Six-Shooter: Red Cliff

It was like the Siege of Troy without the big wooden horse. Well-known to Chinese audiences from the Fourteenth Century novel, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, The Battle of Red Cliff offered John Woo a huge, sprawling canvas for his first Asian produced film since answering Hollywood’s call in the early 1990’s. Featuring sweeping battle scenes, courtly intrigue, and yes, plenty of doves, Woo applies his signature action style to the 208 AD campaign in Red Cliff (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Though originally produced and released in Asian markets as two full movies clocking in at over five hours in total, the international edition of Cliff playing in American theaters has been edited into a mere two-and-a-half hour stand-alone film. While much of the historical background and perhaps a fair amount of character development were cut, the abridged version overflows with epic combat sequences, out-Bravehearting Braveheart.

In the waning days of the Han Dynasty, Prime Minister Cao Cao bullies the weak young Emperor into declaring war against Liu Bei’s peaceful Xu kingdom in the west and Sun Quan’s prosperous Wu kingdom to the South. Following a costly defeat, Liu’s strategist Zhuge Liang forges an uneasy alliance with Sun Quan by appealing to his wise Viceroy Zhou Yu, who has his own reasons for battling Cao Cao. His wife Xiao Qiao is Red Cliff’s Helen of Troy, whose beauty has haunted Cao Cao for years.

While the CGI can be a bit conspicuous at times, Woo invests the action with grit and vigor. He stages several enormously ambitious full-scale battles worthy of Cecil B. DeMille, complete with naval skirmishes, charging cavalry, and blizzards of arrows. Yet it is the gravity defying martial arts fight choreography that really delivers the goods.

As Zhou Yu, Tony Leung, the star of Woo’s breakout hit Hard Boiled, brings the right heroic screen presence to credibly serve as the action lead, without being overshadowed by the considerable spectacle constantly enveloping him. While many of the supporting players are largely lost in the editing shuffle (including the noble leaders of the allied provinces), Leung is nicely counterbalanced by Takeshi Kaneshiro as the mystical Zhuge (who turns out to be a walking second century Farmer’s Almanac). Chiling Lin also is quite effective as the beautiful Xiao Qiao, projecting a sense of strength and compassion that helps to humanize a story almost entirely dominated by warfare.

Red Cliff is probably best appreciated in its intended, unexpurgated form. Still, the American cut remains a meticulously produced historical action film that compares highly favorably with recent competing martial arts fare. Basically all about fighting, Cliff is frankly just a sheer blast to watch. It opens tomorrow (11/18) at the Sunshine Cinema.

Sokurov’s The Sun

Great political power in and of itself does not seem to interest Alexander Sokurov. In his thematically related “Great Leaders” film series, the Russian director has instead focused on titanic historical figures in the twilight of their supremacy. Previously, Sokurov portrayed Hitler and Lenin as irredeemably warped by their madness and craven appetite for control over others (in Molloch and Taurus respectively). Ironically, the Emperor Shōwa (better known in the West as Hirohito) emerges as a much more human figure, despite the divine status he has yet to renounce in Sokurov’s The Sun (trailer here), the third installment of his projected tetralogy, which opens at Film Forum this Wednesday.

The Emperor has never buttoned his shirt or opened a door on his own. Closely attended by servants since birth, he seems naively ignorant of worldly matters. Arguably, he is also a war criminal. With the arrival of the American occupational force, a reckoning would seem inevitable, yet it is unclear whether the sheltered Emperor fully understands his precarious position.

The Sun probably could not have been made by a Japanese filmmaker. Serving as his own cinematographer, Sokurov creates a dour, ethereal world of gauzy grays and sepia tones that eerily reflects Hirohito’s alienation from conventional life. Twitchy and awkward, the Emperor hardly cuts an imperial figure. Indeed Japanese actor Issey Ogata gives a bold performance in more ways than one, vividly humanizing and humbling an iconic national figure. Yet in contrast to Sokurov’s other subjects, the noble-born Hirohito actually has a capacity for genuine nobility and perhaps even redemption.

Chronicling the days leading up to Hirohito’s great renunciation, Sun might seem like an uneventful film on the surface. Yet Sokurov and the riveting Ogata compellingly convey the ostensive leader’s tremendous internal drama. Especially intriguing are Hirohito’s tense meetings with Gen. Douglas MacArthur, the commander of the American occupation, which would directly shape the future of the Japanese nation. Though not exactly a perfect likeness, Robert Dawson at least projects the right military bearing and mannerisms as the General, conspicuously contrasting with the reserved Emperor.

Do Sokurov and screenwriter Yury Arabov let Hirohito off too easily for his complicity in Japanese war crimes? Perhaps. Yet they present an engrossing study of a flawed man, unexpectedly rising to the occasion at critical juncture in history. Unlike the monstrous Lenin and Hitler, Sokurov’s Hirohito truly cares more for the welfare of his people than his own interests. In fact, it might be easier for him to relate to his country on a macro level than to interact with people on an individual plane, including even his wife.

Filmed with stately deliberation, The Sun is a thoughtful examination of power and nobility. Though it might be considered controversial in Japan for depicting the Emperor Shōwa as mortal man of slight stature and an almost childlike demeanor, The Sun is in fact a highly sympathetic cinematic rendering of Hirohito and his proud countrymen. It opens Wednesday (11/18) at Film Forum.

No Subtitles Necessary: Laszlo & Vilmos

Their cinematography marks some of Hollywood’s most (and least) celebrated motion pictures, yet their first collaboration as film students might be even more historically significant. Before Laszlo Kovacs and Vilmos Zsigmond filmed watershed movies of the 1970’s, like Easy Rider, Deliverance, Paper Moon, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, the master Hungarian cinematographers captured on film a historical record of the Soviet Army brutally repressing the 1956 Hungarian Revolution. Now their dramatic lives and work are profiled in fellow cinematographer James Chressanthis’s feature directorial debut, No Subtitles Necessary: Laszlo & Vilmos (trailer here), an official selection of the 2008 Cannes Film Festival which airs tomorrow night in most markets on PBS’s Independent Lens.

Following the Soviet invasion, Kovacs and Zsigmond miraculously smuggled their footage out of the country in an unlikely escape that became the stuff of Hollywood legend. Amazingly, Kovacs actually clandestinely returned to Hungary later to sneak out loved ones, leaving an increasingly anxious Zsigmond waiting near the border.

Though different in temperament, the two men are constantly referred to as brothers in spirit throughout Subtitles. While Kovacs was described as a ladies’ man, Zsigmond emerges as a bit shier and slightly more neurotic. Yet, both would do anything for the shot on the early exploitation films they cut their teeth on. Then one day, Kovacs landed yet another biker movie: Easy Rider. From that point forward, Kovacs and Zsigmond became the d.p.’s of choice for the generation of filmmakers sometimes labeled “the American New Wave,” including Dennis Hopper, Peter Bogdanovich, Hal Ashby, Robert Altman, Martin Scorsese, and Bob Rafelson.

Throughout the film, both men come across as highly regarded and genuinely well liked in an industry not known for fostering camaraderie. Many of the directors and actors they worked with, notably including Jon Voigt and Dennis Hopper, offer some engaging reminiscences. Bogdanovich, both a film historian and a director (who worked with Kovacs on Targets, Paper Moon and the ill-fated At Long Last Love), offers some particularly insightful commentary.

As one would hope for a documentary about cinematographers, directed by one of their peers, Subtitles has a very vital, cinematic look. Give credit to cinematographer Anka Malatynska just for accepting such a daunting assignment. Chressanthis also nicely explains his subjects’ distinctive mastery of light, as well as their tireless work to promote recognition of cinematography as a creative discipline in its own right.

Clearly, Kovacs and Zsigmond were comfortable opening up to a colleague, speaking frankly about their personal and professional challenges. Though Kovacs passed away in 2007, there are still ample interview segments with him, while seeing Zsigmond without his lifelong friend adds poignancy to what could have easily been a Hollywood-style celebration of triumph over adversity.

Indeed, Subtitles is truly a cinematographer’s film. It looks great and will foster an increased appreciation of the director of photography in general with its many clips of the classic films shot by Kovacs and Zsigmond. It airs on Independent Lens tomorrow night (11/17) at 10:00 on New York’s Thirteen.

Russian Film Week ’09: Pete on the Way to Heaven

Petya Makarov lives in a provincial town actually prospering under Stalin’s rule. That is because it services the newly built gulag nearby. Though largely oblivious of such economic concerns, Makarov is probably his community’s most dedicated Communist. He is also the village idiot. It is not a bad life for the Kandalaksha villagers, as long as they do not look over the fence in Nikolai Dostal’s Pete on the Way to Heaven, which screens during the 2009 Russian Film Week in New York.

The year is 1953 and Stalin is not long for the world he terrorized. While Makarov’s fellow villagers might be smarter and worldlier than he, they will be equally devastated by impending demise. Makarov however, is a true believer unencumbered by fear or self-deception. In his enthusiasm, he has adopted the role of militia inspector, enforcing traffic regulations on a volunteer basis. He has the hat but pines for the gun. Wisely though, the local authorities only allow him a wooden surrogate.

There is ugliness to see in the village, for those who bother to look. The Colonel in charge of the work camp personally supplies much of it. Cruel and virulently anti-Semitic, he is married to the attractive (and much younger) director of the local clinic. She seems like a reasonable person, but her advances understandably unnerve her Jewish colleague.

The guileless Makarov can wholeheartedly cast his ballot for the “Communist-Nonpartisan” candidate without recognizing the inherent contradiction. The rest of town has no such excuse. They are living life looking the other way. Based on the glaring foreshadowing of the title, this corrosive environment may well end up costing Makarov dearly.

Egor Pavlov is the perfect picture of innocence, but never gets too cute or unrealistically noble as the dimwitted protagonist. Svetlana Timofeyeva-Letunovskaya displays an intriguing screen presence as the Colonel’s wife and Aleksandr Korshunov also delivers a charismatic supporting turn as Konovalov, the village’s one decent (and relatively proletarian) authority figure. However, most of their fellow villagers are rather interchangeable and undistinguished. Unfortunately, Heaven tarries far too long with the rather unexceptional comings and goings of their daily village lives.

Ultimately, Heaven is a tragedy several times over. While the central heartbreak unfolds before our eyes, it is important to remember far greater horrors occur off-screen—out-of-sight and out-of-mind for the good Kandalaksha townspeople. Though it meanders a bit at times, Heaven’s fascinating premise and its convincing sense of time and place make it a film worth seeking out. It screens again next Sunday (11/22) at the Millennium Theater.

Russian Film Week ’09: The Miracle

It is 1956 and Khrushchev’s de-Stalinization campaign is under way. Religion is still strictly verboten though, which is why the authorities of provincial Russian town are so alarmed when a genuine miracle occurs in their midst. Both religious and secular faiths are tested in Aleksandr Proshkin’s The Miracle, which screens during the 2009 Russian Film Week in New York City.

Based on an incident known as “The Standing of Zoya,” the miracle in question happens to a quite unlikely subject. Zoya is a dogmatic Young Communist and an ardent atheist, who forces her long suffering mother to remove all her icons, except for St. Nicholas. When her lover is a no-show for her birthday party, Zoya grabs St. Nicholas to serve as her ironic slow dance partner. In a mysterious flash of light, Zoya is suddenly transformed into an immovable chisel-breaking statue.

As Miracle makes crystal clear, there were definite limits to Khrushchev’s liberalization. In no way would the Communist Party tolerate any form of religious revival inspired by Zoya. At first, an alcoholic reporter is dispatched to debunk the story. Unfortunately, the problem with degenerate journalists is that they recognize when they are being played. Overtures are then made to an Orthodox priest to discourage miraculous thinking amongst his remaining flock. Eventually, Khrushchev himself tackles the situation personally when his plane is forced to make an emergency landing at the nearby military airfield.

Miracle has a great deal of both faith and skepticism. Frankly, it does not present an especially flattering portrait of Russian Orthodox clergy. Yet the miracle is presented matter-of-factly, without any did-it-or-didn’t hedging after the fact. Miracle also acts as a corrective to any misinformed romanticism of the Communist era. Even during Khrushchev’s Thaw, pervasive propaganda and religious persecution were firmly established Communist policy.

Nicely balancing dissipation and charm, Konstantin Khabensky hits the right notes as Nikolai Artemyev, the appropriately jaded journalist. Indeed, the scenes involving his intrigues are particularly compelling. Conversely, the priest played by Viktor Shamirov never feels like a fully flesh-and-blood character.

Thaw or no thaw, there was still a climate of fear in 1956 Russia, which is nice reflected on screen. Father and son cinematographers Gennady and Alexander Karyuk capture both the bleakness of Zoya’s industrial backwater village as well as the ominously austere buildings housing the Party bureaucracies. While much of Miracle is allegorical, Proshkin keeps the drama tightly focused and well grounded the realities of Khrushchev-era Russia.

Echoing Arthur Koestler, Miracle shows the failure of the god of Communism, as well as the shortcomings of human nature in general. It is a challenging film that deserves an international audience. An excellent representative of Russian cinema, Miracle screens again today (11/15) and next Sunday (11/22) at the Millennium Theater in Brighton Beach.

Russian Film Week ’09: Anna Karenina

“A great Russian brand” is how director Sergei Solovyev described Leo Tolstoy in a press conference held last night. He also credited Oprah Winfrey for helping bring his screen adaptation of Anna Karenina to fruition when she recommended it to her Pavlovian viewers, making an unlikely bestseller of the Nineteenth Century novel. While Solovyev might have departed stylistically from earlier film treatments, rest assured he did not “Oprah-ize” his big screen version of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina (trailer here), which opened this year’s Russian Film Week in New York City.

Karenina is a rich, complex, and lengthy novel, but it can be readily boiled down to its essence. Anna Arkadyevna Karenina is married to the much older Alexei Alexandrovna Karenin, but she is the lover of the dashing Count Alexei Kirillovich Vronsky. Their situation produces conflict that is timeless and universal.

Most prior adaptations of Karenina have been formal costumes dramas, very conscious of their status as prestige pictures. While the sets and costumes are appropriately elegant, Solovyev’s approach is much more impressionistic, employing saturated colors and deliberately cinematic lighting effects. Likewise, composer Anna Solovyeva’s score also reflects a great variety of moods and textures, but it always nicely fits the on-screen drama.

Considering they are playing two of the greatest lovers in the history of literature, Tatyana Drubich and Yaroslav Boyko seem like surprisingly cold fish as Anna Karenina and Count Vronsky, respectively. Strangely, it is the old men who fare best in Soloyev’s Karenina, with Oleg Yankovskiy bringing unusual dignity and gravitas to the role of Karenin, the often overlooked side of this classic love triangle. Sergey Garmash, known for playing heavies in Nikita Mikhalkov’s 12 and Anders Banke’s Tribeca-selected Newsmakers, is also quite effective, but almost unrecognizable, as Kostya Levin, the spurned suitor of Anna’s youngest sister-in-law, Kitty.

While Solovyev brings a distinctive new look to the material, Karenina still has plenty of good old-fashioned literary melodrama to offer. Non-Russian speakers should note one particular caveat though. The distractingly bad subtitles are often completely illegible against white backgrounds (and it snows a lot in Russia). It might not be the best Karenina yet filmed, but it is certainly an apt way to kick-off Russian Film Week. Solovyev’s Karenina screens again Monday (11/16) at the SVA Theatre.

The New Prisoner

In mathematics, six is the smallest perfect number, making it an appropriate designation for the unnamed protagonist of The Prisoner, Patrick McGoohan’s cult 1960’s science fiction series. While the original Number 6 was a paragon of individuality, times have changed. In AMC’s three-night six-hour miniseries reboot, Number 6 now desperately clings to his sense of self in the face of a technological dystopia. Yet, Prisoner fans will be happy to hear Number 6’s mantra remains the same: “I am not a number, I am a free man.” They will have plenty more to compare, contrast, and debate when The Prisoner (trailer here) debuts this coming Sunday night.

A man wakes up in the middle of the desert. Though disoriented, he still rushes to help an elderly man fleeing an armed gang. Following the dying man’s instructions, he makes his way to the nearest settlement, a community of largely homogenous pre-fab buildings referred to simply as “The Village.” There are no names in The Village. Everyone is known only by their number. (According to the press kit, mine is 779). The reluctant new arrival is told he is and always has been Number 6, by Number 2, the supposedly benevolent ruler of this ostensibly happy community.

We quickly learn from early flashbacks the new Number 6 at least has a first name, Michael. We also know he recently resigned from a sensitive position at an electronic surveillance firm, but the true nature and location of The Village remains a mystery. As in the original series, Number 2 will wage a not-so cold war to break 6 of his headstrong individuality and convince him to accept life in The Village.

Pulling out all the stops, 2 targets 6’s human vulnerabilities, like familial love and romantic attraction. Yet unlike the original 6, who tormented a rotating cast of 2’s with his brilliant counter-measures, the new 6 constantly struggles to maintain his sanity in the face of this 2’s relentless psychological warfare. Of course, should 6 ever try to make a break for it, Rover, the ominous beach ball, is still there to herd him back to the tight little Village.

Number 2’s cream colored suit fits Sir Ian McKellen to a tee. He is absolutely perfect as mysterious mastermind, reveling in every nefarious scheme, while dealing with his rebellious son 11-12 and sick wife, M2. The casting of Jim Caviezel as 6 is also an inspired choice. He has the right on-screen intensity as the defiant everyman and also brings a certain iconoclastic reputation as an actor that actually enhances his credibility in the role. (Who else in Hollywood would be more likely to be banished to The Village than the star of The Passion of the Christ and The Stoning of Soraya M?)

Though many of the particulars have changed (like the desert setting in place of the vaguely Mediterranean ambiance of the original Village), AMC’s Prisoner often nods to the classic series, with strategically placed props, including an antique penny-farthing bicycle and a lava lamp. Writer Bill Gallagher also demonstrates a similar flare for eccentric details, like the Village cuisine, which is now consists almost exclusively of wraps (except for the cakes baked for 2, of course). The new Prisoner also delves deeper into the sociology of The Village, where surveillance is one of the subjects taught in grade school and matches are made through blink counts.

While AMC’s Prisoner is divided into six episodes (each with a title that echoes those of the original series), it is very definitely a sequential narrative that steadily builds towards its final reveal. Unlike the 1960’s show, the new incarnation of The Prisoner is much more cinematic, capitalizing on the sweeping sand dunes and sun-drenched vistas of its desert locale. In fact, Florian Hoffmeister’s lensing nicely reflects the surreal nature of the Village (wherever it might be), suggesting he might be the right cinematographer to shoot the next Dune adaptation as well.

In most respects, the new Prisoner gets the tone and spirit of the otherworldly Village right. However, the evil Summakor Corp. seems like small beer compared to the shadowy forces behind the original Village, which might have been run by our side, the other side, or both sides cooperatively in an early manifestation of New World Order paranoia. Still, AMC’s Prisoner makes up for the evil corporation cliché with a series of increasingly inventive revelations that should even pass muster with the generation of viewers raised on The Matrix.

Indeed, this Prisoner is a very cleverly constructed science fiction event that will definitely entertain newcomers to the Village and satisfy most cult followers of the original Number 6. It is commendably ambitious, requiring a certain commitment of time and attention, given its fractured narrative and the frequently dubious nature of reality within its story. The Prisoner debuts on AMC this Sunday (11/15), continuing through Tuesday (11/17), with two back-to-back episodes each evening (8:00 PM EST).

(Photos © Keith Bernstein/AMC)

NY Greek Film Fest ’09: Shutterbug

It seems like a safe guess Minos Papas has seen Blow-Up a time or two. Even if he was unfamiliar with the Michelangelo Antonioni classic before he started filming his own feature about a professional photographer’s trippy experiences and bizarre visions, he has surely heard numerous references since then. Of course, Papas is not Antonioni, but at least he displays a notable visual sensibility in Shutterbug (trailer here), which premiered at this year’s New York Greek Film Festival.

Alex is an obsessive photographer who will do anything for a shot, including looking into the sun, which obviously you should not do (particularly if your livelihood depends on your vision.). At first, he just has a case of those persistent spots, but soon he begins having ghostly visions of a woman he does not recognize. Getting little help from an optometrist, Alex wanders into a storefront psychic’s reading room. She is not much help either, but refers him to a heavy-duty spiritualist who lives in a sketchy area around the Williamsburg Bridge.

In what are undeniably the strongest sequences of the film, Papas creates a haunted netherworld of lost souls (metaphorically) under the bridge. With his eyes literally playing tricks on him, Alex’s journey through that strange night is thoroughly disorienting and at times harrowing, quite impressively lit, shot and cut by Papas and his crew. Unfortunately, the cause-and-effect plot points getting him there make no sense whatsoever.

There is really no logic to be found in Shutterbug. Based on the events of the film, it is hard to even say you should not look directly into the sun (but truthfully, you really shouldn’t). Still, it is an interesting looking film, courtesy of d.p. Rossana Rizzo’s often hallucinatory lensing. Shutterbug also gets a strong assist from the Tao Zervas’s very Brooklyn sounding soundtrack. Unfortunately, it is undone at key moments by some visual effects that betray Shutterbug’s limited budget.

At times, Shutterbug really makes New York look new and strange. It also leaves audiences scratching their heads in bewilderment. Still, Papas clearly has a talented eye and a lot of potential as a filmmaker. Shutterbug has its merits and should be a portent of things to come.

Russian Film Week ‘09: The Gift to Stalin

One of the scarier aspects of Stalin’s reign of terror was the effectiveness of his cult of personality. His image was omnipresent, investing his iron-fisted rule with a secular idolatry which brooked no criticism. (Thankfully, nothing like that could ever happen here, right?) In fact, reverence for his personality cult was so deeply ingrained in the Soviet people, many of those who suffered personal persecution under his regime reportedly still wept when news of Stalin’s death was released to the public. That emotional dichotomy is sensitively dramatized in Rustem Abdrashev’s The Gift to Stalin (trailer here), which screens as part of the 2009 Russian Film Week.

Under Stalinism, Kazakhstan became the dumping ground for massive deportations of Soviet ethnic minorities (including a surprisingly large Korean community). As Gift opens in 1949, young Sashka’s Jewish family is on one such cramped transport making its way through the Eurasian steppe, in a scene that bears an obvious similarity to tragic events from Europe’s recent history. The train stops at each provincial station just long enough to unload the freshly deceased, but it is sufficient time for Sashka’s family to smuggle him off the train in the company of corpses, where he is discovered and essentially adopted by Kasym, a fierce looking, but gentle track worker.

Given the risks inherent in sheltering Sashka, the Muslim Kasym has the village spiritualist rename him something less suspicious and more Kazakh sounding: Sabyr, meaning humble. Though still physically powerful, Kasym is old enough to be the boy’s grand-father, so he gets welcome help from his neighbor Verka, the exiled widow of an alleged traitor. Unfortunately, the village cannot openly come together to raise Sashka/Sabyr. Even on the lonely steppe, the Party apparatus, represented by a venal policeman and the sadistic regional military commander, maintain the Stalinist atmosphere of fear.

When not victimizing the local women, the party leaders are preparing the town’s commemoration of Stalin’s big seven-o. Gifts from children across the USSR are being collected for the nationwide birthday celebration. The child offering the best sacrifice wins the privilege of giving their gift to Stalin personally. It might sound like a questionable honor, but Sashka covets it as an opportunity to petition Stalin for the release of his parents. However, the gift Stalin really wanted was the first successful Soviet test of an atomic bomb, which will soon literally rock Kazkhstan.

Abdrashev dramatically employs the vastness of the steppe to express the alienation of his exiled characters and deftly handles his many young actors. The physically imposing Nurjuman Ikhtimbayev turns in a legitimately touching performance as Kasym, the gentle giant. Dalen Shintemirov comes across quite naturally on-screen, neither cloying nor affected in the role of young Sashka.

Told in flashbacks by an adult Sashka now safely residing in Israel, Gift is an unabashedly sentimental story of sacrifice and thanksgiving, but honestly earns its emotional pay-off. To its credit, the film does not whitewash the realities of life under Stalinism, particularly regarding ethnic minorities banished to the Eurasian republics. One of the best films of this year’s New York Jewish Film Festival, Gift makes a welcome return to the City under the auspices of Russian Film Week. It screens Tuesday (11/17) at the Brooklyn Public Library and next Sunday (11/22) at the Millennium Theater in Brighton Beach.

Faces of Tsai Ming-liang: Vive L’Amour

For three characters, the unwelcoming urban environment of Taipei is hardly conducive for forging human connections. Their director ought to know. He was a stranger there himself. Born to an ethnic Chinese family in Malaysia, Tsai Ming-liang became the leading director associated with Taiwanese cinema’s “Second New Wave.” That sense of otherness informs much of Tsai’s work, especially his international breakout film, Vive L’Amour, which screens this coming Tuesday at the Asia Society as part of their Faces of Tsai Ming-liang retrospective.

They never talk much, which is a little ironic since they all work in sales, to some extent. May Lin is a real estate broker, who uses the half furnished apartment she is showing for a one night stand with Ah-jung, a common street vendor. Unbeknownst to her, Hsiao-kang has been secretly squatting there. A traveling funeral urn salesman, Hsiao-kang is a sexually ambiguous, suicidal mess.

Hiding under beds and tiptoeing around the apartment to avoid detection, Hsiao-kang’s near misses would be the stuff of screwball comedy in a different film. In Vive though, they are emblematic of his desperation and alienation. Make no mistake, this is not a funny movie. It is about lonely people, whose lives are emptier than the apartment they sort of share.

Uncompromising in the extreme, Tsai largely eschews dialogue throughout Vive. Yet his style remains unyieldingly intimate. There are many wincingly uncomfortably moments throughout the film, but the simplicity and directness of its conclusion perfectly expresses the film’s underlying despair. It truly is the work of a demanding auteur.

Vive’s “roommates,” Lin, Ah-jung, and Hsiao-kang, are played by three frequent Tsai collaborators: Yang Kuei-Mei, Chen Chao-jung, and Lee Kang-sheng, respectively. While Lee gets most of the showy scenes of cross-dressing and an attempted suicide, it is Yang who really lowers the film’s emotional boom. Her haunting work makes the film unforgettable.

About as far from multiplex-popcorn fare as cinema can get while still maintaining a linear sense of plot, Vive is definitely for discriminating cineastes. Yet once viewers acclimate to its deliberate pace, it delivers a real emotional punch. Currently unavailable on DVD, its November 17th screening at the Asia Society offers a rare opportunity to see it on a big screen. The Faces series starts Friday (11/13) and runs through Saturday (11/21), with a free screening of Tsai’s latest film, Face, scheduled for Sunday (11/15).

Things to do in Ireland: Turning Green

Clearly, James identifies with underdogs. It’s 1979 and he is a Mets fan. One would think he would also have a greater affinity for his Irish heritage. While provincial Ireland might look quaint, it is stifling for James, a teenager with galloping hormones determined to get back to New York by any means necessary, in Michael Aimette and John G. Hofmann’s Turning Green (trailer here), which opens tomorrow here in The City of Dreams.

After their mother died, James and his younger brother Pete were shipped off to their spinster aunts in Ireland. Their rigid Catholicism and worldly ignorance lead to some embarrassing moments for the former New Yorker. They are particularly baffled by why he spends so much time in the bathroom each day. At least he has a job, making collections for Bill the Bookie. Should anyone fall into arrears, Bill the Breaker pays them a nasty visit.

Frustrated in more ways than one way, James finds hope during a brief trip to England: dirty magazines, which were then strictly forbidden in the repressed Emerald Isle. In addition to helping meet short term needs, they offer the promise of real escape. After all, the kid understands supply and demand. Catholic or not, it turns out Irish men will indeed pay good money for contraband nudie mags. However, his illicit trade attracts the unwelcome attention of the Church and the Bills.

While it surely has an element of quirkiness, Green is much edgier than films like The Full Monty and Calendar Girls. It is after all about a teenager selling porn. Still, nothing truly untoward happens on-screen or off, aside from James’s compulsive taking care of business.

Notably assured for a newcomer, Donal Gallery gives one of the better teenaged screen performances in recent years as the porn smuggling James. He is certainly not too cute in the role. Apparently there is an Irish law forbidding the export of any film not co-starring Colm Meaney, who duly appears as James’s down-on-his-luck friend Tom, the sort of role that fits the Star Trek Next Gen actor like a rumpled tweed jacket. However, the real casting surprise in Green is the presence of Timothy Hutton (Academy Award winner for Ordinary People), looking like an unkempt Colin Farrell as Bill the Breaker.

Though Green’s budget was probably less than James’s cash stash, it is a surprisingly fine looking production. Tim Fleming’s lensing effectively captures the natural Irish beauty James could not be less interested in, while the jaunty original music by Pull (Mitch Davis and Scott Brittingham) propels the film along nicely. The retro animated title sequence also has a distinctive charm (but the distributor, New Films International, really ought to update their dated looking logo).

At its heart, Green is very definitely a coming of age story. In fact, growing proves to be a particularly painful process for its protagonist. That’s life, kid. Balancing wistful nostalgia with more dissolute elements reasonably well, Green is a small but likable film. It opens tomorrow (11/13) at the AMC Empire 25.

The View from the Bridge: Uncertainty

New Yorkers who live in the City consider the boroughs a whole different world. For one young couple, Manhattan and Brooklyn are not just different neighborhoods, they represent divergent lives. Each possible destiny unravels for them simultaneously in Scott McGehee and David Siegel’s Uncertainty (trailer here), which opens Friday in New York.

Kate Montero and Bobby Thompson look like a nice young couple, but neither is too thrilled to be spending the Fourth of July with her parents. Meeting at the center of the Brooklyn Bridge, they flip a coin to settle a weighty unmentioned issue that hangs between them. Suddenly, one starts running into the City, while the other heads towards Brooklyn, yet through a cinematic device of magical realism, they meet the other their respective ends of the bridge.

On the Manhattan side, Montero and Thompson decide to blow off her family in favor of some dim sum. Unfortunately, their brunch plans will be interrupted when they find an expensive cell phone in the backseat of their cab. Rather than waiting for the owner to call looking for his phone, Thompson inexplicably starts calling the numbers stored in memory, giving his name like a complete idiot. Of course, there is something quite valuable stored on that phone, making them the targets of some very unsavory types.

Concurrently, life is much quieter out in Brooklyn, where Montero and Thompson’s big drama is the lost dog they found on the way to her parents’ house. While her mother might be a bit high maintenance, her entire family seems quite nice overall. Actually, it was not really the Montero family worrying the couple out on the Bridge. It was the dilemma they have been wrestling with (which should be relatively easy guess).

When in Brooklyn, Montero and Thompson are likable, engaging characters. In Manhattan, they are morons, who constantly make the worst possible decisions. Still, Lynn Collins and Joseph Gordon-Levitt display a real chemistry together (in both boroughs), largely improvising their scenes as the fate-crossed couple. Collins in particular shows a real star quality, lighting up the screen in Uncertainty.

To their credit, McGehee and Siegel make New York City look right with well chosen, recognizable locations. Uncertainty is also well served by Rain Li’s crisp, slick HD cinematography. Despite Montero and Thompson’s problematic Manahattan-based decisions, the film’s pacing never flags, even when the action shifts to the peacefully domestic County of Kings.

Ultimately, Uncertainty is a gimmick film in the tradition of Sliding Doors. However, it deserves credit for its vitality and savvy use of New York locations. It opens Friday (11/13) at the IFC Center.

Other Israel ’09: Sayed Kashua—Forever Scared

Sayed Kashua is an Arab-Israeli novelist and screenwriter who writes in Hebrew, which puts him in a very exclusive literary fraternity. That notoriety emerges as a source of both pride and fear for the celebrated writer in Dorit Zimbalist’s, Sayed Kashua—Forever Scared (trailer here), a documentary profile screening during the 2009 Other Israel Film Festival.

Kashua worries his time spent writing the Israeli television series Arab Labor (episodes of which will also screen at this year’s Other Israel Fest) has distracted him from writing a Nobel Prize winning novel. Indeed, Kashua worries about many things, often not without reason. For many Arab-Israelis, Kashua is a collaborating Uncle Tom. Conversely, many Jewish Israelis buy Kashua’s books and attend his lectures, but balk at his aggrieved politics. As a result, he feels uneasy about nearly every aspect of his life.

Truly, Kashua appears to have elevated neurosis to an art form worthy of a Woody Allen. Though wholly sympathetic, Zimbalist’s portrait of Kashua is not always flattering. He deserves credit for at least engaging in dialogue with Israeli students and readily acknowledging the Holocaust and other historical injustices visited upon the Jewish people. Yet, he strictly hews to traditional Palestinian notions of victimhood. On a more personal level, his family life often seems more than a little strained, arguably as a result of his self-absorbed artistic temperament.

Zimbalist clearly establishes Kashua’s critical standing on the world literary scene and captures several revealing moments with the writer. Along the way, Scared documents some telling ironies, like the fact it has primarily been Jewish film festivals that have programmed Arab Labor outside of Israel.

Throughout Scared, Zimbalist records Kashua’s abundant anxieties, but never questions if he fears the right things. Regardless, the film offers an intriguing look at one of Israel’s unlikeliest but highly esteemed Hebrew writers, in a manageable fifty-six minute running time. It screens Saturday (11/14) at Cinema Village and Sunday (11/15) at the JCC in Manhattan.

Other Israel ’09: Jaffa

Jaffa is a truly diverse Israeli city, where Jewish and Arab citizens coexist in close, if uneasy proximity. It sounds like the perfect environment for a drama of forbidden love. Such a romance does indeed blossom, temporarily at least, in Keren Yedaya’s Jaffa (trailer here), which plays at the 2009 Other Israel Film Festival following its high profile Out-of-Competition screening at Cannes.

Tawfik and his father Hassan know their way around a car engine, so they get along reasonably well with the Jewish owner of their garage, Reuven Wolf. The boss’s petulant son Meir is a different story. Resentful of his self-absorbed parents, he constantly focuses his anger on Tawfik. At least the Arab mechanic gets along with the boss’s daughter Mali—too well in fact. Furtive lovers, Mali and Tawfik are planning to run away together to marry and raise the baby she now carries.

Will Wolf and his shallow wife Osnat accept Tawfik as a son-in-law? Probably not, but events will intercede before that question can be fairly answered, when Tawfik finally gives Meir the fight he has been spoiling for. Suddenly he and Mali are no longer Romeo and Juliet, tragic though their affair might be.

In Jaffa, Yedaya slathers a layer of Arab-Israeli social conscience atop of a three hanky melodrama. Unfortunately, Mali is a deliberately weak romantic heroine, to an extent that taxes the audience’s sympathies. Yes, we understand she desperately craves the love and attention of her parents, yet initially cannot compete with Meir’s acting out. Still, her complaint character is quite frustrating from a dramatic standpoint. Dana Ivgy does what she can in the part, but Mali is just a hard character to embrace. By contrast, Mahmoud Shalaby shows a vital screen presence as Tawfik, while Hussein Yassin Mahajneh’s memorable supporting turn as Hassan is touching yet dignified.

A strong sense of place permeates the entire film, as the city itself emerges through Avi Fahima’s production design as one of the most interesting characters in Jaffa. The Jewish and Muslim influences intermix in an exotic mélange. Frankly, the Jewish Wolf family and their Muslim workers even resemble each other, requiring social context to distinguish one from the other.

Boasting several strong performances, Jaffa is an engaging drama deeply rooted in the title city, but it is periodically hampered by a problematic protagonist. While imperfect, it certainly reflects the complexities of contemporary multi-ethnic Israel, making it an appropriate selection for the Other Israel Film Festival. It screens Thursday (11/12) at the JCC in Manhattan (as part of the opening night gala), Saturday (11/14) at Cinema Village, and next Tuesday (11/17) 92 Y Tribeca.

Other Israel ’09: Telling Strings

Kamilya Jubran’s music is very definitely a product of her heritage. However, she admits to feeling somewhat alien when returning to her homeland, the village of Rameh in northern Israel. Hailing from a family with deep musical roots, her homecoming raises many issues of tradition and legitimacy in Anne-Marie Haller’s Telling Strings, which screens as part of the 2009 Other Israel Film Festival, presented by the Israel Film Center at the JCC of Manhattan.

The instrument of choice for the Jubrans is unquestionably the oud. Building an international following as a vocalist in Paris, Jamilya Jubran still dramatically accompanies herself with the ancient fretless descendant of the lute. Yet the family connection to the oud is best exemplified by their patriarch, Elias Jubran, a master luthier with a reputation for crafting instruments with a distinctive personal sound.

The Jubrans inhabit an interesting crossroads. They live in Rameh, an Arab town where anti-Israeli sentiment runs high. However, it is also a majority Christian enclave. Though the entire family shares their father’s love of Arab classical musical forms, he frequently wonders whether there will still be a demand for his instruments in the future. He takes some heart from his sons, who have integrated the classical oud into more modern musical styles.

While the Jubrans all certainly seem to share their community’s militancy for the Palestinian cause, particularly the Jubran sons, music competes with politics as a healthier passion for the entire family. Indeed, Strings might not offer many fresh insights on contemporary Israeli political controversies, but it features some great music. Jamilya Jubran has a powerful yet personal style, delivering some riveting performances throughout the film. There is also plenty of virtuoso oud playing from the entire Jubran family, in a variety of interesting contexts.

Perhaps the most effective scenes though, involve the family patriarch at work molding and stringing his signature ouds. By their nature, musical instruments are distinctly personal objects, destined for close, almost intimate contact with their future owners. Like the artisans at the Steinway factory seen in Note By Note, Jubran lovingly assembles his instruments, investing each with its own unique musical personality.

At roughly an hour running time, Strings never overstays its welcome. It features some stirring music that might blend diverse styles, but is always played with deep feeling. Though not terribly insightful politically, it is an interesting example of the Other Israel Festival’s programming efforts to promote greater Jewish-Palestinian understanding. Recommended for the ouds, it screens Friday (11/13) at Cinema Village and Sunday (11/5) at the JCC in Manhattan.

Fort Hood: Tattooed Under Fire

In the aftermath of Thursday’s tragic shooting, there might be a natural temptation to suddenly find new implications in any documentary about American soldiers, let alone those stationed at Fort Hood. Since the investigation is still underway, it is best to resist speculation and consider such a film separately. Still, while some of the Fort Hood soldiers profiled in Nancy Schiesari’s Tattooed Under Fire do indeed suffer from combat-related stress, the issues of the alleged shooter appear to be of an entirely different nature. In contrast, many of the fighting men and women she interviews seem perfectly healthy and well adjusted (but still understandably affected by their combat experiences).

They share one commonality though. The soldiers of Fort Hood estimate as many as ninety-five percent of their ranks get inked up to some extent before deploying to Iraq. Schiesari explores the significance of their tattooing ritual and many of their specific tats in Tattooed Under Fire (trailer here), which airs on PBS stations across the country starting this coming Monday (assuming it is not preempted in light of recent events).

Army regulations permit tattoos, as long as they are not visible when soldiers wear their dress uniforms. That still allows plenty of space, and some of River City Tattoo’s Army patrons are determined to use it all. Some make relatively conventional choices, like the names of family members and the like. Others opt for the morbid but practical “meat-tags:” dog-tags tattooed in strategic locations to help identify their bodies. Then there are more graphic works, like the shocking fetus in a blender.

For the enlisted soldiers of Fort Hood, the tattoo parlor appears to have replaced the traditional barber shop as a social gathering spot. As viewers hear, they often open up to their tattoo artists and each other while getting their tats freshened, telling some quite visceral stories of their Iraqi service.

Frankly, the surfeit of tattoo images in Tattooed is often kind of gross. However, rather than instilling a fresh new respect for tattoo art, Schiesari offers absorbing snapshots of soldiers before and after their tours in Iraq. Most have harrowing stories to tell, but as a group they resist generalization. Some are bitter or emotionally scarred, while others returned essentially in tact. However, the most intriguing figure is undoubtedly Travis Conques, the medic with the notorious fetus tattoo, who readily admits his Iraqi experiences greatly tempered his nihilism. Of the soldiers interviewed in Tattooed, he now sounds the most idealistic about the mission in Iraq.

Though Tattooed is relatively non-partisan, Schiesari seems to permit more skepticism than support for the war to creep into her interview segments, especially with the parlor staff. Still, she always treats the soldiers fairly and respectfully, capturing some riveting stories in the process. Clearly, she sympathizes with the soldiers, if not with their mission. She also notably dedicates the film to Louis Schiesari, MD, Army medic, WWII.

The River City Tattoo parlor comes across as an interesting sociological crossroads, where crew-cuts meet hardcore grunge. Ultimately, Tattooed brings a very human perspective to the Army clientele of the Texas tattoo salon. Each one is a specific individual who has their own story to tell, as did those who were senselessly murdered last Thursday. Let us hope their family and friends find strength and comfort in this trying time.

Tattooed’s PBS debut is scheduled for Monday night (10/9) on San Francisco’s KQED, airing locally on New York’s WNET this coming Wednesday (11/11) at 10:30 PM.

(Photo credit: Ave Bonar/ITVS)

Light Reading: Forbidden Quest

Forbidden Quest
Directed by Kim Dae-woo
Pathfinder Entertainment

Kim Yoon-seo, a modest government inspector, will be lucky if fifty copies are printed of his latest work. That is because he is writing dirty books in Joseon era Korea, breaking the obscenity laws he is charged with enforcing. Still, he builds a considerable pass-along readership in writer-director Kim Dae-woo’s Forbidden Quest (trailer here), now available on DVD.

Though well regarded as a scholar, Kim Yoon-seo’s colleagues think little of him, considering him timid and ineffectual. He is also a budding pornographer, writing under the pen-name Chu Wol Sek, after encountering the work of a competitor during the course of an unrelated investigation. At the same time, he has attracted the attention of Jung-bin, the king’s favorite concubine. Rashly, Chu Wol Sek encourages her flirtations, while using her as the muse and model for his explicit serial novel. Right, what could possibly go wrong with that?

Throughout Quest, Kim tries to have it both ways with his subject matter. At times, Chu Wol Sek bemoans the corrosive effect of his indecent thoughts. More often, the audience is invited to vicariously enjoy the scholar’s naughty transgressions. Still, editors will probably take amusement from Chu Wol Sek’s literary jealousies and insecurities, as indecent as they might be.

Quest’s period detail is very well crafted, particularly the striking costumes, which mostly remain safely secured throughout the film. In truth, aside from some deliberately outrageous pornography read aloud, Chu Wol Sek’s story is surprisingly chaste. It still is probably not appropriate for children though, particularly given the practice of torture as an investigational technique.

Han Suk-kyu handles the awkward reserve of the indecent writer quite convincingly, but he is a bit flat as a leading man. Kim Min-jung however, makes a strong impression as Jung-bin. Cruel one minute than vulnerable the next, she consistently keeps viewers intrigued with her presence.

Quest can be frustrating, briefly flirting with several themes, only to quickly abandon them. However, it is far superior to obvious comparison films, like Philip Kaufman’s Quills. A great looking production with plenty of intrigue, it should be a good fix for most connoisseurs of Korean cinema.

Brahem’s Oud: The Astounding Eyes of Rita

The Astounding Eyes of Rita
By Anouar Brahem
ECM Records 2075

The oud and its musical forefather, the lute, are thought to date back five millenniums. By some accounts, it was invented by Adam’s grandson Lamech. Yet in a comparatively short period of time, Tunisian musician Anouar Brahem has liberated the ancient oud from its conventional role accompanying vocalists, redefining it as the lead instrumental voice in a series of recordings that combine improvised jazz, western chamber music, and traditional Middle Eastern musical forms. In a bit of departure from recent prior releases, the influence of Arab classical styles is much more pronounced on Brahem’s latest offering, The Astounding Eyes of Rita.

If anything, the constitution of Brahem’s new quartet would suggest a slight tilt towards jazz idioms, given the presence of German bass clarinetist Klaus Gessing, recently heard on Norma Winstone’s Distances (one of the best CDs of 2008) and Swedish bassist Björn Meyer, a veteran of Nik Bärtsch’s Ronin, the ultramodern jazz-trance ensemble. However, while the leader still keeps one foot firmly planted in jazz territory, the blend of his oud and Lebanese percussionist Khaled Yassine’s darbouka drum create a distinctly Eastern sound.

Brahem establishes the mysterious atmosphere from the beginning with “The Lover of Beirut,” a perfect example of the dreamily languid mood created by the deep tones of Gessing’s bass clarinet and the subtle punctuations of the leader’s oud. The following “Dances with Waves” is much more melodic, up-tempo, and jazz-oriented, featuring a legitimately swinging oud solo. The richly textured “Stopover at Djibouti” also boasts two truly rousing jazz solos from Brahem and Gessing. Catchy and intriguing, it is a real standout track that seems to evolve dramatically during each new listening.

The mood then shifts back to stately melancholy with the elegiac title track, inspired by the work of the controversial Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish. (Known for his militant opposition to the state of Israel, Darwish had been active in the PLO, but did criticize the factionalism of the Palestinian Authority late in his life.) It is certainly stirring music even if Darwish, to whom the CD is dedicated, is an understandably problematic figure for many.

With “Al Birwa” Brahem again pens a soothing melody that serves as a vehicle for some remarkable playing. Unlike his previous recording, Brahem eschewed the piano while composing, developing Eyes’s selections directly on the oud. The resulting compositions indeed sound pitch-perfect arranged for his rather unusual instrumentation.

Listening to the evocative Eyes summons images of Tunisian cafes and Mediterranean marketplaces. Often transfixing and even transformative, it has a genuinely distinctive sound that will seduce listeners with its inspired marriage of elegant old world ambiance and the eloquence of jazz expression.

The Commandant’s Conscience: Les Milles

Les Milles: The Train of Liberty
Directed by Sebastien Grall
Synkronized USA

French honor was badly tarnished by the actions of many during World War II, particularly those in Vichy who claimed most vociferously to act on its behalf. Especially troubling were the refugees they blithely turned over to the conquering National Socialists. However, one French commander has different notions of honor in Sébastien Grall’s Les Milles: The Train of Liberty, now available on DVD.

While still waging war against the Germans, the French rather conveniently confined all German and Austrian refugees, both Jews and political dissidents alike, in internment camps. By a twist of fate, the camp at Les Milles happened to host a disproportionate number of celebrated artists, writers, and scientists, including painter Max Ernst, novelist Leon Feuchtwanger, and historian Golo Mann, the son of novelist Thomas Mann.

As reserve officer Charles Perrochon takes command of the Camp des Milles, it is unclear which will fail him first, his country’s defense or the lungs that were irreparably damaged during WWI. Like the rest of the men serving under him, Porrochin finds it distinctly distasteful to babysit a bunch Germans, given the current circumstances. Yet his honor demands minimum living standards be maintained in the camp, and he visibly bristles when a mysterious American reporter suggests France might sacrifice his internees to the invading Nazis. Much to his regret though, her concerns quickly prove prescient.

With France crumbling and his lungs closing, Perrochon’s honor dictates a rash course of insubordination. With the help of his reluctant officers, the old commandant requisitions a train in a desperate attempt to shuttle his prisoners to Marseille, where hopefully a freighter will take them to free Morocco. Of course, by this point the fog of war is getting pretty thick, playing havoc with Perrochon’s largely improvised plans.

According to Milles’s end titles, Perrochon and his train have been largely overlooked by history. This also seems to be true of google, which only retrieves information of Grall’s film for searches on Perrochon and the Les Milles camp. As portrayed in the film, the camp commandant is indeed a laudable figure of integrity. Yet as Perrochon, Jean-Pierre Marrielle still creates a convincingly human character, nicely avoiding the trap of coming across as either a saint or a martinet.

Marrielle also gets effective support from some top French character actors, including Philippe Noiret as his high-living general and Jean-Marie Winling Garraud, the brooding camp doctor with an equally pesky conscience. Milles is also notable for an early screen appearance by the French-speaking Kristin Scott Thomas as Mary-Jane Cooper, the troublemaking American journalist. Unfortunately, aside from the token hot-head, the exiles are largely interchangeable stock characters of the dignified intellectual variety.

The actual Camp des Milles was in service several years beyond the timeframe of Grall’s film, ultimately serving as a transit hub for inmates en-route to concentration camps. Grall’s screenplay might let the Vichy Regime off a bit easy, but it resists the temptation of saccharine sentiment and cheap emotional uplift, creating an intriguing character study of a man of honor. Now available on DVD, Milles is a fascinating attempt by a French filmmaker to take stock of the Vichy era and a reasonably absorbing wartime drama.

Down South: That Evening Sun

Call them Southern Agrarians. Abner Meacham’s ramshackle farm is not much, but it is more than enough motivation for a feud with his archrival, Lonzo Choat. This might be contemporary Tennessee, but Meacham and Choat have more than a little of the Hatfields and McCoys in them throughout Scott Teems’s That Evening Sun (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The octogenarian Meacham has been betrayed by his body and his yuppie son. Consigned to a nursing home following a bad fall, the irascible Meacham finds the environment soul-deadening, so he steals away to spend his final days in the comfort of his old farm. However, he discovers his son has sold the property to the abusive white-trash Choat. Confident in his superior moral claim on the land, Meacham resorts to squatting in the “sharecropper” cabin, starting a not-so cold war with the younger man.

Though the law might be with Choat, he does not present a sympathetic figure when pressing his case, particularly after Meacham reports him for domestic abuse. While Meacham might be a difficult man to love, Choat would seem to be even harder to identify with. As both men dig in, absolutely certain of their respective positions, impending calamity seems inevitable.

Sun takes its title from Jimmie Rodgers’s “Blue Yodel #3,” but the lyric “hate to see the evening sun go down . . .” turns up in scores of blues and folk songs that predate Rodgers by decades. Still, the Rodgers recording is used effectively as a touchstone for Meacham, a man apparently on his “last go-round.”

Based on William Gay’s very southern short story, Sun is not exactly Southern Gothic per se, but it has gothic tendencies, including Meacham’s ghostly visions and a somewhat creepy trip to the taxidermist. It is undeniably a product of the Southern literary tradition, in which a late act of humanity is presented in an ironic light.

In a fully realized performance, Hal Holbrook (a.k.a. Mark Twain) brings both genuine intensity and plain dignity to Sun as the hard-headed geezer. Some might actually find it uncomfortably real watching as his formerly proud Meacham is bent low by age.

Unfortunately, as the lowlife Choat, co-producer Ray McKinnon is no match for the veteran actor. While he looks the part, he lacks the malevolent grit to counterbalance the powerful Holbrook, which throws the entire film out of balance. However, Barry Corbin (best known as Maurice, the former astronaut in Northern Exposure) more than holds his own in a memorably understated and nuanced supporting turn as Thurl Chessor, Meacham’s neighbor, who appears to be able to balance pride and pragmatism in his advanced age far better than his old sort-of friend.

Sun arguably stacks the deck in favor of Meacham both in its screenplay and through casting. Still, it winds its way to a surprisingly interesting place. Though far from perfect, it still has some notable elements, especially the work of Holbrook and Corbin. Ultimately it has a deliberately ragged quality and a tragic logic that echoes the country blues, in much the same way Jimmie Rodgers did. It opens Friday (11/6) at the City Cinemas on Third Avenue.

Wiseman’s La Danse

At a mere 158 minutes, Frederick Wiseman’s latest documentary opus is practically a short subject by his standards. It is also one of his most accessible, focusing on the passionate art of the choreographers and dancers of one of the world’s elite ballet companies in La Danse: The Paris Opera Ballet (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

In many ways, Wiseman is the anti-Michael Moore documentarian. Never seen on camera, Wiseman refrains from any techniques, like voice-overs or talking head interviews, which might impose personal judgments on his subjects. Instead, he captures his subjects from a fly-on-the-wall-perspective, only exercising his subjective sensibilities as a filmmaker during the editing process. The result is often very long films like his prior film, 217 minute State Legislature, a portrait of Idaho’s state legislators at work.

Wiseman’s films frequently depict the inner workings of large institutions, fascinating in the mundane details of seemingly government bureaucracies. However, in La Danse, he has an enormously photogenic environment in the magnificent Paris Opera Hall, a remarkable building that becomes as much a character in La Danse as the dancers rehearsing in its various studios.

While from time to time, we sit in on the business meetings that make the performances possible or watch the janitors at work, but the bulk of La Danse consists of dance, starting with early rehearsals and culminating with the stage performances. Evidently, the Paris Opera programs quite a diverse season, from traditional crowd pleasers like The Nutcracker (as choreographed by Rudolf Noureev) to more demanding fare, like Mats Ek’s La Maison de Bernarda.

This is indeed a dance film, but it is not exactly The Red Shoes. Wiseman’s transparent camera shows us the arduously hard work required to maintain the company’s lofty standards. He also makes some rather unusual editorial decisions, for instance showing the audience the disturbing scene from Angelin Preljocaj’s Medea that truly makes it Medea.

La Danse certainly bears the Wiseman stamp, thoroughly immersing viewers in the Paris Opera Ballet’s rarified world (which looks quite striking through John Davey’s lens). It is also a particularly audience-friendly effort from the legendary documentarian, given its manageable running time and relatively commercial subject matter. Ballet lovers as well as Wiseman admirers should find it a rich viewing experience when it opens at the Film Forum tomorrow (11/4).

The Johnny Mercer Centennial on TCM

Clint Eastwood’s film adaptation of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil is probably best remembered for its soundtrack, consisting entirely of classic songs written by Savannah, Georgia’s favorite son, Johnny Mercer. Eastwood, a well known jazz supporter and occasional pianist, now serves as the co-executive producer and presenter of Johnny Mercer: The Dream’s on Me, a new documentary tribute to the singer-songwriter debuting on Turner Classic Movies this Wednesday, as part of the network’s month long celebration of Mercer’s centennial.

Mercer was an Academy Award winning songwriter who co-founded Capitol Records. He was a popular recording artist in his own right, having come up through the ranks of the Paul Whiteman and Benny Goodman big bands. While hip jazz and cabaret artists often record Mercer songbook projects, the Mercer name might not be as familiar to contemporary audiences, despite his storied career. However, Mercer’s lyrics remain instantly recognizable thanks to his classic standards, like “One More for My Baby,” originally written for Fred Astaire but immortalized by Frank Sinatra, “Jeepers Creepers,” which became a breakout hit for Louis Armstrong, and one of the most successful movie songs ever penned, “Moon River,” written with Henry Mancini for Blake Edwards’ Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Dream gives Mercer his due not just as a prolific lyricist, but also as a distinctive vocalist, whose laidback style helped bankroll Capitol Records in its early days. For instance, we hear how his distinctly laidback jazz-oriented delivery elevates a novelty number like “Jamboree Jones” into a real swinging affair in an appearance on the Rosemary Clooney Show.

Mercer collaborated with just about everyone, most notably including Hoagy Carmichael, Harold Arlen, and Jerome Kern. With his deep southern roots, Mercer’s work has readily lent itself to jazz interpretation by the likes of tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins (heard briefly in Dream) and pianist Bill Charlap (the son of songwriter Moose Charlap and vocalist Sandy Stewart), who serves as narrator for the program and plays over the ending credits.

Producer-director Bruce Ricker (who previously helmed Tony Bennett: The Music Never Ends seen on PBS's American Masters) crafts a classy tribute to Mercer, incorporating extensive vintage Hollywood clips and interviews from admiring musicians and vocalists, like Bennett, Andre Previn, Dame Cleo Laine, Johnny Dankworth, and Margaret Whiting. Eastwood also serves as host for some original sessions of Mercer songs including notable combos, like Broadway star Audra McDonald accompanied by composer John Williams on piano, as well as Eastwood’s daughter Morgan singing the title tune backed by Larry Goldings on piano with her brother Kyle on bass.

Nicely balancing biography with music, Dream conveys a good sense of both the man and his songs. Debuting this Wednesday (11/4), it is an entertaining and informative portrait of one of the great lyricists and vocalists of the American Songbook tradition. Dream kicks off TCM’s celebration of Mercer throughout the month of November, with regular Wednesday screenings of films featuring Mercer songs (including Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, Blues in the Night, and The Days of Wine and Rose) as well as a full day of Mercer on November 18th to commemorate his 100th birthday.

(Photo credit: Adam Rose)

On-Stage: Love, Linda

Everyone from Fred Astaire to Charlie Parker has performed the music of Cole Porter. Yet for many biographers, his scandalous private life often overshadows his celebrated songbook. His indiscretions certainly put his wife Linda in difficult positions during their thirty-four year marriage. Now jazz vocalist Stevie Holland gives Linda Porter a chance to take her turn in the spotlight in the one-woman show, Love, Linda: The Life of Mrs. Cole Porter, now open at the cabaret-style Triad Theater on Manhattan’s fashionable Upper Westside.

Backed by a jazz piano trio, Holland performs in the persona of Linda Porter, telling her life story through her beloved husband’s songs, connected by brief dramatic interludes. Linda Lee Thomas was a wealthy divorcee eight years Cole Porter’s senior when they first met in Paris at an exclusive society affair. While his prodigious musical talent was obvious, his penchant for illicit affairs soon became apparent as well. However, it was not other women that Linda Porter had to worry about.

Holland presents a portrait a woman truly in love and perhaps in a bit of denial as well, given the nature and apparent frequencies of her husband’s infidelities. Yet she makes Linda Porter’s decisions understandable in the context of her life. Ultimately, her Linda Porter can forgive her husband quite a bit because she finds his music so sublime.

Indeed, Porter was a master at crafting sophisticated lyrics to catchy melodies, as aptly demonstrated by the songs selected by Holland. In addition to well representing the Porter canon, Love’s musical numbers also serve a real dramatic purpose, nicely underscoring the events of the Porters’ lives (the one exception perhaps being “The Scampi,” a vintage novelty tune, probably included to demonstrate Porter’s whimsical humor).

Throughout the show, Holland gets rock solid support from her trio of pianist Landon Knoblock, bassist Peter Brendler, and drummer Jeff Davis. To her credit, Holland allows Landon space for some brief but swinging jazz-style solos and features Davis quite memorably on “What is This Thing.”

Arranger-orchestrator Gary William Friedman (perhaps best known as the musical director of The Electric Company) also puts an intriguing twist on several familiar Porter standards, like the lamenting torch song “Miss Otis Regrets” which becomes a surprisingly bop-oriented jazz number in Love. While the arrangement of “Love for Sale” is more traditional, Holland performs it with an unusual edge that fits quite well in the context of the show. Perhaps the biggest showstopper though is her achingly romantic rendition of “In the Still of the Night,” which is exactly how audiences want to hear it performed.

Holland clearly has a strong affinity for the American Songbook in general and Porter in particular, interpreting his songs with respect and verve (even scatting a little at one point). She definitely serves the music of Cole Porter and the memory of Linda quite well throughout the show. In many ways, Love, Linda is an elegant fusion of forms. Structurally it is an effective hybrid of cabaret and solo theater, while musically it is a stylish hybrid of cabaret and jazz. It is perfectly suited to the intimate space of the Triad. Now officially open, it runs Wednesday and Saturday nights through November 21st

(Photo courtesy of 150 Productions)