kind of leaders. One is a private citizen, likened to the Czar for his supposed arrogance in a woefully didactic stage play. The other is a policeman, celebrated as a hero for the same qualities of intelligence and decisiveness in a state news broadcast. In a glaringly unfortunate scene, he takes an accused criminal into the Katyn woods of all places, to give him a good talking to.

In Revue, Loznitsa shows a fondness for footage of traditional folk music troupes, which still have a certain charm, and highly politicized theater productions, which remain largely unwatchable. The exception is the finale: a huge, bombastic production of the glorious revolution lumbering across the stage like a Communist version of Les Miz. At least that was a real show.

Loznitsa’s archival films are intriguing time-capsules from a dark period in history. While Blockade has the more dramatic imagery, Revue is a more inventive work, attempting to deconstruct Soviet propaganda with its very words and images. Both films should fascinate Russophobes and Russophiles alike, during AFA’s Loznitsa series starting Wednesday (5/13).

Cyminology in New York

If ever a group was suited for the cosmopolitan Big Apple, it would be Cyminology. Consisting of the Iranian-German vocalist Cymin Samawatie, the French-German Benedikt Jahnel on piano, the Indian-German Ketan Bhatti on drums and percussion, along with the non-hyphenated German Ralf Schwarz on bass, the members of Cyminology might have very diverse backgrounds, but they share a unified musical spirit. Out of many influences, they have developed a distinct sound all their own, blending jazz, world music influences, and Persian poetry. Accomplished road warriors, they are currently on the New York leg of a tour supporting As Ney, their debut CD for the prestigious ECM label (and third overall). It has offered New Yorkers a chance to hear them in intimate concerts settings perfectly suited to their graceful, haunting music, as was the case Saturday night at alwan for the arts.

Samawatie is a poised performer with a striking stage-presence, which she established immediately on the opening song, Hafiz’s “Por sa ssedaa (Resonating),” entering after an extended instrumental prelude, dramatically vocalizing as she took the stage. Evidently, Cyminology’s live performances notably also allow the musicians take more space to stretch out in their solos, particularly Jahnel on piano, which should well satisfy more orthodox jazz listeners. In fact, Samawatie took visible joy his rhapsodic runs on their adaptation of Rumi’s “As Ney,” as his churning rhythm section-mates egged him on.

While the lion’s share of their concert drew from the current ECM release, they also included one song from each previous CD, including a rousing interpretation of Khayyam’s poetry, featuring a dynamic but tasteful drum and percussion solo from Bhatti. The first set concluded with another truly transformative take on the Hafiz’s verse, marked by the trance-inducing rhythms of Jahnel’s piano.

The shorter second set essentially consisted of Samawatie’s triptych of original verse, “Kalaam/Dassthaa/Delbasstegi (Words/Hands/Closeness),” which she impressively translated for the audience from contemporary Iranian Persian, then to German, and eventually into English. It is a richly textured piece, evolving seamlessly between movements, reaching a crescendo with Jahnel’s dazzling solo, which literally brought the pianist out of his seat.

Even if you do not understand Samawatie’s Persian lyrics, the spiritual nature of Cyminology’s music is clearly audible. Particularly in live performance, her arresting vocals are a transcendent listening experience. Their final New York gig of the As Ney tour will be at Puppets Jazz in Brooklyn, tomorrow night.

Keeping the Music Healthy

When asked for advice from aspiring students of music, a good musician friend recommends plenty of sleep and a healthy diet. Having recently celebrated his 50th year in music, Quincy Jones clearly developed healthier habits than so many of his jazz colleagues we lost tragically early in their careers. Health and music took center stage last week when Jones was awarded the first annual Music For a Better Life Award from Health Corps®, the health education non-profit founded by Dr. Mehmet Oz (which employs several of my friends).

In your basic sheik lower Manhattan black-tie gala, many of the beautiful and glamorous from the sports and entertainment worlds came out to join Dr. Oz to pay tribute to Jones and Broadway legend Ben Vereen, including L.L. Cool J, who made the presentation to the Grammy winning producer and big band leader. It was an event that focused welcome attention on the relationship between music and health. Unfortunately, many musicians in need have been devastated by healthcare emergencies, but Jones is a member of the Advisory Committee of an organization dedicated to helping in such times of crisis.

Thankfully, the Jazz Foundation of America has been a life-line for jazz musicians in dire straits—artists without insurance or pensions, who were never properly compensated for their work. JFA has been there to forestall evictions and to provide emergency medical treatment. When Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, their caseload went from the hundreds to the thousands, yet they worked tirelessly to bring emergency relief to the musicians carrying on the apostolic jazz tradition in the city where the music was born.

This Thursday at 8:00 PM, JFA holds their annual Great Night in Harlem concert uptown at the Apollo Theater. Featuring a diverse program of multi-genre artists, including Lou Reed, Dr. John, Irma Thomas, Henry Butler, and Gene Bertoncini, this year’s concert promises plenty of blues, broadly defined. Of course, the line-up is subject to change right until the final curtain falls, but JFA always delivers a show well-worth the price of admission.

Ticket information can be found at JFA’s website here. You can also send a donation to:

Jazz Foundation of America
322 W. 48th St., 6th Floor
New York, NY 10036

Photo released by HealthCorps®: LL Cool J presents the Music for a Better Life award to Quincy Jones at HealthCorps Green Garden Gala, Thursday, April 30, 2009. (Manhattan Society/Corrigan-Zief)

On-Stage: Way to Heaven

In 1944, representatives of the International Red Cross paid a visit to the Theresienstadt concentration camp that will be an everlasting stain on the organization’s honor. Tragically, they were completely fooled by the “beautified” Potemkin village the National Socialists had stage-managed for their benefit. The hoax of Theresienstadt inspired Spanish playwright Juan Mayorga’s Way to Heaven, whose premiere New York production officially opened last night at Teatro Circulo.

As the play opens, an unnamed Red Cross Representative wanders on stage, appearing disturbed and disheveled. A man shattered by guilt and self-doubt, he has returned to the site of his undoing, a concentration camp not unlike Theresienstadt, which he indeed gave a clean bill of health to in his official report. In a monologue, he explains the fateful events from his point-of-view.

The play then steps backward in time, showing the audience vignettes of prisoners rehearsing their parts to emphasize the artificial nature of this “play within a play.” A little girl sings sweetly, two boys have difficulty with a simple toy top, and a young couple quarrels, tripping over their stilted lines. Yet, it was all sufficient to fool the man from the Red Cross, which well pleases the superficially cultured camp Commandant, as he relates the same events in his own monologue.

However, the real crux of the play comes in the central fourth scene, as the Commandant scripts out and directs his charade with the reluctant help of Gershom Gottfried, whom the Germans consider a leader among their Jewish prisoners. Gottfried faces a fundamental Prisoner’s Dilemma: should he cooperate for the sake of short-term survival or sabotage their efforts in hopes of exposing the truth, most likely at the cost of his own life?

In sharply drawn scenes, Gottfried repeatedly asks the seemingly affable Commandant uncomfortable questions, like why do they constantly hear trains arriving, but never encounter any new prisoners. Well written and translated, what is left unspoken in this scene is just as important as what they do say. As a result, the nightmarish reality of the camp remains inescapably present, even though Way never shows any of the atrocities on-stage.

Although Francisco Reyes and Shawn Parr (as the Commandant and Red Cross man respectively) forcefully deliver their monologues, the two early scenes devoted to their point-of-view recollections give the play an unavoidable staginess. However, the dramatic confrontations between the Commandant and Gottfried are absolutely electric. Reyes chillingly portrays the banality and cold-bloodedness of the supposedly humanistic Commandant. While as Gottfried, Mark Farr conveys not only fear and confusion, but also anger. It is an intense, tightly-wound performance, perfectly capturing the anguish of someone in an unimaginable situation.

Way is an important, truly tragic play. Its strong cast overcomes the structural awkwardness, giving it a truly human dimension. Initially somewhat demanding, but ultimately quite haunting, Mayorga’s Way to Heaven runs through May 24th at Teatro Circulo.

Loznitsa at AFA: Blockade

The early 1940’s were not a fun time to be Russian. Even if you survived your own government, there was still a war going on with Germany. From September 9, 1941 to January 18, 1944, the National Socialists had what was then known as Leningrad effectively cordoned off in hopes of starving out the city. Life was indeed hard for Leningraders, as can be seen in Sergei Loznitsa’s Blockade, which screens at the Anthology Film Archives next week as part of a retrospective dedicated to the director.

Eschewing many of the traditional techniques of documentary filmmaking like voice-over narration and interview segments, Loznitsa assembled Blockade entirely from clips of rare Soviet films languishing in the vaults of the St. Petersburg Studio of Documentary Films. Although all the footage was originally silent, Loznitsa created a soundtrack designed to recreate a sense of life at that time, under those circumstances. It was not always pretty.

While Loznitsa starts with scenes of the fortification process, we soon see more disturbing sights, including the parading of German POW’s down Leningrad’s boulevards to facilitate their public humiliation. As the siege continues, corpses become a common sight, literally piling up in the street, necessitating disposal in mass graves.

Even in this scarcely seen footage unearthed by Loznitsa, the aesthetics of Soviet propaganda remains pervasive. The average Soviet Russians are frequently seen dramatically dwarfed by the Soviet monuments, military hardware, and the ever-present propaganda posters. Of course, there is a war on, so most of the diminutive figures we see are the stereotypical matronly Russian women and withered old men.

Blockade is an eerie film of starkly beautiful images. It conveys an impressionistic sense of a city enduring conditions of war, starvation, extreme need, and bitter cold. While it might have been a miserable time for the individual, it proved quite amenable for an oppressive regime whose authority could not be questioned. It screens at AFA as part of their Loznitsa retrospective from Wednesday the 13th through the following Tuesday.

Tribeca ’09: Queen to Play

The fact that the queen is the most powerful piece on the chessboard is surely not lost on Hélène. As a put-upon Corsican hotel maid with an insensitive husband, she could use some empowering. That she achieves through the game of chess in Caroline Bottaro’s Queen to Play (trailer here), a buzz-generating film at the recent Tribeca Film Festival.

To earn extra money, Hélène also cleans the villa of Dr. Kröger, an American expat. Watching him play chess with his younger wife stirs something within her—perhaps longings for the sort of relationship she would like to have with her husband. Suddenly, Kröger’s wife is gone, but Hélène’s fascination with the game remains.

Of course, hubby does not exactly share this budding interest, so her chess development is confined to late nights with the electronic chessboard. Frustrated, she approaches the increasingly sullen Kröger for a game. While at first reluctant, Kröger eventually becomes her chess tutor, sharpening her natural aptitude to the point he believes she is ready for tournament play.

To its credit, Queen takes the game of chess seriously instead of using it as a mere plot contrivance. The film’s best scenes show Hélène’s near obsession with the game, as chessboard patterns appear everywhere and common household items suggest problems from the game. However, aside from chess, we never really see her thinking strategically in her every day life. Instead, she seems to simply react to events around her.

Throughout the film, audiences will have a good idea where it is headed, right down to the big match between Hélène and the arrogant chess master. Yet, Bottaro wisely never overplays her hand and resists the lure of cheap emotion. Rather than lurch into Henry Higgins territory, Kröger confines his mentoring to the chessboard and an occasional book recommendation. However, as written, Hélène’s husband Ange, played Francis Renaud, is largely clichéd and occasionally problematically brutish.

Still, Sandrine Bonnaire’s smart, down-to-Earth performance makes Hélène’s transition from mousy maid to self-confident chess master relatively smooth and believable. Sure to get attention for his almost entirely French-speaking role, American actor Kevin Kline is also quite good as Kröger. His early scenes with his wife, played by the still very attractive Jennifer Beals, silently imply much history and romantic heat between them.

Overall, Queen is a pleasant, if predictable story of a late-blooming woman finding her place in the world. With its uplifting story of personal development, effective use of the picturesque Corsican backdrop, and well-known American cast members Kline and Beals, Bottaro’s film seems like a strong candidate for theatrical distribution, so anticipate post-Tribeca screening opportunities in the future.

Zonca’s Julia

If ever there was a film that could frighten a hardcore alcoholic into rehab, Erick Zonca’s Julia is it. The title character does just about every reprehensible thing a human being can do, always managing to find a new low to sink to. Opening tomorrow in New York, Julia (trailer here) is both a harrowing portrait of addiction as well as a white-knuckle crime story.

Those who need to like a film’s protagonist should stop reading now. Julia Harris does not go to sleep, she passes out. She is a self-destructive user, who is not fooling anyone anymore, except maybe herself. She has burned nearly every bridge in her wake, including the real estate job her ever-loyal on-the-wagon want-to-be boyfriend Mitch arranged for her. Penniless with no prospects, she pretends to help Elena, her obviously delusional neighbor and fellow AA member, kidnap her son Tom from his wealthy grandfather. However, she plans to double-cross the guileless Elena and ransom Tom back to his grandfather.

Zonca’s film is hardly a remake of Jimmy the Kid. Harris and Tom do not exactly bond. At first, she keeps him bound and unconscious while high-tailing it for Mexico. Eventually, she tries to make nice, telling Tom she is taking him to Elena, the mother he never really knew, as she secretly negotiates his ransom through an alarmed Mitch. Though he is skeptical, Tom forms an uneasy truce with his kidnapper. However, her incessant boozing attracts the wrong kind of attention in Tijuana, at which point things really go south.

Two and a half hours of watching Tilda Swinton play a dissipated, amoral drunk might sound excruciatingly long, but thanks to her manic conviction in the title role, Julia seems far shorter than its actual running time. It is an eye-opening performance that should completely change icy preconceptions of Swinton. Scarily compelling, she never seems false or exaggerated, despite her sheer ferocity.

Low-key veteran character actor Saul Rubinek perfectly compliments her, supplying the film’s moral center as Mitch, the world-weary romantic. 24 fans will also note the brief but effective appearance of Jude Ciccolella (a.k.a. Chief of Staff Mike Novick) as Nick, Harris’s reformed partner in debauchery.

Inspired by Cassavetes, Zonca is true to the pioneering indie filmmaker’s gritty sensibility, while adding the trappings of a film noir thriller. Though undeniably dark, it is never nihilistic, always embracing the humanity of its deeply flawed characters. Clearly not for everyone’s tastes, Julia represents tour-de-force work from its director and fearless lead. Intense to the point of exhausting, it is recommended for discerning audiences. It opens tomorrow in New York at the Angelika and Beekman Theaters.

Now Opening in New York: Brothers at War

How effective is Jake Rademacher’s debut documentary about his brothers serving in the Iraq War? After they screened the film, 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. While refraining from taking a pro or con position on the war, Rademacher’s Brothers at War (trailer here) is a deeply personal and humane examination of the American soldiers fighting in Iraq, and the impact of their service on the families they left behind, which finally plays in New York this Friday, following its targeted opening in March.

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 extended 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, the intrepid director 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 quite safe. We hear the no-nonsense Staff Sgt. in charge of training Iraqi troops praise 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.”

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 finally opens this Friday in the City at the Loews Village 7 (11th Street and Third Ave.).

Photo: Sam Harriston / Samuel Goldwyn Films

Poetic Cyminology

As Ney
By Cyminology
ECM Records 2084

Cymin Samawatie, born and raised in Germany, would not be allowed to front her genre-defying group Cyminology in her family’s native Iran. That is Iran’s loss. Blending jazz influences, modernist chamber music, and Persian poetry, Cyminology has a richly distinctive sound, which is dramatically captured on their first ECM release, As Ney.

As still one of the world’s most widely read poets, the thirteenth century Rumi’s Persian verse proves a fitting starting point for Cyminology’s dialogue between the ancient and contemporary with the title track “As Ney (Song of the Reed-Flute).” Adapted as a gorgeous song of longing by Samawatie, it is an excellent example of the mystical mood they create through her otherworldly vocals and the group’s evocative use of space. Samawatie also covers the fourteenth century Iranian poet Hafiz, giving “Por sa ssedaa (Resonating)” a distinctly modern sound, thanks to Ralf Schwarz’s prominent bass lines and Benedikt Jahnel’s pulsating piano vamps.

Cyminology then looks to the mid twentieth century with Jahnel’s setting of “Naagofte (Untold)” by the Iranian modernist feminist poet Forough Farrokhzaad. A trailblazing filmmaker as well as poet, Forough’s life was tragically cut short by an auto accident. Her words, which translate as: “Hang no lock of silence on these lips/For I must share my secret/And reach the ears of the world,” take on a multiplicity of meanings in Samawatie’s sensitive rendition. In an arresting arrangement, Samawatie’s wordless vocals blend seamlessly with composer Jahnel’s cascading piano, before finally concluding with Forough’s brief poem.

Samawatie’s own lyrics are decidedly spiritual in content, like the haunting “Niyaayash (Prayer),” which is strikingly shaped by Jahnel’s delicate piano figures and Ketan Bhatti’s shimmering percussive accents. While Cyminology employs the standard jazz instrumentation of a vocalist supported by a trio of piano, drums, and bass, definitively classifying their music is a tricky proposition. Perhaps the most explicitly jazz-oriented moments can be heard from Jahnel on the three-part “Kalaam/Dassthaa/Delbasstegi (Words/Hands/Closeness),” but their musicianship is consistently impressive on all tracks.

Throughout As Ney, Cyminology’s easy rapport is audibly evident in their graceful interplay and the peaceful vibe of their music. Synthesizing their diverse influences, Cyminology creates truly transfixing music, with no one seeking the solo spotlight at the expense of group solidarity. Even Samawatie’s vocals sound like an equal and inseparable part of Cyminology’s whole. As Ney is a richly textured, refreshingly thoughtful recording. It is quite distinct from other jazz and world music releases, but fans of those genres should find it accessible and rewarding.

Note: Cyminology will be performing live in New York on May 7th at the Cornelia Street Café, May 9th at Alwan for the Arts, and May 12th at Puppetsjazz in Brooklyn.

Tribeca ’09: North

Those long winters in Northern Scandinavia are not especially conducive to an active social life. Especially not for those predisposed to depression, as is the case for Jomar, the alienated protagonist of North (trailer here), which won the Best New Narrative Filmmaker Award for Norwegian director Rune Denstad Langlo at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Jomar hates his job operating a ski lift and he is not too crazy about life in general. He much prefers the sheltering environment of the local mental hospital to living in the real world. Unfortunately, his doctor declared him sufficiently recovered from his nervous breakdown, so he can visit for a game of ping-pong, but he is good to go.

Not exactly a model employee, Jomar spends his days and nights drinking and moping. It takes a disastrous visit from his former best friend (now married to his ex-wife) to jolt him out of his lethargy. In addition to his wife’s second marriage, Jomar also learns he is a father. After burning his bridges with the ski resort, Jomar decides it is time to meet his son, so he sets out on a trek headed north.

Along the way Jomar meets plenty of eccentric characters and much alcohol is consumed. There is in fact, plenty of quirkiness going on in North. Fortunately, the taciturn Jomar never falls into the trap of saccharine cuteness. He has very real issues, which are convincingly brought out through Anders Baasmo Christiansen’s understated performance.

Langlo and cinematographer Philip Ogaard film some dramatic winter vistas, which demonstrate just how easy it could be to get lost (in every sense) in such surroundings. However, Langlo is a patient director to a fault, sometimes letting his affection for the characters bog down the pace. Yet, Christiansen’s grounded screen-presence keeps viewers invested throughout.

Although the main characters are very different, North bears strong comparison to another Norwegian film, Bent Hamer’s O’Horten, which opens in New York next week. Both films feature rather quiet, slightly off-center characters, looking for their place in the world and encountering various oddball characters in the process. It must be a Norwegian thing. As a Tribeca crowd pleaser, look for future festival engagements and possible distribution for North in the future.

Tribeca ’09: Still Walking

When parents break the unwritten rule prohibiting unequal affection for their children, it can obviously cause deep emotional fissures. Such is unfortunate case of Dr. Yokoyama and his wife. Their favoritism has tragic repercussions for the entire Yokoyama family in Kore-eda Hirokazu’s Still Walking (trailer here), which screened at the Tribeca Film Festival and will soon be distributed by IFC.

Fifteen years ago, Junpei, the eldest son and focus of all the Yokoyama parental pride, died in a senseless accident. Though the Yokoyamas still had two perfectly good grown children, younger brother Ryota and older sister Chinami, neither is able to fill Junpei’s place in their hearts. As a result, Ryota usually avoids family visits, but he cannot beg off his mother’s memorial for his late brother on the anniversary of his death.

Outside factors further complicate the Ryota’s awkward homecoming. His parents are at best ambivalent about his marriage to Yukari, an understanding widow with a young son. Ryota also recently lost his job as a museum art-restorer, which he is determined to keep secret, even though he must frequently excuse himself to make networking calls on his cell. At the same time, Ryota’s distant father silently grapples with feelings of powerlessness and inadequacy brought on by advanced age, while Dr. Yokoyama’s wife deliberately nurses all her resentments and disappointments, acerbically giving voice to them as she cooks with Chinami. It seems this is a thoroughly unhealthy family get-together, but family is family.

Walking is a film of great subtlety that builds slowly but steadily, thanks to the steady hand of writer-director-editor Kore-eda. The wistful spirit is nicely underscored by the soundtrack music of GONTITI, the Japanese acoustic guitar duo who blend light jazz and polite world music influences into a mix well suited to the intimate simplicity of Kore-eda’s approach.

Throughout Walking, the Yokoyamas seem like a real-life family, thanks to the utterly natural and perfectly complimentary ensemble performances. Abe Hirosi’s quietly understated portrayal of Ryota holds the audience’s sympathy and delivers the film’s restrained but moving dramatic payoff. Surprisingly, former Japanese pop-star and professional celebrity YOU is also quite convincing as the dutiful daughter. Perhaps most crucial though, is the work of veteran Japanese actor Harada Yoshio, who deftly suggests the inner fears of the once powerful doctor, now forced to watch his vitality slip away.

Though Kore-eda has a global reputation, there is the risk Walking might be overshadowed on the art-house circuit by other Japanese family dramas recently released in America. While it lacks the visceral intensity of Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Tokyo Sonata or the overwhelming emotional punch of Yojiro Takita’s Departures, it is a very honest and direct film, whose elegiac conclusion has an undeniable power of its own. Those who missed it at Tribeca should look forward to its IFC release.

(The Tribeca Film Festival wrapped last night with its award screenings. While TFF is the biggest, most influential film festival in New York, the City regularly hosts many great festivals, which are New Yorkers’ first and often only opportunity to see tremendous films from around the world. An excellent example is the upcoming Bosnian-Herzegovinian Film Festival. Look for coverage here on the weekend of May 15th.)

Tribeca ’09: Salt of this Sea

In a rare display of organizational competency, the Palestinian Authority has consistently submitted films for the Best Foreign Language Award, even snagging a nomination in 2005. Their 2008 submission is a somewhat surprising choice, since it frankly depicts the corrupt and arbitrary nature of life under the PA. Though a decidedly mixed bad, Annemarie Jacir’s Salt of this Sea (trailer here), indeed has some noteworthy moments. While its New York debut occurred during the recently concluded Tribeca Film Festival, it seems likely to secure further invitations from City festivals, given its origins and subject matter.

Soraya is an American citizen, but her family roots are in Jaffa. Deeply steeped in grievance politics, she travels to Ramallah, by way of Israel, hoping to connect with her heritage. Soraya also wants to recover the long frozen bank account her grandfather had originally opened during the era of British colonial rule. However, the corrupt bank managers refuse to recognize her claim, naturally invoking Israel as a scapegoat. Rather than pursue legal options (it is worth noting Israel has probably the most accessible court system on Earth), Soraya opts to rob the bank with her new boyfriend Emad and his aspiring filmmaker buddy, Marwan.

Somehow they pull off the job with unloaded guns and high-tail it to safer territory: Israel. With Soraya and friends on the lamb and living solely in the moment, SOTS veers into Breathless territory. Jacir nicely captures the unreal qualities of these moments of deceptive peace that clearly cannot last. Unfortunately, attempts to be politically provocative often fall flat. For instance, the security wall is often used as a backdrop, obviously intended as an ominous symbol. Yet, in actuality, it has the innocuous look of a non-descript industrial park (again it is worth noting reports terrorism-related deaths fell by fifty percent since the wall’s construction).

There is no doubt the camera loves radical spoken word performer Suheir Hammad as Soraya. At times, she is an exciting screen presence, but she has a tendency to over-act, eventually giving free reign to a petulant anger that seems misplaced even in the politicized context of the film. Saleh Bakri by contrast, is more credible and consistent as the likable but disillusioned Emad.

Frankly, SOTS is a better than anticipated film, featuring several strong supporting performances. Jacir impressively mixes gritty realism with some memorable visual imagery. However, SOTS is ultimately undermined by the same biases and resentments which plague its protagonist.

Tribeca ’09: This Will All Make Perfect Sense One Day (Short)

Destiny is supposed to be there to help true love along. Sadly, it has not worked out that way for the lovelorn protagonist of Long-Cuu Phan’s short film This Will All Make Perfect Sense One Day, which screens again today as part of the “Mixed Feelings” short program at the Tribeca Film Festival.

Three times in his life, a young Asian-American man meets his “100% perfect match,” but each time fate intervenes to separate them. As Sense opens, it is 1999 and the narrator is working his final shift at a collegiate coffee house. It is just another routine day, until an attractive woman enters the café. Somehow, the tongue-tied man knows with absolute certainty she is that “perfect match,” whom he had fallen in love with years ago when they were both shy school children.

Unfortunately, just as she returns to America, he must leave for photography school in Japan. Yet, he will constantly agonize over what he should have said then, while reliving the memories of their brief childhood romance, before he finally returns to America eight years later.

Young actors Kevin Phan and Kristen Nguyen have a touching sweetness as the young perfect match that never seems precocious or affected. As for their adult counterparts, Chris Dinh’s understated performance as the narrator evokes years of yearning and regret, while Leni Ito brings genuine warmth and vulnerability to the object of his affection.

Sense has a rich visual style and some inventive editing, but its technical polish never overshadows Long-Cuu Phan’s very personal story. It is a sad but graceful film that casts a melancholy spell which proves difficult to shake. Sense is probably the best short of the festival and it is also the first film in the “Mixed Feelings” program. So, if you see only one short at Tribeca today (the last day of screenings), Sense should be it.

Tribeca ’09: My Dear Enemy

Japan’s decade-long economic downturn has one advantage. Every contemporary film and novel from that period suddenly feels in-the-now to the rest of the world. Such is the case with Lee Yoon-ki’s Korean adaptation of Japanese author Taira Azuko’s novelette, My Dear Enemy (trailer here), screening at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

Set in Seoul rather than Tokyo, as Enemy opens, the Korean economy has done no favors for single thirty-something Hee-su. In fact, she needs money quite badly, so when she gets a line on the slacker ex-boyfriend she regrettably loaned the equivalent of $3,500, she moves in to collect. Of course, the preternaturally irresponsible Byung-woon does not have two cents to his name, but he promises to raise the money from his lucky friends. However, he insists Hee-su come along for the ride.

For the rest of the day, Hee-su has the awkward experience of meeting a parade of Byung-woon’s ex-girlfriends, many of whom seem rather out of his league, like the well-heeled hostess (played by Oh Ji-eun). However, they all seem willing to float Byung-woon yet another loan to retire his debt with Hee-su, while he seems to take perverse enjoyment in the asking. Naturally, their mission encounters inevitable pitfalls along the way, as well as a host of extreme personality types. There are also hints of the old magic between the former lovers, as well as plenty of fresh reminders of their incompatibility.

Hee-su and Byung-woon spend nearly the entire film forced together in confined spaces, like her car, the subway, or a strange apartment. There is big-time history between them, but the audience only learns the broad strokes of their failed relationship. Jeon Do-yeon and Ha Jeong-woo are absolutely convincing as the mismatched exes. They richly convey the chemistry which initially brought them together, as well as the frictions and annoyances that ultimately drove them apart. Jeon’s performance is particularly nuanced, expressing the mounting desperation of the normally reserved Hee-su.

Lee Yoon-ki is a sensitive director, who lovingly frames his shots. He lets each scene play out at a natural, unhurried pace, but the results never feel sluggish or self-indulgent. He gets a big assist from Kim Jeong-beom’s spritely swing-oriented jazz soundtrack, which prevents the film’s momentum from ever dragging.

While Enemy might be small in scope, its “deal with the ex” storyline should have universal appeal. It is a handsomely crafted film, featuring an admirably honest and emotionally direct performance by Jeon Do-yeon. It screens again at Tribeca on Sunday (5/3).

Tribeca ’09: Moon

What do you get when you combine the corporate responsibility of the Alien franchise with the décor of 2001? Surprisingly, the answer is Duncan Jones’s Moon (trailer here), a moody character-driven science fiction film screening at the Tribeca Film Festival.

The son of David Bowie, Jones entered the world with the name Zowie Bowie, which he eventually changed for obvious reasons. For the record, Major Tom does not appear in Moon, nor is “Space Oddity” heard on the soundtrack, although Bowie’s fictional astronaut shares a similar state of mind with Sam Bell, Moon’s lonely protagonist.

Bell is mere weeks shy of completing his three year contract as the solitary caretaker of an energy harvester on the far side of the Moon. In that time, he has had no live interaction with other human beings, only recorded messages from his wife Tess. His only companion is the robot Gerty, who seems to be a combination of HAL 9000 and Twiki from Buck Rodgers, but with the silky-smooth voice of Kevin Spacey.

The isolation seems to be a toll on Bell, both mentally and physically. He even blacks out on a routine mission, crashing the lunar SUV. When he wakes up in the infirmary, Gerty tells him his orders are to sit tight and wait for the extraction team to come make repairs and send him home. Instead, he steals away to the crash site, finding the near-dead spitting image of himself behind the wheel of the vehicle.

Suddenly, there are two Bells tensely coexisting in the Moon station, one older and ailing, the other younger and more assertive. New Bell quickly figures out some sort of nefarious cloning scheme is going on, and none of their implanted memories can be trusted. Considering how thuggish the extraction team looks in their ID photos, the clock would seem to be ticking for the Bells.

The visual effects of Moon are indeed quite effective, seamlessly integrating the two Bells in their scenes together. Yet, it is Sam Rockwell who really sells the premise, dramatically differentiating the two Bells. Frankly, it is a bit of a shock how much pathos he is able to wring out of sickly Bell.

Jones’s direction is tightly focused, evoking the claustrophobic conditions of the lunar base and Clint Mansell’s insinuating electronic score heightens the otherworldly atmosphere. Yes, the script relies on the kneejerk stereotype of the evil corporation, but it also offers an unambiguous ethical critique of cloning, staking out a pro-life position in that context.

Ultimately, Moon is a thoughtful excursion into the science fiction genre and a probing cautionary tale of the potential dangers of unchecked, industrial cloning. Essentially, it is science fiction for those who are usually uncomfortable with sci-fi. It screens again at Tribeca today (5/2), in advance of its June theatrical opening.

Spielmann’s Revanche

Vienna has a romantic image, as the home of waltzes and operas. This is not that Vienna. Director Götz Spielmann shows us a seedy, cut-throat city in his Austrian crime drama, Revanche (a very European trailer here), which opens today in New York, Boston, and Seattle.

Revanche can claim several distinctions in the rarified world of art-house cinema. It was nominated for the 2009 Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film and it also represents a rare foray into the first-run theatrical business for Janus Films (known for distributing classic foreign films to repertory venues), in conjunction with the prestigious Criterion Collection, who will handle the eventual DVD release.

Vienna is not a particularly romantic city for Alex and Tamara, even though they have found love together there. He is an ex-con, doing menial work in a seedy brothel. Tamara is the drug-addicted Ukrainian prostitute he has fallen in love with. Deeply in debt to the brothel owner, she essentially works as an indentured servant. As he takes an increasingly personal interest in Tamara, she and Alex anticipate bad things happening. Of course, they prove to be correct in that respect.

Desperately fleeing their criminal masters, Alex attempts to score a nest egg by robbing a bank. However, it turns out disastrously, forcing the ex-con to take refuge with his aging grandfather Hausner. In a twist of fate, the old man attends church with Susanne, the apparently content wife of Robert, the cop who ruined Alex’s bank job. However, their marriage is under considerable strain, both from Robert’s work-related stress and their difficulties conceiving a child. While Alex stalks Robert, Susanne pursues Alex, not out of lust, but for his virility.

Revanche sets up a clear dichotomy between the values of the city of those of the countryside. Hausner expresses the rural view of his urban grandson, telling Susanne: “In the city you end up arrogant or a scoundrel. He ended up a scoundrel.” Yet, while hiding out on Hausner’s ramshackle farm, Alex throws himself into the chores like a man doing penance. Alex finds himself at a moral crossroads, facing the choice of either revenge or forgiveness.

Equal parts morality play and revenge drama, Revanche is a quiet, character-driven film, featuring several excellent performances. Johannes Krisch is quite effective as Alex, nicely conveying his gnawing guilt and barely contained rage. Irina Potapenko also makes a strong impression as the nervous but desirable Tamara.

Spielmann creates some striking tableaus and maintains a tense atmosphere, but at times the film feels overly restrained. When we watch Alex use his grandfather’s enormous table saw, we assume this must foreshadow something similar to Fargo’s wood-chipper, but it turns out it is just there to cut firewood.

Revanche is subtle and cerebral in its treatment of highly emotional subject matter, like revenge and redemption. While naturalistic in its approach, it is not hopelessly pessimistic in is appraisal of humanity. It opens today in New York at the IFC Film Center.