Stevie Holland Sings Porter as Porter

Everyone from Fred Astaire to Charlie Parker has interpreted the music of Cole Porter. Yet for many biographers, his scandalous private life often overshadows his celebrated songbook. The nature and frequency of his indiscretions certainly put his wife Linda in difficult positions during their thirty-four year marriage. Still, they shared a deep underlying affection that inspired jazz vocalist Stevie Holland’s one-woman show, Love, Linda: The Life of Mrs. Cole Porter, which will soon return for an open-ended run at the Triad Theatre on Manhattan’s fashionable Upper Westside on March 3rd. Happily for those living outside New York, the soundtrack to Love, Linda, starring Holland singing the Porter songbook, is now available on CD.

Backed by a jazz piano trio, Holland performs in the persona of Linda Porter, telling her life story through her beloved husband’s songs and brief dramatic interludes. Listeners will get a sense of the show’s vibe from the opening track, a medley of “So In Love” and “What Is This Thing Called Love” connected by dialogue from the show succinctly explaining the Porter’s relationship.

In a nutshell, 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. Ultimately though, Holland’s Linda Porter can forgive her husband quite a bit because she finds his music so sublime.

Indeed, Porter was a master at matching sophisticated lyrics to catchy melodies, 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, like her torchy “My Heart Belongs to Daddy.

Throughout the show and album, 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 on several tunes, including their swinging takes on “Love for Sale” and “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 typically lamenting “Miss Otis Regrets” which transforms into a surprisingly bop-oriented jazz number, even featuring some hip scatting from Holland. 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 Love, Linda’s biggest showstopper is Holland’s achingly romantic rendition of “In the Still of the Night,” which is exactly how listeners want to hear it performed. The stirring closing number “When a Woman’s in Love” is also a real highlight of the set, dramatically summing up the show while showcasing her impressive vocal range.

Holland clearly has a strong affinity for the American Songbook in general and Porter in particular, interpreting his songs with respect and verve. She definitely serves the music of Cole Porter and the memory of Linda quite well throughout the show and resulting “cast album.” In many ways, the stage production of Love, Linda is an elegant fusion of forms (that made my top ten independent theater list for 2009). 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 and now for late night home listening.

(Photo courtesy of 150 Productions)

Shen Yun at Radio City

Like most ancient art-forms, classical Chinese dance was condemned during the insanity of the Cultural Revolution. Even today, it is nearly impossible to see such performances in Mainland China, but the New York based Shen Yun Performing Arts company (formerly known as the Divine Performing Arts) has kept the art alive, bringing Chinese classical dance to audiences around the world. This weekend they mark the Chinese Lunar New Year by kicking off a series of performances at New York’s preeminent dance venue, Radio City Music Hall (the storied home of the Rockettes).

Shen Yun’s media sponsors include the Epoch Times newspaper, which frequently publishes reviews by your trusted correspondent, J.B. The Shen Yun program also reflects a pronounced antipathy to the Chinese government’s systemic human rights abuses that I also share. However, Shen Yun’s most salient critique of the Communist policies comes through its celebration of the great traditions and ethnic diversity of Chinese classical dance still rejected by Party doctrine.

With an entirely new show for their 2009-2010 season (teaser here), Shen Yun can truly be described as a spectacle in the best sense of the word. Marrying beauty and precision their ensemble choreography is quite impressive. Particularly striking are the numbers utilizing long silk sleeves or fan-like handkerchiefs as extensions of the dancers, emphasizing their movements while also creating a kaleidoscopic swirl of color.

As with previous shows, Shen Yun shines a spotlight on ethnic regional Chinese dance traditions, like the Mongolian Hospitality dance, featuring ordinary ceramic dishes employed for a percussive effect. For one dance, the ladies of the company also balance distinctive silver headdresses of the Miao throughout a lively number inspired by the Miao and Hmong of Southern China.

This year, Shen Yun tells more stories within the show, including an episode from Outlaws of the Marsh by Shi Naian (who was also perhaps Luo Guanzhong, author of Romance of the Three Kingdoms, which was recently adapted on-screen as Red Cliff by action master John Woo). Adding some humor to the mix, the Shen Yun troupe chose to choreograph the crowd-pleasing episode of the drunken Wu Song’s battle with a ferocious tiger stalking a provincial village.

The troupe also stages the triumphant return of the Buddhist monk Tripitaka, the protagonist of the era novel Journey to the West generally attributed to Wu Cheng-en. It is scene of the kind of pageantry the company excels at creating. Of course, Shen Yun is always controversial for including a handful of vignettes about the current persecution of Falun Dafa practitioners in China today. Indeed, those who have assiduously buried their heads in the sand since the 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre will probably not appreciate seeing the human rights abuses they ignore or deny dramatized on-stage. Still, the tone of these Shen Yun interludes is generally positive, anticipating a better tomorrow when China is finally liberated from the oppressive Communist system.

Shen Yun always produces an impressive show, bringing to life a history and culture that go back five millennia. It is a rich multicultural stage experience (again in the best sense of the now unfortunately ideologically loaded term). Its New York run continues at Radio City Music Hall tonight and next weekend (2/20 and 2/21) with matinee and evening shows.

The Dogs of Katrina: Mine

When Katrina devastated New Orleans, many volunteers rushed into action—to save stranded animals. While that might sound noble, in many cases the rescuers and the animal shelters that took them in have been less than cooperative in subsequent efforts to reunite the pets with their rightful owners. Frustrations and regrets continue to compound for many New Orleanians in Geralyn Pezanoski’s documentary Mine (trailer here), which airs this Tuesday on most PBS outlets as part of the current season of Independent Lens.

Storm shelters, including the infamous Superdome, refused to accept pets, and neither did most motels. With Katrina bearing down, many New Orleanians with limited means were forced to leave their animals behind. Most assumed the storm would pass and they could return to their homes in a matter of days. Of course, nobody predicted the extent of Katrina’s devastation or the complete breakdown of the state and local governments which would follow. Evidently though, some self-styled rescuers jumped to rather judgmental conclusions about the owners forced to leave their pets behind.

It would be nice if Mine were simply a collection of inspiring animal rescue stories, but the reality is much more complex. As the ironic title suggests, many of the cases of disputed adoptions documented in the film boil down to legalistic questions of property ownership.

Mine focuses on a handful of displaced residents as they search for their beloved dogs, including Victor Marino who lost Max, Jesse Pullins who lost J.J. (short for Jesse Jr.), and Malvin Cavalier, an octogenarian missing his beloved Bandit. All were doting owners who will spend years trying to get them back, with varying degrees of success. Although the film clearly invites audiences to view their conflicts through prisms of race and class, there seems to be another factor at play. Indeed, several times rescuers express the notion that Katrina might have been the “best thing” to happen to some pets.

Pezanoski captures some pretty dramatic scenes including a telling phone call in which a “rescuer” flips out on Pullins. While we do hear from some rescuers, those who participated in the film sound rational and moderate. Notably missing from the film are a few pointed queries directed at the less reasonable rescuers, like the one who had taken J.J. The obvious question not being asked is whether they believe in their heart of hearts that the dogs should have been saved before human beings, which was a very real trade-off faced by many of the former owners profiled in Mine.

Granted, Pezanoski can only talk to those who voluntarily consented to interviews, but the absence of the uncooperative rescuers is conspicuous. Still, Mine is quite an eye-opening look at the myriad of unexpected indignities that continue to bedevil New Orleans residents. By contemporary documentary standards, it is relatively restrained in the cheap shots it takes at President and contemporary America in general (but of course, the dubious performance of Mayor Nagin and Governor Blanco go entirely unremarked upon).

There is a lot of bitterness in Mine, but there are some touching moments as well. It definitely an opinionated doc, worth checking out when it airs on Independent Lens this coming Tuesday (2/16 at 10:00 PM on New York’s Thirteen).

Percy Jackson, Greek for Harry Potter

He is a confused young man with powers he does not understand, sent to a mysterious camp for similarly gifted students. Why does that sound so familiar? Indeed, Percy Jackson’s world not only bears pronounced likenesses to the Harry Potter series, it also shares the same director for its cinematic launch. However, the Greek mythological trappings of the Rick Riordan books give a distinctly different flavor to Chris Columbus’s Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief (trailer here), the first film in what is obviously projected to be a kid friendly movie franchise, which opens today across the country.

Percy Jackson is not a happy young man. He has ADHD, dyslexia, and a real louse of a step-dad. However, he seems to have an innate ability to read ancient Greek and can hold his breath underwater for inhuman lengths of time. The truth is he is a demigod, the son of a mortal mother and Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea. Jackson does not know this yet, so he is a bit surprised when mythological monsters start attacking him.

As one of the few demigods not readily accounted for, Jackson naturally falls under suspicion when Zeus’s lightning bolt is stolen. That also makes Jackson a prime target for those who would challenge the lord of Olympus. Fortunately, it turns out Jackson has a protector, Grover, a satyr (half-goat, half-man) masquerading as an ostensibly disabled classmate. Under attack by a minotaur, Grover successfully leads Jackson to the Hogwartseque Camp Half Blood, but not before Ms. Jackson is magically whisked down to Hades. Of course this sets up a quest for the young hero: get Mom out of h-e-double hockey sticks and hopefully avert a war between the gods that could tear our world asunder.

It is surprising Columbus would take on Percy Jackson after opting out of the director’s chair for future Potter films, given the undeniable parallels between the two series. Still, he clearly has an affinity for such material, staging magical mêlées that are fairly intense, but never inappropriately graphic. In terms of tone and subject matter, this first Jackson film is probably best suited for the older Potter readers who have advanced to the somewhat darker later novels.

Logan Lerman, who displayed a remarkably winning screen presence in My One and Only, again brings an easy likability to Lightning as its young protagonist. More assertive than Harry Potter, yet more sympathetic than the annoying kid from Jumper, he makes Jackson a strong rooting interest, despite being such an awkward tweener. Of the well known supporting cast, Steve Coogan and Rosario Dawson probably fare the best, shamelessly chewing up the underworld scenery as Hades and his resentful wife Persephone.

Lightning is about what you would expect (nothing more or less). It is a competently crafted special effects film targeted at young but not too young fantasy fans. Parents accompanying their children will likely find it somewhat diverting, but not enchanting. Still, they should appreciate the themes of love and sacrifice, as well as the over-riding message cautioning viewers not to judge a book by its cover, because that unkempt man in a wheel chair might just be a centaur in disguise.

Mafia Mash-up: To Die for Tano

Maybe it is the gaudy disco numbers or perhaps it is the papier-mâché death’s head, but it is hard to imagine a less likely award winner at the prestigious Venice Film Festival than Roberta Torre’s outrageous feature debut. Evidently, it was considered daring for an Italian film to give the mafia the Naked Gun treatment back in 1997 when To Die for Tano won directing honors at Venice, but now that it is finally poised to open theatrically in New York tomorrow, it seems rather bizarre.

It is hard to think of an unkind Italian stereotype Tano does not help perpetuate. The characters are mostly pear-shaped with big hair, open collars, and conspicuous gold chains. Yet, they cannot be accused of misrepresenting Palermo. Torre recruited her non-professional cast literally off the city’s streets, even identifying their real life occupations in the closing credits.

Tano Guarrasi is a small time Mafioso and baker who has just been gunned down as the film opens. Though presumed to be a victim of gang warfare, many people wanted Guarrasi dead, maybe including the spinster sister he kept tightly controlled under his thumb. We sort of get a picture of a man who was feared and hated from Enzo, Tano’s wiseguy “electrician” narrator, but character revelation is not what this film is about. Instead, Torre bombards viewers with images of homoerotic mafia rituals and Grand Guignol style musical numbers (sample clip here).

You should already know by now if you would enjoy Tano. Indeed, some would consider a midnight screening of the Italian send-up the perfect way to spend a Saturday night. To give Torre fair credit, she makes a virtue of her low budget necessities, creating a uniquely kitschy vibe. However, some mere mortals might find the dark lensing and garish colors physically difficult to watch. As for pedestrian concerns like plot and characterization, both are quite thin in Tano. Instead, Torre relies on broad strokes and stock characters to create her feverish mafia mock epic.

Tano’s cast of non-thespians at least look the part as Palermo’s gossips and gangsters. Amongst the odd cast, Enzo Paglino is probably the most successful, displaying an effective world-weary screen presence as the film’s narrator.

More than for what it splashes across the screen, Tano is probably of greater interest for what it represents: a rare Italian broadside against the Mafia from a woman director who has gone on to build an international reputation. If nothing else, it is a real spectacle, but a decidedly cheesy one. It opens tomorrow in New York at the Cinema Village.

Young Gangsters in Love: Green Fish

If you’re the crime boss’s driver, never fall in love with his kept woman. It is a fairly obvious rule, but henchmen keep breaking it in film after film. At least Makdong knows he is courting danger in Lee Chang-dong’s Green Fish, a festival favorite from 1997 now available in America on DVD.

Makdong has just mustered out of the army with no real skills and even fewer prospects. He does seem to have a talent for taking a beating though, which he demonstrates on the trip home when he tries to come to the rescue of a beautiful woman hassled by punks. Unfortunately, he ends up leaving the train long enough to take a pummeling, while getting separated from the girl and his bag.

Eventually, Makdong reconnects with his femme fatale Miae, who inconveniently turns out to be the property of a rather perverse gangster. Strangely, “Big Brother” takes a shine to Miae’s innocent pal, bringing Makdong into the organization. Of course, part of his duties include chauffeuring Miae home from her disastrous torch singing gigs, setting in motion a dangerous emotional dynamic.

Despite some admittedly lurid aspects, Green is a surprisingly restrained crime melodrama. While You Yong-kil’s stylish cinematography and Lee Dong-jun’s vaguely jazz-influenced score give Green a noirish look and sound, Lee de-emphasizes most of the traditional action-thriller elements. Yes, there are definitely violent sequences, mostly involving Makdong getting the snot kicked out of him, but the film is generally more of a moody slow burn that a blazing shoot’em up.

Indeed, Lee invests the proceedings with a poetic sensibility, slowly unfolding his final tragic conclusion with deliberate patience. As Makdong and Miae, Han Suk-kyu and Shim Hye-jin convincingly flesh out the manifest flaws of their furtive never-quite lovers, maintaining a necessary threshold of viewer emotional investment, while hurtling towards the inevitable.

Lee would attract international attention for his later films, winning the director kudos at the 2003 Venice Film Festival and even briefly serving as South Korea’s Minister of Culture and Tourism. Though it is a somewhat familiar story, he gives the underworld material a bit of a twist that still seems intriguing. As a result, Green is definitely worth checking out on DVD.

The Miniature Chamber Music of Olivier Manchon

Orchestre de Chambre Miniature—Volume 1
By Olivier Manchon
ObliqSound

His credits include work with the indie bands My Brightest Diamond and Clare and the Reasons, as well as the pit orchestra for the hit Broadway alt rock musical Spring Awakening, yet his latest CD is a fusion of jazz and classical forms that would probably bring a smile to the late great Third Stream composer John Lewis. Indeed, Manchon gets a full rich sound from his string quartet augmented by several special guest soloists on Orchestre de Chambre Miniature—Volume 1, which releases today in America.

Right from the first strains of “Breakfast Queen,” the driving nature of Manchon’s string arrangements is immediately audible. It is clear the OCM will not be playing warmed over covers of “Pachelbel’s Canon.” The quartet, comprising the leader on violin, his Spring Awakening pit-mate Hiroko Taguchi on viola, Christopher Hoffman on cello, and Alan Hampton on bass, shows a remarkable facility for the darting and roiling introduction, but turn on a dime to provide a lushly supportive accompaniment for guest soloist John Ellis on tenor saxophone.

There is definitely a romantic quality to Manchon’s music, perhaps best heard on the explicitly nostalgic “Memoires,” perfectly marrying the elegance of the string quartet with the yearning sound of Gregoire Maret’s harmonica. It is a lovely track, similar in vibe to some of the Quincy Jones charts featuring Toots Thielemans, yet more classically-oriented. In a radical shift in tone, the following “Just a Second” is distinguished by its dark tonal hues and a plaintive solo from Ellis on bass clarinet that approaches Dolphyesque “out” territory.

While Manchon originals account for three quarters of the OCM program, cellist Hoffman also contributed the intriguing “The Hanged Man,” which evolves out of a minimalist prelude into a striking (and quite catchy) melody, providing a launching pad for a dramatically eloquent tenor solo from Ellis. Fittingly, it ends on a stately Continental note with a sophisticated yet playful rendition of Sibelius’s “Valse Trieste.”

Throughout OCM, Manchon varies the mood nicely, creating a richly textured musical tapestry, anchored by the tightly synchronized but still swinging ensemble work of the string quartet, which presumably we can look forward to hearing more from, since the “Volume 1” clearly implies future installments to come. Enthusiastically recommended, OCM is a hip and urbane dialogue between jazz and classical that deserves attention from both camps.

(Photo Credit: Murat Eyuboglu)

On-Stage: Clothes for a Summer Hotel

She was a former Southern belle who was institutionalized in a mental sanatorium. If Zelda Fitzgerald sounds like a Tennessee Williams heroine, it turns out she eventually was, though many theater patrons are probably unfamiliar with the play in question. The Fitzgeralds and their friends, including fellow Scribner’s author Ernest Hemingway, continue to haunt and torment each other in Williams’s “ghost play,” Clothes for a Summer Hotel, the playwright’s final Broadway production which the White Theatre Company has revived in a staging now running at the Hudson Guild Theatre.

In retrospect, it seems bizarre that Hotel closed on Broadway in 1980 after only fifteen performances. How often did jaded New Yorkers have an opportunity to see the late Geraldine Page in a new Tennessee Williams play? Though the contemporary reviews were unkind, the play as performed by the White Horse (using a text twice revised by Williams from the original 1980 stage version) contains plenty of meaty Williamseque themes, including love, art, sexuality, and madness.

As Hotel opens, F. Scott Fitzgerald shivers outside the gates of a sanitarium, guarded by two rather severe nuns in what could be a scene out of Kafka. As soon as he heard about his wife’s commitment, he left his Hollywood screenwriting gig in such a hurry he did not pack more appropriate clothes for the chilly East Coast climate. Eventually, Zelda comes out, but it is not exactly a loving reunion. As anyone with a cursory familiarity with twentieth century American literature knows, the Fitzgeralds had a turbulent marriage, giving them plenty of difficult memories to agonize over throughout both acts of Hotel.

Everyone in Hotel is apparently dead, reliving and commenting on key events from the past. (However, F. Scott does not seem to recognize that yet.) Indeed, Williams’s narrative flashes forward and back in time, creating an impressionistic rather than chronological sense of the Fitzgeralds’ lives together. Perhaps not surprisingly though, the highpoint of Hotel comes in a confrontation between Fitzgerald and his frienemy Ernest Hemingway—two hard drinking American writers grappling with professional jealousy and issues of sexuality raised in their work—territory Williams was certainly familiar with.

As the Fitzgeralds, Peter J. Crosby and Kristen Vaughan really project a sense of a couple that has each other’s numbers. They convincingly express the mysterrious affection that somehow kept them together, despite being buried under years of infidelities, betrayals, and public scenes, as well as the myriad of resentments that preclude them from forgiving and forgetting. Making quite an impression in his comparatively limited stage time, Rod Sweitzer is gruff and blustery enough to capture the self-serving vigor of a still youthful Hemingway, without becoming a caricature of the famous author.

Director Cyndy A. Marion nicely stages Hotel’s temporal dislocations, keeping the events and settings clear and distinct. It all has a classy sheen thanks to the evocative incidental music composed by Joe Gianono, (whose arranging credits include work with jazz great Gene Bertoncini).

It is amazing how rewarding it is to revisit Tennessee Williams’s “flops.” Based on the White Horse revival, Hotel clearly seems like a play that deserved a better fate. Though its non-linear structure is relatively challenging compared to most of the Williams canon, its subjects—Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald—would seem to have an enduring commercial appeal, making it a shrewd choice to restage. It is a literate, well mounted production, definitely worth checking out. Now officially open, Hotel runs at the Hudson Guild Theatre through February 21st, with a special post-show Williams panel discussion scheduled to follow the February 14th performance.

(Photo: Joe Bly)

Roma History and Family: Searching for the 4th Nail

According to legend, the fourth nail of the crucifixion was stolen by a Roma blacksmith. In gratitude, God granted his descendents the right to steal. For American Romani filmmaker George Eli, this creation myth is a double-edged sword, simultaneously giving the Roma and Sinti a sense of mystical identity, but also facilitating low expectations of rootless lives lived in the margins of society. Eli turns his camera both outward and inward, asking not just what it means specifically to be an American “Gypsy,” but Roma in general, in his debut documentary Searching for the 4th Nail (trailer here), which starts a special two day engagement in New York, following its debut at the New York Gypsy Roma Film Festival.

Not everyone in Eli’s family was thrilled with the project, but his sons Alex and Christopher got on-board and perhaps even stole the show. His wife however, is notably absent. Still, it is his sons’ questions which initiates Eli’s search for answers about their place in history and society. Most notably, father and sons take a trip to the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum to see first-hand how the Roma Holocaust experience is treated there. It turns out they had half a shelf in the bookstore.

While Eli does not deny the existence of anti-Roma prejudice, he is also critical of some Roma preconceptions, particular the notion that education is only for the Gadjie (non-Roma). Indeed, Eli handles his cultural inquiry with a great deal of nuance. While there have been many documentaries that use the family teaching experience to address wider issues, the American Roma and Sinti family experience has been virtually undocumented on film. As a result, Nail seems fresher than its conventional sounding documentarian approach would suggest.

The Elis, father and sons, are consistently likeable on-screen personalities. As a filmmaker, Eli keeps the Nail moving a healthy pace and deftly addresses some serious issues without getting overwhelmed by their weightiness. With a running time just under an hour, it makes its points without overstaying its welcome. For many viewers, it will be a quick and informative introduction to the fascinating culture and tragic history of the Roma and Sinti. It screens tomorrow (2/9) and Wednesday (2/10), with Eli taking Q&A both evenings.

Gangs of Tokyo: The Shinjuku Incident

Jackie Chan is fifty-five years old. Not being as rubber-boned as he used to be, Chan is clearly looking to branch out from the stunt-oriented action films that propelled him to international fame. Take his latest comedy The Spy Next Door—please. Perhaps a better portent for Chan’s future film career can be seen in Derek Yee’s The Shinjuku Incident (trailer here), which unceremoniously appeared at the AMC Village 7 this weekend.

Shinjuku is a largely commercial Tokyo administrative district that happens to have the city’s greatest number of foreign residents. Evidently, many illegal Chinese immigrants were drawn to Shinjuku in the 1990’s looking for work. However, Nick (a.k.a. Steelhead) came for love rather than money, searching for his long-missing girlfriend, Xiu Xiu. Unfortunately, he finds her, married to a rising yakuza captain.

The broken-hearted Nick is in Japan to stay, having lost his Chinese identity papers in transit, so he tries to make the best of it. After first taking a number of the jobs the Japanese “just won’t do,” he starts to build his own criminal empire. What starts with stolen phone cards and rigged pachinko machines eventually attracts the yakuza’s violent attention.

Though Shinjuku has its share of fighting, its approach to the gangster film is rooted more in a Scorsese-like interest in criminal social structures and national identity than the Hardboiled shoot ’em-up tradition. It is very much a film about the hierarchy of organized crime, as well as the shifting loyalties and ethnic prejudices bubbling under the surface. Chan still gets in plenty of shots, but always in action sequences grounded in reality. Indeed, fans might be disappointed not to see Chan’s usual blooper reel of stunts gone awry during the closing credits.

Chan is not bad in a largely dramatic role, but he never has to stretch that far as the taciturn, square-jawed “Steelhead.” However, Naoto Takenaka hits all the right world-weary notes in a memorable supporting turn as the honest Inspector Kitano. Though under-utilized, Fan Bingbing is also a refreshingly charismatic presence as Nick’s new girlfriend Lily, the mama-san of an out-of-the-way gin joint.

Stylishly helmed by Yee, Shinjuku is successful more often than not in its attempts to combine a gritty street level perspective on organized crime with the grand tragedy of its protagonist’s rise and fall story. Granted, the heartstring pulling flashbacks are unsubtly manipulative and the metamorphosis of Nick’s innocent fellow villager Joe (a.k.a. Jie) into a bad Joker impersonation is just plain weird, but overall Shinjuku is a surprisingly absorbing crime melodrama. If you blink, you will probably miss Shinjuku’s limited theatrical window, but it is a decent gangster picture that should set the tone for Chan’s future action roles (but please, no more kiddie comedies). It is currently screening in New York at the AMC Loews Village 7.

Family Rap: P-Star Rising

Rapping under the moniker P-Star, young Priscilla Star Diaz had already experienced enough during her relatively brief career to fill at least one episode of Behind the Music before landing her current Electric Company gig. Managed by her ex-rapper single father Jesse, P-Star’s music has been the Diaz family business. Their ups and downs are chronicled in Gabriel Noble’s documentary P-Star Rising (trailer here), which now airs on PBS’s Independent Lens, following its premiere at last year’s Tribeca Film Festival.

In many ways, Diaz seems like the stage mom from Hell, but he understands how difficult it truly is to make it in the music business. He was close, coming up in the very first wave of 1980’s old school rappers, only to be undone by drugs. He went to prison and his girlfriend slid ever further into addiction, consigning Priscilla and her sister Solsky to foster care.

To Diaz’s considerable credit, he cleaned himself up and won back custody of his children. In his way, he is undeniably a caring parent. However, when watching Rising, it is hard to not question some of his choices, particularly the degree to which he pins their financial future on P-Star’s rapping career. In the process, she comes into contact with some of the unsavory aspects of the hip-hop world, including drug use (although nothing objectionable is ever seen on screen). Still, everything seems to have paid off when P-Star goes platinum. Predictably though, just as they think they have made it, the industry throws them a hard curve (when of course they have nothing saved in the bank).

Noble scrupulously avoids editorial judgment, simply presenting intimate footage of the Diaz family’s lives, shot over a four year period. Everyone makes mistakes and appears thoroughly unsympathetic at times, which means Noble probably captured a very real and complete portrait of his subjects. We see them warts and all, which is why it is rewarding to see them come together as a family. In fact, for all the focus placed on P-Star’s career, arguably Rising’s central driving storyline is the search for the Diaz sister’s formerly (and perhaps still) drug addicted mother.

Though there are heated debates over repertoire, P-Star sounds like a pretty credible rapper, who might even win a few converts to her brand of reggaeton seasoned hip-hop, but it is important to remember she is still just a kid. The portrait that emerges of her and her father in Rising is indeed imperfect and often frustrating. That’s how people really are in life. Depicting a not-so unconventional family in a frankly cutthroat business with commendable honesty, Rising is worth checking out when it airs as part of the current season of Independent Lens this coming Tuesday (2/9) on most PBS outlets.

A View from the East: Dwarves Go to the Ukraine

They are the Merry Pranksters of freedom and democracy in Eastern Europe. They even have their own psychedelic bus. However, their idealism is truly a beautiful thing. The self-styled “Dwarves” are profiled in Miroslaw Dembiński’s Dwarves Go to Ukraine, the next installment of A View from the East: Documentaries from Eastern Europe, a series of non-fiction films addressing the Communist experience as part of the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts’s multi-disciplinary Performing Revolution festival.

For the Dwarves, the color orange forms a bond of solidarity between Poland and Ukraine. During the marital law period, the Communist government assiduously white-washed over Solidarity graffiti whenever it cropped up. As the white patches proliferating across the country, Waldemar “Major” Frydrych starting filling them with dwarf caricatures to underscore the absurdity of the Communist system. Inevitably, the site of protestors wearing orange dwarf caps being hauled away by the authorities also became a common site that would logically link the color with Poland’s emerging democracy movement.

Twenty-some years later, the color orange was also adopted by the Ukrainian democracy movement, mobilized by a brazenly rigged run-off election ostensibly won by the Russian-oriented Yanukovych government. Under intense international pressure, a new run-off election was ordered, pitting Yanukovych against opposition leader Viktor Yushchenko. Recognizing the importance of the moment, the Dwarves broke out their orange caps, loaded up a bus, and headed to Ukraine to show their support for Yushchenko and the Orange Revolution.

Dembiński is hardly ambitious stylistically, but he captures history in the making from a very personal perspective. Many of the man-on-the-street interviews seem to offer a real window into Ukrainian attitudes and the Dwarves themselves have an endearing knack for combining whimsy and serious principles (the sculpted chocolate Yushchenko and Yanukovych heads are a particularly eccentric touch). Ultimately, there is just something refreshing about the younger Dwarves’ unpretentious idealism (not to mention some are cute too) that makes Ukraine a pleasant and even inspiring viewing experience.

Those who can sneak away from the office Tuesday afternoons at 2:30 are strongly advised to check out the View from the East series. It is a rare opportunity to check out many hard to see documentaries, like the Ukraine. Previous films included Alexandru Solomon’s Cold Waves, which explained how the American financed Radio Free Europe built up a staggering 65% listenership among all Romanians. Scoring some impressive interviews and filmed with visual flair, Wave is an intriguing film rarely screened in New York. Likewise, there just have not been many chances for most New Yorkers too view Czech television’s The Man Who Overestimated the Czech Soul: the Escapes of Josef Bryks. Imprisoned first by the Nazis and then the Czechoslovakian Communists, the Czech born RAF Captain led a tragically eventful life that makes for fascinating viewing.

Warmly recommended, Ukraine screens at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts this coming Tuesday (2/9) with another Dembiński “Orange” short. View continues through February 23rd with Andre Meier’s provocatively titled Do Communists Have Better Sex? and Neven Korda and Zemira Alajbegovic’s The Old and the New, while Performing Revolution continues through March 31 with a variety of programming.

Storm Warnings: Teddy Bear

An intrusive state, an intractable bureaucracy, and soul-deadening queues were ever-present hallmarks of the Communist rule in Poland. While living standards were quite mean for most average Polish citizens, there were certain opportunities for the less scrupulous to exploit. Ryszard Ochódzki is one such (somewhat lovable) rogue. He has been playing the system for years, but he is about to be played by his ex-wife in Stanislaw Bareja’s Teddy Bear (a.k.a. Miś), an oddly groovy satire screening during, the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Storm Warnings retrospective of socially conscious films produced during Poland’s Solidarity era.

Ochódzki, nicknamed Teddy Bear by his friends, manages a state-owned sports franchise. He also is involved in a number of dodgy deals, including some involving large straw bears (that look more like rabbits, but whatever). However, his ex appears to have one-upped him. Not only has she snagged a powerful sugar-daddy, she has also vandalized Ochódzki’s passport leaving her free to plunder their joint London bank account at her leisure.

In 1980’s Poland, Ochódzki was lucky to get a passport. Replacing it through bureaucratic channels is simply impossible. Not to fear, Ochódzki is capable of hatching a comically convoluted plan to find his double, trick him into applying for his own passport, and then “borrowing” it for a mad dash to Barclays Bank. It is easy as one-two-three, as long as he can find an easily manipulated doppelganger.

Co-written by Bareja and lead actor Stanislaw Tym, Teddy Bear ranks as one of Poland’s most popular comedies, spawning two further Ochódzki films decades later. Frankly though, some of the humor you probably had to be there (in early 1980’s Poland) to fully appreciate. Yet, the brazenness of Ochódzki and eccentric nature of his scheme still hold entertainment value.

As both rascal and rube, Tym shows a flair for broad comedy. He has a few line deliveries that are genuinely funny even when subtitled. While Teddy Bear is undeniably dominated by Ochódzki’s scoundrelry, Christine Paul-Podlasky brings a leavening sweetness as his more-or-less innocent girlfriend-accomplice, Aleksandra Kozel. She also seems way too attractive for him, but evidently that is the Ochódzki mystique at work.

There are some weirdly trippy moments in Teddy Bear, as well as the occasional sly tweaking of the Communist system. Along with a frequently funky soundtrack, it is an entertaining time capsule of a film. It screens Tuesday (2/9) at the Walter Reade Theater as part of the ongoing Storm Warnings film series.

Storm Warnings: Without Anesthesia

Strictly speaking, is it even possible to be “paranoid” when living under an oppressive government? If you think the system is out to get you, eventually you’re always going to be right. Polish foreign correspondent Jerzy Michalowski comes to understand that only too well. When the journalist suddenly finds himself beset with personal and professional setbacks, it is surely no coincidence in Andrzej Wajda’s Without Anesthesia (a.k.a. Rough Treatment), which screens this Monday as part of Storm Warnings, the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s retrospective of Polish Solidarity era cinema.

Michalowski enjoys being a public intellectual. Loosely inspired by Ryszard Kapuściński, Anesthesia’s protagonist has traveled the world, reporting extensively from Third World trouble spots. As played by Zbigniew Zapasiewicz, Michalowski is gregarious and smugly satisfied with own success. If arrogance is too strong a term for him, he is certainly blessed with self-confidence of a magnitude that sets him up for a downfall worthy of Greek Tragedy.

Given his prestige, Michalowski is chosen as the first guest of new primetime interview show. Relishing the attention, he lets his enthusiasm carry him away, questioning how well “the mass media serves the purpose of truthful information,” if at all. This of course, is a bad career move.

After the interview no one will say anything to Michalowski directly, but subtle losses in privileges start to mount. Fully aware of the importance of each apparently minor slight, like being dropped from the circulation list for American newsweeklies (back when they actually mattered), he protests to his network patron. However, the reporter is unable to focus his undivided attention on his professional predicament, because of trouble on the home front. He is simultaneously challenging divorce proceedings initiated by his wife Ewa.

Caught up in the Kafkaesque “rough treatment” that was the modus operandi of the Communist Party during the Gierek years (1970-1980), Michalowski is paying a price for his accidental candor, slowly becoming professionally and socially persona non grata. It was a cold-blooded process Wajda himself closely observed when it was applied to his own professional acquaintances. Following Man of Marble, which inaugurated Wajda’s turn to consciously political filmmaking, Anesthesia’s is clearly a protest film. Although Michalowski’s offending words are kept deliberately vague, there is no mistaking their thinly veiled meaning or the dire repercussions which they cause. On screening Anesthesia, it is clear why Wajda and screenwriter Agnieszka Holland (who would become an internationally celebrated director for Europa, Europa and her work on HBO’s The Wire eventually found it necessary to seek employment outside of the Communist Era Poland.

Zbigniew Zapasiewicz gives a great performance, fully capturing both the bluster and pathos of Michalowski. Wajda depicts his personal tragedy in cold, unsentimental terms, but not without some measure of sympathy. Far from hysterical, it was a lucid and restrained indictment of the then reality of Communist Poland. The state built him up, and then with little warning, the state tore him down.

Although Michalowski and Anesthesia might be hard to love, they are unquestionably compelling to watch. A historically important film in both the Wajda and Holland canons, it screens Monday (2/8) at the Walter Reade Theater.

6-Shooter: District 13: Ultimatum

Belittle the French all you like, but they can lay claim to an original martial arts style. Largely popularized by actor-stuntman David Belle, Parkour more of less began in France as a form of urban cross-training using the cityscape as an obstacle course. Adding the kicking and fighting was a logical progression that produced the international breakout hit District B13. Belle now returns as the urban warrior Leito in Patrick Alessandrin’s District 13: Ultimatum (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

District 13 (evidently the “B” has been dropped) is an inner city slum so dangerous the government has walled it off from the rest of Paris. In the first film, conditions there had degenerated to such an extent the government devised a secret plan to blow up the district. However, Leito, B13’s resident vigilante-community organizer, and Damien Tomasso, the last remaining idealist on Parisian police force, teamed up to foil the plot. Briefly, things improved, but as Ultimatum opens, conditions have again degenerated to such an extent, the government hatches another secret plan to blow up the district.

Yes, Ultimatum is basically more of the same, but so what? This is not the sort of movie to get hung up on plot development. When Leito and Tomasso are jumping and kicking and driving cars into government office buildings, Ultimatum is a lot of good, clean fun. Regrettably, Ultimatum occasionally finds it necessary to bring the action to a screeching halt to make awkward political statements, like the recurring Haliburton references that are eye rollingly lame.

Ultimatum’s Kumbaya moment when all of District 13’s ethnic gangs, including the white power skinheads, join forces to save the neighborhood, also stretch the generous allowances afforded to action films. (And who knew all French Neo-Nazis really wanted was more social welfare spending for the inner cities?) Fortunately, Leito and Tomasso recruit one cool new ally: Tao, the leader of the Chinese gang who fights with a razor attached to her ponytail. She can stay for the third film.

As Leito and Tomasso, Belle and Cyril Raffaelli, make quite credible action leads. They have a good physical presence and display some nice screen chemistry together. They can definitely jump, kick, tumble, and fall, as well. Likewise, Elodie Yung’s Tao has the right moves and the perfect sneer for a legit action femme fatale. Refreshingly, Philippe Torreton also brings some dignity and gravitas to proceedings, portraying the French President as a decent person, rather than a bumbler or a knave.

Replacing Pierre Morel in the director’s chair, Alessandrin never matches the frenetic pace of the first film (or at least its first twenty minutes), but he still keeps the parkour coming fast and furious. Released as part of Magnet’s 6-Shooter series of international genre films, Ultimatum delivers plenty of well choreographed stunts and fight sequences that should certainly satisfy fans. It opens Friday (2/5) in New York at the Village East.

Storm Warnings: A Lonely Woman

If a filmmaker with artistic integrity working behind the Iron Curtain never ran afoul of the state censors, they probably were doing something wrong. Based on that logic, Agnieszka Holland’s A Lonely Woman was a rousing success, as both film and director were banned in Poland shortly after its initial release. Screening as part of the Lincoln Center Film Society’s Storm Warnings: Resistance and Reflection in Polish Cinema 1977-1989 retrospective, it serves as a vivid reminder of how grim life was under the Communist system.

Irena and her son literally live on the wrong side of the tracks, in a decrepit one-room apartment. It might not be much, but the landlord is still trying to force her out, resentful that the Party forced them on him. One day the exhausted Irena collapses while walking her beat as a postal carrier. She literally falls into the arms of Jacek, a former miner living on his disability pension after a workplace accident. He might not be much either, but he is smitten with the plain-looking single mother.

Jacek supplements his meager income by charging to shop for his neighbors, capitalizing on his line-cutting privileges. Queuing is a definite motif in Lonely. So are callous bureaucrats, who plague Irena’s unremarkable life. The harassed mother attempts to petition the Communist Party for redress, but is rebuffed and threatened with arrest. Her superiors at the postal service try to reassign her beat to deny her the meager tips she garners from the many pensioners are her route. Squeezed from every angle, Irena eventually snaps. Suddenly, Lonely veers into Godard territory, as Irena resorts to a desperate (and criminal) flight for freedom that resembles a grim, grey, Communist version of Breathless.

Except for a hint of natural realism at its conclusion, Lonely is a relentlessly naturalistic film. It is a visceral indictment of the system that repeatedly betrays Irena, the very sort of underdog it claimed to protect. Maria Chwalibóg gives a heartrending performance in an unflattering and often unsympathetic role. As Jacek, Boguslaw Linda is pathos personified. Indeed, considering the state reaction to the film, their performances were brave in more than just an artistic sense.

Watching Lonely is not a happy experience per se, but it is clearly a passionate film. A film that is finely crafted and acted should not be considered depressing, no matter how great the misery and pessimism it depicts. A Lonely Woman screens Sunday (2/7) and Thursday (2/11) at the Walter Reade Theater.

Red Riding: 1974

In England’s working class West Yorkshire region, public corruption is so systemic, it makes New Jersey look like a paragon of civic virtue. Such is the picture that emerges in David Peace’s Red Riding quartet, a series of four closely linked Yorkshire-based crime novels. What were four books became three films produced for British television, all adapted by screenwriter Tony Grisoni and largely sharing the same cast, but helmed by different directors. For one-week only, all three films screen theatrically back-to-back (with two intermissions) in a special Red Riding Roadshow presentation exclusively at New York’s IFC Center, which includes free popcorn and a collector’s program all for a mere $25.

As Julian Jarrold’s Red Riding 1974 (trailer here) opens, viewers should not put too much faith in rookie reporter Eddie Dunford. With two more films to go in the cycle, it is doubtful he will be able to purge Yorkshire’s corruption right from the get-go. Having made a hash of his previous big city journalism gig, he hardly seems the man for the job anyway. Still, along with his obsessive colleague Barry Gannon, Dunford might be one of the few reporters willing to challenge the compromised Yorkshire police force.

Sensing a scoop, Dunford identifies similarities in several abductions of young Yorkshire girls suggesting the work of a serial predator. In pursuing the story, Dunford somehow gets involved with Paula Garland, the still grieving mother of the long missing Jeanette. Meanwhile, Gannon has muck-raked a thick file on the shady dealings of local real estate mogul John Dawson, a committed Labour man, because unlike Conservatives, they stay bought. When the not-so-paranoid-after-all Gannon turns up dead, Dunford realizes both Dawson and his allies in the Yorkshire force might be implicated in both their investigations.

Of the three films comprising Red Riding, 1974 is probably the weakest link because its central protagonist is so problematic. Granted, his inexperience and rashness are well established, but every choice he makes are glaringly obvious mistakes, which often strains the film’s credibility as a result. Indeed, such immaturity hardly makes for a likable character, though too be fair, Dunford has his moments.

Jarrold’s feverish style is not necessarily the best approach for this gritty material, but he does convey a sense of the dreariness of 1970’s Yorkshire, a landscape dominated by ominous looking nuclear reactors. 1974’s strongest asset might be a rich supporting cast that personifies the seedy character of the series. Eddie Marsan is spot-on perfect as Jack Whitehead, Dunford’s alcoholic rival on the Yorkshire crime beat, while Warren Clarke exudes appropriate malevolence as DCS Bill Molloy, Red Riding’s Darth Vader.

1974 is a fair beginning to a great trilogy that really catches fire with James Marsh’s 1980. While the second film largely stands on its own as well, viewers of the concluding 1983 will probably be lost if they have not first seen 1974. Taken altogether, the intricate and chewy Red Riding trilogy is a really satisfying cinematic experience. The Roadshow starts at the IFC Center this Friday (2/5), with individual screenings beginning the week following (2/12).

Red Riding: 1980

Within the Red Riding trilogy, James Marsh’s 1980 (trailer here) could be considered the Empire Strikes Back. Not only is it the darkest film of the series, it also happens to be the best installment and would still be considered a superior motion picture had it been released independently of the Red Riding project.

The Yorkshire Police always get their man, usually by beating out a confession. Sadly though, when real investigatory work is required, it seems they are a bit out of their league. After six years of unabated murders, the so-called Yorkshire Ripper is still at large, taunting the police with apparent impunity. Out of patience, the Home Office dispatches Manchester Assistant Chief Constable Peter Hunter to investigate the investigation.

Hunter knows he is walking into a lion’s den. He briefly ran an internal inquiry into the bloody events that concluded Red Riding: 1974, until personal problems forced his premature departure. He knows there will not be a lot of love waiting for him in Yorkshire. Facing open hostility from the Yorkshire force, Hunter only trusts John Nolan and Helen Marshall, the two detectives he brought from Manchester. Unfortunately, the honest cop might be undone by his own secrets.

In Red Riding’s standout performance, Paddy Considine is an achingly earnest but highly flawed everyman, endowing Hunter with a quality of classical tragedy. Likewise, Marsh, best known for helming the remarkable documentary Man on Wire, proves without question to be the director best attuned to the noir material. His gritty, unsentimental approach is reminiscent of the jaundiced films of the 1970’s, clearly connecting public corruption and private vice, without overselling the point (as the other two films sometimes do). He also shows a deft touch with the thriller elements, never really telegraphing the film’s big haymaker of a final twist.

1980 might be a grimly pessimistic view of humanity, but it is richly satisfying as cinema. Tautly constructed with some riveting screen performances, it is a great crime drama. It is also stands alone just about as well as the 1974, so if you only see one film in the trilogy, it should be Marsh’s 1980. It opens in New York as part of IFC’s special Roadshow presentation of all three films for one week this Friday (2/5), and will screen separately the following week.

Red Riding: 1983

If the thoroughly corrupt Yorkshire police have one virtue it is their lack of pretense. As Anand Tucker’s concluding Red Riding: 1983 opens, DCS Bill Molloy offers a toast that pretty much says it all: “To the North, where we do what we want.” Indeed, corruption appears so pervasive throughout the Yorkshire depicted in the Red Riding film trilogy, only outsiders have been willing to challenge it. Such initially seems to be the case again in Tucker’s 1983 (trailer here), which opens tomorrow as part of IFC’s special Red Riding Roadshow presentation.

As a solicitor, John Piggott does not inspire confidence, looking more King of Queens than Perry Mason. However, since his mother’s death brought him back to Yorkshire, he may well be the only uncompromised legal counsel in the region. Reluctantly, he accepts an appeal that will open many old wounds.

While Piggott serves as the unlikely hero of 1983, DCS Maurice Jobson emerges as the protagonist of the entire Red Riding cycle. Though only a supporting player in the first two films, his character has been a party to some terrible deeds. Though he rebuffs Piggott’s initial inquiries, Jobson’s gnawing conscience puts him increasingly at odds with the rest of the force.

In a pronounced departure from Marsh’s 1980, Anand’s style at time borders on the operatic, yet it often suits the film’s theme of redemption—real redemption, not the cheap Hollywood variety. Indeed, 1983 has moments that are quite arresting, though there are also stylistic excesses, including the addition of some pretentious interior monologue voice-overs. The revelation of one particular villain also is such a movie cliché it will hardly come as any surprise to viewers.

Still, 1983 is a very strong film distinguished by two quite intense performances from Mark Addy and David Morrissey as Piggot and Jobson, respectively. Addy makes quite a sympathetic protagonist, but maintains credibility as an educated solicitor rather than coming across as a sitcom loser, regardless of the unprepossessing figure he cuts. In the critical role of the film cycle, Morrissey deftly projects Jobson’s inner turmoil, convincingly setting the stage for Red Riding’s big emotional payoff.

Red Riding might not do much to promote Yorkshire tourism, but it is well worth the nearly five hour cinematic trip. Though a very good film, viewers who have not seen the prior two films should be cautioned they may not fully appreciate the significance of many scenes in 1983. Regardless, it is a well made, finely acted conclusion to a notably ambitious film cycle. The Red Riding Roadshow opens this Friday (2/5) in New York at the IFC Center, for one week only. Individual Red Riding screenings will commence the week following.

Likely Oscar Nominee: Ajami

As is the case here in America, the Israeli film industry is often vociferously critical of its own country. In recent years, their guilt trips have been rewarded with two Oscar nominations for Best Foreign Language Film. As the product “Palestinian” and Jewish Israeli co-directors, Scandar Copti and Yaron Shani’s Ajami must be considered a virtual lock for another nomination. One of nine films on the Academy’s Foreign Language shortlist, Ajami (trailer here) kicks off its regular theatrical run this Wednesday at Film Forum, following its New York premiere at this year’s New York Jewish Film Festival.

Much like hundreds of films that will screen at festivals this year, Ajami follows a large cast of supposedly diverse and only tangentially related characters as their paths repeatedly crisscross. However, it is relatively easy to keep track of Ajami’s players, because their characterization is entirely a product of demography. The Jewish Israelis are almost entirely boorish, dangerous figures. As for the Arab characters, they are only slightly more nuanced. Those who are Muslim are uniformly portrayed as victims, while the Christians are largely depicted as users prone to betrayal. Such is the art-house cinema’s simplistic microcosm of the State of Israel, perfectly represented in Adjami.

Giving Adjami proper due credit, it starts in an interesting place, dramatizing the clan violence wrecking havoc on Palestinian neighborhoods, like the Ajami section of Jaffa for which the film is titled. When a teenaged neighbor is gunned down in broad daylight, Nasri’s family quickly deduces the bullet was meant for him. After their uncle killed a Bedouin gangster attempting to hold up his café, the dead man’s clan has declared war on the innocent family. Rather than ask for police protection, they seek the dubious justice of an Arab mediator, who not surprisingly rules the family must pay a considerable sum in restitution, out of which, of course, he is entitled to a cut for wise services rendered.

As his family struggles to survive, Nasri’s older brother Omar pursues a Romeo & Juliet romance with Hadir, the daughter of Abu-Elias, the well-connected Arab Christian who brokered the cease-fire with the Bedouin clan. However, for some reason Abu-Elias is less than thrilled by the prospect of his daughter marrying the impoverished Omar, who will most likely find himself back in the Bedouin crosshairs when the family misses the next installment of their reparations. Rather than wait for the gangsters to do the job for him, the community organizer sets up Omar to take a fall that will get him out of Hadir’s life for good.

From this point, Ajami rapidly goes south as Copti and Shani start playing tiresome games with the film’s narrative thread. They also introduce clichéd characters including a thuggish Israeli cop and a desperate Muslim illegal trying to earn money for his mother’s operation.

Largely wasted in Ajami’s collapse are two fine performances from Shahir Kabaha and Ranin Karim as the star-crossed lovers. Separately the both project genuine likability and together they have real on-screen chemistry. The film shows signs of life during the scenes they share.

Unfortunately, as Ajami’s hiccups towards its conclusion, it loses it way in a sea of all too familiar art film tropes. Despite a promising beginning, Ajami deteriorates into a predictably politicized social drama, undistinguishable from a host of similar films. Yet since it reinforces rather than challenges Hollywood’s prejudices, it should be considered the clear front-runner for the Best Foreign Language Oscar. It opens Wednesday (2/3) at Film Forum.

Danish Oscar Candidate: Terribly Happy

In the southern Jutland region of Denmark the word “mojn” is used much like “aloha.” It is usually said in a way that gets under the skin of an urban northerner, like Robert Hanson, the sleepy hamlet’s new police marshal. Recovering from a nervous breakdown, the law man must prove his stability if he ever wants to see his family again. Unfortunately, rather than redemption, Hanson finds nothing but trouble in Henrik Ruben Genz’s Terribly Happy (trailer here), Denmark’s (unsuccessful) submission for this year’s Best Foreign Language Oscar, which opens in New York this Friday.

Folks have their own way of doing things in this provincial town, including a very precise method for hanging clothes out to dry. One of the few people willing to explain such customs to the marshal is the battered wife of the wealthy town bully. Truly, the Buhls were an evil match. Ingelise is flirtatious and reckless. Jørgen has a suspicious nature matched by a violent temper. When their daughter Dorthe is heard pushing her doll’s carriage around town, everyone knows Buhl is beating his wife.

Hanson would like to book Jørgen Buhl on a domestic violence charge, but his wife is reluctant to press charges. Further complicating matters, the marshal finds himself increasingly attracted to Mrs. Buhl. It all comes to a head one night when Hanson finds his fate intertwined with the Buhls in an unexpected way. So much for staying out of trouble.

Happy is a rather nifty little thriller well served by its Nordic reserve. Rather than desperately trying to dazzle the audience with one De Palma-like Hitchcockian homage after another, Genz’s approach is more restrained. Almost off-handedly he reveals twists, like a boot inopportunely left behind in the bog. While his directorial touch is relatively light, there is still a heavy atmosphere hanging over the proceedings that suggests films like the Coen Brother’s Blood Simple and John Dahl’s Red Rock West. Indeed, cinematographer Jørgen Johansson gives the film a cool, glossy look that aptly reflects Hanson geographic and emotional isolation.

As Hanson, Jakob Cedergren (seen by many online in Sally Potter’s Rage) makes an appealing anti-hero, more-or-less holding our sympathies despite his terrible mistakes. Likewise, Kim Bodia nicely projects the barely contained rage as his antagonist. When they square off in a mano-a-mano drinking contest, it is pure movie-making magic. Yet it is the distinctive supporting characters, like the squirrelly and sinister Lars Brygmann as the town’s dubious doctor, that really flesh out the picture.

Boasting a few scenes that approach classic status, Happy is quite a distinctive crime drama. Handling the one-darned-thing-after-another thriller elements with a sardonic flair, Genz demonstrates real talent. Dark, unsentimental, and completely lacking a trite political message, Happy was totally out-of-step with Academy preferences, but it is a thoroughly satisfying small town noir. It opens Friday (2/5) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

Storm Warnings: Interrogation

Considering how many of her films challenged the authoritarian rule of the Communist government, it is a near miracle the great Polish actress Krystyna Janda was allowed any career at all. She indeed appeared in several films which ran afoul of state censors, including Andrzej Wajda’s Man of Marble and Rough Treatment. Yet perhaps her most visceral performance was her Cannes Award winning work in Ryszard Bugajski’s uncomfortably realistic Interrogation, which screens during Lincoln Center Film Society’s Storm Warnings: Resistance and Reflection in Polish Cinema 1977-1989 retrospective, presented in conjunction with the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts’ ongoing Performing Revolution festival.

In Stalinist Poland, even if you tried to avoid politics, political troubles found you. Based on the actual experiences of two Polish women, Janda’s Tonia Dziwisz is a grimly perfect case in point. After a fight with her husband, Dziwisz allows two supposed fans to take her out on the town. However, after plying her with alcohol, they whisk the now oblivious Dziwisz off to the secret police headquarters.

As she comes to, Dziwisz assumes she was arrested by mistake, having never shown an interest in politics. However, during her initial interrogation sessions, she quickly figures out she is there as a pawn in a wider campaign to discredit her former lover, the unseen Col. Olcha, a military officer who has clearly fallen out of favor. Despite signing an ill-advised confession in hopes of a quick release, she refuses to implicate her ex-flame, setting the stage for years of mental and physical torture.

Interrogation proceeds to give a literal blow-by-blow of the secret police’s process for humiliating and breaking their subjects. It is not a pretty sight. At first, Dziwisz seems to get better treatment from the punctilious Major Zawada in charge of her case than from his subordinate, the contemptuous Lieutenant Morawski. However, Morawski’s ideals are shaken by Dziwisz’s ordeal. Having survived a concentration camp, he now finds himself in the role of state tormentor. In an admittedly credibility challenged plot turn, he and Dziwisz even become furtive lovers.

The great Polish director Agnieszka Holland also appears in Interrogation, playing that dreaded creature, the ideological fanatic and cell narc. When not snitching on her cell-mates, she defends their unjust imprisonment, including her own, as a sacrifice on behalf of Communism. Holland spent most of her career behind the camera, not in front of it, but she is scarily believable as the ice-cold true believer.

Completed mere days before martial law was declared in Poland, Interrogation was duly banned shortly thereafter. It is not an easy film to watch, but it is a powerful viewing experience. Anchored by Janda’s harrowing performance (probably her best screen work), Interrogation is an intense indictment of the Communist system, particularly of the Stalinist era, but also of its own time, by clear implication. It screens at the Walter Reade Theater on Thursday (2/4) and Sunday (2/7).