Dickens Bicentennial: The Mystery of Edwin Drood

John Jasper might be the most murderous choirmaster in English literature. We cannot be sure though, because Charles Dickens died before he could finish his final novel. What he left certainly led readers to suspect Jasper had nefariously dispatched his beloved nephew Ned Drood, known to rest of his acquaintances as Edwin. As part of their celebration of Dickens’ 200th birthday, PBS’s Masterpiece airs a new adaptation of the mystery-shrouded mystery, featuring a brand new ending that should please both Classic and Mystery viewers alike when The Mystery of Edwin Drood airs this coming Sunday (promo here).

Jasper is a haunted man, who seeks solace in London’s opium dens. He adores his nephew Drood, but harbors a dark and consuming love for the chap’s fiancée, Rosa Bud. Their engagement was negotiated by their late fathers and subsequently nurtured by their guardians, Jasper and solicitor Hiram Grewgious. It has been a convenient arrangement for Drood, freeing him up to think about other matters, but Bud is plagued by doubts. However, her prospective betrothal offers some protection against the unwanted attentions of her music teacher, John Jasper.

Events proceed on course, regardless of the hidden anxieties festering in the provincial cathedral village, until the arrival of the aptly named Landless twins, two Christian orphans from Ceylon, whose education is to be supervised by Jasper’s colleague, the Reverend Crisparkle. Suddenly, Bud has a confidant in Helena and Drood has a rival in Neville. Naturally, the two young men instantly clash. Yet, just when they have apparently buried the hatchet, Drood disappears under suspicious circumstances.

This is about the point in which Gwyneth Hughes shifts from screen-adapter to Dickens channeler. She shrewdly incorporates many of the clues dropped in the first act, but adds a whole mess of dark Drood family history that might be wholly original, but is certainly in keeping with the literary spirit of the time. She fits the third act revelations together quite convincingly, but she gives Mr. Tartar the hook, even though many Dickens scholars thought he was to factor prominently in the conclusion.

Jasper might have been one of the great Byronic anti-heroes in literature. He is often seen as a tragic, but strangely sympathetic figure, despite his ferocity. Indeed, Hughes eventually posits a backstory that helps explain his brooding nature. In a role previously filled by Claude Rains and Robert Powell, Welsh actor Matthew Rhys has a suitably dark, glowering look and presence, while still expressing all of Jasper’s doubts and self-loathing.

Conversely, the bland Freddie Fox’s Drood is a bit of a young twit, but that rather works in the dramatic context of Hughes’ adaptation. Tamzin Maerchant (of The Tudors) looks like an even younger and paler Jessica Chastain as Bud, but she handles the distressed heroine duties in a suitably Victorian manner. Rory Kinnear (Bond buddy Bill Tanner in 007 reboots) is particularly notable amid the supporting cast, expressing the fundamental Christian decency of Rev. Crisparkle in one of the more refreshingly positive television portrayals of a clergyman in recent years.

Director Diarmuid Lawrence wisely emphasizes the genre elements, heightening the mystery with evocative scenes of Jasper’s opiate-fueled hallucinations. A satisfying shot at completing the unfinished literary puzzle, the feature length Drood represents Masterpiece’s sixteenth Dickens production overall and a fitting way to observe the Dickens bicentenary this season. It airs this Sunday (4/15) on most PBS outlets nationwide.

Disappearing Act IV: Eighty Letters

The Communists loved their paperwork and with good reason. It was one of their most effective tools for controlling people. Yet, Vacek’s mother seems to have a talent for it, navigating the red tape required for immigration while writing four scores of undeliverable missives to his defector father in Václav Kadrnka’s Eighty Letters (trailer here), which appropriately screens at Bohemia National Hall as part Disappearing Act IV, the annual showcase of films unjustly overlooked after their well received festival runs, co-presented by the Czech Center.

Alarmed to find himself home alone one morning, Vanek catches up with his mother at the tram stop, essentially forcing her to take him with her on her mysterious errands. They do not talk much during the day, but they are not visiting places conducive to conversation. Confused and a bit withdrawn, Vanek whiles away the time in series doctor’s waiting rooms and government lobbies. It is not until we hear his mother’s voiceover composing another letter to his father that we appreciate how close she is to completing the deliberately arduous application process. Of course, that begs the question: then what?

Eighty is a film that refuses to look the audience in the eyes, which might be understandably off-putting for some viewers. Indeed, we watch most of Kadrnka’s pseudo-autobiographical story from sidewalk level, but there is a reason for that. The last time I was in Prague I asked my Czech friends why everyone identified me as an American before I ever spoke a word of awful Czech. My nondescript wardrobe was hardly a giveaway. They said it was because of the way I held my head up when I walked. Seeing this film helps explain that answer.

Unfolding from Vanek’s POV, Eighty is a quiet film with quite a bit of running through the streets of Prague. It could almost be considered The Red Balloon’s Kafkaesque cousin. Unfortunately, Zuzana Lapcikova and Martin Pavlus are strangely cold screen presences. However, they certainly look and feel convincing as mother and son.

Kadrnka masterfully sets the mood and frames his shots. Despite the emotional aloofness of the cast, it is an interesting film to watch purely for its craftsmanship. It is certainly worth a look, particularly this Sunday (4/15) when it screens free at BNH as Disappearing Act IV continues in New York. It is also a great opportunity to catch up with Jaak Kilmi and Kiur Aarma’s wonderfully sly and illuminating documentary Disco and Atomic War, which also screens for free on Sunday, right before Eighty Letters.

How to Grow a Band: Punch Brothersmania

Chris Thile’s admirers probably see him as something like the Wynton Marsalis of bluegrass. A child prodigy with remarkable technique, Thile has tried to make rootsy string band music respectable for tony concert halls. Mark Meatto documents the getting-to-know-you tour endured by the band Thile recruited to realize his new ambitions in How to Grow a Band (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Grow centers around what was Thile’s riskiest composition at the time. The Blind Leaving the Blind is a forty minute through-composed suite for traditional string band quartet. There are plenty of precedents for such long form compositions beyond classical music (Thick as a Brick, anyone?), but for the very staid world of bluegrass, this was evidently quite daring. It flat-out bombed in Scotland. Some of the Punch Brothers suggest breaking it apart for their live shows, but Thile insists on charging ahead, regardless of audience reception. Just in case you have any doubts whether it really is all entirely about Thile, keep in mind the multi-movement piece is supposedly a tone poem for the dissolution of his marriage.

Thile sure can play, so the band obviously makes allowances. He can draw a ticket-buying public too, so if his concepts start to gel, being a Punch Brother will mean steady work in an uncertain business. Viewers might be less indulgent. Frankly, Thile often comes across rather high-handed, with a stunning lack of self-awareness. Eventually, there is a parting of ways with one Punch Brother, but Meatto conspicuously sweeps it under the rug. Suddenly, Paul Kowert is on bass and Greg Garrison is making excuses about his family not wanting to move to New York.

Still, using Blind Leaving the Blind as the film’s central touchstone gives viewers a good sense of the band’s range and musicianship. It is definitely a dynamic piece, inspiring some impassioned playing from the Punch Brothers. There is no question they are all talented, but whether they are fascinating personalities on-screen remains much more debatable.

Ironically, Grow, probably the highest profile bluegrass film since maybe Deliverance, shot performance footage in two great jazz venues, notably including Jazz @ Lincoln Center’s stunning Allen Room, a cinematic venue also open to outside presenters. Getting a camera assist from Note By Note director Ben Niles, the Allen concert is clearly the highlight of the Punch Brothers 1.0’s tour. Yet shortly thereafter, we also see Garrison returning to his jazz roots with a big band gig at Denver’s Dazzle Jazz.

Wisely, Meatto focuses on the music, which is quite distinctive. However, for those of us coming to the film from other musical traditions, Grow never makes a compelling case that this is something truly groundbreaking—and a little of Thile backstage goes a long way. Recommended for regular No Depression readers, but not necessarily for general audiences, How to Grow a Band opens tomorrow (4/13) in New York at the Village East.

Detention: Piling Up the Dead Teenagers

Serial killers love killing teenagers. That is about the only convention upheld in a new horror mash-up that gleefully defies all the laws of nature and constraints of logic. Nothing will be allowed to suppress the body count in Joseph Kahn’s amazingly frenetic and kinetic Detention (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Man, where do you start with this? Possibly with arrogant cheerleader Taylor Fisher, who used to rule Grizzly Lake High, until she was murdered by a serial killer apparently inspired by Cinderhella, the horror-movie-within-the-horror-movie franchise character. Her place at the top of the status totem pole is filled by Ione Willis, who has been slumming with Clapton Davis, the childhood guy-friend misfit-mascot Riley Jones carries a massive torch for. She is having a bad high school career. Socially shunned and hobbling about on a walking cast, she was contemplating suicide until Cinderhella started stalking her. Unfortunately, everyone dismisses her claims as a pathetic plea for attention.

That is about the first five minutes of Detention. From there, Kahn steps on the gas, spinning out into outrageous territory. Teenagers will be hacked up, Jones will be humiliated several times over, the space-time continuum will be jeopardized, and audiences will witness a truly wicked send-up of The Breakfast Club.

Kahn is like a postmodern hipster Mel Brooks, launching an incredible barrage of jokes at the audience, which are rather clever, more often than not. Indeed, it is truly impressive how consistently he maintains the sheer breakneck pace of the madness. Viewers will leave Detention with their heads spinning like Regan MacNeil, in a good way. He really has an unusual flair for visuals and keen sense of pop culture. There is one extended scene marking the passage of time at Grizzly Lake through emblematic songs of years past that approaches outright brilliance.

Frankly, his ensemble cast deserves kudos just for keeping up amped-up lunacy. In fact, they are all quite game, including Spencer Locke as Willis, which turns out to be a rather more complicated part than we might expect. Even Dane Cook is quite funny Principal Verge, perhaps even redeeming himself for the mess that is Answers to Nothing. However, it is some of the supporting players who really bring the mojo, like rapper Dumboundead as Toshiba the exchange student and Walter Perez as Elliot Fink, a character beyond explanation in this limited space.

Detention is like Scream on a heart-bursting dose of speed. Just watching it careen by is a riotous trip. Largely self-financed by Kahn, Detention is quite an enterprising and idiosyncratic accomplishment. Enthusiastically recommended for horror fans not susceptible to seizures, it opens this Friday (4/13) in New York at the AMC Empire and in San Francisco at the AMC Metreon.

Ghoul: Airing Friday the 13th

This small town carries of load of bad karma. It all started with the cave-in at the now defunct mine, but it also has a great deal of closed door angst to contend with, as well as a local bogeyman. Three pre-teens discover the truth behind a related series of mysterious abductions in Gregory Wilson’s Ghoul (promo here), an original adaptation of Brian Keene’s novel produced by Modernciné, which airs on the Chiller TV network this Friday the thirteenth.

Timmy Graco is the most fortunate of the trio of friends. His dad is a bit of a hardcase about his chores, but that is it. It is pretty obvious Barry Smeltzer’s father beats him like a rented mule. Doug Keiser’s problems will be revealed later in the film, but it is safe to say his father’s absence troubles him greatly. When they can evade their parents, they hang in their subterranean club house in the cemetery where Smeltzer’s father works as the drunken caretaker.

The first death in Ghoul is from natural causes: Graco’s beloved grandfather. However, many more people start disappearing under mysterious circumstances around the cemetery. Yet, that does not dissuade the three boys from wanting to explore the tunnel they accidentally discover in the cemetery service shed, but fate conspires to send other clueless victims in first.

Throughout the film, Graco consults his faux-E.C. Comics as a model of how to deal with the uncanny. Essentially, this means Ghoul start out promising to be Creepshow but evolves into a sinister variation on the Goonies. Probably shot on a budget under $500, the tunnel scenes actually look decently ominous. It is also cool to see Catherine Mary Stewart (star of Night of the Comet, the greatest George Romero rip-off ever), even if as Graco’s mother she only gets lines like “come to dinner” or “it’s time for bed.” However, to put it diplomatically, viewers will probably not be taking down most of the young cast-members names for future reference.

Despite the limitations of ensemble and effects, Wilson successfully conveys a sense of the past’s evil influence on the present and a general lurking dread. Viewers get an impression of what readers probably responded to in Keene’s novel and why Wilson and the Modernciné team wanted to film it. It is also worth noting the town pastor is not an immoral hypocrite, which is quite the welcome departure from traditional horror movie clichés. Though admittedly flawed, the evocative atmosphere and vibe of Ghoul is still worth checking out on television, especially on Friday the thirteenth. After a special buzz-generating screening at this year’s Slamdance Film Festival in Park City, Ghoul premieres this Friday on Chiller TV.

Ann Hui’s A Simple Life

Nursing homes are a booming business in Hong Kong, yet you still hear seniors referred to as “uncles” and “aunties.” The terms “sir” and “ma’am” just are not the same—and even those are heard less and less often here. Social and generational change might be sweeping Hong Kong (and the Mainland), but one dutiful film producer still tends to his family’s ailing servant in Ann Hui’s A Simple Life (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York and San Francisco.

Chung Chun To, preferably known as Ah To, has worked for the Leung family since the Japanese Occupation. She is content to serve Roger, her favorite of the Leung children and the only one remaining in Hong Kong. It is a quiet, uneventful life for them both, when he is not traveling to the Mainland to negotiate deals. Returning late one night he finds Ah To collapsed after a stroke. Suddenly, it will be Leung taking care of Ah To.

There are no melodramatics in Hui’s refreshingly down-to-earth and true-to-life film. Leung is a cold fish, but he requires no clichéd awakening of his conscience, immediately understanding he will have to step up to the plate for Ah To. Yet, there are plenty of awkward moments and difficult choices in store for him, such as the nursing home he places her in. Again, it is not great, but it is not a standard movie horror show. Rather, it is much like the average facility one might reluctantly accept anywhere in Hong Kong or America (and at least it is overseen by the attractive Nurse Choi, played by the up-and-coming Qin Hailu, scratching something out of the seemingly thankless role).

Instead, A Simple Life works quietly, depicting the role reversal with patience and honesty. Superstar Andy Lau’s work as Leung is remarkably assured and restrained. In a way, Deannie Ip has it easier, because she has room to “act” when portraying Ah To’s slow physical decline, but again she scrupulously maintains her dignified reserve.

Despite the serious subject matter, A Simple Life will also interest fans of Asian genre cinema, featuring many big name stars in cameo roles. In an extended sequence, Sammo Hung and Tsui Hark play themselves, hashing out a production budget with Leung. Anthony Wong also appears in a small supporting role, getting perhaps five minutes of screen time, but it is a cool five minutes.

Reportedly based co-producer-co-writer Roger Lee’s real life family retainer, A Simple Life is like a tear-jerker with too much self-respect to jerk tears. That is exactly why the payoff hits home so hard. Officially submitted by Hong Kong as its recent best foreign language Oscar contender, it might well have caught on with the Academy in a less competitive year. (Unfortunately, those are the breaks.) Happily, audiences can catch up with it now. Highly accessible, it is definitely recommended for mainstream audiences when it opens this Friday (4/13) in New York at the AMC Empire and in San Francisco at the AMC Metreon, courtesy of China Lion Entertainment.

Monsieur Lazhar: To Sir with Love, in Quebec

They speak French in Quebec—and don’t you forget it. They speak French in Algeria too, but it is not precisely the same, as the title character soon finds out. Yet, the clash of cultures is relatively mild in Philippe Falardeau’s quietly engaging, Oscar nominated Monsieur Lazhar (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Young Simon sees something no elementary school child should witness. His supposedly popular homeroom teacher hung herself in the classroom. It must be the ultimate act of passive aggression, but the film has little time for her issues. Eager to quickly move on, the school director will hire the first plausible long term substitute teacher who will accept the position, but only one person applies: recently arrived Algerian immigrant Bachir Lazhar.

A man with a secret past, Lazhar would seem to be the perfect candidate to implement the principal’s strategies of denial and coasting out the term. Yet, he cannot help forming attachments to his still grieving students, particularly Simon, who has become increasingly disruptive in class. It seems the young boy had a thorny history with his late teacher, a fact Lazhar must deduce for himself.

Monsieur Lazhar is an absolute minefield of potentially melodramatic clichés, yet Falardeau’s adaptation of Evelyne de la Chenelière’s stage play nimbly scampers over them all. It also has host of multicultural issues layered on top of it, yet it consistently resists the siren call of didacticism. Instead, Falardeau presents an intimate drama that seems so fresh because of its honesty and simplicity. Lazhar tries to help his class without calling undue attention to himself—period. Yet, the story turns out to be so much richer and more complicated than that.

Algerian stage performer and comic Fellag (as he is simply billed) clearly understands the benefits of subtlety. His sensitive but reserved approach as Lazhar allows him to really lower the emotional boom with his climatic speech to his class. It is a performance that sneaks up on the audience, winning them over with its straight forward integrity. The child actors also do surprisingly assured work, especially the three primary student characters, played by Sophie Nélisse, Émilien Néron, and Marie-Eve Beauregard.

In many ways, Lazhar the film and the character are the polar opposite of Tony Kaye’s Detachment, allowing for the possibility concerned teachers can make a difference in their students’ lives. There is no condescending message about the evils of bullying here or a stilted lecture on Canadian immigration policy. Instead, it is a delicately nuanced look at student-teacher relationships and other related forms of human connections. Highly recommended, Monsieur Lazhar opens this Friday (4/13) in New York, uptown at the Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center and downtown at the Angelika.

HERE: Mapping Armenia

An American satellite cartographer has come to revise the official maps of Armenia, including Nagorno-Karabakh, which is a geopolitically significant twist. Though no expert on the local culture, Will Shepard still recognizes his assignment will be complicated. Yet, he has other reasons for taking on an Armenian photographer as his translator in Braden King’s HERE (trailer here), opening this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

Shepard is a bit socially awkward, but he has the sort of job only people in the movies have. As a mapping technician, he verifies satellite imaging with field measurements. He can also drink, which stands him in good stead with the locals. Gadarine Najarian left Armenia to pursue her photography. Recently returned, she knows the language and the country, but is somewhat estranged from her family. Somehow their chance meeting leads to a shared journey through Armenia’s harsh mountains and across the demilitarized zone into Nagorno-Karabakh. Slowly, their ambiguous attraction evolves into a full scale romance. Yet, both remain uncertain about the implications of their rocky relationship.

For better or worse, the tone for HERE is set by periodic woo-woo interludes narrated by Peter Coyote that pay poetic homage to the mapmakers and explorers of yore. They are definitely pretentious, but weirdly effective nonetheless. The same might be said for the film overall. It is generously stocked with striking vistas and impressionistic scenes of in-the-moment intimacy, but it is rather stingy with plot and dialogue. Frankly, it has a hypnotic lulling effect that is quite distinctive, but is absolutely unsuited to mass market tastes. Indeed, King’s non-narrative filmmaking background is clearly reflected in HERE. Stylistically, it might also remind some viewers of some of the recent Iranian and Romanian art films, which is certainly appropriate, given its proximity.

Arguably, the most important contribution to HERE came from the location scouts, who helped take viewers to some of Armenia’s amazingly picturesque hidden corners. Cinematographer Lol Crowley makes it all look quite National Geographic worthy, while still capturing the delicacy of the pseudo-courtship underway.

Ben Foster and Lubna Azabal (recognizable to hardcore cineastes from the Oscar nominated Incendies) have real ships-passing-in-the-night chemistry as the travelers, keeping the audience largely invested in their metaphorical slow dance. They look interesting together, which is rather fortunate, because viewers watch a lot of them taking it all in.

Though it scrupulously avoids hot button controversies, like the Ottomans’ Armenian genocide and the legacy of Soviet oppression, HERE is likely to be a highly divisive film with audiences. Some will get caught up in the enormously seductive vibe, while others will be frustrated waiting for something to happen. In all truth, a bit more narrative muscle would not have undermined the rich atmosphere, but at least it has that going for it. Respectfully recommended for contemplative, self-selecting audiences, HERE opens this Friday (4/13) at the IFC Center.

The Lady: Burma’s Beacon of Hope

Nobel Peace Laureate Aung San Suu Kyi’s recent parliamentary election sounds like a breakthrough for a free and democratic Burma. However, it is important to remember past promises of liberalization have evaporated into fresh repression time and time again. Suu Kyi has witnessed those periodic crackdowns from a distinctly personal vantage point, becoming the international face of the Burmese opposition, at tremendous personal cost. Her courageous activism and sacrifices are stirringly dramatized in Luc Besson’s The Lady (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday in New York.

Suu Kyi’s father, General Aung San, was the hero of Burma’s drive for independence. A committed nationalist, he was assassinated by allies-turned-rivals when Suu Kyi was just a child. As the daughter of the revered General, Suu Kyi would be seen as a natural leader for the developing Burmese democracy movement.

In the late 1970’s and early 1980’s, Suu Kyi lived a quiet but pleasant life as an Oxford academic with her husband, Dr. Michael Aris, a specialist in Himalayan culture. Returning to comfort her ailing mother, Suu Kyi agreed to lend her prestige to the opposition on the eve of the 8.8.88 uprising. It began a period of activism defined by her fifteen non-consecutive years spent under solitary house arrest.

The Lady directly conveys the lonely reality of her imprisonment, as well as the heartbreaking tragedy. Denying her husband and sons entry visas, the military government forced Suu Kyi to choose between her family and her country. As a result, she would never have the chance to tend to Dr. Aris during his fatal bout with cancer.

Though obviously partly intended as an advocacy film on behalf of Suu Kyi’s democratic coalition, The Lady is most effective as a thinking person’s romance. It is clear Aris and Suu Kyi’s relationship was one of the world’s great love stories. Indeed, it was a perceived weakness the military regime unsuccessfully sought to exploit.

Former Miss Malaysia and legendary HK action star Michelle Yeoh delivers a career performance as Suu Kyi. Still one of the greatest movie-star beauties of all time, she radiates warmth and dignity throughout the film. Yet, she is not engaging in an overrated Meryl Streep like screen caricature (that she took home the Oscar while Yeoh was not even nominated was an injustice of cosmic proportions). This is a passionate, flesh-and-blood woman, who suffers acutely in the absence of her beloved husband and sons.

Likewise, David Thewliss transforms himself into the earnest Tibetologist, developing some achingly touching chemistry with Yeoh. Despite her vastly more elegant appearance, viewers really will believe they are a devoted couple. He is also devastatingly convincing when portraying Aris’s declining health. Benedict Wong (recognizable from the original State of Play) also provides a nice assist as Karma Phuntsho, Aris’s former student and close spiritual advisor.

Granted, The Lady is not exactly perfect. Rebecca Frayn’s screenplay only does a so-so job of establishing the political and historical context of Suu Kyi’s struggle and Besson’s depiction of the ruling military elite occasional veers towards the cartoony. However, anyone can understand Yeoh and Thewliss’s performances and even the most jaded will find themselves getting choked-up (in spite of themselves) during the third act.

According to reports, it has been banned by the Chinese Communist authorities, so what more fitting endorsement could one ask for? An unequivocally pro-democracy film and a truly heartfelt love story, The Lady is sincerely recommended for the on-screen work of Yeoh and the real life work of Suu Kyi when it opens this Wednesday (4/11) in New York at the AMC Loews Lincoln Square and the Regal Union Square.

Aspen Shortsfest '12: The Monster of Nix

“The End” will have particularly finality for the people of Nix. Their village has been ravaged by an unseen monster, leaving only void in its wake. A young boy will go on an archetypal fantasy quest to save his grandmother and the rest of his town in Rosto’s The Monster of Nix (trailer here), which screens this Thursday as part of the 2012 Aspen Shortsfest.

It is hard to pin Nix down in terms of exact time and place, but it bears similarity to Tolkien’s shire and early industrial Europe, with the occasional anachronistic reference thrown in to amuse pop culture audiences. At least it did, before the monster struck, literally carving out large swaths of the hamlet. While most of the survivors flee willy-nilly, Willy heads into the forest, seeking the heart of the matter. Along the way, he encounters a cowardly forest ranger and many strange creatures, including the Langemanne, whom the ranger misidentified as the monster of Nix. They are actually guardians of a sort with an important role to play in the fable. They are still plenty of suspects though, including Virgil, a giant swallow who is certainly creepy, even if he is not the monster in question.

As Willy pursues his destiny, Nix veers into metaphysical territory, involving the very nature of stories. Given Rosto’s darkly ominous imagery and cerebral twists on fairy tale conventions, the film might not be suitable for younger viewers. Frankly, it is more like children’s film for adults. Indeed, it is hard to imagine a lot of youngsters getting fired-up for the vocal talents of Terry Gilliam (as the ranger), Tom Waits (as Virgil), and the cult band, The Residents (serving as an eerie chorus).

Visually, Nix is quite striking, incorporating 3D animation into a richly evocative fantasy landscape. Though Gilliam was only involved as in the recording booth and as a supporter, it will definitely appeal to the fans of his Python animation. Clocking in around half an hour, it should be a good quick fix for genre fans waiting for the new Tolkien film. Recommended for animation connoisseurs with a taste for the surreal, it screens this Thursday (4/12) as part of program six at this year’s Aspen Shortsfest.

Septentrional Plays On: When the Drum is Beating

This is no ghost band. The 20 piece Orchestre Septentrional has been gigging continually since 1948. Essentially a Latin Jazz big band that incorporated Haitian and Caribbean influences into their music, Septen (as they are often affectionately referred to) has weathered tremendous political and meteorological storms. Whitney Dow profiles the resilient orchestra in the wake of the 2010 earthquake in When the Drum is Beating (trailer here), which airs this Thursday on PBS’s Independent Lens.

Septen founder Maestro Urich Pierre no longer performs on stage, but he is often present as a sort of chairman-emeritus. Michel Tassy was not the band’s first vocalist, but his forty-five year tenure makes him the outfit’s longest serving veteran. Naturally, he has certain ideas of how things should be, sometimes bringing him into conflict with musical director Nikol Levy and some of the younger members of the band. Yet, to new ears, both the old and new school Septentrional sound rather hot and swinging.

Dow also uses Septen’s story as a framing device for a brisk but somewhat radicalized history of post-revolutionary Haiti. It is not a pretty picture. Despite natural resources that made it the cash cow of the French empire, Haiti became the poorest nation of the region. It was founded upon the only successfully lasting slave insurrection, but has no significant democratic tradition. Indeed, the chaos following the earthquake vividly illustrates the legacy of successive authoritarian rulers, most definitely including Aristide.

Septen played through much of that tragic history, but not without the occasional casualty. However, they were shrewd enough to pay some heed to the prevailing winds. At one point, Septen recorded a tribute to Papa Doc’s wise stewardship of the nation. They hated it, but it still has a groovy beat.

While rather off-the-mark when diagnosing the nation’s ills, Drum documents some passionate and vital music. Regardless of their differences, they come together to play for their fans, the brassy, infectiously rhythmic music always clicks. A gritty portrait of a nearly failed state, yet also a considerably entertaining music doc, When the Drum is Beating is certainly worth a look when it airs this coming Thursday (4/12) as part of the current season of Independent Lens on most PBS outlets nationwide.

Disappearing Act IV: The System

Communism ripped apart scores of German families. Perhaps the Hillers were one of them. Aimless twentysomething Mike Hiller cannot say, because his mother refuses to speak of his late father’s shadowy past. The murky ambiguity of the former East German elites’ post-reunification experiences are explored in Marc Bauder’s intriguing thriller The System (trailer here), the opening film of Disappearing Act IV, the annual New York showcase of European films unjustly overlooked after their well received festival runs, co-presented by the Czech Center, the Romanian Cultural Institute, and the Group of European Cultural Institutes.

Mike Hiller suspects his father’s death was no ferry accident and his mother’s silence only stokes his resentment. Still, as a former low level Stasi clerical worker, she has her reasons for reticence. She was married to Rolf Hiller, a hotshot confidential operative charged with acquiring hard currency for the state through dodgy international transactions. Ironically, he would have been one of the few East Germans well positioned to prosper after the fall of the Wall, just like his ex-partner, wheeler-dealer Konrad Böhm. When through the machinations of fate Böhm interrupts Hiller and his punk buddy burglarizing his home, he decides to take the young underachiever under his wing, out of respect for his late father. Or perhaps he is just playing Hiller.

Quickly Hiller is immersed in the world of Russian pipelines, kickbacks, and blackmail. Yet, it is clear East Germany’s corrosive Communist past eats away at the characters in the present, like a lingering toxin. Intelligently written by Dörte Franke (who will take Q&A with Bauder after the screening) and Khyana El Bitar, System’s storyline is often murky and morally ambiguous, but never overly complicated in the obscure Le Carré tradition. Frankly, it critiques crony capitalism as much as it does Soviet era socialism, explicitly linking the two.

Jacob Matschenz (outstanding in the inter-connected Dreileben trilogy) is certainly convincingly petulant and rebellious as Hiller, sometimes at the risk of overdoing the Holden Caulfieldisms. However, Bernhard Schütz is totally riveting as the manipulative and mercurial Böhm. Watching him spar and toy with Matschenz’s Hiller is jolly good cynical entertainment. Yet, there is an ethical center to the film represented by Jenny Schily, quite compelling as Hiller’s widowed mother, always a victim of circumstances beyond her control.

It is rather bizarre this will be The System’s premiere American screening, because it is the sort of smart, sophisticated political thriller that ought to have been a cinch for mucho festival play. Of course, Disappearing Act is all about catching up with such inexplicably neglected films. Enthusiastically recommended, The System will be the only paid admission during Acts IV when it opens the festival-showcase this coming Wednesday (4/11) at the IFC Center. All other selections are presented free of charge, including Mila Turajlic’s Cinema Komunisto, a fascinating documentary survey of Yugoslavian cinema under Tito, screening at Bohemia National Hall this coming Thursday (4/12).

Aspen Shortsfest ’12: 663114

It is not just about cherry blossoms. Japan epitomizes a nation living in spiritual and cultural harmony with nature, or it at least did. As a result, when the March 2011 (3/11) earthquake and tsunami hit the Tōhoku coast, it disrupted a wide array of species, including the ancient cicada who face a crisis that is real and immediate but also highly symbolic in animator-director Isamu Hirabayashi’s 663114 (trailer here), which screens as part of Program 4 at the 2012 Aspen Shortsfest.

At the ripe old age of sixty-six (66), the cicada is heeding the instinctive call to ascend a tree, shed his skin, mate, and ultimately die. Rather than regret, he takes great satisfaction knowing the culmination of his life is at hand. He extols the purity of Japan’s water and the integrity of his chosen tree as he advances towards destiny. All is right, until multiple disasters strikes. (For those keeping track, the final digit in the title represents Fukushima’s four reactors.)

Rendered in a style that suggests ancient woodblock printing and landscape painting, 663114 has a visual simplicity that is strikingly elegant. Though only eight minutes long, it makes quite an impact, seemingly paying tribute to the resiliency of the Japanese people, but ending in a darker, more ambiguous place. Its anti-nuclear implications are hard to miss, but the film more importantly serves as a timely reminder of the healing and rebuilding efforts still underway in Japan, America’s close friend and ally.

Regardless of its length, 663114 is a work of considerable artistic merit, particularly Hirabayashi’s animation as well as Takashi Watanabe’s supportive yet evocative music. Recommended for animation enthusiasts and connoisseurs of Japanese art, 663114 screens this coming Wednesday (3/11) during Program 4 at this year’s Aspen Shortsfest, considered by many the leading American short film festival. Concerned audience members can still learn how to support the Japan Society’s earthquake relief fund by visiting here.

ATM: Parka Dude Attacks

Brace yourself for Parka Dude. The latest would be horror movie franchise figure is so bland and boring he does not even have a name or a face. However, he will thoroughly terrorize three young corporate drones stranded inside a stand-alone automated teller in David Brooks’ ATM (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York at the IFC Center.

David Hargrove always feels like a pathetic loser at his firm’s annual Christmas party, because he never can work up the courage to talk to his big time crush Emily Brandt. Yet, since this is Brandt’s final day with the company (and perhaps on Earth in general), his loud mouth buddy Corey Thompson successfully goads him into making one last try. However, just when Brandt agrees to let Hargrove drive her home, Thompson decides to play third wheel, insisting they drop him off too, but first stop for a slice of pizza. Of course, he has to hit a cash machine on the way, potentially signing their death warrant in the process.

Some large cat in a hooded parka evidently has a thing about terrorizing people in remote ATM islands. He has all the blue prints for the fateful kiosk Thompson chooses, but he does not have a bank card to get inside. Thus begins a game of cat and mouse, as Parka Dude lays siege to the ATM.

Naturally, everyone’s cell phone is either out of juice or out of reach. Still, that is more or less an acceptable horror movie convention. How sad is it though, that three able-bodied grown-ups cannot rush one faceless dude with a hooded coat and a tire iron? Instead, they stand about in said ATM, letting hunger and the freezing temperatures do Parka Dude’s work for him.

The most irritating thing about ATM is that is does not bother to give us the smallest pretense of resolution. Instead, after a climax involving a ludicrously contrived set of circumstances, we are assured Parka Dude is out there planning his next industrial park ATM outing. Maddeningly, screenwriter Chris Sparling gives viewers absolutely no reward for sitting through this exercise in stupid stalking, except the promise of more of the same to come.

As Brandt, Alice Eve nicely turns the film’s one well written scene. Before the entire mess comes crashing down, she attempts to alleviate Hargrove’s guilt over getting her into this fix. Rather philosophically, she argues it was a myriad of decisions she made over the course of years that led her to be in that ATM on that night. It might be a valid point, but viewers will not be pinning the responsibility on Hargrove. We blame Thompson, just for being such an annoying jerkheel.

This is the kind of film that makes an audience audibly groan in frustration. However, it does not have enough character to at least be campy. In fact, both the lead protagonist and his malevolent nemesis are irredeemably generic. Completely unsatisfying, ATM should definitely be skipped when it opens tomorrow (4/6) in New York at the IFC Center.

Nanni Moretti’s We Have a Pope

Popes are infallible, but cardinals are not. Nevertheless, cardinals elect popes to be infallible, at least when speaking Ex cathedra. Nanni Moretti addresses that contradiction, though not exactly in those term. Yet, for all his materialist bluster, Moretti (like any good Italian) maintains a sense of awe for the church and its rituals in his latest film, We Have a Pope (Habemus Papam), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center (trailer here).

We do not really know what happens during a conclave to elect a new pope, but Moretti imagines it to be something not unlike the vanishing American caucus system. After a number of straw polls, a dark horse candidate emerges, defeating all the presumptive favorites. Frankly, everyone is quite relieved, except the French Cardinal Melville.

Rather stunned at first, the Pope-elect becomes increasingly agitated as the magnitude of his new position sinks in. Paralyzed with self-doubt, he refuses to address the faithful from the balcony, which is quite puzzling to them, given the white smoke wafting in the air. Thus begins a concerted campaign to coax the new Pope to assume his mantle. Until he does, the conclave is technically still on.

Enter Moretti himself as a psychiatrist recruited to quell the Pope’s anxieties. Unfortunately, he is not a believer, which ought to make things rather awkward. However, he fits in rather well with the cardinals, but he does not make much progress with the Pontiff.

Habemus is about one hundred times more sympathetic to the Church than one would expect from the central conflict. Moretti depicts the ceremonies and sacraments with a respect approaching reverence. However, portraying Cardinal Melville as a failed actor is clearly a mistake, because it automatically brings to mind Karol Wojtyła, who performed in many underground stage productions before eventually becoming Pope John Paul II, one of the Twentieth Century’s most vigorous (and successful) advocates for human freedom and dignity.

Frankly, it is difficult to buy into the premise of a cardinal of considerable years and standing reluctant to heed such a call to service. However, two of the gentleman giants of European cinema have the presence and authority to sell-it, or least suspend disbelief. Deftly avoiding theatrics, Michel Piccoli sets the perfect melancholy tone as the new Pope, while Jerzy Stuhr (so memorable from the classic films of Krzysztof Kieslowski) gives the film some worldly heft as the harried Papal spokesman (hmm, wonder which Pope brought him on board).

Despite the implications of its third act, Habemus takes more shots at the vacuous media and the dogmas of psychiatry than the Catholic Church Moretti left. Surprisingly gentle in its humor, We Have a Pope is a good film for audiences who can buy into the unprecedented crisis of faith when it opens tomorrow (4/6) in New York at the IFC Center.

Whit Stillman’s Damsels in Distress

Prepare to revisit college life. However, this time you will see it from the perspective of those who always looked on you with prim disdain (and deservedly so, perhaps). A small clique of undergraduate women try to act as the arbiters of campus propriety, but they are frequently disregarded in Whit Stillman’s Damsels in Distress (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Violet Wister considers herself the queen bee of Seven Oaks University and her friends Heather and Rose agree with her. Transfer student Lily is quite taken with their fashion sense and the confidence they project. However, some of their activities take some getting used to. Though appalled by the low level of male hygiene on campus, they frequently socialize with, and even date, members of the rowdiest fraternity house. They also oversee a rather dubious suicide prevention line and blow off steam by tap-dancing.

In fact, Distress is almost, but not quite, a legitimate movie musical. Indeed, music and choreography plays an important role in the story, especially for Wister, who aspires to launch a dance craze. As in Last Days of Disco, Stillman again lionizes the shared experience of social dance. (However, Wister’s assertion that the Charleston was invented by a man named Charleston may rub stride piano fans the wrong way, denying the share of credit due to James P. Johnson.)

Stillman remains a keen observer of social dynamics, astutely capturing the vibe of cloistered life in a small eastern liberal art college. Yet, Distress’s comedy is broader and more scattershot than his previous films (all three of them). That is not necessarily a bad thing though, since it is often rather funny. Unfortunately, “It” girl Wister’s charm is somewhat obscure. Frankly, Greta Gerwig seems awkwardly miscast here. She appears to struggle a bit with the rat-a-tat-tat dialogue, but at least she is not a bad hoofer.

In contrast, Megalyn Echikunwoke consistently gives the film a spark of energy as the hard to impress Rose. Her faux-British accent is a particularly clever touch. Analeigh Tipton is also realistically down-to-earth, yet still somewhat immature as the newly initiated Lily.

Though Distress conspicuously steers clear of campus political correctness controversies, Stillman takes an unambiguously jaundiced view of the reformist inclination, skewering Wister’s good intentions and ill-conceived follow-through. Indeed, there are a lot of witty and inspired things going on around her. A welcome return for the erudite Stillman, Distress suffers somewhat from a weak lead, but it still has enough to recommend it for the filmmaker’s fans and anyone who enjoys a verbally nimble film. It opens this Friday (4/6) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

The Assault: the True Story of Air France 8969

It was France’s Entebbe. In what is often referred to as “the most successful anti-terrorist operation in history” (at least among those not involving the Israelis), French commandos stormed an airliner hijacked by Algerian Islamist terrorists. The hijackers had no intention of negotiating. Their plan was to crash Air France 8969 into the Eifel Tower. The year was 1994. The missed lessons are painfully obvious. In a case of France eating Hollywood’s lunch, Julien Leclercq vividly dramatizes the historic raid in The Assault (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

The Algerian terrorists were Islamic and they never let their captives forget it. As soon as they secured the plane on that fateful Christmas Eve, Abdul Abdullah Yahia and his accomplices forced all the women to cover their heads with makeshift scarves. The French being French, they first tried to appease the terrorists. Not surprisingly, the Islamist GIA was not interested in a payoff. They were hoping to make a big statement instead. Fortunately, they were delayed so long in Algiers (where the Algerians refused to remove the gangway stairs from the airliners, yet perversely denied permission for the French GIGN SWAT team to operate in-country) Flight 8969 was forced to refuel in Marseilles.

Considering the film is called The Assault, it is not much of a spoiler to say the GIGN eventually board the plane. However, there is nothing video game-like about the film’s centerpiece action sequence. This is close quarters combat, depicted with brutal honesty as a distinctly violent, claustrophobic, confusing, and messy proposition. Tense and scrupulously realistic, these scenes are unlike anything peddled by recent antiseptic Hollywood action movies.

Reportedly, the real life terrorists were even more sadist than they are portrayed in Assault. Of course, there are understandable limits to what a commercial release can bear (particularly in France). To their credit, Leclercq and co-screenwriter Simon Moutairou never try to ameliorate the terrorists’ crimes with sympathetic back-stories. Instead, they show them executing hostages in cold blood, with great relish. Frankly, the GIA as seen in Assault can only be described as hateful savages.

Assault’s one weakness is the rather standard-issue characterization of the GIGN officers. Viewers only glimpse the private life of Thierry, a family man wrestling with his conscience after his previous assignment. The rest are essentially interchangeable. However, Mélanie Bernier makes a strong impression as Carole Jeanton, an ambitious Interior Ministry bureaucrat, who goes from Chamberlain-esque appeaser to a Churchillian advocate for an armed response to terror in about thirty seconds flat. Maybe it was the guns pointed at her.

The Assault is the sort of action film Hollywood ought to be producing at regular clip, but refuses to do so for petty ideological reasons. Still, though the GIGN emerges as the story’s heroes, the French government takes quite a few lumps throughout the film. Recreating an important historical incident with grit and tick-tock precision, Leclercq’s Assault is strongly recommended for mainstream audiences when it opens this Friday (4/6) in New York at the Village East Cinema.

The (Tasmanian Tiger) Hunter

The Tasmanian Tiger is sort of like the Australian Sasquatch, except it was definitely real enough. Though declared extinct, reported sightings persist in remote corners of Tasmania. One dour mercenary’s client is certain the reports are true and have sent him into the field to bag the last marsupial-cat in Daniel Nettheim’s The Hunter (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Martin David is a hard-bitten merc, who apparently specializes in fish & game. His latest client is Red Leaf, an oddly New Agey sounding biotech company that wants sole possession of the last Tasmanian Tiger’s DNA. Supposedly, the Thylacine (as it was properly called) secreted a mild toxin to help incapacitate their prey. Red Leaf wants to replicate that secretion, since there are only a couple hundred compounds already on the market that perform the same function cheaper and more effectively.

Red Leaf has covertly arranged for David to pose as an academic researching Tasmanian Devils (gosh, in this case, isn’t man the real Tasmanian Devil?), while staying in the home of Lucy Armstrong, a young presumptive widow with two children. Word of the credible tassie tiger sightings has leaked out, putting pressure on David to complete his mission quickly. Yet, much to his surprise, David lets himself get emotionally involved with the Armstrong children, who are still coming to terms with the suspicious disappearance and assumed death of their father. Of course, Red Leaf hardly approves of sentimental tarrying and has ways of dealing with lollygagging freelancers and their distractions.

The initial premise of The Hunter is so eye-rollingly stupid and clichéd, it nearly scuttles the entire film right from the start. However, Willem Dafoe is perfectly cast as David, portraying the gradual awakening of his conscience with convincing conviction. The Tasmanian wilderness is also hugely cinematic, shrewdly lensed by cinematographer Robert Humphreys to maximize the effect of exotic mystery.

It is hard to call The Hunter a thriller, per se. Rather, it invites descriptive adjectives such as “brooding” and “intense.” Those fit Dafoe’s performance quite well, but Nettheim’s direction is somewhat slack at times. Still, he handles the long awaited appearance of the tiger rather deftly. While Dafoe makes something rather compelling of his anti-hero, the film’s stilted preachiness constantly weighs down its momentum. An interesting dark character study, but a considerably flawed adventure-drama, The Hunter is the sort of film to wait until it is available for free cable viewing or Netflix streaming. It opens this Friday (4/6) in New York at the Landmark Sunshine.

Guy Maddin’s Keyhole

It was a dark and stormy life. Just as the Pick family was haunted by their psychological torments in life, so are they still in death. Yet, their gangster father Ulysses Pick has returned to his haunted home for a sort exorcism/intervention and perhaps a spot of redecorating in Guy Maddin’s Maddinesque Keyhole (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at the IFC Center.

The police have the house surrounded, but the Pick Gang shoots their way in anyway, much to the consternation of his henchmen. Their griping means little to Pick, arriving through the backdoor with Denny, a waterlogged psychic, slung over his shoulder. She is to help him reach some sort of spiritual rapprochement with the ghost of his wife Hyacinth haunting the floor above with the spirit of her naked father chained to her bedpost.

To reach his wife Pick will have to pass through door after door of their Escher house, accompanied by Denny, while the dragging the man his gang just kidnapped, lashed securely to a chair. That would be Pick’s youngest son Manners, but some strange reason he does not recognize him as such, despite the efforts his increasingly restive men made to get him. Then things get a little surreal.

Keyhole is definitely a Guy Maddin film, which is cool, because the Canadian auteur might be the single most distinctive visual stylist working in film today. True, events in Keyhole do not always make strict logical sense, but it is consistently rewarding just watching Maddin subvert and reinvent the Old Dark House movie motifs. Even Manners Pick’s name pays homage to David Manners, the blue-blooded Canadian actor remembered as the ineffectual protagonist of Universal’s original Dracula and Mummy features.

Considering how important the look and atmosphere is to Keyhole’s overall viewing experience, Maddin’s’ gets some critical assists from his crew. Benjamin Kasulke’s shimmering black-and-white cinematography is quite Maddin-worthy, but also true to the wonderful 1930’s and 1940’s bump-in-the-night films that inspired Keyhole. Production designer Ricardo Alms and set decorator Matt Holm have also created a richly detailed and thoroughly spooky environment, generously appointed with Freudian knickknacks throughout.

Jason Patric plays the Homeric gangster with the perfect steely resolve and world-weary resignation. However, it is a bit difficult to see him and Isabella Rossellini as a couple, though their awkward chemistry is rather appropriate, given the dramatic context. Frankly, by its nature, Keyhole is not an actor’s film per se, largely using its supporting cast more as props than as flesh and blood characters. Yet, Brooke Palsson somehow conveys something human and vulnerable about Denny, before Maddin completely pulls the rug out from under everyone. To the joy of genre fans everywhere, Lars Von Trier and Uwe Boll regular Udo Kier is also on-hand, actually taking a straight and effective dramatic turn as the grieving Dr. Lemke.

If you like Maddin’s work (and you should), than you will like Keyhole. However, it is probably not the best starter film those previous unfamiliar with his bizarre quasi-genre fabulations (check out the often brilliant My Winnipeg first). Maddin is one of the few filmmakers with a genuinely unique vision and there are an awful lot of his visions in Keyhole. There is plenty of storyline as well, that is mostly linear and easy to follow, even if it does not completely fit together. Still, audiences should not sweat the details here. Keyhole is enthusiastically recommended to anyone looking to take a fever-trip on a cold winter’s night. A film for a real movie screen, Keyhole opens this Friday (4/6) in New York at the IFC Center.

Stony Island—At Last

Some things never change. In the late 1970’s, Chicago was home to musicians who played the blues and crooked politicians who gave them, just as it is now. For his feature directorial debut, future Fugitive helmer Andrew Davis captured the vibe of his hometown in the hip musical drama Stony Island (a.k.a. My Main Man from Stony Island, original TV promo here). Despite the talent involved in the production, it has been nearly unseen for decades, known mostly to diehard record collectors familiar with the smoking hot soundtrack LP. Happily, this will soon change. Stony Island screens this Wednesday and Thursday at Chicago’s Gene Siskel Film Center, in advance of it April 24th DVD release from Cinema Libre.

Guileless guitarist Richie Bloom has come to Chicago with a dream. He wants to start a band, so he does, with the help of his vocalist Stony Island neighbor Edward “Stoney” Robinson and Percy Price, a beloved tenor sax veteran of the Chicago music scene. Slowly, they piece together a grooving big-funk band, but just as it all starts to click, Price, their spiritual leader, tragically dies. With their first big gig on the horizon, the Stony Island Band must pull together to find a way to give the destitute Price a proper send-off.

Comprised largely of tunes arranged and composed by David Matthews (the CTI Records house arranger), the Stony Island soundtrack should have been more sought after by vinyl hounds. Though ostensibly R&B, the Stony Island Band often plays more in a greasy soul jazz bag, which is very cool. A lot of great musicians’ musicians appear in the film, such as Chess Records mainstay Gene Barge, making a strong impression as Price. Those heard but not seen include studio warriors like alto saxophonist David Sanborn (during his groovy CTI, pre-smooth days), guitarist Hiram Bullock, and bassist Mark Egan.

Some of Island’s musician-actors are a bit awkward on-screen, but they always mean well. In contrast Barge gives a fantastically soulful and assured performance as Price, the Obi-Wan Kenobi of funk. Likewise, Ronnie Barron, a onetime sideman to just about everyone from New Orleans, brings the film a fresh jolt of energy as keyboard player Ronnie Roosevelt. His NOLA arrangement of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” is also one of the film’s highlights.

Viewers should keep an eye out for jazz vocalist Oscar Brown, Jr. in a nonmusical role as the corrupt Alderman Waller. Ironically, a young Rae Dong Chong has a mostly musical rather than dramatic part, appearing as Janetta, a back-up vocalist. Likewise, Susanna Hoffs, the future Bangle and daughter of co-writer-co-producer Tamar Hoffs, never sings a note as Bloom’s girlfriend Lucie.

Even more than his crime dramas like Code of Silence, Davis vividly conveys to viewers of Island a sense of Chicago, soaking up its distinctive sights and sounds. He even uses Daley Sr’s real life funeral as a surreal backdrop. Considering the future big name stars appearing here early in their careers (Dennis Franz as a sleazy hustler? You bet) and the highly regarded (if not exactly world famous) musical talent heard throughout, it seems downright bizarre the film was not reissued far earlier. Cheers to Cinema Libre for getting it.

Granted, the let’s-get-a-band-together story is a bit predictable, but its earnest enthusiasm is endearing. Sentimental in the right way, Island feels like the last gasp of big city innocence. Featuring a swinging, funk-drenched soundtrack and a wonderfully humane supporting turn from Barge, Island is a criminally neglected movie musical gem. Highly recommended for blues-funk-R&B-soul jazz fans, Davis will personally present both screenings at the Siskel Center this Wednesday (4/4) and Thursday (4/5), with the mother and daughter Hoffses set to attend both nights and the great Barge also scheduled to appear at the first screening. For those outside Chicago, it releases nationwide on DVD and screens at Los Angeles’ American Cinematheque on April 24th.

ContemporAsian: Tatsumi

Yoshihiro Tatsumi could be called the Japanese Will Eisner. Tatsumi was the leading exponent of Gekiga, or serious manga that tackled adult story lines. Americans that are very hip or awfully geeky will already know Tatsumi’s work, particularly his Eisner winning graphic novel-autobiography, A Drifting Life. For the rest of us, Singaporean Eric Khoo’s Tatsumi (trailer here) serves as a compelling introduction to his career and stories, when the starkly beautiful animated tribute-biography opens this Wednesday at MoMA as part of their ongoing ContemporAsian film series.

Tatsumi was ten when World War II ended. Logically, the American occupation and economic revival of Japan would factor prominently in his life and that of his characters. Khoo intersperses five notable Tatsumi stories, mostly in black-and-white, amid his vivid color adaption of the Gekiga pioneer’s memoir. Psychologically complex and deeply flawed, it is clear how Tatsumi’s characters were shaped by their creator’s experiences. In fact, it is easy to conflate them with Tatsumi, particularly the unfortunate artist in Occupied.

Each of the five constituent stories would stand alone as satisfying self-contained short films. However, the most powerful of the collected adaptations comes first, by virtue of chronology. Hell forthrightly addresses the horrors of Hiroshima and its aftermath, but it takes viewers to some unexpectedly dark places, undercutting simplistic moral judgments. Throughout all five stories, there is a profound sense of alienation, often prodding the protagonists to commit shockingly anti-social acts out of existential compulsion, but their actions are always understandable, in a sadly human way.

Though his life was never as lurid as that of his marginalized characters, Tatsumi’s early years were marked by considerable pain and want. Khoo structures the film in a way that really emphasizes how these struggles instilled a humanistic empathy in Tatsumi, embracing those who were downtrodden and even grotesque. Ultimately, it is rather inspiring to see the artist rise from such mean circumstances to become an acknowledged leader of his field.

Rendered by Singapore-based creative animation director Phil Mitchell in a style akin to Tatsumi’s, the film’s animation is deceptively simple, but eerily expressive. Tatsumi’s warm voice also narrates the biographical portions of the film bearing his name, forging a further connection between subject and viewers.

It really says something when Singapore’s film establishment selects a film about a Japanese artist to represent the country with Academy Award voters. Yet, the film’s undeniable artistry and Khoo’s international reputation had to be a compelling combination leading to its submission for best foreign language film consideration at this year’s Oscars. Indeed, this is a richly rewarding film that deserves considerable international attention. Not just for manga readers, Tatsumi is enthusiastically recommended for broad-based general audiences when it screens at MoMa starting this Wednesday (4/4), through the following Monday (4/9).

Teen a Go Go: Love for the Fort Worth Teen Scene

Evidently, in the 1960’s, Fort Worth was a town full of David Cassidys. The teen scene was thriving. Many bands had fan clubs and issued records that are now highly prized by collectors. Melissa Kirkendall surveys the golden age of Texas teen music with the grown-up former stars in her hip documentary-valentine Teen a Go Go (trailer here), which is now available on DVD from Cinema Libre.

For obvious reasons, the Beatles cast a long shadow over the teen bands profiled in Go Go. However, Kirkendall establishes a special link between the Fab Four and the mid-sized city of Fort Worth. While the Beatles were the clear and unambiguous model for scores of better than average bands throughout the city, Fort Worth musician Delbert McClinton also inspired the Beatles. In fact, McClinton taught John Lennon his first harmonica licks while touring England with Fort Worth native Bruce Channel, who was then riding the wave of his monster hit “Hey! Baby.” “Love Me Do” would be released shortly thereafter.

Go Go really opens a time capsule from a more innocent and enterprising time. The success these kids had (and kids they were indeed), without hitting it big nationally, is rather remarkable. Some actually had their local chart toppers covered by national acts. The film will even interest j-pop listeners, because the 5.6.7.8’s (best known in America for their performances in Tarantino’s Kill Bill) are seen playing and discussing The Elite’s “One Potato, Two Potato, Three Potato, Four.”

There is something about these stories that appeals to the record collector’s soul. These kids once had groupies and even the teenaged dancers who shimmied to their tunes on the local alternative to American Bandstand had their own fans. Yet with the passage of time, this has become a secret scene that has no legitimate analog today, despite the subsequent mass marketization of media production technology. There could be the seed of a great movie musical or even a Broadway show in Go Go. As a documentary, it is thoroughly entertaining, making a persuasive case for Fort Worth’s special place in Rock & Roll history. A cool little (78 minutes) film, Go Go is affectionately recommended for both the music and the nostalgia. It is now available on DVD and digital delivery services from Cinema Libre.