SLIFF ’12: The Good Son

Leila Manner is about as Hollywood as you can get in Finland.  Her oldest son Ilmari is her greatest enabler.  It is a small but ragingly dysfunctional family unit that Manner’s would be suitor should steer well clear of in Zaida Bergroth’s The Good Son (trailer here), which screens during the 2012 St. Louis International Film Festival.

Manner just burned another batch of bridges at her latest movie premiere.  Hounded by the press, she whisks off Il Manner and his younger brother Unto for a secluded rest in their vacation home.  Of course, as soon as she arrives, she gets bored and proceeds to invite some deadbeat showbiz friends over for a party.  She immediately clashes with a fellow actress, but there is a bit of chemistry between her and well known author Aimo Marttila, a friend of a friend.  Ilmari Bates does not like the looks of him at all, but for a while he seems to be preoccupied with his ex-girlfriend, the small town floozy Karita.  Yet, his psychological issues only need a slight push to reappear in spades.

In the hands of another director, Good Son could have easily traveled into genre territory.  Instead, Bergroth is more concerned with the family relationship dynamics.  In a way, it could be considered the dark flip side of parental reversal films, like The Descendants, in which precocious children abet the dubious parenting of an immature father or mother.  Ilmari is a rather twisted kid, but what can a self-absorbed, boozy diva like Manner expect?  Why Marttila would want anything to do with her is hard to fathom.

While not dogme per se, Good Son definitely has a modest indie look.  At least, it is sunny by the lake.  In contrast, the psyches on display are rather dark.  A fitting companion to Paprika Steen’s crash-and-burn star turn in Applause, Bergroth stages an uncomfortably intimate chamber drama.  Although not reaching Steen’s level of soul-shredding, Elina Knihtilä is still rather frighteningly convincing portraying Manner’s vain and self-destructive behavior. 

Despite all the warning signs his character ignores, Eero Aho brings an appropriately mature, world-weary presence to Marttila.  However, as the title character, Samuli Niittymäki might be going for slow burning intensity, but largely gives the audience empty stares.

To her credit, Bergroth resists overplaying the oedipal card, suggesting many dimensions to the mother-son codependency.  Not exactly winding up where you might expect, Good Son is surprisingly honest and grounded, considering its potential for sensationalism.  It consistently commands viewer attention even with its weak lead.  Moderately recommended for those drawn to psychological dramas, The Good Son screens this Saturday (11/10) and Tuesday (11/13) as part of this year’s SFIFF.  More highly recommended, Christian Petzold’s Barbara, Michael Roskam’s Bullhead, Pen-Ek Ratanaruang’s Headshot, Valeriy Todorovsky’s Hipsters, H.P. Mendoza’s I Am a Ghost, Tom Shuyu Lin’s Starry Starry Night, and Eric Khoo’s Tatsumi will also screen during the festival.

Submitted By Russia: White Tiger

Ivan Naidyonov could be called the tank whisperer.  He seems to have the mystical power to commune with armored vehicles, but his environment is pure blood and guts.  War is still war, except more so on the Eastern Front in Karen Shakhnazarov’s White Tiger (trailer here), which Russia has chosen as their official submission for this year’s foreign language Academy Award.

Hoping to put the debacle of last year’s submission (Friend of Putin Nikita Mikhalkov’s universally panned Burnt By the Sun 2: Citadel) behind them, Russia has opted for another well-connected standard bearer in Mosfilm head Shakhnazarov.  However, in this case the quality of the film and the director’s critical reputation represent a considerable step up.

Picking through the remains of a routed Russian tank division, soldiers find a charred driver who is somehow still breathing.  Despite suffering severe burns to ninety percent of his body, the tank mechanic makes a full recovery, except for his acute amnesia.  Rechristened Ivan Naidoyonov (“found Ivan,” roughly), he is sent back to the tank corps.  He is a whiz at fixing and operating tanks, but he is a little spooky.  Naidyonov claims tanks speak to him and even starts preying to the “God of tanks” enthroned in the big garage in the sky.  Yet, he is just the man to track down and destroy the white German super tank that seemingly materializes out of nowhere to wreak destruction on blindsided armored columns.

For Naidyonov it is personal.  The spirits of the destroyed tanks have spoken to him about the White Tiger.  So perfect are its maneuvers, he is convinced its crew is “dead.”  He can sense it before it appears and it seems to be hunting specifically for him.

White Tiger might sound like Life of Pi in a tank, but at every battlefield juncture, Shakhnazarov chooses grit over woo-woo.  Everyone thinks Naidyonov is nuts, but they secretly suspect there might be something to him, particularly Major Fedotov, the counter-intelligence officer in charge of the hunt for the White Tiger. The resulting vibe is like The Big Red One as re-written by Melville.

With his studio’s resources at his disposal, Shakhnazarov stages some fantastic tank battles, vividly conveying their force and limitations.  During the first two acts, White Tiger is a completely original, totally engrossing war film.  Strangely though, the final third is largely dominated by completely unrelated scenes of the German surrender and Hitler’s ruminations in the face of defeat.  It is like White Tiger won the war, but lost the peace.  Still, since it is a war movie, the former is more important.

When Naidyonov and his obsession are center stage, White Tiger is genuinely riveting, with a good measure of credit due to its primary leads.  Aleksey Vertkov is perfect as Naidyonov.  Refraining from distractingly ticky or showy behavior, he is compellingly “off” in a way that could believably be recycled back into the Soviet war machine.  Even though in reality his character would have probably been purged halfway through the film, Vitaliy Kishchenko’s work as the square-jawed Fedotov is similarly smart, understated, and intense.

It is hard to understand why Shakhnazarov would establish such a powerfully focused mood, only to break it up down the stretch.  Still, White Tiger boasts two excellent performances and some impressive warfighting sequences, which is more than many of its fellow contenders can offer.  Academy voters certainly love them some WWII, so it is probably worth keeping an eye on.  Shakhnazarov has also had American distribution for past films like Vanished Empire, so White Tiger should have international legs.  Regardless of its flaws, White Tiger is a film of considerable merit that ought to find an audience.

Goddess: New Women

Could a woman have it all in 1930’s Shanghai?  Not even close.  Wei Ming will try, but a vindictive former lover and an exploitative press will cost her dearly.  An eerie case of art foreshadowing life, Cai Chusheng’s New Women became one of Ruan Lingyu’s best known films, partly for reasons of tragic symmetry.  Appropriately, it screens this Sunday as part of the Asia Society’s new film series Goddess: Chinese Women on Screen, largely inspired by Ruan herself.

Often called the “Chinese Greta Garbo” Ruan appears to be something like the Chinese Joan Crawford in New Women’s early scenes. A music teacher at a progressive women’s school, she has written a debut novel so promising, a publishing house actually buys it, even though she is a woman.  Her only problem is Dr. Wang, a well-heeled but unwelcomed suitor, who already happens to be married.  Stung by her rejection, Wang bribes Wei’s headmistress, hoping sudden unemployment will force her into his arms.  For Wei, it could not have come at a worse time.

Like anyone, Wei Ming made mistakes in her life.  Eloping with the wrong man was one of them.  When he abandoned her and their baby, Wei was forced to send Wei Xiaohong to live with her aunt.  After years apart, Wei is finally about to take custody of the daughter she loves but never met.  However, when the young girl arrives, she exhibits rather worrisome symptoms.  Though quickly diagnosed, Wei and her sister lack the funds to pay for her hospitalization.

It is hard to imagine anything as manipulative as dying child and Cai duly milks it for all it is worth.  He innocently abetted by Chen Sujuan, who is absolutely heartbreaking as the young girl.  Yet, it is Ruan’s extended final exit that truly dominates the film, ranking with Garbo’s famous scene in Camille.

In some ways, New Women is surprisingly modern for a silent film, employing some rather feverish montages and displaying an unmistakable sexual frankness.  Moreover, its unflattering depiction of scandal-mongering journalists is just as timely here and now as it was in Republican China, but this led the press to vociferously turn against New Women and Ruan, by extension.  It is also an example of one of Cai’s more overtly leftist films, ending with a Soviet style march of women workers, not so subtly warning of things to come.  Sadly, it would be co-star Zheng Junli, a lifetime progressive, who was most in need of that warning, considering how greatly he would suffer during the Cultural Revolution.

Ruan was a beautiful, hauntingly expressive artist, with a presence of orchid-like fragility.  While Goddess is a fuller, more satisfying film, her gifts are readily apparent throughout New Women.   Recommended for silent movie buffs, students of early feminist film, and those who just appreciate a good weepy tragedy, New Women screens this Sunday (11/11) at the Asia Society as part of their must-see Goddess series, which starts with the title film this Friday (11/9).

Burn: Detroit in Flames

Detroit has just over a sixth of Los Angeles’ population but nearly three times as many fires.  On average, thirty buildings ignite every day.   For a city of seven hundred thousand-some people with dwindling resources that is a whole lot of alarms. This is the situation faced by a veteran of the Los Angeles Fire Department, who returns to his native Detroit, hoping to whip the beleaguered organization into shape.  However, the city’s extreme dysfunction might be insurmountable.  At least that is the impression viewers often glean from Tom Putnam & Brenna Sanchez’s Burn (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

The numbers are staggering.  When newly appointed Executive Fire Commissioner Donald Austin assumes his new position there are 800,000 abandoned structures in Detroit—and Engine Company 50 has more than their fair share.  Such ghost buildings are particularly susceptible to accidental combustion, also attracting bored firebugs like a magnet.  Facing budget cuts, Austin sets a controversial new policy: if responding firefighters determine an abandoned structure is empty and not a threat to other occupied buildings, they should let it burn.

Through three primary POV figures, the filmmakers show the audience boots-on-the-ground firefighting from the inside out, as well as the bureaucracy that makes everything harder.  Two are exactly the sort of sympathetic individuals one would expect.  Dave Parnell is a veteran field engine operator on the brink of retirement.  A rarity amongst his colleagues, he actually lives in the neighborhood they serve.  Former firefighter Brendan “Doogie” Milewski is also a strong rooting interest, struggling to come to grips with his lower paralysis after a roof collapsed upon him.

Without question though, the film’s greatest surprises come from its third focal character, Commissioner Austin.  Although his my-way-or-the-highway style initially alienates firefighters (and most likely audience members), he evolves in interesting ways during his time on the job.  He can clearly walk the walk as well as talk the talk and many of his beefs, such as the engine that was destroyed when its driver parked it in front of an approaching train, are hard to debate.

Watching Burn gives one the uneasy feeling that we are seeing the future, given the degree to which the depressionary economic policies that devastated Detroit largely emerged victorious at the polls yesterday.  On the other hand, it also shows how far filmmaking technology has evolved.  It used to be nearly impossible to replicate the vividness of a large scale conflagration on-screen.  Yet, Putnam & Sanchez fully capture the bright yellows and oranges of the lapping flames.  It is a sobering warning how far a once prosperous city can fall.  While another recent documentary about the Motor City largely misses the obvious lessons, it would be an intriguing companion film to Florent Tillon’s eerie and ruminative Detroit Wild City.

There is indeed a fair amount of Backdraft action in Burn, with an equal or greater amount of time devoted to the consequences of sending out ill-equipped, overworked companies, day after day.  Yet, the scenes of the commissioner struggling to lead a skeptical department are arguably Putnam & Sanchez’s biggest scoop. It is also worth noting the filmmakers have pledged to give a portion of the proceeds to executive producer Denis Leary’s Leary Firefighters Foundation. 

New Yorkers have a special place in their hearts for firemen, particularly after 9-11, so Burn is likely to strike a chord locally.  Recommended for fire department boosters and fans of History Channel “extreme jobs” reality programming, Burn opens tomorrow (11/9) in New York at the Quad Cinema.

DOC NYC ’12: Wonder Women

The last few years have been tough for Wonder Women.  While her Justice League colleagues have gotten big screen treatments, she suffered the embarrassment of network rejection for her pilot.  Considering it was from David E. Kelley, maybe it was just as well.  The heroic Amazon will always have her fans, several of whom explain her personal significance and lasting cultural influence in Kristy Guevara-Flanagan’s Wonder Women: the Untold Story of American Superheroines (trailer here), which screens as a Midnight selection of the 2012 DOC NYC.

Psychologist William Moulton Marston created Wonder Woman to embody feminine virtue, but she also found herself frequently bound-up, like a comic precursor to Bettie Page.  Wonder Woman might imply much about her creator’s subconscious, but her self-reliance struck a chord with many readers.  Unfortunately, when the Comics Code Authority began nannying the industry, Wonder Woman was amongst the hardest hit, effectively becoming a costumed Ally McBeel.

Guevara-Flanagan incorporates many talking head interviews with self-identifying feminists who celebrate the 1940’s era Wonder Woman and bemoan her subsequent watering down.  Frankly, she would have gotten much the same response had she interviewed conservative cultural critics as well.  The old school Wonder Woman might have been an Amazon Princess, but she adopted the American cause, fighting the Axis tooth-and-nail.  That’s a role model. 

Indeed, the film frequently frets about how society responds to “strong women,” yet it scrupulously ignores a recent high profile woman, known for being an accomplished outdoor sportsman, who rose to prominence in a male dominated world, only to become the target of some shockingly profane, sexual explicit vitriol.  Her name is Sarah Palin.

Regardless, when addressing the Wonder Woman’s cultural influence, the doc is rather hit-or-miss, by any standard.  Guevara-Flanagan and her experts draw a straight line from Lynda Carter’s Wonder Woman to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Xena the Warrior Princess, who serve as representatives of a small contemporary golden age of strong women action figures.  Yet, they ignore a huge chunk of Michelle Yeoh’s intervening filmography, in which she made a practice of playing strong butt-kicking women.  (She still does.)

Oddly, Wonder Women largely ignores recent developments for the character, including her comic book reboot in conjunction with the 2011 re-launch of the DC universe, the 2009 animated direct-to-DVD animated feature (featuring the voice of Keri “Felicity” Russell), or the much hyped but ill-fated pilot.  That is too bad, because the film is at its strongest when tracing Wonder Woman’s early evolution. 

Too politicized for the natural comic fan audience, Wonder Women is expressly intended for those who fondly remember her appearance on the first issue of Ms. Magazine.  For the rest of us, it is quite uneven, reflecting a rather insular perspective.  It screens at the IFC Center this coming Sunday night (11/11) and the following Tuesday (11/13) as part of DOC NYC 2012.

Hong Sang-soo’s In Another Country

In the working class seaside village of Mohang, there is not a lot to do except drink.  Fortunately, that is what Hong Sang-soo’s characters do best.  Intimacy on the other hand is a problem, especially for a trio of French women stumbling through cultural and linguistic barriers.  Isabelle Huppert plays all three of them in Hong’s sort of English language debut, In Another Country (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Dodging debt collectors, film student Wonju and her mother are laying low in a sleepy Mohang inn.  To pass the time, she starts writing a screenplay very much in the style of Hong Sang-soo.  It is a triptych in which the French expat Anne comes to the very same hotel under different circumstances, yet has similar experiences each time.

The first Anne is an accomplished filmmaker, who tries to discourage the attentions of a drunken colleague with a very pregnant wife.  The second Anne is cheating on her wealthy husband with an almost famous film director.  The third Anne bitterly resents her ex-husband leaving her for a Korean woman, but it is not hard to understand why he dumped her.  In each case, she flirts with the meathead lifeguard with varying degrees of ambiguity, half communicating through their broken English.

Country is just so Hong Sang-soo, but the tone is a bit lighter than Oki’s Movie or The Day He Arrives.  Nor is it as self consciously post-modern in its approach to narrative.  Each of the three Annes’ stories are discrete and completely self contained (though take 2 includes a dream sequence that could almost count as a fourth strand).  In fact, it is a rather sunny film, taking long walks on the beach and chatting amiably with the cute but shy Wonju, who also appears in each arc as the daughter of the hotel proprietor.

Still, it is rather fascinating to watch Huppert brings successively darker shades to each Anne.  Frankly, the third is a bit of a pill, whereas the flawed but self-aware second is the most fully developed.  Yu Junsang, the only other constant besides Jung Yumi’s pleasant but rather inconsequential Wonju, is a perfectly believable lunk, but his best dramatic moments come during the first go-round.  However, Youn Yuh-jung, the veteran leading lady of Korean television and cinema, is absolutely perfect as Anne #3’s academic friend Park Sook (and appearing as Wonju’s mother in the opening segmentas well).  Smart, somewhat tart tongued, and likably world weary, she brings some real verve to the talking and drinking.

Indeed, Country is a chatty film, utilizing English as a second language, so communication is always an issue.  The manner in which Hong repeats certain key phrases is often very droll, but there are no great profundities to be found here.  That is not necessarily a bad thing.  Watching Hong’s latest is like falling in with a group of strangers at a party who are amusing for an evening, but you don’t really want to make a habit of seeing afterward.  Again, if they are good for some laughs, that is not so terrible.  For Hong and Huppert’s fans, it works quite well.  Recommended accordingly, In Another Country opens this Friday (11/9) at the Lincoln Plaza Cinema.

DOC NYC ’12: A Girl and a Gun

It is a real Rorschach test.  When people see a gun in the hands of a woman, they might see it as an equalizer, an instrument of empowerment, or a fetish object.  None of these is mutually exclusive.  Indeed, the many perspectives on women gun-ownership often overlap and conflict with one another in Cathryne Czubek’s A Girl and a Gun (trailer here), which screens as part of DOC NYC 2012.

Although many of G&G’s talking head experts hail from the general neighborhood of feminist thought, just about everyone acknowledges women’s relative physical vulnerability compared to men, especially liquored up stalkers.  This was particularly true for one middle aged tai chi instructor who broke up with her abusive body-builder boyfriend.  Realizing the police operate almost entirely reactively rather than proactively, she came to the somewhat reluctant conclusion she needed a gun.

She is not the only one to rely on guns for protection of life and limb.  One young widow living on an isolated farm with her young baby used her late husband’s shotgun to blow a home-invading predator to Kingdom Come.  Part of her remains troubled by the incident, but she will do it again if need be to protect her child.  Similarly, sex columnist Violet Blue has seen her fair share of death threats.  However, letting would-be stalkers know she keeps a loaded gun handy has had a deterrent effect.  She also thinks armed women are hot (and we’re not about to argue with her).

Naturally, G&G takes great efforts to show the other side of the coin, such as the prison interview with a woman who fatally shot her ambiguous roommate.  Somewhere in the middle, we meet an Upper Westside social worker, who became an accomplished recreational shooter, but refuses to keep a firearm in her apartment.

When supposedly exposing the ways the gun industry has attempted to exploit the women’s market, G&G is rather underwhelming.  In truth, it is hard to imagine a better informed group of consumers than women gun-owners.  Still, the fact that Czubek’s film will even entertain the notion some women have a legitimate and pressing need to own a gun for reasons of self-defense is rather bold.  That she bends over backwards to present cases of accidental and criminal gun deaths is to be expected.  Yet, it is impossible to watch the Oklahoma farm widow’s segment and argue she would be safe without her guns.

Given its somewhat balanced approach, G&G is probably in for a rocky reception at DOC NYC.  However, it could have earned Blue a whole new fanbase were it not for the anti-Romney material on her site.  For New Yorkers and her Bay Area neighbors, A Girl and Gun offers some eye-opening moments.  Recommended accordingly for local audiences, it screens this coming Sunday (11/11) and the following Wednesday (11/14) at the IFC Center, during DOC NYC ’12.

Dangerous Liaisons in Shanghai

In the 1930’s, Japan was gobbling up Manchuria, but Shanghai’s privileged class refused to let it spoil the party.  Violence and foreboding hang in the air, but the cruel emotional games played by a merry widow and her dissolute ex will be more treacherous in the short term.  This is indeed Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’ scandalous Eighteenth Century novel adapted to Republican era China.  It makes the transition rather well in Hur Jin-ho’s Dangerous Liaisons (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

This time around, the Marquise de Merteuil is Mo Jieyu, the widowed chairwoman of a major banking concern and all around hedonist.  She is slightly out of sorts after reading in the newspaper her industrialist lover has dropped her in favor of his new sixteen year old fiancée, Beibei (the Cécile de Volanges).  Seeking revenge, she turns to her former lover turned torch-carrying friend, playboy Xie Yifan, to corrupt her innocent rival.  However, he has become preoccupied with the virtuous widow Du Fenyu (a.k.a. Madame de Tourvel).  As most viewers will know, this leads to a fateful bet.  If Xie cannot seduce and discard Du in reasonable period of time, he will do Mo’s bidding, whereas if he meets his challenge, she will finally yield to his advances.

Granted, the French tale of scandal has been told and retold many times in the past, but probably never with such an attractive ensemble cast (sure they are good actors, but Malkovich and Close as predatory seducers?).  The chemistry between Xie/Valmont and Mo/Merteuil has rarely been as scorching either.  Whenever Dong-gun Jang and Cecilia Cheung are on-screen together, it seems like they can barely resist ripping off each others’ clothes.  It almost throws off the necessary dramatic dynamic between them, but it is certainly entertaining to watch.  In contrast, Zhang Ziyi, somewhat playing against type, plays the indrawn Du/Tourvel with subtle power and genuine sensitivity.  Not all the supporters players fare as well, but most eyes will squarely focused on Cheung and Zhang.

In fact, resetting Liaisons in Shanghai works quite well, because it establishes a fittingly dangerous backdrop, thereby raising the stakes.  It also gives rise to an enjoyably era appropriate big band jazz soundtrack, somewhat following in the tradition of Roger Vadim’s 1960 film adaptation, which featured the music of Thelonius Monk and Art Blakey.

There is truly nothing new under the sun.  Hur Jin-ho’s Korean and Chinese cast and crew were not the first to produce an Asian Dangerous Liaisons.  That distinction probably belongs to Lee Je-yong’s Untold Scandal.  The real story of this Liaison is Cheung’s diva turn as the scheming but endlessly complex Mo/Merteuil.  She is worth the price of admission in Manhattan by herself.  Unapologetically melodramatic, Hur Jin-ho’s Dangerous Liaisons is recommended for fans of tragic Chinese and Korean period cinema when it opens this Friday (11/9) at the AMC Empire in New York and the AMC Metreon in San Francisco.

Citadel: Fear is the Whole Point

They are not merely the misunderstood and marginalized.  The hellions inhabiting a shunned Irish housing project thrive on fear.  In fact, they can literally see it.  Whether they are truly supernatural creatures or not is left rather ambiguous, but their feral savagery is beyond doubt throughout writer-director Ciarán Foy’s Citadel (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Tommy Cowley and his pregnant wife were the last decent people to move out of their ominous looking housing project.  Unfortunately, they waited too long.  While trapped in the typically malfunctioning elevator, Cowley witnesses the fatal assault on his wife.  However, their infant daughter Elsa survives.  The incident deeply scars Cowley.  An agoraphobic basket case, he becomes convinced the hoodie shrouded thugs are after Elsa.  He might be a nervous wreck, but he is not paranoid.

During several harrowing nighttime home invasions, Cowley barricades himself and Elsa in the bathroom as the hooded hooligans rampage through their flat.  Cowley finds a sympathetic ear and temporary shelter with Marie, a kindly nurse.  She insists the delinquents living in the title high rise are just disadvantaged youths, who lash out to vent their frustration with the system.  Unfortunately, she will be proved dead wrong.  However, the misanthropic parish priest understands what they are only too well.

Aneurin Barnard is almost too convincing as Cowley.  Every twitch of his body language screams victim.  To see him is to want to mug him.  He is so put-upon, viewers almost, but don’t quite lose patience with him.  Conversely, James Cosmo tears into the scenery and everything not nailed down with rip-roaring relish as the caustic priest.

While Foy eventually drops some pretty clear hints regarding the nature of the Citadel dwellers, it hardly matters.  They are simply mindless tormentors.  As anyone who has watched Room 237 (the cinematic deconstruction of Kubrick’s The Shining) understands, authorial intent is irrelevant to critical theory.  With that in mind, Citadel can clearly be interpreted as an allegory for the War on Terror, regardless of Foy’s conscious intent.

Like al-Qaeda and their ilk, the hooded ones spread terror for its own sake.  There is no reasoning with them.  The West can lock ourselves in the bathroom and hope they go away, but that strategy is doomed to failure over time.  Marie is attractive and conciliatory, like many left of center appeasers, but her course only leads to death.  To protect the future of liberal democracy for Elsa and the rest of our children, we need to follow the advice of the priest, the ugly, foul-mouthed Cheney figure and hook up the plastic explosives to the car battery.

Right, or possibly not.  The point is Citadel taps into some profound fears, burrowing under the skin like a bionic tick.  It has to be the grittiest, grimiest, grimmest horror film you are likely to see in a good long time.  Cinematographer Tim Fleming’s oppressively grey look sets the mood of foreboding right from the start, while Foy steadily builds the tension as he repeatedly cranks Cowley through the wringer.  Despite the absence of a strong focal villain, it is a chillingly effective horror film.  Highly recommended for genre fans, Citadel opens this Friday (11/9) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.

DOC NYC ’12: Bettie Page Reveals All

Don’t call her “notorious.”  Bettie Mae Page was a good Christian and the ultimate girl next door.  She just happened to have had a pin-up and fetish modeling career.  Gone but never forgotten, the late cult icon tells her story for posterity, serving as the de-facto narrator of Mark Mori’s Bettie Page Reveals All (trailer here), which screens as part of the new Midnight section of the 2012 DOC NYC at the IFC Center.

Who doesn’t recognize those trademark bangs?  The rest of her was pretty distinctive too.  Mori illustrates the film with plenty of Page’s risqué-for-the-time and still somewhat naughty photos.  In fact, as per Ms. Page’s wishes, he almost exclusively shows her as she wished to be remembered.  In the opening minutes, Page relates several incidents from her early life that could have permanently scarred her and left her completely incapable of intimacy.  Yet, Page was always comfortable with such matters, particularly when it came to a little topless posing.

Through Page’s reminiscences, viewers get a peek into a bygone era, when the salaciousness was more innocent.  Page often worked for “camera clubs,” groups of earnest and impeccably behaved photography enthusiasts who would slink off on weekends to shoot live (and usually topless) models.  As one might suspect, Page was one of their favorites, but evidently no funny business ever happened on a shoot.  Yet, it was Irving Klaw’s specialized mail order photos that made Page’s fame.

Unfortunately, Page’s second and third acts were characterized by a series of divorces and a persistent struggle with mental illness.  Having dropped out of the pin-up world soon after Estes Kefauver’s grandstanding senate hearings on pornography, Page’s fate was the subject of wild speculation amongst her fans.  She does indeed deliver, revealing all, but it is often rather sad.  Still, Mori deals with it forthrightly, warts and all, to his credit.

Indeed, Mori’s overall approach is right on target, giving viewers a good eyeful of what they want to see.  He also puts Page in proper cultural context, tracing her influence on second rate imitators like Madonna and Katy Perry—make that third rate imitators—and explaining her role as graphic novelist Dave “Rocketeer” Stevens’ muse.

Mori makes it clear Page is truly Americana at its hottest.  It is surprising but fascinating how much seemingly unrelated cultural history finds its way into her story.  Lovingly assembled, Bettie Page Reveals All should definitely hold the attention of non-fans nearly as well as that of devotees, which is the real test for documentary profiles.  Recommended with affection, it screens late night this Friday (11/9) as a midnight selection of DOC NYC ’12.  For obvious reasons, it is hard to see it getting much airtime on PBS, so Page admirers should probably see it now.

A Royal Affair: Denmark’s Oscar Contender

King Christian VII of Denmark was reportedly Voltaire’s favorite monarch.  However, his revolutionary reforms were actually the brainchild of Dr. Johann Friedrich Struensee.  His mysterious advisor also assumed Christian’s kingly duties with the Queen, leaving all three vulnerable to the nobility whose interests they threatened.  Based on historical fact, Nikolaj Arcel dramatizes Denmark’s most famous and influential case of adultery in A Royal Affair (trailer here), his country’s official best foreign language Academy Award submission, which opens this Friday in New York.

The mentally unsound King Christian VII was a terrible husband.  Sleeping with everyone but his wife, Queen Caroline Mathilda (the sister of the other mad king, England’s George III), Christian’s dissipated lifestyle took a toll on his health.  To the alarm of many, Dr. Struensee earned the King’s confidence by somewhat restoring his vitality.  A not so secret enlightenment pamphleteer, Struensee shrewdly parlays his influence with the king into de facto governing authority.  For years, the Enlightenment had been slow in reaching Denmark, but suddenly it had leapfrogged the rest of Europe.

Of course, not everyone is happy with Denmark’s nouveau intellectual cool.  The King’s mother and the rest of the nobility are distinctly unamused.  Unfortunately, they will have a major weakness to exploit when the Queen and Struensee embark on a reckless affair.  Initially, she is rather put off by the doctor, but his passion and forceful personality soon look quite attractive compared to the genetic mistake she married.

Poor Christian.  He is a rather sad figure, but Arcel is clearly most intrigued by the infamous Oldenburg’s role in history.  Indeed, he has his moments in Affair.  Nonetheless, Mikkel Boe Følsgaard’s ticky man-child performance makes it easy to understand how the Queen could take up with Struensee, despite the obvious risks.

Mads Mikkelsen duly brings the haughty intensity his fans will expect.  As Struensee, he is clearly cruising for a Shakespearean fall, and even seems to recognize it deep down.  The weak link of the love triangle is definitely Alicia Vikander, whose Queen Caroline is a bit vanilla, even by Scandinavian standards.

The historical facts of the Struensee Affair are rather incredible, but the on-screen drama feels rather safe in a prestige picture sort of way.  The Enlightenment vs. Old Europe angle helps distinguish it somewhat, but even those not well schooled in Danish history will have a good idea where it is headed.  Still, it is quite a richly crafted period piece, capturing all the pomp of the royal court and the grime and depredation endured by everyone else.  Beyond the best foreign language Oscar stakes, costume designer Manon Rasmussen and production designer Niels Sejer’s team deserve some consideration during awards season. 

Ultimately, A Royal Affair is a perfectly respectable historical, but a bit of a cold fish emotionally.  Recommended for those who enjoy costume dramas, it opens this Friday (11/9) in New York at the Paris Theatre uptown and the reopened Landmark Sunshine downtown.

DOC NYC ’12: The Mosuo Sisters

The Mosuo people are considered somewhat exotic in China, but that is a decidedly mixed blessing.  Their traditional matriarchal way of life is slipping away, but there are opportunities to perform in Tibetan themed bars and dancehalls, at least for the pretty ones.  This again is a dramatically mixed blessing.  When the impact of the global financial crisis forces the siblings to return home from Beijing, they start to rethink their long term plans in Marlo Poras’s The Mosuo Sisters (trailer here), which screens during the proceeding-as-scheduled DOC NYC 2012.

Juma and Latso’s Himalayan Village is close to exactly nowhere.  Returning home after their employer shutters her Beijing bar is an arduous, depressing journey.  For Latso, the younger sister, it is a particularly bitter pill to swallow.  Having enrolled in an accounting class, she had hoped to support her family with a more professional career.  Now she is returning, knowing full well it will be difficult to leave again.  Indeed, it is Juma, the superior earning who is sent out (this time for Chengdu), while her mother keeps her home to work on their hardscrabble farm.

One hopes the sisters will reap some benefit from Poras’s film, especially if it airs on public television.  After production wrapped, their village was shook by an earthquake, which leveled their family’s home.  Currently living in tents according to the film’s facebook page, their family could use some of those kickstarter funds.

Even before disaster struck, the year and a half Poras spent with the sisters dramatically illustrates Socialist China’s vast economic inequalities.  Being an ethnic minority is also a dubious distinction for the sisters.  It is intriguing, but often for the wrong reasons, to the wrong people.  For instance, Juma must often endure misconceptions about Mosuo “Walking Marriages.”  Roughly, they are procreative arrangements, in which the wife and husband live in their mothers’ households, but jointly raise their children during evenings spent together.  Often deliberately misunderstood as an institution fostering promiscuity, they are anything but.

Of course, the status of China’s ethnic minorities has always been rather tenuous, particularly during the Cultural Revolution.  However, Poras keeps the focus exclusively on the sisters’ here and now.  Blessed with natural screen presence, viewers will definitely root for them.  They might be from the middle of nowhere, but they are not bumpkins.  In fact, they are quite intelligent and extremely sensitive.  Yet, the way they evolve and mature over this period of time is surprising.

While not even covered in the film’s post-script, the current condition of the sisters’ family speaks volumes about the nature of the Chinese government.  We witness first-hand how unabashed gangsters thrive in a city like Chengdu, but education is practically a luxury.  Poras’s frequent shots of Chairman Mao’s portrait staring down on the proceedings add an unmistakable layer of irony to their difficult struggle for survival.

A number of unvarnished documentaries addressing China’s social ills have been released internationally in recent years, but Mosuo Sisters has a somewhat different angle.  It captures a vanishing culture and features two primary POV figures who completely win over audience sympathies.  Strongly recommended, particularly for China watchers, Mosuo Sisters screens this Saturday (11/10) at the IFC Center.  If you go, also bring some cash in case they pass the hat for the sisters’ family.  Consider it a helping hand extended from one disaster area to another.

Goddess: Ruan Lingyu, a True Diva of Chinese Cinema

Ruan Lingyu was often called the “Chinese Greta Garbo,” but unfortunately Marilyn Monroe might be a more tragically apt comparison.  Dogged by scandal, the celebrated actress would take her own life in 1935.  Awareness of her fate adds even more poignancy to her work in Wu Yonggang’s The Goddess, a classic of silent Chinese cinema, which inspired the title of the Asia Society’s latest film series, Goddess: Chinese Women on Screen.  Fittingly, it launches their retrospective this Friday.

Ruan’s character has no name.  Nor does she have a husband, but she has Shuiping, a baby boy for whom she will do anything.  With no other resources, the woman is forced to sell herself on Shanghai’s predatory streets.  There are no codes or euphemisms here.  She is a prostitute, plain and simple.  Operating outside the law, she has no recourse when “the boss” appoints himself her pimp.  While she tries to escape his clutches, he threatens to take the only bright spot in her life: Shuiping.

Nevertheless, as Shuiping matures, his mother sets aside money at great risk to pay for his education, at great personal risk.  Unfortunately, intolerant parents complain to the progressive headmaster, claiming the presence of a prostitute’s son would threaten their children’s morals.

Released the year before Ruan’s sad demise, Goddess is arguably like an Oprah pick for 1930’s Shanghai.  It forthrightly deals with issues of gender victimization and class exploitation, working towards a bittersweet conclusion, with the emphasis on the bitter.  Yet, Ruan elevates the film well beyond the realm of social issue melodrama. 

While the appeal of some silent stars, like say Mary Pickford, is not always compatible with contemporary tastes, Ruan has a timeless beauty and projects a devastating vulnerability as the unnamed woman.  She also has heartbreakingly touching chemistry with young Li Keng as the sweet-tempered Shuiping.  Li Juunpan, a stage actor who crossed over to silent movies, also brings remarkable presence and dignity to the film as the John Dewey-esque headmaster, while Zhang Zhizhi personifies sweaty odiousness as “the Boss.”

Ruan’s work in Goddess is so honest and powerful, it transcends time and fashion.  In fact, there are none of the grossly exaggerated performances that often date silent cinema.  A true classic in any era, The Goddess will leave viewers deeply moved, in a fully satisfying way.  Highly recommended, it screens this Friday (11/9) at the Asia Society.  The touchstone figure for the series, Ruan also stars in New Women screening this Sunday (11/11) and is the subject of Stanley Kwan’s biopic Center Stage, which concludes the series on Saturday, December 8^th.

DOC NYC ’12: Gypsy Davy

Rachel Leah Jones has issues with her father.  She is not the only one.  Flamenco guitarist David Serva [Jones] is only good at playing music and reproducing.  Disingenuous apologies come in a distant third when Jones takes on her more or less absentee father in Gypsy Davy (trailer here), her documentary profile-slash-examination of family dysfunction, which screens during the still on-schedule 2012 DOC NYC at the IFC Center.

Born the blond David Jones of Alabama, Serva transformed himself into the first American flamenco guitarist accepted by the Spanish old guard.  He did it by abandoning his wife and two children (the director-co-producer-co-everything and an older brother from a previous marriage).  Serva is a self-absorbed creep, who displays almost no redeeming virtues throughout Davy.  For obvious reasons, Jones openly questions whether she should be documenting her irresponsible father, yet persists, clearly hoping the exercise will have a therapeutic effect.

Shockingly inarticulate, Serva Jones only buries himself deeper as the film continues.  Nonetheless, it is fascinating to trace the five women and five children (that he knows of) whose fates would become intertwined with his.  There is some stylish flamenco and Roma-influenced guitar music as well, but Serva Jones’ undeniable musical gifts are not impressive enough to compensate for his boorishness.

It is impossible to turn away from the uncomfortable messiness of Gypsy Davy, just like traffic accident or a Joe Biden stump speech.  Jones raises family disorder to the level of performance art, but there is never any question where the blame lies.  The only real surprise is the relative emotional health displayed by many of Serva’s grown children.

Gypsy Davy is almost unique among music-related documentaries because it leaves viewers less kindly disposed to its subject after a full viewing.  However, many critics and programmers will probably play up the Counting Crows hook.  Yes, David Serva Jones is the inspiration for that Mr. Jones.  In fact, his son Martin co-founded the band, but walked away from a career in music out of fear he would become like his father. 

While it looks rather DIY, Gypsy Davy is scathingly honest and quite shrewdly constructed.  Recommended for viewers in the mood for an anti-musical doc, Gypsy Davy screens this Friday (11/9) and the following Monday (11/12) as part of this year’s DOC NYC, which is still proceeding on course.

The Man with the Iron Fists: Kung Fu Hip Hop from RZA

Thaddeus the Blacksmith is a builder not a fighter.  Nonetheless, the Lion Clan is messing with the wrong tradesman when they chop off his arms.  Yes, it is time to rumble in Nineteenth Century China.  Kung fu, Hip Hop, spaghetti westerns, and blaxploitation will be mashed-up in the RZA’s The Man with the Iron Fists (trailer here), which really did open this week in New York—honest it did.

The Lions were not always so bad.  That was before the Emperor sought their services to help secure his shipment of gold.  Succumbing to greed, Silver Lion and Bronze Lion betray their respected clan leader Gold Lion, with the intention of hijacking the imperial gold.  Of course, they will have to take care of one loose end: Gold Lion’s son, Zen Yi, who has left his mountain retreat and lovely wife for some old school revenge.  Unfortunately, he is no match for Brass Body, the Kung Fu equivalent of the X-Men’s Colossus.

Stripped of his armor, Zen Yi is rescued from certain death by the Blacksmith and his lover, Lady Silk, one of the “employees” of Madame Blossom’s house of pleasure.  Troubled by the death and destruction wrought by his handiwork, the Blacksmith throws his lot in with Zen Yi.  Needless to say, this leads to a rather nasty encounter with Silver Lion, Brass Body, and a very sharp blade.  Yet, as the title indicates, he still knows his way around a forge.  He also has an unlikely ally in Jack Knife, the opium addicted British ex-pat serving as the Emperor’s secret emissary.

If you’re looking for Oscar bait, Iron Fists probably isn’t your cup of tea.  Not exactly subtle or refined filmmaking, the RZA basically just lets the chaos fly.  He “borrows” liberally from scores of previous martial arts films, even including Enter the Dragon’s oft imitated finale.  Still, its energy is admirable.  Corey Yuen’s fight choreography is consistently inventive and there is plenty of eye candy.  In fact, the large supporting cast brings all kinds of genre credibility, starting with the Cung Le, sporting the Yahoo Serious coif as Bronze Lion.  On-the-brink-of-stardom Grace Huang (so cool in the short film Bloodtraffick) also kicks butt convincingly as part of the duo known as the Gemini Killers.

Probably the biggest surprise of Iron Fists is Russell Crowe’s rip-roaring scenery-chewing portrayal of Jack Knife.  He obviously understood what sort of film he was making and was willing to just go with it.  As Madame Blossom, Lucy Liu essentially reprises her turn from Kill Bill, but that is not necessarily a bad thing.  Frankly, the RZA isn’t terrible as the Blacksmith, brooding well enough.  The villains are more of a mixed bag though.  Former wrestler David Bautista certainly looks the part of Brass Body, but Byron Mann’s Silver Lion is more flamboyant than menacing.

Look, what do you want from a Kung Fu smackdown directed by a rapper, even if it is “executive produced” by Quentin Tarantino?  It might be chocked full of genre clichés and clumsy flashbacks, but if the prospect of watching RZA beat the Lion Clan silly while Crowe cavorts with a bevy of Asian prostitutes strikes you as entertaining than Iron Fists totally delivers the goods.  Let’s call it a guilty pleasure and leave it at that.  It really is currently playing in New York, above 34^th Street, at the Regal E-Walk.

Subjectivity III: Death for Sale

Malik and his shiftless friends cannot blame anyone but themselves for the hash they make of their lives, but that won’t stop them from trying.  Still, official corruption, rampant crime, and Islamist extremism will not help their prospects any in Faouzi Bensaïdi’s Death for Sale (trailer here), Morocco’s official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which screens during the third installment of MoMA’s Mapping Subjectivity: Experimentation in Arab Cinema from the 1960s toNow.

Malik is on the dole and almost proud of it.  He and pickpocket Soufiane have just welcomed home their drug-dealing best friend Allal from a short prison stint. Together again, they have no real plan except more of the same.  However, things change when Malik falls for Dounia, a high class call girl working for a swanky night club.

When the crooked Inspector Debbouz (is there any other kind in the port city of Tetouan?) raids Dounia’s club, Malik cuts a deal, becoming an informer to secure her freedom.  He might be a snitch, but he is still lazy.  Fortunately, right about the time Debbouz starts strong-arming him information, his friends start plotting a doomed-to-fail heist.

Actually, the plan to rob a Christian jeweler would not be so bad, except the newly radicalized Soufiane is determined to murder their victim as revenge for Israel and the loss of Andalusia.  That makes no sense to his friends either, leaving Malik rather spooked.  In fact, Bensaïdi’s depiction of the Islamists is pretty gutsy.  Deliberately targeting vulnerable recruits (they rescued Soufiane from a possible lynching), they clearly operate in much the same manner as a cult.  Sale even features some nudity, of the attractive variety, which might even be more daring.

Unfortunately, Bensaïdi’s characters do not have a lot of zip to them.  Malik and his running mates are all rather generic losers: the brooding loverboy, the hulking thug, and the bullied juvenile delinquent.  Mouhcine Malzi probably fares the best as the savage but calculating Allal.  Frankly, Sale’s supporting cast is more intriguing.  Imane Elmechrafi’s Dounia is quite the alluring femme fatale, while Bensaïdi himself makes a drily understated villain as Debbouz.

The coolest thing about Sale is Bensaïdi’s sense of the local architecture, used to inventively frame shot after shot.  He and cinematographer Marc-Andre Batigne create some memorable images, but the criminal melodrama is pretty standard stuff.  Nonetheless, Bensaïdi’s disinclination to pander to regional paranoia and victimization tropes is rather refreshing.  At least an interesting site to behold, Death for Sale is one of two highlights for Subjectivity III, along with Raja Amari’s Buried Secrets.  It screens at MoMA this coming Sunday (11/4) and Thursday the 15^th.

Jack and Diane: With No Apologies to Mellencamp

You could possibly liken lycanthropy to puberty because they both involve dramatic physical transformation.  It is a dubious comparison, but evidently it was enough for writer-director Bradley Gray Rust to build a film around.  As a result, love is rather messy in several ways for two young women in Jack & Diane (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Diane dresses like Goldie Hawn on Laugh-In.  Tomboyish Jack dresses like Tim Allen on Home Improvement.  However, when the two hipsters see each other, it is love at first gawk.  Lost in Manhattan not far from Evacuation Zone A, the visiting Diane accepts Jack’s offer of hospitality.  The British Diane seems to exist in a state of arrested development, but it evidently works for the tough-on-the-outside-needy-on-the-inside Jack.  Yet, just as their whirlwind romance begins, miscommunication and Diane’s meddling aunt threaten to tear it asunder.

Coming between these kids might be dangerous though.  In moments of extreme emotional agitation Diane transforms into a werewolf—but, not really.  For the most part, the lycanthropy is metaphorical, with only occasional hints that these trippy interludes have real consequences.  At least they look distinctive, animated by the celebrated Quay Brothers in a style that is better described as macabre than frightening.

Frankly, it is a wonder Rust has not been picketed by the Hollywood thought police, considering J&D essentially equates its characters’ lesbianism with something explicitly monstrous.  However, he handles their relationship with keen sensitivity and reasonably good taste.  Indeed, J&D is being touted as the lesbian werewolf movie, but it is likely to disappoint fanboys hoping for either sort of exploitation.

Instead, J&D is your basic downtown indie.  It is not mumblecore, but you can see it from here.  Still, the earnest sincerity co-leads Juno Temple and an unrecognizable Riley Keough (Elvis’s granddaughter) bring to their characters shines through strikingly.  Unfortunately, they are not well served by some overripe dialogue and the rather laborious pace.

If you were wondering, the Mellencamp song never appears on the J&D soundtrack and the ex-Johnny Cougar is reportedly not thrilled by the association.  Be that as it may, the film itself is not terrible, but it is far from a cohesive whole.  The Quays and particularly Keough did some fine work, but the concept remains only half-developed.  Fans of the animators should find it worth checking out, but they can safely wait for Netflix and the like.  For the curious, Jack & Diane opens tomorrow (11/2) in New York at the Cinema Village.

Here I Learned to Love: In Search of Three Mothers

Two young brothers survived the Holocaust because their Aunt Malka put them on the Kasztner’s train, through sheer superhuman effort.  She may have been an aunt, but she became one of the women whom the boys would come consider their “three mothers” as grown adults.  Well into their seventies, the two brothers finally return to the Europe they barely escaped in hopes of learning more about their three mothers in Avi Angel’s documentary, Here I Learned to Love (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Izhak Weinberg has always been the older brother.  Protective of the younger Avner during those chaotic years, Weinberg wrote and researched the book Three Mothers for Two Brothers on which Angel’s documentary is partly based.  However, Avner Kerem never wanted to revisit the past and his brother never forced the issue.  Yet, he eventually agrees to the bittersweet pilgrimage in hopes of answering certain long held questions, including those involving his very name.

Tragically, the mother the brothers knew the least was their actual birth mother, the elegant Minda Weinberg, who entrusted the brothers to her sister Malka.  The nurturing Aunt Malka would also survive the National Socialist horrors, but at considerable personal cost.  By blindly entrusting the boys to the controversial Kasztner transport, their Aunt passed them into the sheltering hands of Naomi Meir, perhaps their most heartbreaking mother.

At fifty-five minutes or so, HILTL is brief by feature standards, but it dramatically conveys the courageous sacrifice of the three mothers and the resiliency of the two brothers.  There is not much padding in the film, but Angel still shows a shrewd eye for a quiet telling moment.  The brothers are not prone to sentimentality, but their homecoming bears a genuine emotional payoff.  Weinberg is particularly insightful, having become an expert on the Holocaust in his own right.

Like Tomasz Magierski’s Blinky & Me or Larry Weinstein’s Inside Hana’s Suitcase earlier in the year, HILTL follows a well established template for documenting survivors’ return journeys.  Duly respectful, it is concise but substantial.  A worthy and economical remembrance film, Here I Learned to Love is recommended parents, teachers, and students of history when it opens tomorrow (11/2) at the Quad Cinema in New York.